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wongyuuu · 7 months

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crossing the line | two | kmg

pairing: mingyu x fem!reader genre: smut, angst, fluff (ish) word count: 3.7k warnings: smut (18+), minors do not interact, oral (male receiving) kissing, swearing part one

this is part of my series, seventeen as songs from lover (ts)

Mingyu ➝ Paper Rings I hate accidents, except when we went from friends to this ↳ Mingyu had always been your best friend and that line had never been crossed before, then, one day, you woke up naked ion his bed with a vivid memory of the previous night.

Ever since he was a kid, Mingyu had this sort of life motto: regret nothing and own up to the consequences of your actions. And for twenty-six entire years, he managed to do just that. Of course, there were things he wished he could have done differently. However, once something is done there is no going back. He could apologize for it, had it been a mistake, or he could just move on. And although he didn’t regret a single moment of the night he spent with you, the owning-up part was a little trickier than he had expected.

Mingyu was sure that your reaction would be bad, he knew that you’d get scared. But he thought that you would stay back so the two of you could talk. Or, at the very least, follow through with what you had said to him. Tomorrow morning, we go back to what we are, was what you said. But when morning came and Mingyu finally woke up, you were no longer in his bed. The only thing left of you was your perfume on his pillow.

He figured that he should give you time. You got scared and that was normal. He had known you for four years and he knew that you weren’t the kind of person who enjoyed changes. You loved your routines and being inside your bubble. It was a surprise that you had let him get close to you at all, even more so when both of you grew attached to the other.

Chan said that it was weird but he and Soonyoung were happy that you were finally allowing yourself to just be freer.

Mingyu wanted to be that person for you but was it so bad that he also wanted to be more than?

Truth be told, Mingyu had been interested in you since the moment you met. You, on the other hand, didn’t seem at all interested in him so he didn’t press you. When you opened up to him and allowed him to get closer to you, he was dating someone else.

It was around the same time he started to let himself be touchy with you, like he always was with all his friends, that he noticed that the way he first felt about you didn’t change or disappear.

He had been idiot enough to stay with his girlfriend, thinking that maybe he was reading too much into what you were doing. Then his girlfriend started to get uncomfortable, the fights started and they just broke up.

Though he didn’t feel nearly as heartbroken as he made it seem, Mingyu let you nurse him through his breakup. You’d sit with him for hours, his head on your lap while you played with his hair.

“I think you’d look great with long hair,” you said randomly one day.

“Why?” he looked away from the tv, eyes focused solely on you.

“You’re disgustingly handsome. I think you should try”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Mingyu started to let his hair grow and he was too lazy to get a proper cut so you were the one cutting his hair for him. I don’t want to hear a single complaint about this, you told him while he sat in the middle of your bathroom.

It was physically painful for him to hold back from touching you. Mingyu was well aware that if you got scared you’d just run away from him and there was a high chance of him never seeing you again. And that wasn’t something he wanted.

Desperate moments call for desperate measures. He needed, God help him, Soonyoung’s help.

“So, how long will you keep avoiding Mingyu?” Soonyoung asked when you set his coffee in front of him.

Your lifelong friend had asked to meet you once your shift was over, and you agreed. Much to your surprise, he had gotten there an hour early and was now just bothering you.

"Shut up and drink your coffee"

"Come on, there's no one here. Sit down and talk to me"

The problem with working at a café that had a homely feel was that your friends, honestly just Soonyoung, thought that they could just pretend that it was your own home.

"I'm working"

He rolled his eyes at you.

"At your brother's café," he tugged at your shirt "Sit down, humor me for a second"

With a sigh, you dropped your body on the couch next to his.

"He asks about you every single day, you know? He said you guys fought, so he's giving you time. But I don't think he will be able to hold himself back for much longer"

You pinched your nose, your heart suddenly aching at his works.

Truth was, you missed Mingyu. Desperately. You regretted leaving his side the moment you closed his apartment door but you also couldn't bring yourself to go back.

You figured that you should give yourself a little time to understand what happened and maybe get it sorted out in your mind. But you couldn't stop thinking about him, about the way he kissed you — so tenderly, with so much care, as if you were something precious that he would never give himself the luxury of breaking.

His touch was engraved in your body, just thinking about it made your skin electric. Mingyu was the first thing you thought about in the mornings, the last thing on your mind before you drifted off to sleep. He found ways to sneak up on you when you least expected it.

He texted you every day like he normally did, but you left all of his messages on read. You had been obsessed with your notification bar for the past three of weeks.

Though your actions said otherwise, you were scared of facing Mingyu, terrified that things between the two of you would change.

"Tell me what happened" Soonyoung nudged you with his knee "Maybe I can help. You know I always have killer advices"

There was no way you'd tell Soonyoung you slept with Mingyu.

"We just fought, it was stupid" you shook your head.

You watched in complete distress as the two working wheels inside his brain moved. Soonyoung went from furrowed eyebrows that said this fucking dumb girl to wide eyes.

"You guys fucked!"

You pressed your hands to Soonyoung's mouth, looking over your shoulder to make sure that your brother was still in the kitchen. Soonyoung kept his eyes wide open, his words muffled by your hands.

"Shut up!"

He managed to push your hands away, looking over your shoulder before leaning on the table with his forearms, his voice barely a whisper.

"You're an adult, I'm pretty sure your brother knows you have sex from time to time"

"He doesn't need to know with whom" you pushed his head back.

"Well, at least you're not denying it"

It would have been stupid to deny it when you felt as if you were walking around with a sign that said I slept with my best friend hanging over your head.

"Listen, I'll be as honest about this as I possibly can. You guys like each other, and have for a very long time. I mean everyone thinks you're dating" when you started to shake your head, Soonyoung rolled his eyes "I can count the amount of times I've hugged you in the past ten years. Twenty, if you're wondering. One for my birthday and one for yours, which I always have to force you to do"

"yn, you're not someone who's very into physical touch, which is fine. But with Mingyu? You guys touch each other the whole time, anywhere. The only time you guys weren't all over each other was when he was in a serious relationship, which mind you, you cried over"

Soonyoung was a fantastic friend, always. Despite his loud personality, at least around your group, he gave advice quietly. He never made a big deal of situations, he never went around screaming your secrets away. But in that moment you hated how much he was able to read you, like the only thing hiding your feelings was a thin glass wall.

"I didn’t cry" you sighed, dropping your head to the table.

"Sweetheart, you sobbed. I had no idea what I was supposed to do with you"

Soonyoung had laughter in his eyes, and at that moment he reminded you so much of the boy you met in high school. He had changed so much, from the way he dressed to the way he behaved. But still, somewhere inside, he was the same kid from ten years before.

"What are you afraid of?"

Of a life without Mingyu, was the only answer you had.

You met Mingyu for the first time at twenty-two, fresh out of college, scared of life. You hated your major, marketing, and hated your job too. Mingyu had been a breath of fresh air, with wide eyes and a beautiful smile.

It was always hard for you to let people close. You were just too shy and introverted but ever since Chan introduced you to Mingyu, you enjoyed his presence. He was always too much. Too tall, too large, too loud, talked too fast. But whenever he spoke to you, his voice was a little quieter, softer somehow.

Mingyu was larger than life itself and you were afraid you were too little compared to him.

He was out there with his fancy corporate job, a financial manager, while you worked at your brother's café. It was what you wanted, yes, your shit degree had some use and you got to test out recipes with your brother. It was a much simpler life than the one Mingyu wanted.

"We're too different" you whispered, blinking away your tears.

You wanted Mingyu, not just like your best friend but in all ways one can have someone. You wanted to be able to kiss him whenever and do all the romantic shit you had seen people around you do.

"You're not and even if you were, what's so wrong about that? Don't people say that opposites attract?" he patted your hand "Won't you rather regret a decision than spend your life wishing you could have done something different?"

Soonyoung's Words still echoed through Mingyu's mind hours after they spoke on the phone.

yn thinks she's not enough for you.

He didn't know what he was supposed to do with that information. How he was supposed to convince you that you were more than enough? Not just that, that you were the only one he wanted.

As soon as he ended the call with Soonyoung, Mingyu had gotten up from his desk, ready to call it a day and go after you. Everything else could wait. There was nothing more important than you to him.

It didn't seem to matter to his boss though, as he not only made Mingyu stay but also work over hours. Managers make their own schedule, my ass. It was already past midnight when he got inside his car.

It was too late to go to your place and try to talk with you. It was almost the middle of the night and Mingyu wanted to have a clear head to speak with you. He needed to be the most eloquent version of himself so that he could lay out in front of you, all of his cards, and hopefully maybe have you back in his life. Even if you were to remain just friends.

So he dragged himself home, feeling defeated once again. Three weeks of no contact with you had been pure torture. His messages were read the night before, which gave him a little bit of hope, but still, he didn't get an answer. His phone calls were obviously screened.

"Fuck" he cursed turning the lights in his living room on.

Mingyu rubbed his eyes to make sure that he wasn't imagining things. Because there you were, sleeping on his couch

In complete silence, or at least trying to be as quiet as possible, Mingyu took off his shoes and locked the door behind him. He never took his eyes off of you, scared that maybe if he looked away or even blinked you'd disappear.

He kneeled on the floor by your side, his hand immediately going to your face.

Ever since you met Mingyu, four days was the longest period of time you went without seeing each other. Six hours was the longest you went without talking. Needless to say, those three weeks had been hell, both for you and him.

You had been stubborn and Mingyu was determined to give you space. It was a lose-lose situation.

“yn” he whispered your name.

Slowly you opened your eyes. And god, how much had he missed those eyes. Mingyu found out, very early on, that your eyes held all of your truths. You went about your life thinking that no one had a single clue of what was going on through your mind — and for the most part, you managed to succeed. But there were moments when you allowed him to see all there was to you.

And maybe that wasn’t your intention but your eyes gave away your truth. You missed Mingyu, desperately so, just as much as he missed you.

“Sorry I fell asleep,” you said pushing back a yawn.

Mingyu smiled at you, his hand on your head, lightly massaging your scalp.

“It’s okay, it’s really late”

You nodded, eyes closing again.

“Can you lay with me?”

You tugged a little on the sleeve of his shirt.

“Yeah, give me just a minute”

Mingyu leaned down and kissed your hair quickly before standing up. He got out of his working clothes and grabbed whichever comfortable ones were closer to him. With a blanket in his hand, he went back into the living room.

You scooted back onto the couch, your back pressed against the couch, giving Mingyu enough space to crawl in by your side.

As soon as you felt Mingyu’s body next to yours, you wrapped your arm around his waist, getting as close to him as you possibly could.

With a content sigh, Mingyu nested your head against his neck, his lips never leaving your forehead.

It didn’t take long for him do fall asleep too.

You were the kind of person who didn’t like sleeping in places that weren’t your bed, your home. In fact, you had a really hard time sleeping in unknown places. And yet, wrapped in the warmth of Mingyu, you felt as if you had slept for the first time in weeks.

You missed Mingyu like crazy and craved his touch each waking minute of the day.

You tilted your head back a little, to look at him. How you managed to go three weeks without him was unknown to you. But now that you were in his arms again, you would never let him go again.

Even if that night had changed everything or nothing at all, you decided that you wanted Mingyu in your life in whichever way he was willing to be.

Talking with Soonyoung had helped, more than you could have imagined. He walked you home that night, going over with you through everything that you felt, and why you decided to bolt in the morning. His answer was for really smart people, both of you are dumb as fuck.

During the entire day, you built up the courage to go to Mingyu and try and see if there was anything salvageable about your friendship.

Mingyu stirred awake, his arms tightening around you, causing a small laugh to escape your lips.

“What?” he asked, voice low and raspy.

“You’re squeezing me”

It wasn’t a complaint, in any way, shape, or form. You liked the feeling of him all around you, almost way too much.

“It was intentional”

He squeezed you again, shifting on the couch and pulling you on top of him. His eyes were foggy with sleep but it was easy to spot the same thing you saw that night. The emotion you refused to acknowledge then.

Longing and adoration.

“Sorry, I left that day. I freaked out” You shook your head, pushing his hair from his forehead. You wished you could be more vocal about all of it, have prettier words for him "I thought that if I stayed our relationship would be over because I don't think I can go back to how we were before that night. I…"

You groaned and hid your face on the crock of his neck.

“I like you” you admitted quietly “I have for a really long time now”

Scared, you looked at him.

"I want it all with you, yn. I've liked you from the start. So can we, please, stop pretending that there isn't anything more than just friendship between us? We’ve had our fair share of miscommunication, missed opportunities, and unspoken feelings. Our friendship is everything to me, but I can't ignore these other feelings anymore”

His eyes never left yours. His emotions weren’t hidden in his sleeve, they were on full display for you. Everything that Mingyu was, he showed to you without any reservations.

So, instead of giving him stuttered words, you pulled his face close to yours, capturing his lips into yours.

The kiss was the same as the ones from the other night but also entirely new. That night you were friends testing the waters, entering unknown territory. In that moment, though, you were more.

“I missed you so much” you whispered against his lips, trailing soft kisses down his neck. You felt his semi-erect cock under you, his hands on your ass “So much, Gyu”

“yn?” he asked as you moved lower on his body.

“I never got a chance to do this that night”

You kept on moving down over his body, nails lightly scratching the exposed skin of his lower stomach that was uncovered by his shirt. In one swift movement, you pulled his sweats and boxers down, revealing his cock.

“I can never predict you,” he said with a laugh “Two seconds ago we were confessing, and now, look at you”

You ran the tip of your finger over the length of his cock while looking at him, trying your best to keep a neutral face.

“Do you want to talk some more?” you asked, voice sweet.

“Looking at you, all quiet and sweet, no one would ever… Jesus, fuck”

You didn’t wait for him to finish, taking him as deep as you could in your throat. You stood still for a second, eyes still on Mingyu watching his reaction. His head was tipped back, eyes closed, mouth slightly open. Slowly you started to bob your head up and down, one of your hands on his balls as the other held the base of his cock.

“Fuck, yn” he moaned.

Mingyu snaked his hand on your head, fingers gripping your hair and slightly pulling it, while forcing your head down on his cock, making you moan in exchange. You pulled your head back, licking his tip and small drops of precum. You felt him twitch as you teased his tip with your lips and tongue, your hands pumping him up and down.

Another moan left his lips, louder this time, followed by a grunt.

Abruptly he pulled you up.

“If you keep going, I’m going to cum in your mouth”

You smiled at him, which made him moan again.

“That’s what I was going for” you complained, kissing his neck, hand going between your bodies, running down once again, until you reached him.

“But I want to fuck you” he whispered against your ear, biting the sensitive skin.

Mingyu took your lips in his, his hand still on your hair. Without ever breaking the kiss, he stood from the couch with you in his arms, pushing his pants and underwear past his ankles. The pieces of clothes lost somewhere in the hallway.

“I’m going to stock this entire goddamn apartment in condoms, every single room” he grunted as he dropped you on the bed “Pants off”

“Aren’t we bossy” you teased with a laugh, but still complied “You too, shirt off”

He rolled his eyes at you, pulling his shirt over his head. How many times had you ogled his body over the years, watching the transformation of going to the gym every single day? And now he was in full display for you.

“I want to ride you” you whispered.

Mingyu didn’t complain, settling against the headboard of the bed.

“I’m all yours”

Something in the way he said it felt real, final. He was yours and you were his.

You climbed up his body and took his cock in your hand again, pumping him once, then again, before angling him under your wet pussy.

Slowly, painfully so, you lowered your body, taking every inch of him in. You moaned, feeling full of him. Mingyu reached over and pulled your shirt off too.

Lazily you started to move up and down, deliberately so.

“Baby, you have to go faster” he moaned, pulling your face close to his, nibbling on the skin of your neck. You knew he would leave a mark, and so did he, but you didn’t mind.

Mingyu suddenly grabbed your hips with both hands, firmly holding you as he started to move his hips up and down, faster than the pace you were willing to give him. You wanted to torture him, but he could do just the same to you. He smiled when you clutched onto his shoulder, head tilted back.

“Ah, Mingyu, fuck” you cried “fuck, fuck, fuck”

He moved one of his hands, his thumb pressing over your throbbing clit, mercilessly rubbing in circles.

“Ah… oh my god”

“Are you gonna cum, baby?”

He pressed harder against you, hips moving faster. The sound of his skin hitting yours was loud, dirty, and enticing.

“Cum for me, baby, all over my cock” he whispered.

With a cry, you felt your pussy clenching around his cock as your orgasms took over you. Your entire body shook as you held onto Mingyu, biting his neck while he fucked you, thrusting to the hilt, again and again, until he too found his release.

You pulled back slightly and kissed him.

“Give me two minutes and I’ll eat you out”

You laughed and pushed his face back.

“You don’t have it in you, big boy”

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like-a-diamondinthesky · 8 months

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three times hyunjin wanted to kiss you plus the one time he finally did | h.h.j

pairing... bsf!hyunjin x gn!reader tags... best friends to lovers, "unrequited" love, fluff, 3+1 prompt

hyunjin really, really wants to kiss you. but he can't, because that's not what best friends do.

wc... 1.4k words a/n... was supposed to have class today but there was a really bad storm so i whipped this up during my newfound free time <3 this is longer than i planned it to be tbh

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ɞ° ‧₊˚ ◡̈° ONE

Hyunjin was bored to death. He had done nothing all day except use his phone, watch tv, use his phone, pretend to work on his laptop, and use his phone. Now, here he was, lounging on his couch, tapping away on his phone and looking for food to order.

He contemplated texting you, his best friend, but decided against it, thinking you were probably busy.

Right as he was about to pay for his food, Hyunjin's phone buzzed and a notification popped up. his eyes lit up, realizing it was a message from you.

y/n <3: hyun! y/n <3: are you busy?

Typing as if his life depended on it, Hyunjin quickly replied.

hyunjinnie: nah hyunjinnie: i was about to order dinner tho y/n <3: do you want mcdonald's? was thinking i could pick u up and we can get drive-thru

Ah, times like this, Hyunjin really just wanted to give you a big fat kiss. You were always spoiling him, after all.

hyunjinnie: YES PLEASE!!!! hyunjinnie: maybe we could watch a movie after too hyunjinnie: i mean, only if you want

He was nervous. He's invited you over many times before, but not since he realized that he was maybe, kind of, sort of in love with you.

y/n <3: definitely!!! sounds like a plan <3 i'll be there in 15

And just like that, Hyunjin's smiling like an idiot. Words can't explain how excited he was to see your face, to smell your perfume, and to hear your voice. And if his eyes trailed from your eyes to your lips, that was his business and his alone.

ɞ° ‧₊˚ ◡̈° TWO

Fifteen minutes had never felt longer. Hyunjin was anxiously waiting for you to arrive, eyes darting between his phone and the clock on the wall. Were you purposely driving slow to make him crazy?

As if on cue, you knocked on his front door, making him jump up off the couch in excitement. He slid his phone into his pocket, grabbed his wallet and keys, and walked over to the entrance of his apartment.

When he opened the door, you were greeted with a huge smile and a big, warm hug.

"Hi! i missed you," Hyunjin said, though it was muffled due to the fact that his face was buried in your hair. You giggled at his affection and replied, "We just saw each other last week!"

"I know, I still missed you, though." Smiling sheepishly, he let go of you and closed the door to his apartment. He took your hand and pulled you towards the elevator. "Come on. I'm starving."

After a long wait at McDonald's, you finally paid and got your food. Pulling out of the drive-thru, you began your drive back to Hyunjin's house.

"No way, I've been scammed!" Hyunjin gasps dramatically, raising his hand to his forehead and slumping in his seat. "They only gave me five nuggets when i ordered six. I'm legally obligated to one more!!!"

"What? No way." you quickly peeked inside the box Hyunjin was holding, seeing that there were, in fact, only five nuggets. "Alright, we're going back there."

Surprised, Hyunjin sat up and stared at you. "Wait, huh? No, Y/n- I was just kidding. It's just one nugget difference. It isn't a big deal, let's just go home."

"Don't be crazy, Hyun. you paid for six nuggets, and you're getting those six nuggets." The look on your face was one of pure determination. Your brows were furrowed, your eyes focused on the road, and your lips—god, your lips—looked so pretty and soft. 'Perhaps,' Hyunjin thought, 'I should repay Y/n for all the trouble with a kiss.'

ɞ° ‧₊˚ ◡̈° THREE

Hyunjin's heart was beating a mile a minute. The two of you had chosen to watch a horror movie after eating dinner, which was a bad idea considering you both hated them. But the reason for his pacing heartbeat wasn't the movie, no, it was you.

You were sitting next to him on the couch, huddled under the blanket. Your legs were touching his, your hands were clutching his arm, and your neck was resting on his shoulder. He wasn't even paying attention to the movie anymore, not when you were this close to him. Not even the jumpscares affected him. He was far too focused on how your grip around his arm would tighten, how you would try to scooch even closer to him, how you would hide your face in his neck.

After the movie ended, the two of you stayed in your position on the couch, too comfortable to move. Hyunjin had his arm around your shoulders, keeping you safe in his grasp. You were telling him about your past few days, eyes lighting up as you recalled your happy memories. The corners of your lips perked up when you talked, pulling your cheeks higher and bringing your eyes to a crinkle.

You looked so pretty in his arms, Hyunjin swears he could just lean in and kiss you right then and there. But he doesn't, because that's not what best friends do.

ɞ° ‧₊˚ ◡̈° PLUS ONE

The stars were twinkling in the midnight sky. It was late and you were too scared to drive yourself home, claiming that the horror movie "changed your brain chemistry." So, like any good best friend would do, Hyunjin invited you to spend the night. In his bed.

"Are you sure, Hyun? I'm perfectly happy sleeping on the couch." You were standing by his bedroom door, watching him pull out your favorite hoodies of his. He walked to you with a soft smile, handing you the hoodie so you could change into something more comfortable than your old (and probably a size too small) t-shirt. "Oh come on, it's fine. I'm the one who asked you to stay over, anyway. It's only right that you take the bed and I take the couch."

Reluctantly accepting the hoodie from his hands, you sigh. "Okay, okay. I'll sleep on your bed. But! Only if you stay here with me."

A deep blush crept onto Hyunjin's cheeks at your request, but still, he gave in and nodded. "Sure, anything for you, Y/n."

It was a long, nearly sleepless night. Beside Hyunjin, you slept peacefully, lying on your side and facing him. He spent many hours staring up at his ceiling, silently cursing and thanking god at the same time for putting him in this situation.

Don't get him wrong, Hyunjin was so glad to have you with him in his bed, but he was so anxious that he'd make you uncomfortable. Were you okay sleeping while facing each other? Was he hogging too much of the blanket? Was he too close to you?

Eventually, these thoughts subsided and Hyunjin finally fell asleep. After a couple hours of rest, the sun started to seep through the curtains, filling the room with soft rays of light. Opening his eyes once again, Hyunjin was delighted to be greeted by your face in front of his.

You were so beautiful. Hyunjin admired the way your plump lips still curved into a small smile despite being asleep. Your hair was covering your eyes, so he slowly reached his hand to your forehead, gently brushing the stray pieces behind your ear. His hand hovered there as he thought to himself, 'I could just kiss them, right now. No one has to know.' Shaking the thought away, he brought his hand back down to his side, choosing to continue admiring your beauty instead.

"Are you going to keep staring, or are you going to kiss me?" you whispered, eyes slowly opening. "I mean, if you won't do it, I will,"

Hyunjin's mouth dropped open. Did he hear you correctly?

You giggled at his reaction, bringing your hand to his cheek. He immediately leaned into your touch. "Last chance, Hyun."

This is it, he was gonna do it. He was going to kiss you. Closing his eyes, Hyunjin leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. It was everything. He could've sworn he felt fireworks explode in his chest. He placed his hand on the small of your back, bringing your bodies together. You moved the hand on his cheek to the hair at his nape, playing with the soft strands.

Pulling away, Hyunjin took a deep breath and opened his eyes. You both smiled at each other, happy in each other's arms. "Finally. You don't know how long I've wanted to do that."

"Took you long enough," you laughed. "I was so sure you'd kiss me after the movie. I was waiting all night."

Hyunjin chuckled and leaned in for another kiss. God, he could get used to this. "Had I known you wanted me to kiss you, I wouldn't have waited for a single second."

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comments, reblogs, and feedback are appreciated! © like-a-diamondinthesky 2023

#・₊✧ written in the stars #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids hyunjin #hwang hyunjin fluff #stray kids fluff #hyunjin fluff #stray kids #skz #stray kids imagines

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luveline · 9 months

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𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

spencer comforts you with facts and affection alike when you worry you aren't as pretty as the girls on his team. requested here. fem!reader, 1.6k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Photographs can't accurately capture how beautiful Emily Prentiss is. JJ and Penelope are both gorgeous too, but it's Emily who startles you. Her hair a cool black colour and curled around her demure face, the line of her nose and her deep, dark eyes. Her lips, picture perfect and painted a soft pink.

The prettier you find her, the more your heart sinks.

Spencer squeezes your shoulder. It's bold for him to do so in front of his friends (his family, really), he can barely show you affection in the grocery store without turning rosy. You preen at the touch, but the feeling of insecurity remains like an irksome gnat zipping around your head.

"We didn't think we'd ever get to meet you!" Derek is saying, a casual arm thrown around Penelope's shoulders, a drink in hand.

Rossi couldn't attend and JJ felt too pregnant, bringing your party to a solid six. It still feels like a lot of people to meet at once.

You hold the flute of your glass in a nervous hand, fingers stickied by condensation. You have a feeling that you're in trouble, all these profilers assessing your behaviour, nowhere to hide. "No, I'm," —you raise your voice to hide the funny tremor that's taken hold— "so happy to meet you all, I promise I've been trying!"

"Whenever she gets time off, we're on a case," Spencer says.

Emily smiles widely at your statement. It's such an open, friendly look, it floors you. You look down at your drink and blink.

You don't know it, but the team exchanges glances at your behaviour.

"So, do you enjoy your work?" Emily asks. "Or hate it, like us?"

Hotch laughs and moves his pint glass onto a coaster. "I think it's safe to say that none of us hate our jobs."

"I wouldn't blame you if you did. I can't imagine how hard it is, how hard you all work," you say. Spencer's hand drifts down your back. "But you have each other."

Emily does this thing with her eyes and if you weren't in a happy relationship, you'd probably be a puddle at her feet. "Too much of each other," she says jokingly.

She's gorgeous, and Spencer sees her every single day? You're nothing compared to her. Not smart, not strong, and nowhere near as pretty. You could never measure up.

"Would you, um, excuse me?" you ask, moving your purse from your lap and onto the table.

"You okay?" Spencer asks, looking up as you stand.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just gonna use the bathroom," you say quietly. You aren't, but if you were, you wouldn't really want to broadcast that anyhow.

You try not to wobble on the way to the bathroom. The weight of five pairs of eyes follows you as you leave, four of which are trained in the art of spotting lies. Everything isn't okay, and they know that, and by extension —all the effort you made tonight? Getting your hair done, your nicest clothes, your makeup and your perfume? It might as well be a huge blinking neon sign that says you're trying really hard, and it doesn't make a lick of difference.

You sidle into a stall, pulling the lid of the toilet down with a tissue and sitting on it heavily. Elbows on your knees, you hunch your back and hide your face in your hands, breathing in the smell of bleach through quick breaths. Water drips somewhere near the sinks, the cacophony of the restaurant hushed.

You've never felt naturally pretty. With Spencer, it hasn't ever mattered. He's never given any indication that he cares. But…

"Loser," you mutter to yourself.

"Hey, Y/N?" Spencer asks, his voice bouncing off of the tile.

You freeze. "Two seconds!"

"You're not really using the bathroom," he says incredulously.

"Says who?"

Spencer laughs, his tone wry, "I know you really well, you realise? Like, better than I know anyone else on the planet."

"Then you know I'm having an authentic pee and need my privacy."

"Come on out."

The ringing of the lock slotting free is like an announcement of your embarrassment. Spencer's standing a half a foot from the doorway, keeping his distance from the no man's land that is the ladies room. You're going to use it to your advantage, only he holds out his hand expectantly. When you take it, he pulls you out of the bathroom and firmly into the restaurant hallway.

You can't escape his concern, nor his hands as they cup your face unexpectedly.

They feel as nice as they look, deft fingers pressed to your skin like you're one of his puzzles to decipher.

"What upset you?" he asks.

"Nothing your friends did, I promise."

"But something." He smooths a hand down to your shoulders. He's not quite frenetic but certainly close to it, searching for a problem he won't find on the surface. "You're insecure about something," he deduces.

You cringe bodily. "I'm not."

"What is it? Is it your necklace? It really is nice, the colour goes with your skin. It's understated."

"It's not my necklace, Spence."

"Then what is it?"

"I just…" You pull his hands from your neck and collar to hold them, looking up into his melty brown eyes wishing he weren't so hard to say no to. "Feel like you could do better."

He frowns. It's a pout, and endearing, but not what you want to see.

"I love being with you, I just think, you know, you're so handsome, and you have all these pretty friends," you say.

"You think you're not pretty?" he asks. He sounds gutted, if a little confused.

"Not like her." Your voice quivers.

The first time you got upset in front of Spencer, he wasn't sure what to do. He ended up putting an arm around your shoulder, your brand new boyfriend out of his depth. You've both had some practice at comforting one another now, and any hesitance Spencer held is gone. He wraps his arms around you like he's afraid you'll fall over, the crease of his stressed brow smushing against the side of your face.

"Don't think that. Why would you think that?" he asks quietly.

"I know I'm not pretty like some girls," you say, surprised by the ferocity of his reaction.

"You don't know that, because it's not true. You're beautiful." He squeezes your side between his fingers, something contemplative about the way his thumb curls upward. "Do you know how many books I've read?"

"Thousands."

He hums. A hand grasps at the back of your neck. "Thousands of books. I know so much, especially about the human body. I know that falling in love can make some people feel the same effects as cocaine. Staring into their eyes can synchronise your heartbeats." He encourages your head back. "Butterflies are adrenaline and when I look at you I can't get them to stop, even if I know it's chemical." Spencer's eyes are lit with something you don't often see directed at you, a furious conviction. "What we think we know isn't always fact, so if you think you're not pretty…" He nods his head gently to the left. "There's only really one thing left to do."

Your heart feels like it's being juiced. "What's that?" you ask.

He grabs your hand and puts it on his chest. Fingertips to his breastbone, he holds it flat. Sure enough, even through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, you can feel the rapid capering of his pulse.

"It's like that pretty much any time I look at you."

"Spence…"

"I know it's bad," he says.

"Are you messing with me?"

"Yeah, I did a lap before I came to find you– No!" He laughs, giving you an admonishing look. "Why would I mess with you? How could I?"

"I don't know."

He dips in to kiss your frown. "You're so pretty," he whispers. "So, so pretty. You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen, no matter what you think."

You don't believe that you're the prettiest girl he's ever seen, but you believe that he believes it. He has no reason to lie to you, nothing to gain. He could've said, Hey, you're pretty, and left it at that. He could've been angry with you for leaving the table for something some people would say was superficial. But Spencer's your sweetheart.

"Do you want to go home, angel?" he asks, looking at you worriedly.

"No." You don't even have to think about it —you've done enough thinking. "I don't want to go home. Sorry, Spencer. I feel better." And you'll stay out all night if he's going to call you angel again.

"Well, let me know if you need me to tell you again."

The chances of you surviving such an ardent speech a second time are low. "I won't be doing that."

Spencer shrugs. "You'll let me know, even if you don't think so. You have a tell when you're upset."

You spend the rest of the night making up for your disruption (which Spencer's friends immediately dismiss without questioning), shepherding the crisper curly fries on to Spencer's plate because he likes them that way, and begging him to tell you what your tell is with subtle pleading glances and a hand on his knee. Nothing inappropriate, but affectionate nonetheless.

He doesn't tell you no matter how much you ask, and maybe it's the drinks or the way the scone light kisses his cheeks in a warm buttery light, you can't find it in you to be mad.

"Keep your secrets," you say, chin tilted upward. You're failing to glare at him, too much love in your eyes for it to be believable.

"You're beautiful," he says back, mirroring your expression playfully, before leaning down for a chaste kiss.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!! if you did, please consider reblogging, it makes a big difference to me<3 have a good day!

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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oneforthemunny · 1 month

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home is wherever i'm with you |hockey player!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: life on the road during hockey season is far less glamorous than you thought it would be. homesick and lonely, eddie tries to get you feeling better.

also special thank you to @angietherose for the name of the au hockey team :) eddie is officially on the indy reapers! thank you to all who voted as well!

contains: fluff, but there is slight angst at the beginning. mentions of loneliness, a little depression. slight-ish tension or strain on the relationship, but you know i make it happy at the end lol. language.

Pasadena, California - 1993

Day seventeen on your six week excursion with Eddie. Well, excursion was a generous thing to call what this was. You were feeling more like a groupie for the Indianapolis Reapers, a puck bunny as Eddie’s teammates snickered, brows raised in suggest when they’d pass jersey clad girls lingering around their buses. Stop after stop- press, practice, training, games, all over the nation.

A suitcase full of clothes you’d grown sick of already, longing to go home and trade them for something different, washing them in the sharp, sterile detergent of the hotels. You longed for your own sheets, perfumed with your own detergent.

Eddie was gone for most of the day. You tried to sightsee on your own, explore the cities but it was lonely, lacking someone to giggle with over lattes, to hold your hand in the street, just to talk to. The other WAGS that came along, stuck out the long haul across the states, clung to each other, comfortable in their own little clique. You were too new, an outsider to their group.

“Hey, babe,” Eddie pressed the key into the lock, twisting the heavy latch open. “Babe, do you have that stuff? Did you bring it?” He hummed, dropping his bag at the door, kicking off his sneakers.

His nose curled at the pungent smell, ripe from the warming weather of California. “Jesus Christ, I gotta wash this stuff. I’m sorry, I’ll put it in the laundry thing.” Eddie hummed, sliding the slotted closet door open. “Can’t believe how warm it is here already. Feels so nice outside. You’ve been outside today, sweetheart?” He rambled, sweetly, tossing the powdered detergent into the washer, shoving the workout clothes from his bag into the tiny machine.

The steady hum of the air conditioner filled the room, his only response. Eddie’s brows lifted, jamming the button of the washer, sliding the door back into place. He didn’t remember hearing you say you were leaving today, but he had taken a pretty hard hit to the glass during practice, ears still ringing dully.

“Baby?” Eddie called, opening the bathroom door, empty of you other than the scattered products on the vanity. Heavy steps on the patterned carpet, Eddie walked into the bedroom suite, halting at the edge of the crumpled sheets.

You laid on your side, still in what he’d left you in that morning, eyes puffy and red rimmed looking motionlessly out the window. “Hey, I thought you- I was, uh, I was just talking but-” Eddie’s heart beat in his throat, uneasy at the sight of you, crumpled in the sheets. “Are you ok?”

You turned, cheek still pressed to your arms under the pillow, just enough to see him- all wild curls, matted and frizzy with helmet hair. “Yeah,” You croaked, throat scratchy and sore with sobs that had stilled hours ago, still you were plagued with the aftershocks of weeks of suppressed emotion.

“I- I’m not trying to sound like a dick or anything here, but you’re clearly not.” Eddie said softly, slowly approaching the bed. The bed dipped under his weight, a warm hand rubbing over your ankle under the cool sheets.

“Baby,” Your face crumpled at the coo, so sweet, gentle, it made your nose burn. “What’s goin’ on?” Eddie muttered, thumb circling your ankle bone gently.

Your nose burned with a slow, shaky exhale that he felt, rattled all the way down your body under his touch. Eddie’s heart dropped. “Hey, look at me.” Eddie’s voice was softened but sharp, teetering on frantic. You turned, looking at his wide eyes, running over your frame in worry. “What’s goin’ on? What’s the matter?”

Your lip wobbled, head screaming words you couldn’t bring yourself to say- you didn’t know how to say. “I just-” You took a breath, chest stuttering. “I don’t… feel good.”

Eddie’s brows creased, crawling up the bed beside you. “Don’t feel good, like, sick?” He muttered, the back of his hand pressing to your palm. “You don’t feel hot t’me. What hurts? Is it your head still? I told you, baby, that hippie dippie shit only works so much. You have to take medicine-”

“-No,” You shook your head, eyes squeezing tightly to keep your tears at bay. “It’s-it’s not that.”

Eddie blinked carefully. “What? Is it, like, the time of the month? D’ya need me to go get some stuff for you? You know I don’t mind to. Not a problem for me, baby, just tell me what you need.” Eddie’s head tilted to the side, so sweet and doting, it made your chest heat with swarming guilt and adoration.

“I’m not on my period. It’s nothing, Ed.” You shook your head, curling back into your pillow.

Eddie stilled above you. “Are- Are you pregnant?” He whispered.

“No.” You groaned quickly, head shaking into the warmth of the pillows.

Eddie sighed lightly, a huff of relief that fell short, when your body turned from him, back towards the window with a long inhale. “Hey, can you- can you look at me? Please? Look at me, baby.” Eddie’s pitch raised, teetering towards scared, his hand on your shoulder, pushing you gently so you rolled on your back.

He hovered over you, curls falling down nearly brushing your cheeks. “Tell me what’s going on. Please? Tell me what’s wrong.” Eddie whispered, nearly a beg. “You don’t feel good? You don’t feel good here?” His throat swelled, tight with fear. “With me?”

Your silence had Eddie’s stomach twisting, dropping with fear, bile rising in the back of his throat- he was going to be sick, he was sure he would be.

“No,” You muttered, head shaking lightly under the pillow. “Not with you, just,” You reached up, nervously twirling his curl around your finger. “Just with this.”

Eddie swallowed, willing himself still, calm, though his heart felt like it might give out. “This? Wh-What do you mean this?” Eddie’s voice shook.

You blinked up at him, eyes rounding in a sad softness he hadn’t seen before. “I just… I miss being home.” You whispered, eyes glossing with a fresh wave of tears that pricked your waterline. “I miss seeing my friends, and being in my own bed, a-and even work. I just,” Your breath hitched, lip trembling. “I’m just really lonely.”

Eddie was sure his heart did give out, break right in his chest, sunk right to the pit of his stomach. “Do you- You wanna go home?” Eddie’s hand ran down your cheek gently. “That’s what you want? That would make you feel better?”

Your face crumbled, caved into itself at his tone. “I-I don’t know.” You admitted, eyes squeezed shut to keep the tears in. “I don’t want to leave you, b-but I don’t-” You pressed your palms to your eyes, taking a slow inhale through your nose. “I just don’t want to be alone so much. A-And I know that’s not your fault. I know you’re working.”

When your eyes did meet his, Eddie wished they’d stayed closed, heartbreakingly sad, vacant of that light that usually shone through, brightening anything cast in your gaze. “I just… I’m feeling homesick, ‘m sorry.” You muttered. “I just really miss home, and I’m having a bad day.”

“You don’t- Don’t apologize.” Eddie shook his head. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were feelin’ like this.” Eddie swallowed, pulling you up gently. Your body was slack, limp with unmotivated movement, but still, you settled into his arms. The tension in your body melted, nose buried in the material of his shirt, lathered in cologne and the hot California air.

“I have a half day tomorrow.” Eddie muttered, his heart beating fast, you could hear it, feel it. His hand smoothed up your back. “We’ll do something. Go exploring and stuff. Do some fun stuff.”

“You’re ‘sposed to rest.” You muttered, cheek squished to his chest. “It’s before your game, you’re supposed to be resting.”

“Yeah, but that is resting.” Eddie shook his head gently. “I’ll be alright. Promise. Played after way worse. Me and Josh used to come in hungover, vomited on the ice one time.” Eddie’s chest rumbled with soft laughter. “Pretty sure we’re the reason that rule’s in place now.”

Your lips curled, even through your sullen, dazed mood, you couldn’t help it. Clinging to him tighter, you moved into his touch. “Coach just means take it easy like, don’t go get fucked up and actually sleep the night before.” Eddie muttered, chin tucking down onto your head. “C’mon, lemme take you out tomorrow. Me and you. Go anywhere you want.”

You didn’t reply. Instead, sighed gently, settling into his hold.

Eddie was restless through all of morning practice, hands buzzing, ready to run to the rental car at the first dismissal. Shower be damned, he’d take a quick one at the hotel, he couldn’t be held up any longer.

“What’s goin’ on with you, Munson?” Elijah muttered, next to Eddie in the huddle on the ice, the coach’s droning about protocol for the game.

“Nothin’.” Eddie whispered back, twisting his stick in his hands. “Just wish he’d fuckin’ hurry up.”

Elijah’s eyes cut to Eddie, snorting lightly. “You got somewhere to be?”

“Yeah, I do actually.” Eddie sighed out. “Gotta get back. Promised my girl I’d take her out.”

Elijah’s brows raised. “Shit, you brought her with you?”

Eddie’s shoulders tensed. “She wanted to come.” He muttered defensively. “I mean, she wanted to. Now it’s kinda fucked, she’s-” Eddie’s eyes cut around him. “She’s kinda homesick.”

Elijah nodded slowly. “Yeah, that happens.” He fought back a smile. “When’s the last time you took her out?”

Eddie’s eyes cut to him, defensive with accusation. “It’s not like that. I take her out.”

“Yeah? On the off day? After we’ve traveled all day?” Elijah snorted, shaking his head. “C’mon, Munson. Believe me, that doesn’t count.”

Eddie ignored him, gripping his stick with furious annoyance. The fuck did he know? He didn’t know anything.

“Look, I’m not tryna piss you off. I did it, too. Just- believe me, alright? That one day shit doesn’t work.” Elijah pressed gently.

“Hey, I got it, alright? I’m good.” Eddie growled.

Elijah held his hands up in defense. “Alright, I’m just saying, when it was me,” He started. “I wasn’t meaning to. I just wasn't used to it. Had my own road routine and tried to fit her around it instead of into it. Thought it was going good until it wasn’t.”

Eddie stilled, silent but shoulders slumping lightly. “You gotta change your routine, find a way to fit her into it. She’s on the road too, not just you.” Elijah continued.

The coach whistled, waving them in dismissal. Eddie blinked, pulled out of his daze, lifting his helmet and stick with him. Elijah nodded at him. “Have fun tonight, Munson.” He smiled softly. “Make sure you take her somewhere nice.”

Elijah’s words rang in Eddie’s head all the way back to the hotel, only a short drive from the arena. Eddie nearly threw his keys at the valet, sliding into the elevator shamelessly, bouncing on the balls of his toes until he reached your floor.

You startled when he came in, sitting at the vanity, doing your makeup. “You’re done already?”

“Yeah,” Eddie muttered, ducking down for a kiss. “Just gotta shower real quick, but are you hungry?” He shimmied his workout sweats onto the floor, kicking his socks off with them.

Your eyes lingered over his bare lower half for a second, turning back to paint your mascara on. “I’m not starving.” You mumbled.

“Alright, good, I was gonna see if we could go to this place. I think you’ll like it.” Eddie grinned over his shoulder at you, the hiss of the shower coming to life. “Some guys told me if you’re in Pasadena you gotta go here.” His smile so wide, eyes sparkling in the dim yellowed light of the hotel bathroom, it made your tummy tingle with warm excitement.

“Promise you’re not looking?” Eddie mumbled, hands over your eyes, waddle-walking awkwardly behind you, pressed close to your back.

“Swear I’m not.” You grinned. Eddie was right, it was beautiful outside. Warm and bright, light illuminating his hands that covered your eyes with a reddish glow.

“I can feel you trying to. Your lashes are tickling me.” Eddie muttered, leaving you giggling. “Ok, just- you know what, this is good enough. I’m scared you’re gonna trip.” Eddie said, lips curling at your soft laugh.

“Are you ready for your surprise?” You could hear Eddie’s grin in his voice, a breeze floating between the two of you.

“Yes.” You giggled, Eddie’s chest swelling at the sound. “Just show me. Your hands are clammy. They’re gonna smear my mascara.”

“Shit, sorry.” Eddie muttered sheepishly, a blush spilling on his cheeks, pulling his hands away so they were still in front of you. “Ok, ready?”

“Eddie-”

“-Sorry, Alright, one, two,” Eddie moved his hands, smiling proudly in front of you, a pinkish looking building behind you. “Here it is! Surprise!”

You blinked. “Oh.” You quipped softly.

Eddie blinked, smile falling. “What? I thought you’d- You don’t like it?”

“No,” You shook your head. “I mean, no, that’s- Where are we?”

“Oh,” Eddie shook his head lightly. “Shit, I thought you’d know. Uh, apparently this place is supposed to be like the place for flowers, y’know? Pasadena has that flower festival thing, but it’s not until later and I know you like to go to the cool places, and-” Eddie motioned to the store behind him.

You took in the building, spilling over with plants you could see from the inside. “I, uh, I know you miss home.” Eddie said softly. “And I was just thinking, y’know, we can’t get houseplants like at home, but maybe some bouquets? Some flowers for the hotel room.”

Eddie waited a beat, desperately trying to read your face, eyes wandering over the building and the signs. “I thought maybe you’d pick out some flowers and-and it would make it feel like home.” Eddie’s hands slid down his jeans, hot from the sun beaming on them. “Plus, you wanted to see some around here, a-and y’know… one bird, two stones.” Eddie rambled, shrugging sheepishly.

You felt the familiarity of a cry bubbling back in your chest, swelling and suffocation, only this time the aching of sadness was gone. In its place, a bubbling, burning feeling of adoration was left, consuming you from the inside out with every nervous glance Eddie gave you. He’d listened, really fucking listened. He always did, but this time it was different. Relief, comfort washing over you for the first time in days.

It felt like home.

Like the two of you were back in Hawkins, or Indianapolis even, perusing the usual spots, happy and content to be together in a familiar place.

Eddie wasn’t expecting you to grab him, pull him into you with a fierce, sloppy kiss. Right there on the sidewalk, under the California sunshine. Lips melting into his, clawing and grabbing at his shirt, the back of his neck. Eddie’s cheeks burned bright when you pulled apart, a smile so wide and goofy it made you giggle.

He let you grab his hand, lead him around the flower shop like a lost puppy, picking out anything and everything that made you smile. A bright bouquet spilling out beautifully in the green vase, made just for you.

You sat it right on the small bedside table, beaming at how it livened up the room. Eddie wasn’t sure if it was the flowers or you. Either way, it revived you, made you happier and giddier. Made the sheets of the hotel less cold when you slipped beneath them, legs tangled in his, pinning him under you onto the stiff mattress. It made the room brighter, spilling with a new fragrance that felt familiar.

It was small, a miniscule way that meant the world to you; made you feel at home. Eddie knew it, planning how he’d do it with every next city, until you finally got back home.

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sam015 · 3 months

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Hoodies & Coffee

The Arsenal training grounds were always chaotic. Players from the men's, women's and youth teams working and hanging out around the facilities. Today was no different.

“Y/n, get back here!” Viv shouted as Y/n attempted to sneak out of the changing room behind Katie.

“Sorry, I tried,” Katie whispered, leaving Y/n behind like a deer in headlights, hurrying out on the field inorder to avoid Y/n’s overbearing parental figures.

“Traitor,” Y/n whispered back as Katie left her behind.

“Come back over here,” Viv repeated, sighing with her head down Y/n sulked back over to her pseudo-parents.

“Come on, you need to put a jacket on before you go outside,” Beth said, directing Y/n towards her locker. Y/n looked up at Beth with a sheepish look on her face.

“I may or may not have forgotten it,” Y/n frowned, not wanting to look up and see the disappointed look on Beth’s face.

“Y/n, it's getting cold outside. You need to take care of yourself. We can’t have you getting sick,” Beth lectured while Y/n studiously avoided her gaze, her fingers rapidly tapping on her leg.

“I know. I’m sorry, but I was in a rush this morning. I woke up late, and it just slipped my mind.”

“Why did you wake up late?” Viv interjected, looking over to Y/n curiously as she pulled her gloves on.

“Nightmare,” Y/n whispered, turning away from the conversation and back to her locker, desperately hoping that she had left one previously. Pulling open the door, she was relieved to see a red Arsenal hoodie folded on the seat, a printed six on the right side. Smiling slightly, she pulled the hoodie on, breathing in the smell of Leah’s familiar perfume.

“Thanks, Lee,” Y/n called out, catching the English captain just as she left the room.

“No problem, darling,” Leah said with a small smile before turning and leaving the still partially full changing room. Y/n turned to follow the Englishwoman out of the changing room.

“We will talk about this later,” Viv called. Y/n nodded, shaking her head as she tried to focus on the training ahead of her. Leaving the room, she walked out onto the pitch, grabbed a ball and began to warm up.

As practice began, Y/n became very warm in her borrowed hoodie. She quickly stripped it off, tossing it over to the side beside their water bottles. Beth raised her eyes at the action, but Jonas pulled her attention away as the drill began. Y/n enjoyed training in the cold. It reminded her of home and the cold practices they would have during winter and fall training sessions.

Throughout practice, Y/n could feel Beth and Viv’s eyes on her. For the most part, she ignored them, knowing that they were just worried she was cold. Occasionally, she could feel Leah’s gaze on her. This one felt different than Beth's and Viv’s; it made her face flush a bit, and it wasn’t because of the cold.

As practice came to an end, Y/n decided to run a few sprints. She loved the feeling of the cold air in her lungs. It reminded her of home, of the times she would run home after school. It reminded her of when things were more straightforward, and she could just run and play football without worrying about anything else.

“Come on, Y/n, let's go inside,” Viv called out, holding Leah’s sweater out to the younger girl. Y/n shrugged it on with a smile, feeling the warmth and softness of the hoodie. It felt like a warm hug; she enjoyed the feeling. Something about the warmth combined with Leah’s perfume made her feel safe.

Viv wrapped an arm around Y/n’s shoulder, escorting her inside, with Beth following the pair.

“Hey, I feel excluded; I’m your girlfriend, not Y/n,” Beth jokingly pouted. Y/n stuck her tongue out at Beth, causing Viv to snort in laughter.

“You know you can talk to us about anything, right Y/n?” Viv asked, pulling Y/n into a small alcove which Beth followed the pair into. Y/n nodded, and Viv pulled the shorter girl entirely into a hug.

“Whatever it is, we are here for you,” Beth reinforced, using her hands to guide Y/n’s eyes to look into her own.

“I know.”

As the team slowly trickled out of the changing room after training, Leah nervously stood at her locker, waiting for the right moment. She kept shifting her weight from foot to foot as she tapped her fingers on the thin metal of her locker.

“Do you need something?” Beth asked, slightly concerned about the anxious energy the normally confident English captain exuded. Leah only shook her head. Beth rolled her eyes. Leah was so obvious, but for every bit of obviousness Leah had, Y/n was just as oblivious. With a slight grin, Beth pulled Viv, who was still packing her things, out of the changing room, leaving Y/n and Leah alone. Leah watched as the door swung shut, waiting before it was entirely closed before approaching the younger girl.

“Do you want to go for coffee with me?” Leah asked hesitantly, looking up from her locker and towards Y/n. Leah could feel her cheeks heating up as she waited for Y/n to respond. Y/n turned around, making it so she was facing the Englishwoman.

“Like as in a date?” Y/n clarified, pausing in her packing and taking a step towards the other woman.

“Yeah,” Leah said, the tips of her eyes turning bright red.

“I’d love to,” Y/n said, watching as the anxiety bled out of Leah’s figure.

#woso #arsenal wfc #woso imagine #leah williamson #vivianne miedema imagine #beth mead #leah williamson x reader #woso x reader

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gumiluver · 2 months

Note

Prompt 20 w geto? But the after math.. like yk, when reader keeps pushing his buttons after that 🤭 fem reader plsss

I’m feeling the vibes babe, let me give it a shot!! <3

prompt 20: “Behave. You don’t want to see the punishments I have in mind for you.”

lover <3: suguru geto x afab!reader

byr/byi: the content in this fic is not suitable for individuals under the age of 18–minors will be blocked (DNI), wc: 1.1K

cw: smut, nsfw, pwp, afab!reader, handcuffs, slight degradation, manhandling, dom/sub dynamics

an: first request for my series special!! if you haven’t put in a request yet, they are still open! check out the guidelines here for more info :)

border credit: @/cafekitsune, pic credit: cckaisen on pinterest

You really were testing his patience.

From the second the two of you woke up until this very moment—you had been egging Suguru on just to pull away at the very last second. The long glances, the shameless touches, the coy laugh you throw at him when he lets out a frustrated groan, a visible tent starting to form through his sweats. It was all adding up on him where he could, quite literally, feel his rationality start to slowly slip through his fingers.

He doesn’t hide it either—in fact, he wants you to see what you’re doing to him. A part of him honestly hopes that when you see the dark stain of his precum fade into his sweats that you’ll finally break and bend to his will.

But of course you had…different plans, to say the least.

At first it was fun, getting pampered and dotted on by such a pretty little thing like you, his loving sweetheart. Feeling your nimble fingers play with his hair, his chest, his cock—of course it was going to drive him towards the point of breaking. Hell, a single touch from you at this point would probably get him to cum in his pants prematurely.

You knew what you were doing to him too—taunting the big beast with a supple treat, but right when he goes in for the kill you spring up, giving a lame excuse like shoko or gojo texting you about an emergency, and all he can do is watch as you flaunt your pretty ass to the other room with a small giggle and mischievous glance.

Such a tease.

Sure—he’s a patient man, but what you’re doing to him was just downright cruel. He can’t help but wonder how much longer you’ll play with your food, feeling his own composure slip every second you even look at him. And fuck—is that a new perfume you’re wearing today? It’s making his mind turn into mush; you’re making him turn into mush.

And yet again here you are, sittin’ pretty on your Sugu’s lap, straddling his toned waist as he rested his hands on your hips, gently rocking you to and fro—aching for more of your touch, for more of you.

“Fuck baby, need to fuck you,” he grunts, brows furrowed and veins bulging from his arms. He grits through his teeth, trying his best to restrain himself and his perverted desires of punishing you. Call him vindictive, but he’s just aching to give you a little taste of your own medicine—for his pleasure, of course. He smirks wickedly, a sinister thought coming to his mind as he quickly switches the position the two of you are in—figuratively and literally.

You yelp at his actions, the sudden change in demeanor making you feel as if you had whiplash. You feel Suguru press his clothed groin harder and faster against your pussy, as if he were trying to fuck you through his clothes. Times like these made him wish he had his friends six eyes ability, wanting to forever imprint the entirety of your pleasure filled body into his brain and see your energy build, and build, and build until you can’t do anything but release it—lost in your own desires.

You figured he’d caught on to your antics with the way he’s gripping your wrists tightly above your head, rendering you helpless to his mercy. Big doe eyes meet sharp primal ones, and like prey getting caught you feign innocence—playing with your food a bit more.

And he does not appreciate that one bit.

Suguru growls, diverting his gaze from your face by diving into the crook of your neck. He knows he’ll give in if he meets your gaze, ultimately a sucker for pleasing his pretty girl. Instead, he gives you gentle nips and licks that decorate your neck, and trails his lips to ghost over the shell of your ear, his daunting voice reverberating throughout your body “Behave. You don’t want to see the punishments I have in mind for you.”

And of course, you just had to tempt the beast—per usual.

“Shhh baby, I know,” he coos at you, soothing the skin on your soft ass. Red marks adorn your glowing cheeks after taking him so well, and suguru can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt when he sees you cringe.

But then again, he wasn’t quite sure if that was a cringe of pain or pleasure—considering he’s got you stuffed full of his cock as you lay pitifully on top of him, and fuck did it make all the teasing worth it.

“S-sugu, I ca-*hic*-can’t…n-no more,” you cry, taking in his sharp and deep thrusts with a whimper and cry. Your wrists are cuffed behind your back, helpless to your lovers ministrations. The hand that was soothing your red ass moves slowly to the small of your back to press you further into him and sink you deeper onto his cock. The groan he lets out is ravenous, and he snickers at your yelp when you take him to the hilt, remaining composed as he ignores your pleas for mercy.

You really didn’t think he’d react so strongly to some teasing as simple as this, but seeing your usually stoic boyfriend become so primal and unhinged was a sight so sacred that it made you yield to him.

You—his little firecracker—were finally under his demand, and he’d be damned if he let this opportunity slip from his fingers. He’ll make sure to take his time and draw out each and every one of those mind-numbing orgasms that Suguru and only Suguru can pull out of you, wanting to imprint this memory into your mind and show you just how mean your sugu baby can be.

“Oh yes you can, and you will,” he growls, giving you another sharp thrust that has you yelping and clenching your jaw. He smoothes the arch of your back, calming your poor, aching body—a sinful balance of dominance and praise that makes you willingly croon and comply.

His other hand surprises you by coming up towards the nape of your neck, grabbing a fistful of your hair, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. Your wince tells Suguru that your feigning innocence again, because what good girl would clench their pussy so tightly when they get their hair pulled like a common slut?

“You dug your grave, and now you’ll lie in it, pretty girl. Take your punishment nicely, or I promise it’ll be worse.”

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cleoluvrr · 6 months

Text

fuck up the friendship (rafe cameron x reader)

SYNOPSIS: we're already six feet deep, let's cut the tension

WARNINGS: explicit sexual content

materlist

you entered the party space, the floor packed with people dancing to the music playing through the speakers. you grabbed another glass of water as you and rafe passed a refreshment table. the two of you stood at the back of the room, people watching and enjoying the music in a comfortable silence.

"so...you wanna go dance?" you said as you walked backwards onto the ballroom floor. rafe smiled softly, legs outstretching to follow after you.

rafe dragged you out to midsummers despite your pushback. he told you that it would be fun, but you already knew that he only wanted you to come so he wouldn’t have to be pulled around with his father.

you hadn’t been to the event in ages, parents leaving you behind at home every year since you turned thirteen and outright refused to attend anymore. you hated everything about the dick-measuring contest of a party; the disgusting display of wealth, the suffocating smell of old lady perfume, and the feeling of middle-aged men wrapping their wrinkly hands around your body when your mother would force you to hug them.

you never understood why your family came every year, but deep down, you knew. you guys weren’t rich, at least not when compared to the rest of the island club members. your parents ran a business that the tourists loved, and it generated enough money to send you to private school and pay to be a part of the country club. you’ve lived comfortably your entire life, but your parents had to work hard for that. since they weren’t born with a silver spoon in their mouth, they felt that they had to prove to everyone that they were just as good.

they come every year to make connections not only for themselves, but for you. they want to give you the chances they never had, so they drag themselves to events like this to make that possible.

so when you told them you were coming for the first time in almost five years, they were elated.

though, not as elated as rafe.

rafe had been your best friend since sophomore year of high school, when he was a junior. you weren’t sure why he wanted to be friends with you; he was older, more popular, richer. you felt as if you were in two different worlds. that didn’t matter to him though–once he set his sights on you, it was already decided that he would take you under his wing.

you always heard that rafe was an asshole to anyone with less money than him, and maybe that was true, but you’d never experienced it. in fact, he’d never been mean to anyone at all when you were around. as far as you knew, he was an angel. one with an increasingly concerning cocaine habit, but sweet nonetheless.

everyone always told you to stay away from him, or wondered how someone like you could ever be friends with him, but you never understood what they meant by it. to you, he was just rafe; your best friend.

"dance with me." rafe says, arms reaching out towards your direction.

"i am dancing with you?"

"no," he says, pulling you closer, "dance with me." he wraps your arms around his neck, swaying the pair of you side-to-side to the rhythm of the music.

"are you feeling better now?" you asked. he was dreading the party for weeks, and he could barely muster up a smile a few hours ago. he hums a yes, a content look on his face as he looks at you.

"you look so beautiful tonight, y/n." you looked down as your cheeks flushed in embarrassment. "i'm serious. you're stunning."

"i know you're serious. why do you think i'm blushing?" he laughs at that. you could see the smile on his face when you meet his eyes again.

"i make you blush? that's cute."

"shut up." you stepped on his foot, though all he does in response is keep laughing. the two of you remained like this for a number of songs, just enjoying each other's presence.

after being at the gala deep into the night, you decide to call it. rafe says his goodbyes to his friends and a bunch of donors that are acquainted with his father, quite begrudgingly, before he walks you out to the car with him. rafe, with his constant need to show off how much money his family has, chose to have a small limousine pick up the two of you from his house. the driver was standing by the car with the back door open, closing it after you were settled inside.

"that was actually so much fun." you spoke tiredly.

"i told you it would be." he hums from the seat beside you while looking at his phone. you cut your eyes at him.

"you literally begged for me to come because you were dreading spending time with your father. which you ended up doing anyway."

"okay fine," he snorts, "but look at this." he leans in, showing you his phone. he posted a video of you loudly singing to a kehlani song on his instagram story, telling the artist to watch out in the caption.

"i told you to delete that shit, rafe!" you shoved at him in annoyance.

"but it's so cute! i've never seen you smiling like that before."

"yeah, because i'm always around you." he shoves you back, rolling his eyes with a smile on his face. he rests his head on you shoulder, grabbing at your hand and playing with the silver rings adorning your fingers.

he pauses abruptly, sniffing strangely. he turns his head, deeply inhaling by the spot where your neck meets your shoulders. the feeling of his breath on your bare skin makes you shudder involuntarily, but you don't react otherwise.

"you smell really nice." he says against your neck, lips brushing your skin.

"i know." you kept your reply short, knowing that if you tried to form a full sentence, your voice will certainly fail you.

"delicious, really." you bit your lip, trying to keep the inappropriate thoughts that have suddenly begun to attack you at bay.

"rafe." you sighed out.

"hm?" the blonde hums. he reaches up towards your necklace, toying with the pendant that decorates your chest.

it was a gift from rafe; a birthstone necklace for your eighteenth birthday.

rafe normally ignored your personal space, but this felt different. it couldn’t be the alcohol–even at his drunkest he never acted like…this. you didn’t have a lot of experience with guys, but you weren’t clueless. you knew that this wasn’t how guys acted with girls they were just friends with.

he took off his suit jacket when he got in the car, the muscles in his arms on full display in the well-fitted button up he wore. his legs looked mouthwatering, muscular thighs straining against the fabric of the slacks keeping them contained. the manner in which he sat with his legs wide open, manspreading, was so tempting.

you wanted to slap yourself for even letting those thoughts come to mind. what was wrong with you? rafe is your best friend.

you blinked a few times, eyes tearing away from the thickness of his legs and back up towards his lightly flushed face. you swallowed thickly, sure that rafe could see the way your throat bobbed from his position at your neck.

"have you been drinking?" the feeling of your heart thumping against your ribcage at a rapid pace only made you feel more on edge.

"no, i'm very sober." he says, his free hand moving to the small of your back.

"okay…so why are you acting like this right now?" your throat bobbed dryly once again.

“have you ever been touched, y/n?”

the question caught you totally off-guard, the nature of it immediately causing you to head up. you almost had to physically stop your jaw from falling to the floor.

"what?" is all you could respond with, more than sure that you misheard him.

"i’ve been thinking…” he trails off for a moment. “you’re almost nineteen, and i’ve never even seen you flirt with a guy.”

“okay, so?” you lick your lips, barely able to get your words off your tongue.

“so…you aren’t worried about going into college being inexperienced?” you shrugged, unsure of what he wanted you to say.

“i’ve never really thought about it.” the words left you softly, voice slightly shaky from nervousness.

“college guys are different, y’know. they don’t like girls that haven’t ever done anything.” he says. “that don’t know anything.”

“rafe…” you whined. you felt humiliated as he pointed out your lack of experience with boys at your age.

you and rafe were complete opposites in that aspect. you never really thought about sex, unless you were in the lone darkness of your room back home. the only guy you ever really thought about was him. he was involved in almost every part of your life, and it was hard to talk to other guys when he took up so much of your attention.

rafe, however…well–rafe got around. there was nothing he hadn’t done, and you didn’t have to ask to find that out. he loved to talk to you about his sexual endeavors, and you always tried your best to drown out all the vulgar details that he never attempted to spare you.

“i’m just asking as a concerned friend, y/n.” his blue eyes flicker up to meet yours, the ocean color much darker than you remembered. “has anyone ever touched you?”

“no!” you were short with your reply again, face hot and feeling flustered. “but that doesn’t–it doesn’t matter.”

“it doesn’t matter?” he sounds skeptical, brows rising to the middle of his forehead. “you don’t want me to teach you?”

“teach me, what?” your brows went up just as far as his. you were met with silence, rafe’s penetrating eyes a replacement for a verbal answer. “i don’t think friends are supposed to do those…things with each other.” you gulped again, the temperature inside your body rising the longer the conversation continues.

“why not? it’s smart to do those ‘things’ with someone that you trust.” the blonde chuckles at the avoidance of explicit language. "why is your heart beating so fast?" he asks, moving the hand that was previously playing with your necklace to where the muscles lies to feel it bang against your chest.

that only makes it beat faster.

"because you're making me nervous." your voice gets caught in your throat.

"i make you nervous?" he asks teasingly. you don't answer. "hm? can you answer me?"

"yes," you whisper, feeling him smile against your warm skin, "you're making me nervous."

"really?"

"rafe." he ignores the callout.

"how does this make you feel?" he presses his lips to your skin, soft kisses ghosting against your exposed neck.

"rafe." he continues his antics, the furnace in the pit of your stomach burning stronger with every placement of his plump lips.

"does this make you nervous too?"

"stop." your voice comes out pathetic and weak. you weren’t sure if you actually wanted him to stop.

"do you really want me to?" your mind is fuzzy, too focused on how he's making you feel. "hm? i will if you do. i just wanna help you…wanna teach you some things. don’t you trust me?" he stops the barrage of kisses to whisper in your ear, patiently awaiting an answer.

you felt like you were going crazy.

you’ve always daydreamed of something like this happening, but that was it. dreams. you’re a hormonal, young adult and rafe is undeniably attractive–of course you would think silly things like that. there's a little voice in the back of your head telling you to snap out of it, to not go this far with a boy that’s been your closest friend for years.

it makes you want to think about how many other people he's done this with, how he's just doing this with you because he just wants to get his dick wet for the night, and you’re the closest girl to him. how you’ve barely even had a first kiss, and how it makes no sense for you to do god knows what in a car with said boy.

the other part of you doesn't care and wants to give in to what he's trying to convince you. it doesn't care that it probably isn’t–definitely isn’t a good idea. that this is so out of left field and completely inappropriate–and that's the part that wins.

"yes." you’re as quiet as a mouse, sure that the sound of the car covered up your voice.

"yes, what?" he asks sweetly, rubbing his lips against the cartilage of your ear.

"yes, rafe, i trust you." you nearly whined, desperate for him to keep going. he smiled, planting a kiss to the ear his lips were resting against.

"good."

rafe goes back to the junction of your shoulder, more firmly this time. sliding the hand on your chest up your neck and to your jaw, he turns it away to gain more access. he leaves rough, wet kisses all over, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin.

he trails the kisses down further, marks left in his wake as he leaves burgundy hickeys over the tops of your breasts, the skin left exposed by the dress you wore. he moves the fabric of the skirt out of the way, a knee placed between your legs to keep them open as he hovers for a better angle. he pauses his assault, coming up for air. he looks at your frame beneath him, panting, eyes glassy and lipgloss completely bitten off.

"you look so cute right now" you mewled pathetically in response, arching your back to push your chest closer to him in an attempt to make him start again. "calm down, pretty girl. i'm right here." he says.

"rafe, please." you threw your head back against the seat, exhaling deeply. "don't mess with me right now."

"you want me to stop?"

"you're about to make me mad." you groaned, annoyed with his antics.

"i'm sorry, baby." he smirks like something is funny. "you're just so fun to play with." he steadies himself with a hand on your hip, the other one wrapped around your neck, thumbs grazing the center column in an up and down motion.

"you aren’t a very good teacher." you gritted out, utterly frustrated.

"i’m not?" you shook your head. he sits back down in his seat, grabbing you to pull you over his lap. "first lesson. make me hard." he says.

"wh-what?" you stuttered in complete shock, stumbling over one simple word like an idiot.

"do i need to repeat myself?" he begins pressing open-mouthed kisses to your neck, up the center of your throat, and nipping at your jaw. you moan quietly at the feeling of his lips, pushing against his shoulders instinctively. "make me hard. no guy can fuck you with a soft dick."

you lick your lips, lack of experience leaving you clueless as to where to even start.

reaching around his head to grip the hair at the nape of his neck, you pulled his plush lips against yours in a bold move. you licked into his mouth hesitantly, the taste of mint toothpaste and bourbon hitting your senses immediately. rafe groaned against your lips, fisting the material of the dress in his hands; the bold choice seemed to have an effect on him. you did not go unaffected, the sound released from his throat sending a surge of heat through your entire body.

rafe was patient– letting you bite at his lips experimentally and tease his tongue with yours every now and then. you had no idea what you were doing, and you were more than sure that he could tell.

he pulls you closer to him, deepening the kiss with a sudden burst of confidence and passion. it could not be compared to the soft way you were kissing him just moments ago. his roughness against your mouth and the tightening grip he had on your hips did not match his usual sweet demeanor, the fierceness in his motions throwing you for a loop.

“jesus christ. do i even know this guy?” is the thought that hits your mind.

"sit on me." he whines, pulling away briefly. he squeezes the flesh beneath his hands, urging you to sit down all the way.

settling in his lap, you let yourself rest your weight completely on him instead of hovering. rafe grinds his hips up into you when you do this, letting you feel the barely contained bulge in his pants. you sucked in a breath of air, attempting to pull away, but he grabs the back of your neck to keep you from moving. the blonde was starting to take control of the situation again, clearly far more experienced.

you found a moment to pull away eventually, rafe chasing after with a string of saliva connecting your lips. he licks it away, the action sending your mind into a foggy mess of arousal.

"shit. hold on." you said, panting heavily above him. the boy kneads your flesh through the satin material of the gown, running his thumb over your swollen lips covered in our shared saliva.

"what is it, princess?"

"rafe," you ran a hand through the back of his hair, "why.."

"why, what?" he moves his hand back down to your neck, rubbing the bruises on the skin he made a few minutes earlier. "can you use your words, pretty girl?"

"why did you do that?"

"do what? this?" he grinds his hips up into you again and you whimper, falling forward against him to hide your face in his neck. he chuckles, pressing a wet kiss beneath your ear. "i wanted to show you how good you’re doing, that's why."

"i hate you." you muttered against his skin.

"oh, i'm sure you do."

you couldn't think clearly anymore, unable to form a full thought that wasn’t about what's going on in this car right now. you don't know how far you want to take this, but you didn't want to stop either. you'd never slept with anyone, your first real kiss was just given away to the boy beneath you moments ago.

"how much do you want to show me?" you said boldly, surprising the both of you.

"i hope you know what you're getting yourself into." he smiles lazily with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"i don't," you admit, leaning back to your original position, "but that's why i'm asking you to show me." you locked gazes with his, watching as his pupils blow out and his irises darken.

he leans forward and you meet him halfway. he laps messily at your lips and grazes the roof of your mouth with his tongue, the wet sounds of sloppy kissing and heaving breathing filling the silence of the limo. when rafe grips your neck again, he uses the grasp to keep your lips together until he decides you can come up for air.

he steals your breath away and you let him, the insistence of his tongue causing your shared saliva to run down your chin, no doubt ruining the makeup you worked on for hours earlier in the day. moaning against his wet lips, the obscenity of the kiss sent a blinding heat through your lower body.

suddenly, rafe’s hand grazed a nipple through the fabric of your dress. the action made you shiver involuntarily. he brushes over it a few times before covering your breast with his entire hand, squeezing it roughly. your body jerked against his, unable to control the reaction it had to his touch. he broke the kiss, the sound of you whimpering capturing his attention.

"you're so sensitive. do you like the way i touch you? how i take control over you?" he asks with a rough voice.

you were at a complete loss of words. not being used to being spoken to this way, you could only respond with a nod. rafe doesn't bring up an issue with your answer. you felt as your thin underwear began to grow damp, the fabric sticking to your skin as he palmed at your chest.

with glassy eyes, you watched as he groped your clothed breasts, brushing over your pebbled nipples and kissing the fresh hickeys as he worked on making new ones. rafe gazed up at your dazed expression, completely entranced with the unfiltered reactions. he’d never seen you so desperate.

"you're so adorable." he whispers against your neck.

"shut up," you respond. your breath stutters when he pinches a hard nipple through your dress, leaving it tender and nearly making you faint. he dropped his head back down to your chest, wrapping his mouth around your clothed breast. the action left you feeling dizzy, the sting of the pinch went directly to your core, leaving you clenching around nothing as you leaked pathetically into your underwear.

"rafe, stop! you're gonna leave a stain." you whined, pushing him off weakly. he pulls away begrudgingly, clearly displeased with the complaint.

"i don't give a fuck about this dress." he nearly growls.

he switched to the other breast, taking it into his mouth and tugging at the satin with his teeth. he licks roughly at the hidden nipple while a hand sneaks up to yank down one side of your dress, spreading the saliva that seeped through the fabric onto your damp skin. you hissed, the coolness of the air-conditioning causing the bud to harden even further from the wetness. you were desperate to feel his mouth lave across the bare skin. you looked up at the roof of the car, head heavy and feeling drunk with pleasure. he backs away suddenly, his hands frozen in place as he looks at you closely.

"rafe..." he groaned at the sound of his nickname leaving your mouth in such a pathetic plea for him to keep going. you ground your hips down against his in search for something to ease the throbbing between your thighs. you were beginning to lose it–your friend was single-handedly driving you insane in under fifteen minutes.

"what do you want me to do? use your words, beautiful," he looks up at you, his eyes wild and filled with lust. he ran his hands over your thighs, moving the skirt of the dress to expose your bare legs through the slit. you pulled his face towards your chest, lip captured between the sharpness of your teeth. “your second lesson is to tell me what feels good.”

"can you kiss me here, please?" your voice is quiet, embarrassed that you were begging for him to touch you.

your head fell back, all thoughts of embarrassment are gone when he pulls down the top of your dress slowly, releasing your breasts from their constraints. you weren't wearing a bra, the structure of the dress leaving no need for one; you were completely exposed to him.

rafe groans, his lips encasing one of the buds and releasing it with a wet 'pop.' he flattens his tongue against you, moving it in an upwards motion and repeating the action twice more. hovering over your chest, he opens his mouth wide to let his saliva drip down onto you before licking it back up with long drags of his tongue.

your clit pulsed intensely, eyes falling shut at the overwhelming feeling. rafe kept going, sucking and biting at your nipples like his life depended on it. his neat hair was ruined, the repeated gripping and tousling of the locks by you leaving it a complete mess. he groans against you when the manicured nails attached to your fingers scratch at his scalp.

"rafe," he dick twitched under you when you moaned his name, "please touch me. i need it." he hummed in acknowledgement, finally pulling away from your thoroughly dampened chest. strings of saliva connect his lips to your skin.

"are you wet for me, pretty girl?" the way he looks up at you through his lashes with swollen, red lips and a chin covered in his own spit is a pornographic scene.

you recognized the craving in his eyes immediately; they were a reflection of your own. with your usual shyness and critical thinking skills gone long ago, you grabbed rafe’s hand and placed it between your legs, allowing him to feel what he's done.

"fuck..." he cursed, frozen in place.

you squeal when he grabs you roughly, sitting you on one of his knees instead of over his lap. he watches your face as he pushes his flexed thigh up against your core, moving your hips against the tense muscle.

placing your hands on his shoulders, your steadied yourself as the hot pleasure flooded your body. he narrowed his eyes at you, gripping your waist tightly as he slid you back and forth across his thigh.you clung to his forearm at his roughness, the feeling of his fingers digging into the flesh both painful and arousing.

"does that feel good, baby?" you nodded, words unable to roll off your tongue properly.

rafe picks you up again, placing you back in the seat of the car. he turns to you and fits his body against your side, hiking the pink dress up and opening the slit to reveal your ruined underwear. he bites his lip as he drags a finger up and down the soaked fabric, in awe at the way it glides so easily. he pulls away, holding his fingers up to your face.

"can you get these wet for me, sweet girl?" you comply, allowing him to place them into your open mouth.

he uses his free hand to wrap around your body, groping at your bare chest from behind. the hand owning the digits that were previously encased by your mouth move back down between your legs. he uses the pads of his fingers to rub harsh, tight circles into your swollen clit, the sounds of your wetness filling the back of the car.

you grabbed his wrist in one hand, feeling your release building quickly.

you tremble against his body and he whispers sweet words into your ear, soothing you with wet kisses on your neck. you grind yourself into his merciless fingers, desperately after chasing your high as the heat spreads throughout your entire body.

"m'gonna cum," you say, on the verge of babbling mindlessly.

"you’re gonna cum already?” he chuckled at your whining, his head shaking. “how cute.”

his movements speed up unexpectedly, rubbing over your clothed pussy with fervor. your eyes squeeze shut, the pleasure building so quickly that you couldn’t keep them open any longer. the hand gripping his wrist moves up to his head, holding onto his messy hair for leverage. all of the restraint you had before had completely disappeared, hips jerking sharply into your friend's hand as you reach your peak.

"rafe-" you start loudly. the owner of the name clamps his free hand over your mouth and hushes you.

"we aren't alone, remember?" you nod, biting your lip to keep quiet, but he keeps his hand in place anyways just in case.

you whimper, thighs clamping around rafe’s hand tightly. he continues to palm and rub at your sensitive center, aiding you all the way through your climax instead of stopping despite how much your body twitches against him.

"mmm, you're taking it so well baby. making such a mess for me." you whine at his words, the sentence going straight to your gushing cunt.

the nails of your free hand dig into his arm, and the other continues pulling at his hair harshly in desperation. he groans deeply as he drags out your for his own pleasure, watching as you squirm against his hold, moaning his name pathetically through his palm.

"you're such a good girl for me," he praises into your ear, "so, so good. you learn so quickly.”

you pant against him, chest heaving and a few lonely tears falling from your eyes. you ache for something to fill your empty cunt, the feeling of his hands rubbing at your clothed core no longer enough to satiate the desire. you follow the motions of his hands with your hips now, still in a daze, unable to stop despite the overstimulation.

rafe slips his hand past the waistband of your panties, slipping his fingers through your folds and collecting the wetness that he created. you let out another pathetic whine; the feeling of his bare skin against yours causing your eyes to roll back into your head unconsciously.

"i know, pretty girl." he coos into your ear. he puts his glistening fingers to his mouth, moaning at the taste of you. he wraps a hand around your throat, squeezing it as he pulls you into a messy kiss. he pulls away, looking at your fucked out expression in awe.

he suddenly glances up towards the window in front of us and lets out a string of curses. you lift your head from his shoulder, reacting in the same way when you look out of the window.

the two of you rush to fix yourselves, the sight of your neighborhood filling the dark car windows. rafe grabs napkins from somewhere in the car, using them to wipe your chin, chest, and thighs clean, apologizing when he touches sensitive areas. he cleans his own hands and face off, throwing on his suit jacket while you adjust your dress back into its original state.

the limo pulls in front of your house, the sight of your parents’ cars and the lights on in their room shaking you slightly. you suck in a deep breath, taking in everything that just happened. you gnaw on your bottom lip, gloss long gone, and swallow deeply.

“what the fuck did i just do.”

you look over at matteo to gauge his reaction, only to find him staring already. you blush and start laughing, which prompts him to as well. your eyes rake over his body, and immediately spot the large bulge in his dress pants. the laughter fades into silence, feeling terrible for leaving him like that. what exactly do you do in a situation like this?

he catches you staring and smiles, head shaking as he laughs softly.

"i'm sorry about..." you trail off awkwardly, not knowing what to say, "that." you decide. he chuckles, moving to a seat closer.

"it's okay, don't worry about it." he says..

"well, um, i guess i should go. it's pretty late." you tell him, reaching for the door handle.

he intercepts, pulling you back towards him gently. he grabs your jaw with a firm grip and kisses you softly, sending butterflies to wreak havoc in your stomach. he massages your lips with his, the sweet movements drastically different from how he kissed you moments earlier. he pulls away, smiling with low eyes.

"i don’t think i can let the college boys have you..." he says softly, his eyes containing a look you’d never seen before.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe cameron x reader #drew starkey #outer banks #rafe cameron x kook!reader #rafe cameron x oc #obx fanfiction #obx1 #obx2 #cleoluvrr fics #rafe cameron smut #obx3 #obx fic #rafe imagine

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candycandy00 · 6 months

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The Doll House - A Geto Suguru x Reader Fanfic Part 1

You sell yourself to a brothel to feed your family and Geto Suguru is in charge of training you to be the perfect submissive sex doll.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Read Toji’s Part Here!

Read Nanami’s Part Here!

Read Sukuna’s Part Here!

Read Gojo’s Part Here!

Read Choso’s Part Here!

On the outskirts of town, there stands a particular shop called the “Doll House”. Inside its walls you can find a “doll” to match any taste you might have. All your desires will be fulfilled, no matter how depraved. Satisfaction is guaranteed! The dolls are exceptionally high quality, thanks to the skillful trainers who work with them twenty-four hours a day, molding them into perfect toys for your enjoyment.

Each trainer has a specialty that they focus on, and they all take great pride in their work. Their methods differ greatly, their approaches vary, but they all follow one rule: never get attached to a doll. After the training is complete, they hand the dolls over to their new owners, and never see them again. However, just once over the course of their careers, trainers are allowed to pick a doll they’ve personally trained and keep her as their own.

AU! Each trainer will get their own story! This is Geto’s. I’m not sure how many parts it will have. If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, let me know! You must be an adult to be tagged! Any feedback whatsoever is adored!

Smut. 18+. Dubcon. Submission. Extreme humiliation. Voyeurism. Light degradation. Masturbation. Oral sex. Deep throating. Lots of stuff! Divider by @benkeibear!

Your nerves are on fire. Your heart feels like it might burst at any moment. You never dreamed you would end up in a situation like this, but here you are: standing in the welcome room of the Doll House, being appraised by a woman with long silver hair pulled into a braid. She circles you, holding a folded paper fan in one hand, her eyes sharp.

“I think we can make something pleasing of you,” she says, red lips curling into a smile.

You exhale. Not sure whether you’re relieved or not. You came here to essentially sell yourself to the Doll House. Your parents died six months ago, leaving you and your four siblings saddled with debt and struggling to survive. As the only adult left in the family, you’ve been working various jobs to try to keep your younger siblings fed, but debt collectors are harassing them. You have to do something.

The woman with silver hair returns with a thick envelope. When you open it, your eyes bulge. You’ve never seen so much money in your life! You count it as quickly as possible, growing more shocked by the second.

“Do we have a deal?” the woman asks.

You look up at her. “I’m worth this much?”

“Oh darling, I’ll get twice as much for you after you’ve been properly trained!”

“Can you make sure this money pays off my parents’ debts? And the rest goes to my siblings?”

The woman nods. “Of course.”

“Alright. It’s a deal,” you say. She steps out of the room and returns with a contract for you to sign. You take the time to read over it carefully.

It’s a ten year contract, during which time you’ll essentially belong to the Doll House and then whoever they sell your contract to. No one is allowed to do permanent physical harm to you or prevent you from having contact with your loved ones. You have the right to terminate the contract at any time, though you’ll face dire financial consequences if you do so.

Ten years. It’s a long time, but it’s worth it to pull your family out of poverty. You sign the contract, the silver haired woman takes it, and hands the envelope to another employee. “See that all her family’s debts are settled, and use the rest to set up a monthly stipend for her siblings.”

The employee nods and leaves. The woman leads you deeper into the Doll House, then stops in a large circular room with plush red carpets and velvet-lined furniture. There are fancy polished lamps hanging on the wall, and a heavy perfumed smell in the air.

“Wait here,” she says. “I’ll see which trainer is available.”

You stand there nervously, alone, after she disappears down a dark hallway. There’s no turning back now. If you break the contract, it would put your siblings in even worse debt.

But now your mind is focused solely on your trainer. Who is he? Will he be kind or cruel? What sort of fetish will they shove you into? These thoughts plague you as you fidget with the end of the thin belt around your dress. You’re worried the trainer might be some disgusting brute who never showers. Or just as bad, someone incredibly handsome who will end up seeing you in terribly embarrassing situations.

You hope he’ll just be an average man.

“Hello, miss,” a honeyed voice says behind you.

You turn around quickly to see a stunningly beautiful man with long black hair. He’s dressed casually in dark, loose-fitting clothes and his eyes are narrowed by a smile that curves his lips in a way that makes your heart beat a little faster.

Is he a customer? You glance around, looking for the silver haired woman who went to fetch your trainer. She’s the one he needs to talk to.

“Um, sorry, I just got here. I can’t help you, but the owner should be back any minute,” you say, returning his smile. You can’t help thinking that if customers look like him, this might not be so bad after all.

“You’re new?” he asks.

You nod, feeling a little embarrassed for this gorgeous guy to know you’re here to sell yourself. “I’m just trying to take care of my family,” you say.

His smile fades as he fold his arms over his chest. “Aren’t you afraid? I’ve heard they do some pretty extreme stuff here.”

You glance around to make sure the owner isn’t nearby. “Between you and me, I’m terrified! The scariest part is the trainer. I mean, some strange man is going to have complete control over me? What if he’s just a big pervert?”

The customer laughs, his dark eyes twinkling. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but I think anyone who works here is going to be a pervert!”

You laugh too. “I guess you’re right. Well, I just hope he’s not too rough on me. I’m a very sensitive person.”

He tilts his head forward, one long strand of bangs falling over his eye. “Are you now?”

You feel a sudden chill. You almost forgot this guy is here to buy a doll. Who knows what depraved things he’s into? You let out a small nervous giggle. “Uh, just keep that to yourself if you don’t mind. My trainer might use it against me.”

He smiles warmly, holding a long finger to his mouth. “My lips are sealed.”

Just then you hear high heeled footsteps coming down the hall. It’s the owner! You turn to face her, dreading to see what sort of man she’s bringing with her, what sort of man will be doing whatever he wants with your body for the next few weeks.

But she’s alone. Could she not find an available trainer?

“Oh, Geto, there you are,” she says, looking behind you. “I see you’ve already met your new doll.”

Your blood freezes in your veins. You slowly turn around and look at the ridiculously handsome man you thought was a customer. He flashes you a wide grin. You reflexively back away from him. “You’re my trainer?!”

“That’s me,” he says. “You can call me Master Suguru.”

Oh no. This is the worst possible outcome. You just blabbed all your fears and weaknesses to him. Not to mention the fact that this man, this beautiful man, was going to see you naked, was going to witness your clumsy attempts to be sexy. How humiliating! Your face was burning already.

He steps around you and heads down the hall. “Follow me and we’ll get started,” he says, looking at you over his shoulder.

You’ve only been here a short while and it’s already turned into a nightmare. The training is going to start now? You haven’t even had a chance to unpack you belongings or see your new room. You reach down to get your small suitcase, but your trainer calls out, “Leave your things. You won’t be needing them anytime soon.”

With a sigh of resignation, you walk down the hall after him, a huge knot in your stomach.

He leads you to what appears to be a luxurious bedroom. More of the plush carpets and high end furniture. There’s an ornate bed in the center of the room. Oh God, is he going to fuck you right now? You’re not prepared!

“This is my private room,” he says, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “We’ll do much of your training here, but sometimes we’ll use other areas of the house. During your training, you’ll be with me twenty-four hours a day. You’ll eat with me, sleep with me, bathe with me…”

Your face must have twisted in horror at that last comment, because he laughs at your reaction. “You’ll get used to it,” he says. “By the way, I’m guessing you’re curious what my specialty is. Right?”

You nod, too nervous to speak.

“Submission. Humiliation. Degradation.”

You feel like you’ve been punched in the gut. “S-so… basically… you’re going to be really mean to me?”

He smiles as he stands up and steps closer to you. “It’s more than that. I’ll train you to enjoy it, to find pleasure in giving yourself to your owner, in being insulted and berated and humiliated.” He’s so close now that you can smell his scent, like sandalwood and citrus. He reaches up one hand and touches your face. “But yes, I’m going to be really, really mean to you.”

You shudder at his words, at his closeness, at his soft fingers on your cheek. Then he steps away suddenly and sits back down on the bed, casually. “I don’t use physical force generally. I don’t hit or shove or fully restrain. I dislike using violence in my training. I have other ways of disciplining you.”

He pauses to watch your reaction, then he goes on, his sensual voice seeming to go lower. “You will obey my every command. You will do anything I tell you to do, no matter how unpleasant it is. Failure to do so would be a breach of your contract. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes,” you stammer out, looking down.

“That’s ‘Yes, Master Suguru,’” he says.

“Yes… Master Suguru.”

“Great!” he says, clapping his hands together once, startling you with the sound. “Now let’s do a little test run to see how well you follow orders. Take off your clothes.”

“R-right now?” you ask, your face positively on fire. He says nothing but narrows his eyes, giving you a warning look. There’s something scary about it. “I mean… yes, Master Suguru.”

He smiles then, still sitting on his bed as if the two of you are having a normal conversation.

You untie the belt around your dress and drop it to the floor. Then you step out of your shoes. You pause for a moment, not sure if you should unzip your dress on the side or simply pull it over your head. You decide to unzip, thinking it will slow this process down by even a few precious seconds. Suguru offers no commentary as you slide the dress down your hips and let it pool around your ankles. He just watches.

Left in only bra and panties, you look to his face, as if silently asking if this is enough. He still says nothing, only stares at you expectantly. His silence is nerve wracking, his eyes on you almost unbearable. You unhook your bra and pull it off, resisting the urge to cover yourself with an arm. Then you take a deep breath before pushing your panties down to the floor, stepping out of both them and the dress.

Once fully stripped, you keep your eyes on the floor, your hands stiffly at your sides.

“Look at me,” he says, and you force your eyes up to his face. His gaze is burning holes into your body. At least that’s what it feels like.

“Alright,” he says in a pleasant tone, “now lie down on the floor, with your feet pointing toward me.”

You blink in confusion. Is he going to take you on the floor? When there’s a perfectly nice bed right there? But you don’t hesitate for long. You carefully get down on the carpet, trying to be as modest as possible, and then lie down as he instructed.

“Spread your legs. Draw your knees up toward your shoulders.”

Well, so much for maintaining your modesty. You knew it was a futile effort anyway. You follow his orders, feeling like your whole body is on fire with shame. He’s looking at you. He’s looking at your most private parts.

“Now pleasure yourself,” you hear him say.

You raise your head up from the carpet to look at him, praying that he’s only joking, but he’s not laughing. “I can’t!” you say, unable to conceal the terror in your voice. This is too much. You can’t possibly do something so embarrassing in front of this man!

He stands up from the bed and steps over to you, looming over your naked, spread open form. “Oh? Already refusing orders? We can do this in the main hall if you prefer. The other trainers would probably enjoy the show.”

“No, please!”

He kneels down in front of you, practically between your legs. “Or, you can just get up and walk out. No one is forcing you to do this. You came here of your own free will, didn’t you?”

You close your eyes, tears leaking out. He’s right. You came here on your own. No one brought you here. No one even suggested it. The whole thing was your idea. You knew things like this would happen, and you came anyway. An image of your siblings flashes in your mind, and you know you have to do whatever it takes to keep them happy and healthy.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” you say, using one hand to wipe your tears. You wait a moment for him to back away, but to your horror he remains where he is, inches away from you, with a clear and perfect view of your pussy as you reach one shaky hand down to lightly rub yourself.

Your eyes close as you sniffle, trying to keep yourself from crying. You slip one finger into your folds, trying to focus on the feeling and forget that you have an audience. You’re dry, because of course you are. Lying there holding back your tears is not the least bit arousing.

“Look at me,” you hear him say, and you almost sob. You open your eyes to find him hovering over you, his silky hair spilling over his shoulders, his eyes moving from your hand between your thighs to your face, his luscious lips curled into a predatory smile.

Oh God. He’s so gorgeous. It’s entirely unfair.

You feel the first drops of wetness as your fingers glide over your skin, spreading it around, glossing it over your clit.

“There you go,” he says, his voice low. “Finally getting wet. What did it for you? The fact that I’m watching?”

You don’t say anything, just keep stroking your clit with your finger, your breaths coming quicker. You’d rather look anywhere else in the world, but he ordered you to look at him, so you’re forced to look him in the eyes as he watches you touch yourself. You’ve never been more embarrassed in your life, but your fingers are becoming slicker the more you think about it.

“You’re gushing now,” he says, leaning so close. “Does it feel that good, being watched? I can see everything you’re doing, every little movement of your fingers, the way your clit twitches… it’s obscene.”

His words are getting to you. You’re so slippery that you can feel your arousal wetting the carpet beneath you.

“I bet you do this all the time at home,” he says. “Do you?”

“S-sometimes…” you manage to say, struggling to focus on anything besides the pleasure.

“What do you think about when you touch yourself at home?”

“Ahhh…. being touched… by someone else…”

“Touched by who? A boyfriend?” he asks.

“I… don’t have a… ahhhhhh!!” The moan escapes you before you can finish.

“No boyfriend,” he confirms. “What about an ex boyfriend?”

“N-never… had one…”

He seems surprised by that. “Really? Then… are you a virgin?”

You hesitate. You planned on keeping that fact to yourself for as long as possible. You’ve heard horror stories about trainers intentionally being rough on virgins.

“Answer,” he says in a commanding voice.

“Yes,” you finally say, holding back another moan.

He grins, his eyes shining. “What a slutty little virgin, moaning and dripping all over my carpet, getting off on a stranger watching you rub your clit.”

Your back arches involuntarily, your hips nearly bucking off the floor. He’s so, so close to you. Why won’t he just touch you himself? But he just watches, sometimes looking you in the eyes when you moan, making this as embarrassing as possible.

You’re close, your legs trembling, your stokes becoming faster, the humiliating wet sounds getting louder. He notices, saying, “Ask for permission before you cum.”

You don’t waste any time. “M-may I please… ahh… cum… Master Suguru?”

He waits for a moment, watching your face while smiling serenely. Then, when it feels like you’re about to explode, he says, “You may cum.”

It feels like the orgasm slammed into your body. You’ve never felt anything so intense before! You’ve masturbated before, when you could find some private moments, but it always seemed like an underwhelming experience. This… this was incredible.

When you finished convulsing on the floor, you collapsed back into the carpet, your legs splayed apart on either side of Suguru. You panted, closing your eyes and just wanting to sleep. After a few seconds, you realized he’s never moved, so you look back up at him.

He’s just staring! It’s unnerving. You use what little strength you have to start to scoot back so you can at least close your legs, but he suddenly stands up before you can move. He returns to the bed and sits down again.

“Crawl over to me,” he says.

You roll over to your stomach and then get to your knees. Your legs feel weak, almost like they don’t belong to you, but he gave you an order. Feeling low and foolish, you crawl on hands and knees over to him, your thighs sticky with your cum.

Once you’re right in front of him, he reaches out and lightly strokes your hair. “Ready to meet your true master?”

You look at him curiously. “Huh? But I thought you were-“

Your voice cuts off as you see him reach into his pants and pull out an imposingly large cock. It’s both thicker and longer than you imagined, standing tall and proud in his lap, fully erect. He slides one of his hands over it.

“This is your true master. For the next few weeks, your life is going to revolve around my cock, around pleasuring it. When it’s not in one of your holes, you should be begging me to put it in one. When you sleep, you should be dreaming about it. Until your training is complete, my cock is your whole world. Understand?”

You’re sitting on your knees in front of him, your “true master” practically in your face. “Yes, Master Suguru,” you say, then you pause and look up at his face. “Uh, do I have to call it Master Cock or something?”

He blinks down at you, then suddenly bursts into laughter. “No, no, that’s not necessary,” he says, patting your head and then wiping at the corner of his eyes. “But you can go ahead and try sucking me off.”

You look from his face to his dick, then back again. “Okay. I mean, Yes, Master Suguru.”

He smiles then, seemingly pleased that you’re getting better at addressing him properly.

You scoot closer to him and reach out with one hand, loosely gripping the hard fleshy rod with your fingers. It feels strange in your hand, a slight twitch to it that reminds you of a small animal. You move your hand up and down the length, wondering if you’re supposed to do it fast or slow, if your grip is too hard or too loose. Your eyes keep flicking up to his face to check his response, but his expression remains only a mild smile.

After getting a feel for it, you lean your face forward and give the tip of it a tentative lick, then another. You look up at him, unsure of what exactly he wants you to do.

He sighs. “You’ve never pleasured a man before, have you?”

You shake your head.

“I can tell,” he says, and your face burns again. He didn’t have to say it like that. “Since this is your first ever blowjob, I’ll teach you how to do it. I expect you to please me from now on.”

You nod, embarrassed but relieved to be told what he wants.

“Lick the underside of it, from base to tip,” he says, “then take it into your mouth. Use your saliva to make it wet.”

You follow his directions as best you can, running your tongue up the length of it, slowly, then taking the whole thing as far into your mouth as you can. It quickly hits the back of your throat, so you pull back just a little, enough that you can move your tongue around it, glazing it with your spit.

“That’s good,” he says, resting one hand on your head, long fingers threading into your hair. “Don’t neglect the balls,” he adds.

You reach one hand up to lightly squeeze them as your tongue swirls around his shaft, making it slick.

“Use your lips.”

You tighten your lips around him, moving your head up and down, slobber and precum spreading all over your mouth and chin. You want to wipe your mouth, but you realize this is part of it. Making a mess on your face is probably the point.

“Your tongue is slacking off,” he says, and the disappointed tone of his voice somehow hurts. You don’t even know why you want to please him so badly, but you do. So you pull him out of your mouth and run your tongue up and down the length before digging it gently into the tip, getting the whole thing soaked with your saliva and then wrapping your lips around it again. You take him so deep this time that it triggers your gag reflex, and you hear a slight catch to his breath. He likes that!

Feeling a little more bold, you press down further, letting him fill your throat, but when you panic because your breath is cut off, you feel his hand on your head press down even further. Tears spring to your eyes as you try to jerk back, but his grip is firm. “Relax your throat,” he says, “and don’t stop moving your tongue. Yes, that’s it. You’re doing good.”

You try to relax, to trust that he won’t kill you while he’s fucking your throat. You ignore the burning feeling, the soreness settling into your jaw, and keep licking, keep sucking with your lips. You have to please him!

Just when you feel like you might black out, he pulls your head back, his cock popping out of your mouth. You gasp for air as he strokes your head.

“Now be a good girl and ask for my cum,” he says, moving his hand up and down his drenched cock.

You look up at him with teary eyes and red face, still trying to catch your breath. “May I please have your cum… Master Suguru?”

“Stick out your tongue.”

You open your trembling lips and extend your tongue as far as you can. Seconds later, warm ropes of your trainer’s cum shoot out, most of it landing directly on your tongue, some of it landing on your cheeks and chin, some even going further into your mouth.

His hand is still stroking your hair sweetly as he smiles down at you. “Savor it. Don’t spill any.”

You pull your tongue back in, swirling the cum around to coat the inside of your mouth, then open your lips so he can see. “Good, good,” he says, “My slutty little virgin knows how to treat her master’s cum. That’s really good. Now swallow it.”

Gulping it down, you feel a tingling sensation throughout your whole body from his praise. You want more of it.

He grabs a tissue from his nightstand and uses it to wipe off your face, then stands up. “Let’s clean up,” he says cheerfully, walking toward a door in the back corner of the room. You climb to your feet and follow after him, finding yourself in a large bathroom. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the shower. There’s no curtain, no door. It’s simply an open stall. There’s even a chair positioned across from it, for someone to sit in and watch.

Suguru takes the chair, looking comfortable as he gestures toward the shower. “Go ahead. There’s plenty of soap and shampoo. I put a new loofah out for you.”

You stare at the open shower, then back at him. “You’re just… going to watch?”

His dark eyes peer at you. “Unless you want me to help you.”

“No, that’s okay!” you say quickly, stepping into the shower and turning the water on. You yelp when the cold water hits your skin, and you hear him chuckle. Once you get the water just right, you grab the soap and begin bathing, just trying to get this done as fast as possible.

Suguru’s voice echoes in the room. “Interesting. Most women start by washing their hair,” he says, obviously just trying to keep you aware that he’s watching. “But you’re starting with your tits. Hmm.”

You glance at him over your shoulder. “Do you have to narrate this?”

He laughs heartily for a few moments, then stands up all at once and walks over to the shower, stopping just outside the water’s reach. “You’re funny. But starting tomorrow, I won’t allow any back talking,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “Understand?”

You shiver despite the heat of the water. “Yes, Master Suguru.”

The smile returns to his face. “Good, now face me while you shower.”

You grimace as he returns to the chair. He’s really not going to let you keep even a shred of dignity, is he? But you hurry through the process and feel a hundred percent better when he hands you a towel to dry off with. It’s not big enough to wrap around your body, but you can cover some of yourself while using it. When finished, you look at him and ask, “What do I wear?”

“Hmm? Oh, you wear nothing.”

“Huh?!”

He looks as if your reaction confuses him. “Why would you need clothes? You’d just be taking them off all the time. So during your training, you won’t be wearing any.”

You feel your heart drop to your stomach. “But… what about when I have to leave this room?”

“You’ll be leaving it in the morning. We’ll have breakfast in the main hall. What about it?”

You stare at him, horror-striken. “I can’t wear anything even then? But the other trainers…”

He laughs. “Oh don’t worry about them. They see naked women all the time, most of them with bodies much better than yours. They’ll hardly notice you.”

You hold the towel up in front of you, suddenly feeling self conscious. “Please don’t make me do that,” you whisper, tears in your eyes again.

“No one is making you do anything,” he says. “Break the contract if you want.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Then do as you’re told. And drop the towel, you’re already dry.”

“Tell me about it,” you mutter under your breath, flinging the towel onto the floor.

He looks at you sharply, eyes narrowed to slits.

“Y-you said I can’t talk back starting tomorrow!” you say defensively.

After a pause, he laughs again. “I did say that, didn’t I? Well, I’ll let your bad behavior slide just for tonight. Now about your dryness problem…”

You tense up, wondering what he’s planning to do to you now, but he doesn’t approach you. Instead he pulls his black shirt over his head, revealing a toned, muscular torso. He reaches up and unties his hair from its half-up style, letting it flow freely around his shoulders. Then he shoves his pants down, stripping completely.

Your mouth falls open as you watch him step into the shower. How can a human being be so beautiful? How was it possible?

You’re not so dry anymore.

He points to the chair and says, “Sit. Don’t look away.”

Look away? You don’t think you could pry your eyes off him with a crowbar. Every move he makes is sensual. Washing his hair, soaping up his chest, even cleaning his ass looks sexy. It just wasn’t fair. How were you supposed to handle this? How were you supposed to humiliate yourself in front of this perfect specimen over and over again?

When he’s finished drying off, he pulls on some cozy looking clothes, very similar to what he had on earlier. Long sleeved black top that fits him loosely and similarly fitting black pants. He looks warm and comfortable, and you can’t help feeling cold and even more exposed, even though the room is decently warm.

He goes over to the closet and pulls out a thin blanket, reaching it to you. “You’ll be sleeping on the floor, beside my bed. Don’t make that face, this is part of your training. You’re submitting to me completely, right?”

You look at the blanket in your arms, then the floor. The carpet is thick and soft, so it could definitely be worse, but compared to Suguru’s fancy bed, the floor looks dismal.

You sigh and walk over to the side of the bed, then lie down and spread the blanket over yourself, thankful to finally be able to cover up.

Suguru stands over you, staring down with a blank expression. “What is it?” you ask nervously, wondering if he has some nefarious plan in mind. In all honesty, you’re surprised he hasn’t fucked you yet. A tiny, buried part of you finds that just a little disappointing.

He looks away from your face, rubbing the back of his hair. “Just for tonight, and only tonight, you can sleep in the bed with me.”

You sit up, holding the blanket to your chest. “Really?”

He hesitates, then nods. Sensing this is a one time opportunity, you get to your feet, leaving the blanket behind, and crawl under the covers of his bed. It’s so soft! And warm! You snuggle in, hugging a pillow to your face. You feel the bed shift as Suguru climbs in, but you’re fast asleep before he even reaches over to turn off the bedside lamp.

#geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru #geto smut #suguru x reader #Geto #jjk geto #Geto Suguru smut #Geto Suguru x you

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reputationmunson · 1 year

Note

hi mads! how r you? i was wondering if i may request a enemies to lovers with fake dating between reader and steve? where she's shy and kinda nice with everyone but somehow doesn't get along with him... and suddenly they have a situation and have to pretend to be dating... btw, love your writing!

i’m doing well and i hope you are too :) thank you for the request and i’m so happy you enjoy my writing that means so much to me! i hope you like this and i hope it's okay i'm making it multiple parts!

Crossing Lines | S.H x fem!reader

Part One | part two | part three | part 4

summary: Steve isn’t your biggest fan (understatement of the year), so why does he ask you to be his fake girlfriend for a wedding?

content: enemies to (eventual) lovers, fake dating, mentions of drinking, swearing, a guy at the bar is kind of creepy, mentions of reader and eddie having a past fling, use of y/n (not too often)

word count: 3.7K

a/n: this is a little shorter than I anticipated, but I’m going to try and make future parts longer.

There’s something strange about having an “enemy”. Especially when that enemy is Steve Harrington. You don’t exactly consider him an arch nemesis, but there’s really no other way you can describe your relationship with him. You aren’t friends with him by any means, not anymore, despite your several attempts at kindness.

Cupcakes you made him got thrown in the trash, smiles you’ve given him had been reciprocated with glares, and every time you spoke was the perfect time for him to roll his eyes.

No matter how many times you try to pinpoint a moment in your life where you might’ve offended him or done something to make him have such a great dislike for you, there’s nothing you can come up with.

You never had many interactions with Steve in high school, which isn’t very surprising. You always tried to stay in the background with your nose buried in a book and he was the complete opposite of that.

You admit you had a teeny tiny crush on him in high school, much like the other girls. How could you not? He was so charismatic and carried himself with confidence. You weren’t as immune to the Harrington charm as much as you liked to pretend you were.

It wasn’t until he became friends with Robin a few years ago that you had your first real conversation with him. She’s been your best friend since you were six and if she was convinced he changed, then you were willing to give him a chance.

He seemed like a completely different person than the boy you used to pass in the halls as he talked about how wasted he got the night before with his herd of wannabe Steves.

He was friendly and also a little bit of a clutz. Sort of awkward, as well. He was still handsome, though. A lot more handsome. His eyes were kinder and his hair as lovely as ever. You always wondered how it managed to still look so soft after that much product usage.

After the first two months of what seemed to be a friendship, he flipped the switch. His words to you became grumbles and he always kept a distance from you, like he’d go into anaphylactic shock if any part of him accidentally brushed yours.

It drove you mad. The one thing in life you always tried to do was treat everyone with kindness no matter what and he made it nearly impossible. You had more friends in your life now than you thought imaginable and it was nearly perfect, but all you seemed to be focused on is how much Steve hates you.

From Steve’s point of view, he would never outright say that he hates you. It’s more of an annoyance. Your shared friend group constantly raves about how great and delightful you are. The kids, who aren’t kids anymore but always will be to Steve, idolize you. Everyone thinks you walk around with rainbows and sprinkles shooting out of every single one of your orifices.

You and your delicious baked goods that you make in celebration every time someone so much finds a lucky penny on the ground. You and your stupid perfume that makes you smell like a damn bouquet of flowers. Your dumb dimples and eyes that some might claim light up a room every time you smile. Don’t even get him started on the short, nonsensical pleated skirts you wear.

You’ll probably be wearing one of those skirts tonight when you all go out for drinks later and he dreads it, terribly. Definitely not because he’s attracted to you, no, that’s insane, but because of all the guys that are going to swoon over you and he’ll have to be responsible for making sure none of those creeps try to touch you.

Robin made it very clear to him early on that you are off limits. She told him he wasn’t ready for a girl like you. You’re different from the girls he takes on dates and sleeps with. You aren’t a ‘hit it and quit it’ kind of gal, as she put it. . She said you’re a hopeless romantic, spending the rest of your life with one person, the type of love they write songs about, kind of gal. Steve wants to settle down one day, but he also isn’t ready for that yet.

Apparently, Robin forgot to give Eddie the same speech because Steve caught the two of you in a hot and heavy makeout sesh at a party awhile ago. Steve put all of the puzzle pieces together that you and Eddie were secretly hooking up. It wasn’t hard to figure out with all the glances, giggles, and body language. Plus, the sexual tension was so obvious.

No one else knew, neither of you even know that Steve’s aware anything ever happened.

Yes, you and Eddie were hooking up. Past tense. It was nice at first, way more than nice. You’d never done the whole no strings attached thing and you felt comfortable with him, but then you both quickly realized that it would end in complete disaster and called off the agreement. Surprisingly, there was no awkwardness after, but you did miss him sometimes.

It was gratifying to be out of your comfort zone, but you needed more. You wanted a love that felt like an easy Sunday morning everyday, but as long as you were confined to Hawkins, you doubt that you’d ever find it.

The bar was absolutely packed tonight, crawling with regulars, college kids back for the summer, and high school students with fake ids. There was a bachelor party sitting in the corner shouting obscenities and catcalling any girl that walked by them.

It was overwhelming. Usually this place, even on its busiest night, is still manageable to walk to.

Your walk to the table where your friends are sat feels like you’re climbing mount everest.

“y/n! you’re here!” Robin hops out of her seat at the high top table and throws her arms around you, squeezing you a little too tight. You can smell the tequila on her breath and her cheeks are flushed. That, combined with her affection for you, alerts you she’s one drink away from being hammered.

Everyone else happily greets you, apart from Steve who gives you a tight lipped smile and takes a drink of his beer so he doesn’t have to say hi because god forbid he speaks one of the shortest words in the english language to you.

“I’m gonna go grab a drink. Does anyone need anything?” you ask. “I’ll go get your drink. It’s a madhouse in here, what do ya want?” Eddie offers and you lay your hand on his shoulder, making Steve subtly roll his eyes so no one notices. “That’s sweet, Eds, thank you. I’ll have a vodka cran please”

“He’s, like, so in love with you” Robin says and you laugh. Steve laughs too, but not out of being humored like you are. “He’s not in love with me. He’s just nice, unlike most of the guys in here” you say the last part a bit louder and look at Steve when you say it. His eyes roll again and you think that must be the only thing he’s good at because he does it all the time.

“Your beverage, madam” Eddie says as he hands you your drink and sets down a tray of tequila shots for the table. “Do we really need more shots, Eddie?” Steve groans. “Tapping out already, Harrington? I guess we shouldn’t be surprised” you tease and he scoffs. “Oh, that’s just rich coming from you”

“heyheyhey, can you two have your lovers quarrel another time? We’re all here to have a good time, okay?” Robin reminds you and you give her a sorry smile. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Let’s not waste this tequila!” you exclaim

You all cheers your shot glasses and when you lick the salt of your hand, Steve’s eyes can’t leave you. He’s still staring when you put the lime in your mouth afterwards, you close your eyes in satisfaction and suck out all the juices. He hopes he never has to watch you take another shot again.

When your eyes open, you see Steve staring at you and he immediately looks away and pretends to be occupied by whatever the bachelor party to his left is doing. His mind drifts to the wedding he has to go to next weekend. One of his cousins on his fathers side of the family is getting married and he’s dreading it. Being surrounded by his snooty, rich family members who are all CEO’s of some business and they’re all married to or engaged to the ‘perfect woman’ that they undoubtedly cheat on while away on ‘business’ trips.

Speaking of business, they can’t keep their noses out of Steve’s life. When are you going to get a ‘real’ job?, when are you gonna settle down and have kids?, are you still living in that tiny apartment?. So no, he isn’t exactly looking forward to telling his family he’s a single loser who practically lives in a shoebox.

“Steve? Are you okay?” your voice brings him back from his thoughts. “Yep. perfectly fine”

“Ya sure? You seem distracted” he hates that you care. Eighty percent of the time, you’re still so nice to him, apart from a few jabs every now and then, despite his coldness towards you. “Just thinking, so you don’t have to pretend that you care.”

“Okay…I’m gonna go to the bathroom” you say before leaving the table.

“Why are you such a dick to her? She’s the nicest one out of all of us.” Eddie’s tone is sharp as he defends you. “I’m just stressed about this wedding I have to go to and my entire family is going to be there and I’m the only one without a date so that’s just another thing they’re going to criticize me for” Steve sighs and looks down at his drink.

“How about that girl you went out with last month? Trisha?” Nancy suggests and Steve scrunches his nose. “No can do. I realized I slept with her roommate after the first date” he cringes at the memory of walking into her apartment and seeing a familiar face sitting on the couch.

“You could borrow nance? She’d just have to take off the engagement ring” Jonathan jokes and the table laughs. Steve considers it for a half of a second, but realizes his parents already know about her engagement to jonathan. “Nice job, Steve. You let the only decent girl who liked you get away and now she’s with that byers boy” he recalls his dad saying in a snarky tone.

“I have the perfect idea!” Robin exclaims and everyone waits for her to continue “you should ask y/n to be your date!”

“That’s a terrible idea, Robin. Why would I do that?” It isn’t a terrible idea. His family would be over the mood to see him with a girl like you. You’re kind, funny, smart and gorgeous, but he’d never admit those things to anyone, least of all you. But the thought of spending a whole weekend with you seems like torture.

“Actually, that could work. You need to get over this weird hatred you have for her and this could be some good bonding! Maybe you’ll finally realize how great she is” Nancy states. “I know you all worship the ground she works on, but that isn’t good enough reason to ask her to pretend to be my girlfriend”

“Just think about it, okay?” Nancy says, kindly and he half-heartedly nods. The conversation ceases as you arrive back at the table and everyone stares at you. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

“No. Nothing. We just missed you” You know Robin is acting weird about something, but you let it go. “um, okay. I missed you guys too for the whole five minutes I was gone. I'm gonna go get another drink.” you tell them before making your way to the bar.

“Hey, beautiful. Wanna take a shot with us?” One of the men from the bachelor party asks as you walk by their table. “No thanks. Have a good night, guys” you walk away and hope they leave you alone.

One of the guys gets up to follow you. Steve’s keeping an eye on you and moves to get up when he sees the guy following you. “I’ll be right back, guys”

“C’mon, baby, let me buy you a drink” Steve hears him say to you as you’re standing at the bar. You look uncomfortable and with the bar packed, you barely have a way to escape. “I already said no. Just go back to your friends”

When he moves closer, Steve steps in between the two of you. “She said no, man. Just leave her alone, alright?”

“you her boyfriend?” he slurs and Steve can’t believe the words that come out of his mouth “yeah, i am. so, fuck off, okay?” your eyes widen when Steve says he’s your boyfriend.

“Alright, alright.” the guy puts his hand up in defense “she’s all yours, buddy”

“are you okay? you’re not gonna cry or anything are you?” he asks when he turns around to face you. “No, I'm fine. You didn’t have to do that. Thank you” you smile at him sweetly.

“It’s whatever. Don’t let it get to your head” And just like that the Steve you know is back. “Can you tell everyone that I went outside for some air?” you ask and he nods then you go your separate ways. He watches the door to make sure you get outside alright.

“So, hypothetically” Steve starts once he returns to the table “How would I go about asking her to be my fake girlfriend?”

“Just be honest about it. Oh! and offer to pay for everything!” Robin says. Her advice could not be more vague. “I still think this is a terrible idea, but I literally have no other options, so when this goes to shit just remember it was all of your fault” he tells them before turning around and bearing the crowd to get outside.

When he walks out the door and into the fresh air, he sees you standing up against the brick exterior of the building. “Don’t tell me you came out here to check on me. Thought you said I shouldn’t let anything go to my head?” you raise your eyebrows at him.

“You are not making this any easier” He puts his hands on his hips and throws his head back, letting out a sigh. “Making what any easier?”

“I have a proposition for you”

“I don’t do prostitution, Steve”

“It’s not- would you just let me talk?” he groans and you make a zipping motion over your lips and throw away the invisible key. “Okay, you owe me a favor after what I did for you, right?- don’t make that face you totally do- anyways, I have a wedding to go next weekend and my family is always harping on me about having a girlfriend and I was thinking-”

“you want me to be your girlfriend?” you ask in a skeptical tone.

“What did I say about letting me talk? and no not girlfriend, fake girlfriend. Just for three days”

“You can barely stand to be around me and you want me to be your pretend girlfriend?”

“Look, I know it’s weird, but we don't have to worry about feelings or some shit like that being a problem because there’s no way that would happen” he explains. “What do I get out of it?”

“A super fancy hotel and all expenses paid. You’ll even get to pretend that you’re dating someone as hot as I am” he smirks and you huff out a humorless laugh. “You’ll pay for everything?” he nods “you’ll drive, too? I hate driving” he nods again “and you’ll be nice to me?”

“Ugh, fine, okay. I will be so nice to you that you’ll puke. Is that a yes?”

“Sure, why not. Can I talk in a British accent and pretend to be part of the royal family? ya know, to fit in with the rich people?”

“Absolutely not”

“Why are you no fun, Stevie?” you whine. “Stevie?” his brows furrow. “yeah, i’m thinking that as your new girlfriend, my nickname for you is Stevie”

“Fake girlfriend” he reminds you “Stevie, you’re so uptight.” you pout at him and he hates himself for his eyes lingering on your lips.

“So, what time should I come over tomorrow?” you ask like you’ve already been invited to his apartment. “What?”

“We need to hang out so you can get used to not acting like I don’t have the plague. Plus, we need to get to know each other” you state. “Fine. Come over tomorrow night and we’ll go over everything”

“Looking forward to it, Stevie”

You knock on Steve’s door at 8 p.m. sharp with a bottle of wine in hand because let’s face it, you’re both going to need it. “Hi, Steviekins” you greet as he opens the door. “That’s worse than Stevie”

“You love Stevie and you know it”

“Just come inside” he grumbles. “I ordered a pizza if you want a slice. It’s in the kitchen”

Once the wine is poured and you sit on the couch to eat, you pull out your notebook and two pens from your bag. “Are we writing each other love notes or something?”

“No, doofus. We’re taking notes on each other. Our likes, dislikes, details about our relationship” you tear out a piece of paper and give him a pen. Even your pens and notebook were nauseatingly adorable. “If I knew this was going to be like school I would’ve asked Robin”

“ha!” you laugh loudly “she would punch you if you tried to hold her hand or do anything that was even remotely romantic” you point out “and you’re not going to punch me?”

“I’d like to say no, but I’d hate to be a liar”

You and Steve practically chug your wine and pour a second glass before playing your own version of twenty questions.

“What’s your favorite color?” you ask to start. “My favorite color? you really think my family is going to question you on shit like that?” he responds and you glare at him. “Okay, fine. um, blue, I guess”

“That’s so basic”

“Then what’s yours?”

“all of them” you reply. “all of them? really?” he snidely remarks. “yes, moving on”

You learn an abundant amount of things about each other, much against Steve’s will. You know each other's favorite candies, movies, songs, all the way to childhood memories and discussing scars you have and how you got them.

Then you moved on to the details of your relationship. Friends first, fell in love, you know the deal. You’ve “been together” for five months. Long enough that it’s somewhat serious, short enough for it to make sense that you haven’t met his parents yet.

The bottle of wine is almost gone and Steve’s cheeks are flushed and his eyes are a bit glossy. If he wasn’t the bane of your existence, you might even think he looks pretty.

“Can I ask you a question? and not one about your favorite food or anything like that” you ask in a soft voice and you seem a little nervous. “Sure, go ahead.”

“Why did you ask me to do this? i’m like the last person you should’ve asked”

“That’s actually why I asked. If I asked a girl that has any romantic interest in me at all, then it might get confusing, ya know? With you, once these three days are over we can go back to normal. There’s no risk of us falling for each other”

“Oh, I guess that makes sense. I have an observation, by the way. You always speak of love like it’s a terrible thing. Why is that”

“Holy shit that’s a loaded question. Um, well the first time I was in love was in high school and we all know how that turned out. Haven’t been in a serious relationship since so I guess it’s hard for me to believe that it’s as great as everyone says it is” he sighs. He’s never drinking wine again. If it makes him this vulnerable with you he can’t imagine what it would be like if someone else was sitting here.

“Do you still love her? Nancy?” you wonder. “No, I don’t. I have love for her, but just as a friend. What about you?”

“No, I’m not in love with Nancy. She’s pretty and all, but can’t say i’m in love with her”

“Shut up, you know what I mean. You’re always raving about some dumb romance novel, yet I’ve never seen you with a boyfriend.” he says and you sigh “There’s not much to tell. Hopeless romantic with standards that are too high”

There’s a hint of sadness in your voice and you clear your throat before speaking up again. “So, I think that’s enough for tonight. I know way more about you than I ever wanted to”

“Right back at ya. I’ll walk you to the door”

“It’s a short distance, I’ll manage”

“Hey, I gotta start working on being chivalrous as your fake boyfriend. Can you stop being stubborn for one second?”

He walks you ten steps to the door and even opens it for you. “Same time tomorrow night? unless you're busy” you say, halfway out the door. “What could we possibly have left to learn about each other?”

“We still have to work on acting like we’re in love. You might have to put your arm around me this weekend. Oh, the horrors!” you gasp dramatically and he suppresses a laugh because he refuses to let you think you have the ability to make him laugh.

“Tomorrow's fine. But if something comes up and you have to skip that would totally be okay”

“You’re such an ass” you whine. “Not as much as you are” he retorts.

You flip him off as you walk away and he does the same.

He can’t wait for next weekend to be over so he can go back to pretending like you barely even exist.

part two coming soon to a screen near you ;)

#steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington enemies to lovers #steve harrington fic #steve harrington series #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #stranger things fic

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dumblilb · 7 months

Text

I KNEW THEN

Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader

(Synopsis: You have loved Ellie since the moment she moved to Jackson. You just didn’t know it at the time. Inspired by Graceland Too by Phoebe Bridgers.)

(Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, smut with way to much backstory lmao, switch!Ellie, switch!reader, oral (reader and Ellie receiving), fingering, friends to lovers, tlou!au, smoking weed, cursing, fluff)

(Words: 3629)

You had been in Jackson about a year before Ellie had showed up. So when her and Joel moved in next door, your parents practically shoved you out of the house to go invite them to dinner.

You knocked on the door messing with the hem of your shirt. Till it swung open and a scruffy looking man stood in front of you.

“H-hello.” You stuttered out.

“Hi there.” Joel says and you muster up your best smile.

“I live next door and me and my parents were wondering if you guys would like to come over for dinner?” You explain. You can tell the man is tired and you expect him to say no. But he gives a polite grin and nods.

“What time?” He asks and your face lights up.

“Six.” You smile.

“See you then.” He says and shuts the door as you walk off. You couldn’t help but feel giddy at the thought of him bringing the new girl in town over. You had seen her a few months back when they first found tommy. She was walking with Maria in town and you had bumped into them. The girl took a knife out of her pocket and held it to face you. You were so startled you fell back onto the snow covered floor.

“Ellie there’s no need for that.” Maria says and the girl lowers the knife as Maria helps you up.

“Sorry y/n.” She apologizes. And you dust your clothes off.

“It’s fine. I should have been watching where I was going.” You say as the girl next to her just stared at you. She had really pretty green eyes and freckles covering her frosty cheeks.

“Y/n this is Ellie. She’s a friend of Tommy’s brother.” Maria explains and you stick out a hand to shake. She looks at you funny but returns the gesture.

“Nice to meet you, I guess.” She says and you just smile ignoring that last bit.

“You too.” You say and they continue to walk leaving you to stare at the auburn haired girl.

You hadn’t been able to forget her since. She just seemed so cool and grown up compared to you. Even though you found out from your mom when they moved in that she’s the same age as you.

So as you ran home you thought of all the stuff you needed to do to get ready for tonight. You wanted her to like you.

You went into your room and shut the door loudly behind you. You stood in front of the mirror wondering if you should change your hairstyle up, or if you should put on some perfume. You changed your shirt twice and ended up laying on your bed, annoyed at the way your jeans fit, when your mom walked in.

“Are they coming over?” She asks taking in your newly messy room.

“Yeah at 6.” You say and she smiles.

“You better clean up then. What if she wants to see your room.” She teases you and you shoot up right. Looking around at the clothes scattered on your floor and the mess displayed on your vanity. You gasp internally. ‘Oh no’ is all you could think before you started to pile clothes into your hands and rush them to the laundry. Your mom just laughs before going to set the table. You finish up and rush to put on your earrings as you hear a knock at the door.

You dash past your parents and open it up. At first you only see Joel, who moves inside to greet your parents, which finally gives you a good view of her. She looked different than when you last saw her. Not really in appearance, but her demeanor. She seemed some how even more reserved. She had her hands in her pocked and a tired look on her face. All the work you had done lost all meaning in a mater of seconds and you felt humiliated realizing she probably wouldn’t care at all what you had done to look good, or how nice your room looked. But you mustered up the courage to give her a smile.

“Hi.” You say your voice almost cracking.

“Hi…” She says awkwardly. You move aside letting her in. She looks around as she gravitates towards Joel. Him and your parents notice this so as you shut the door your mom says-

“Why don’t you girls go hang out in y/n’s room as we finish up dinner.” Your heart drops as you stare at her wide eyed. Ellie just sighs and Joel nudges her in an attempt at getting her to be polite. You nervously lead the girl to your door and walk in. She stared at your posters that adorn your walls and the books and comics piled up by your bed.

“You wanna sit?” You ask motioning to the bed. She just shrugs and takes a seat. You doing the same.

“So uh, you like comics?” She asks breaking the silence and you look up at her.

“Oh yeah, I have a little collection. You like um too?” You smile and she nods.

“Yeah I had some but I couldn’t bring them to Jackson.” She says a little more comfortable than before.

“You can borrow some of mine. I’ve reread them like a hundred times so they could use some fresh eyes.” You say and she lights up.

“That would be really cool, thanks.” She says giving you a smile. It’s the first time you had seen her smile. Your stomach flipped at the sight. She was so pretty.

“So uh, do you like music?” You say and she nods enthusiastically. You spent the rest of the night getting to know each other. Talking about your interest and favorite things to do. You found out she really liked space and drawing. And you vowed to show her your favorite movies. You both were laying on your bed reading one of your comics in very loud and dramatic display when your mom knocked on the door opening it up.

“Dinner.” She says and can’t help but smile at the big grins on both of your faces.

Dinner at your respective houses became a weekly thing. And quickly a deep friendship was made. You were together all the time. You would sleep over in her garage all the time. To the point that you practically had your own drawer in her dresser. When you got old enough Maria had you and Ellie paired together on patrols. Ellie hated it. Not that she had to do them, but the fact that you got hurt so often. You’d never forget your first day. It was snowing and your feet hurt from the hours of walking in the heavy boots.

“Stay behind me okay.” She smiled moving some of your hair out of your face. You nodded and followed her around the corner towards a broken down fence. She was about to climb through when you both heard noise behind you. An infected was running straight for you. Ellie had spent weeks teaching you how to shoot. But it all seemed to slip your mind. You shot at it a few times before it tackled you to the ground. You grabbed a large rock that was next to you and tried to bash its head, but it was no use. Ellie ripped it off you stabbing it multiple times in the head. Blood splattered across her face as she did it. It fell dead to the ground and you looked up at her. The deep red lay against her frosty pale skin making your stomach flip. She kneeled in front of you and wiped away some that got on your cheek.

You had always thought Ellie was pretty. It never seemed weird to you. But in this moment you realized pretty wasn’t a good way to describe her anymore. It seemed too juvenile. Something any best friend would say. She was beautiful. When she looked at you it was almost polarizing. As she gave you a hand your grip trembled. Ellie would convince herself you were just scared after what just happened. But you knew it was the way she held on for a little too long after you got up that had your knees weak.

“Are you okay?” She asks rubbing your shoulders.

“Yeah, I’m okay…”You say not breaking eye contact.

From that day on you couldn’t help but notice little things about her. Like how she rested her hand on your waist when you would order for her at the tipsy bison. Or how she would kiss your forehead before leaving on a patrol you weren’t assigned on. Or how she was so protective of you when it came to the men in town. Little did she know they wouldn’t have a chance if they wanted one.

Ellie noticed things about you too. Like how you make sure to give her a compliment everyday. Or how you can’t help but cuddle up with her when you sleep over. Half the time leaving her aching as you sleep on her chest. Knowing it’s as close as she’s ever gonna get to what she wishes. She’s known how she’s felt about you since the first day she got here. You were just so gorgeous. It made her super nervous, so when you were so nice to her she couldn’t believe it. You began to get so close that she felt almost disgusted with how much she liked you. She even tried to date a little over the years to get over it. She dated this girl named cat who covered up her scars with a large tattoo on her forearm. But she knew that wouldn’t work out when all she could think about was how excited she was to show it to you.

The day of your 19th birthday you and a few friends went to the bar to do makeshift karaoke. Your parents, Joel, Tommy, and Maria all sat at a table in the back laughing at the sight in front of them. You and Ellie danced around like children as Dina and Jesse sang a horrible rendition of my heart will go on. When they finished up you got up and grabbed the guitar you borrowed from Joel. You start to strum and they all sit down.

You start to sing. At first all you could focus on was where you were putting your fingers. Knowing you weren’t as good as Ellie or Joel. But as you got farther into the song you looked up from the strings and at her. Whenever you heard this song you thought of her. You thought of her voice and how her skin feels against yours. You thought of how much she’s gone through and how many times she been your personal defender. You thought about how no matter what you did she was always the first and last thought you had each day. She consumed you. All you could do was stare at her as the words left you lips.

“Said she knows she lived through it to get to this moment. Ate a sleeve of saltines on my floor, and I knew then.

I would do anything you want me to.

I would do anything for you. I would do anything, I would do anything. Whatever you want me to do, I will do.

Whatever she wants, whatever she wants.

Whatever she wants

I will do anything

Whatever she wants

Whatever she wants…..”

The air felt thick as you both looked at each other. The others clapped and you got up walking towards her. You said nothing. Not one word. You just took a seat next to her and watched the next performance. She gripped your hand. Tight. And she didn’t let go till you got to her place that night.

You sat on her couch with a joint between your fingers and her legs entangled with yours. She ran her fingers down your thigh as she looked at you. She was humming the song you sang as you let out a puff of smoke.

You had shared endless nights like this. But the feeling that only can be described as understanding roamed through the air. You were terrified. Cause you couldn’t hold it in any longer. You turned to face her, just taking the moment in. She had changed into an old t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts. Her hair was half tied up. And as she took the joint from your fingers to her lips, the sight of them parting made you squirm in your seat. She let out the smoke and you finally spoke up.

“Ellie.”

“Yeah?”

“I want you to know something.” You say and she hold your hand on hers.

“What’s up?” She says trying to play it cool. She can’t remember the last time she found anyone as beautiful as she found you right now.

“I- I think I’ve liked you from the day I met you.” You say in almost a whisper, causing her to chuckle nervously.

“I would hope so. We’re kinda best friends.” She jokes and you hold her hand tighter.

“Ellie. I’ve loved you since the day I met you.” You finally let out without falter. She went tense. But her face softened. You look at her trying to read her mind. You rub the back of her hand with your thumb. Causing her to shiver. She finally lets out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding in. And she smiled. She put her hand out to caress your cheek.

“God, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear that.” She breathes causing you to let out a small giggle.

She moves her hand to the base of your neck. Pulling you towards her.

“Im glad. Cause you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this.” You whisper and gently press your lips to hers. She grins into the kiss as you run your fingers from her hands to her arms. Moving to where she’s slightly on top of you, she separates slowly. Placing small kisses around your face. You place one last kiss to her lips before you pulled her up to go lay down.

“I’ve gotta say this is probably my favorite sleep over we have ever had.” She smirks and you push her shoulder.

“You better shut up or I’m going home.” You threaten. Small laughs leaving your lips.

“Oh yeah sure. I bet you think the stuffed bear on your bed kisses better than me too.” She smiles now hovering over you. Her knees on either side of your hips as she kisses down your neck.

You grip her hips tightly messing with the hem of her shirt. Sliding your thumbs into the waistband of her boxers you tug a little causing her to nip harder at you neck. She stops for a second to remove her shirt. Causing you to stare up at her in awe.

You wrap your arms under hers and glide your fingers down her bare back.

“You’re so beautiful.” You mutter causing a pink tint to coat her cheeks. You pull her down and start to kiss a line down her chest. Returning the favor she had done to your neck. She lets out a shaky breath gripping your shirt in her hands. She pulls it off of you slowly to let the feeling of your lips linger on her skin a little longer.

“Fuck..” she whispers. A hot feeling pooling in her stomach as she looks down at your chest. She places her hand on your skin rubbing the plush of your tits softly with her thumb, making your head lean back at the feeling. Your hands rest in her hair as she leans in connecting her mouth to one. Her tongue massages the area causing you to let out a soft moan. A hand travels down to try and remove your pajama shorts. So you lift your hips to help her. Grinding into her slightly causing her to groan.

She traveled down your body leaving sloppy pecks to your skin as she goes. She thumbs the damp era of your underwear.

“Hmm.” She sounds and you look down at her. “Can I-“

“Please.” You say. Urgency in your voice.

She lowers herself to place her nose to your clothed core and she breathes in deep causing you to gasp at her actions. She tugs at the fabric helping you get it off you legs. Leaving kisses down and back up your inner thighs as she goes. Spreading you open with her fingers she plays with your folds painfully slow. Neglecting your clit on purpose just to hear you whine.

“Ellie-“

“Shhhh…” she whispers placing her lips to your cunt leaving small kisses the the area. The vibrations of her statement making you close your eyes.

She dips her tongue in grazing it up your slit. And gently sucking on your sensitive bud. You groan loudly making her grip your hips harder. Begging to move quicker she massages the area, making you grind into her face. You grip the messy bed sheets tightly as she brings a hand to slowly insert a finger into your cunt.

She moves at a delicate pace looking up at you. Your face was contorted in pleasure as you let out a moan. Your skin was starting to glisten from sweat and each time you thrust towards her, your chest would bounce. A wet spot was forming in her boxers from the sight. Your knuckles were white as you gripped her sheets. But as she moved slightly one of your hand released its grip and found a new place in her hair. Tugging slightly to direct her where you needed. She complied happily. The feeling of you clenching as she added another finger almost being enough to make her finish herself.

“Ellie don’t stop… I’m gonna…” You barley get out as she pumps her fingers in you rapidly. Running circles on your clit with her tongue as she goes. Your head rolls back as you place your other hand to palm your chest pinching yourself as a wave of release washed over your body. Letting out a string of curses as she lets you ride out your high removing her fingers. Happily cleaning you up with mouth. She kisses up your chest to your cheeks using her thumb to open your lips, she places the fingers she was just using to them. Letting you taste yourself.

“You did so good.” She smiles softly as she places a kiss to your forehead.

“I’m not done.” You say sitting up and flipping her on her back, causing her to look up at you in shock.

“It’s my turn. Whatever you want.” You smile sweetly leaving small kisses to her cheeks as you straddle her hips, locking her down.

“All I’ve ever wanted is you.” She whispers holding your face softly in her palms. Bringing you in for a kiss. It was needy. Like she was making up for lost time. Years of pent up frustration letting itself out in this moment.

You separate for a second to pull off her boxers. You notice the soaked spot but don’t say anything. Like it was a little secret all for yourself. You liked knowing that you had the same affect on her as she did for you.

You gripped her legs pulling her closer to the edge of the bed as you got down bedside it on your knees. You hoisted her thighs over your shoulder.

“God you’re so hot.” You groan as you run your palm down her toned abdomen. When you place your mouth on her slit you swear you hear her whimper out your name. She thrusts slightly on your face. Causing you to hold her down tighter. You start to move your tongue over her clit in small up and down motions, making tension build in her. You could tell she wanted to move quicker so you let her do just that. She used your face like a toy as you assisted her hips in ridding your tongue. She brought a hand down to play with her clit as you inserted your tongue in and out of her heat.

“You feel so fucking good.” She stammers out as you move her hand and replace the sensation with your lips suctioning the area and your fingers plunging in her. A loud groan escapes her lips. She couldn’t help but lean forward a little to watch you. You take notice to this and hover over her. Kissing her neck slowly. Her fingers grip your hair as your fingers continue to fill her walls. Your palm rubbing her puffy clit in the process. She becomes louder, letting out a string of curses her hips turn restless as you add another finger curling up slightly to hit her spot.

You can feel her clench around you tightly as her legs twitch. You feel her release. Cumming on your fingers making you smile against her. Kissing down her body, You remove your fingers with a steady motion. Licking her clean you drag it up to press your chest against hers. You leaned into the crook of her neck as she breathed heavily. Her chest moving up and down, mimicking yours.

You both got comfortable heads resting on her pillows as she connects her lips to yours. You feel something wet on your cheek and separate to look at her. She had small tears in the corners of her eyes. You brought your hand to caress her as she pulls you in tight, clinging to your body.

“Why are you crying?” You ask softly kissing away a tear that threatened to fall.

“I’m just so happy. I wish it wouldn’t have taken us this long to get here.” She sighs nuzzling her head in your chest with a big grin.

“Me too. Im so glad I have you.” You say running your fingers through her roots as she falls asleep in your arms. With a smile resting on her features.

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upsidedownwithsteve · 9 months

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Steve Harrington x fem!reader [14K] PART ONE OF TWO old money steve, an infatuated waitress, no labels, a disaster waiting to happen. some smut, some jealousy and too many mentions of monaco. 18+

And, baby, for you I would fall from grace

He came into the dining room of the club one Saturday afternoon. Sunkissed, tall, broad, stubble on his jaw and a gold chain glinting from the collar of his white shirt. He had a navy sweater draped over his shoulders, expensive sunglasses in his shirt's front pocket, an unassuming looking leather strapped watch on his wrist - but you’d learned well before then how to tell the difference between new money and old money.

And Steve Harrington was old, old money.

The watch cost more than your car and a year's rent on your apartment. Fuck, it cost more than you’d probably ever make working behind the bar of Hawkins’ country club. It cost more than the short black dress you were made to wear, the one that cinched you in at the waist and flared out over your thighs. It shone more than the gold plated name badge that was pinned on your chest, making your plunging neckline even more obvious. It cost more than the black heels that were part of your uniform, more than the five dollar balm that made your lips glossy and peach coloured.

But still, Steve Harrington and his old, old money noticed you.

—————

The restaurant was full, the bar even busier, the smoking lounge that sat through the double doors stuffed with leather chairs, studded couches, velvet footstools and table lined with cigars in wooden boxes. The full place smelled like bourbon and smoke, expensive cologne, perfume that cost even more.

The Lake House country club was Hawkins’ finest institute, an old Manor House that was built on the shore of Lovers Lake, across the water from where teens liked to lurk in their cars and between tree trunks. The Lake House was where the town's elite came to dine, to drink, to lounge and talk. There were brunches with champagne and whisky, afternoon tea with ladies who wore diamonds and pearls, dinners with wine from 1802 and business meetings on the golfing green. Money poured from the club and filled the cracks in the old bricks, men with their daddy’s money bringing in their daughters, their sons, their wives. And when the family drove home in their Bentley, girlfriend’s arrived in red bottomed shoes, perching on laps in the smoking lounge like it was their jobs.

Maybe it was. You weren’t supposed to ask.

Your job was to stay behind the bar, a huge mahogany thing that took up most of the back wall. Everything was dark wood and lined with green velvet, the bar stools suede and gold studded, the bottles of alcohol on the glass shelves nothing less than a month's paycheck each. Martini glasses glittered, whisky was in the air like car fumes and the lime you were cutting into wheels was making the cut on your finger pulse.

He walked in then, into the busy room like he owned it. The Harringtons were certainly wealthy enough to do so, but Michael Harrington and his wife simply liked to dine at the club on Sundays, take up on the tennis courts midweek and finish the day at the spa with a massage each.

Six hundred dollars a session to hire out the court, four hundred dollar scotch, three hundred dollar steaks (eighty dollars more for the potato dauphinoise), five hundred dollars for a couples massage. Oh, and a one hundred dollar tip for the fucker unfortunate enough to have to deal with them.

In cash, of course.

But their son? Steve Harrington moved out of Hawkins long before anyone could work out if he’d grow up to be as cold as his father. Away from small towns, rumour had it he went to New York, an apartment in Manhattan, a job on Wall Street where he started at the bottom and worked his way up on luck, expensive vodka and daddy’s money. But then again, others said he spent his summers in Europe, talks of Italian villas, vineyards in Tuscany, selling yachts to the elite in Cannes, spending his time trading money through casinos, long months in Monaco during the spring.

Seeing him back in Hawkins was unusual, uncommon, a goddamn rarity - but there he was, letting himself drop into the barstool in front of you like a Greek god etched from marble so expensive that you could barely afford to look at it. He sat with a friend, another twenty something that looked more man than boy because of their tailored trousers, crisp shirts, linen and cashmere and gold on their wrists, round their necks, family rings on their hands.

Steve Harrington didn’t click his fingers at you like other members of the club did when they demanded to be served, but he did rap two knuckles against the bar top, a gold band on his middle finger hitting the wood. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up, careful and cuffed just below his elbows, the top three buttons undone to show off tanned skin and a smattering of chest hair. More gold, a thin chain settling in the dip of his throat, stubble along his jaw that looked like it was there deliberately, not because he’d forgotten to shave.

You held your breath when you approached. You’d never served the youngest Harrington before - fuck, you’d never seen him here - but you knew who he was and the reputation dripped from him.

Old money, older estates, acres of land, shares in companies that were so ridiculously rich you didn’t know what they were for. Fast cars, scandals in Europe, yachts with his name on it.

Stomach in knots, you straightened up, smoothed down then front of your dress and put on the same smile you used for all the club members. “Gentlemen,” you greeted, “what can I get you both?”

Steve looked at you but his friend didn’t, his back to you as he surveyed the room, mumbling comments about the lack of skirt that showed up this early in the afternoon. You recognised him, a regular in the later evenings, Jonathan Byers, a fiend for a good cigar, an even bigger fan of the girls that held the poker events on weekends.

“Two Macallans,” Steve told you, already fishing out a money clip from his trouser pocket. The clip was gold, engraved with his initials: SMH. “Twenty year reserve, no ice.”

He really looked at you then, thumbing through one hundred dollar bills, eyes raking up and down your frame as you stood and listened diligently. Even when you turned to pull the bottle of scotch off the top shelf, you could feel him watching, one eyebrow quirked, full lips parted just a little, the top of his tongue peeking from between. Steve looked interested, intrigued. Maybe just a little less bored than before.

You kept your head down, polishing the tumblers before you poured, a three finger amount of the dark amber liquid and the smell of fire and smoke filled your nose. You’d watched enough men sit around the bar and swirl their drinks under the nostrils, waffling about notes of chocolate and spice before they sipped. It all smelled the same, no matter what price was on the label, like car fuel and burning. Steve downed the drink in one when you handed it to him, like he wasn’t swallowing liquid fire that cost him more than you’d make in a week.

You watched as his throat bobbed, his lips coming away from the rim of the glass a little glossy, how he licked over his bottom one to catch any alcohol that lingered. Then he grinned, all perfect teeth and charm before he passed you six hundred dollars in notes.

You nodded your thanks and went to the cash register, smiling what you hoped was politely as you tried to hand him back his change. Ninety dollars, pressed neatly in a pile of twenties and tens. The boy waved you off, still paying a lot of attention to the bare skin along your neckline, gaze running up the column of your throat. His eyes found yours when he finally spoke and god, they were the same colour as the scotch he just shotted.

“Keep the change, honey.” Steve smiled again, a smug thing that made you aware of how warm your cheeks were. Then he slid on a pair of sunglasses he took from his shirt pocket and pushed his hair back with a hand, nudging his friend to drink up before they both slid off the stools. “Just make sure it goes in your own pocket, okay?”

You gaped at him. The Lake House’s policy when it came to tips - no matter how generous - was for them to be placed in a jar in the back office, ready to be split between staff, however hard individuals had worked, or not worked, that shift.

The money burnt your fingers. “Um, that’s very generous but I can’t—”

Steve lifted a navy sweater he’d draped on the back of his chair, crushing the soft fabric with one hand. He used the other to reach out, plucking the bills from your fingers so he could fold them all together. His gaze met yours when he leaned back over the bar, unblinking, knuckles grazing the bare skin above your chest when he tucked the money into the neckline of your dress. It stayed there, hidden and you had to snap your jaw shut when Steve grinned at you before he pulled away.

He raised a finger to his lips, like you were sharing a secret and not a sackable offence and his friend snorted, like he’d seen it all before. Maybe he had.

“See you next time, honey,” Steve drawled, fishing keys out of his pocket. The silver logo of BMW glinted in the low lighting. “Thanks for the drinks.”

That was the first time you met Steve Harrington.

Just to touch your face

The next time, he was with a group of people in the smoking lounge, all of them loud, most of them dirty rich and he had a girl on his lap. A waifish thing, pretty and delicate with a ruby pendant that settled in the dip of her chest. She held a martini glass aloft, one that you had to refill and you cursed The Lake House and its rules as your heels taptaptapped across the marble tiles. The hem of your dress swished across your thighs, your hand held a gold tray and the fresh martini swirled in its glass atop it, a well practised movement that made sure none of it spilled. The olive inside tumbled around gin and vermouth.

Inside of the lounge, smoke billowed. Cigars and cigarettes poised between fingertips, hanging from lips that couldn’t help but spill secrets about their dirty businesses, the people they slept with before, the people they’d bed tonight. Nobody moved out of your way as you squeezed past tables and between the low sofas, leather and velvet brushing the backs of your thighs until you were able to present Steve Harrington’s lap warmer with her new drink.

She took it from your tray, replaced it with her empty glass and said nothing. It was her hand on Steve’s chest that caused him to look away from the men he was talking with, a hushed sounding discussion about money in Monaco, about the company and its takings for that summer. He frowned at the girl and her pawing until he caught sight of you, his lips lifting in a smile that seemed more dangerous than welcoming.

You smiled back, polite to a fault, throat going dry when you watched Steve’s gaze drop to that bare expanse of skin above your neckline. It wasn’t obscene, it wasn’t even suggestive. In fact, there was barely any amount of cleavage on show at all per the clubs rules but Steve was fixated on a freckle below your collarbone and the feel of his eyes on you made you fidget.

You tucked the tray under one arm and tried not to shuffle on the spot. “Can I get you anything, sir?”

There was something in Steve’s reaction to your question. Maybe it was the ‘sir,’ the way you tipped your head towards him when you said it, soft and gentle and pretty. He knew you had to call all the members of the club such niceties but Steve’s eyes flashed and his lips parted, the hand he had on the arm of the sofa curling around the leather a little tighter.

“A Macallan,” he asked, just like the first time. “No—”

“No ice,” you finished for him, nodding. “I’ll bring that right over.”

You blew out a breath when you turned, heels clicking on the marble as you made your way back to the bar. The lights were dimmed throughout the club in the evening, wall sconces letting out a warm glow, the huge fireplace in the main lounge roaring, popping and cracking with wooden logs. The whole place smelled like pine, like cedar and smoke and expensive leather. Women laughed softly, hanging off their husbands arms, dripping in pearls, in jewels, in false pretences. You smiled nicely at passing club members as you poured Steve’s drink, hands a little shaky from you out down to missing your lunch break, not excitement.

Definitely not nerves.

You placed the chilled glass back on the tray, amber liquid shining inside the crystal, and made your way to the smoking lounge. Steve was alone when you returned, his lap empty, the girl gone. Not just from his lap, but from the room entirely. You scanned the lounge, expecting to see her on her way back, maybe with a complaint about the drink you made her, just to make you feel small but no - she’d been removed. Your heart skipped, an awful stuttering feeling that you didn’t want to feel. Lowering the tray, you offered Steve his drink, gaze cast down as you felt his on you the entire time. Steve leaned up, too close, taking his drink and smiling at you.

You were just about to leave when:

“Why don’t you join me?”

The rest of the room was as loud as it was before, music under voices, laughter mixed with a saxophone record, conversations in the smoke. But Steve’s voice rang out almost too clearly from amongst it all. Still, you blinked at him, lips parting in surprise. “Sorry?”

Steve nodded at the seat next to him as he sank back into the couch, an arm thrown over the back of it as he took a sip of his scotch. The watch on his wrist caught the low light as he ripped the glass against his lips, cheeks flushed from the log burner.

He was dressed in what you assumed he’d deem a little more casual than the last time you saw him. A black silk shirt, short sleeved and with the top few buttons undone again. No visible label, no ostentatious brand name on the chest but you knew well enough by then to know that just meant it was even more expensive. Black trousers, tailored for him and a pair of black boots with a sharp toe. His hair was less styled, maybe from the way his lost friend had been running her fingers through it earlier. Strands of it fell into his eyes and you swallowed hard when you realised you were staring.

“Take a seat,” Steve asked again, lips curling up in amusement at your flustered expression.

You blinked at him before you remembered to stand back up straight, tucking the tray back under your arm and hoping that none of the club's managerial staff were lingering nearby. You’d already spent too long away from the bar. “I, um, I can’t. I’m sorry,” you pressed your lips together and tried not to look too regretful. “I'm working.”

Steve snorted, a sound that should’ve been more unattractive than it was but it only made you want to hear what he had to say. He took another pull of his drink, barely wincing when the burn of it trickled down his throat. You did the maths in your head, wondering how it felt to be swallowing seventy dollar sips. He raised his brows and shrugged, looking around theatrically.

“And?” The boy smiled, equal parts pretty and smug.

You were a little flustered, both at how nice he looked when he smiled and how bold he was being. You opened and closed your lips before parting them again, another polite smile there. “I need to get back to the bar,” you explained. “I’ll get into tr—”

“Trouble?” Steve finished. He shook his head and grinned, a megawatt thing that made you understand that, yes, all the rumours were true. That the famed Harrington Charm was very much a thing. But fuck, his father didn’t smile at you like that. In fact, he didn’t smile at all. “Oh, honey. No one gets in trouble unless I say so. Worried Frederick is gonna fire you?”

Steve dropped the name of your manager like they were friends. They probably were. He looked at you expectantly over the rim of his glass as he took another sip, licking the liquid from his lips. You wondered if he tasted as expensive as his liquor choices.

You nodded, shrugging, grasping for a reason to say no to this boy - this man. The line at the bar was growing, annoyed looking men clicking their fingers at a flustered looking new girl who was trying to pour champagne into a wine glass. Guilt gnawed at your stomach.

“He won’t fire you,” Steve assured. He patted the leather next to him, gold ring glinting in the warm light. “C’mon. Sit. I want to talk to you.”

You couldn’t help yourself.

“Do you always get what you want?” You said it quietly, watching Steve’s lips curl into a grin when he heard.

Another smile, mega watt, just for you. He tipped his head back and laughed, a pretty sounding thing that made the muscles down his neck stand out, chin tilted up to the gold leafed ceiling.

“Yeah,” he told you, eyes dancing, cheeks flushed from the fire, the lights, the scotch. “I do.”

You shouldn’t have done it. You weren’t allowed. There were strict rules about staff mingling with club members - fuck, it was written in red ink on your contract. You were too used to some of the clientele pushing the limits, trying to soften your boundaries with wads of cash, talks of a private plane to some European city where their wife didn’t like to visit. Older men, rich men, business men, family men. All looking for someone young and easily led and agreeable to have fun with between meetings and luncheons, someone to light their cigar and top up their drink for them. They liked to look at you like something to eat up, to chew up, to spit out when they were done and Frederick inevitably hired someone new and younger and prettier.

You’d seen it happen before. Girls sucked into the lifestyle they could never have, coming into work with new shoes, red bottomed heels with their uniform dress, a Chanel lipstick in their purse, a Porsche waiting outside for them after their shift finished and in the end, a scorned wife in the dining room ready to throw a drink over them.

You’d seen it all.

But Steve Harrington was looking at you with so much intrigue. A pretty smile behind his tiny glass of three hundred dollar scotch, messy hair, bright eyes, that black silk shirt that looked easy to slip your fingers into. He was younger, more subtle with it all but the easy confidence in which he spoke to you had you squeezing your thighs together and wondering if your chest would stop feeling as tight.

It didn’t.

You sat down.

Steve grinned, victorious and he moved against the leather sofa so he was sitting back against the arm, turned to face you fully. He brought one foot up to rest on his other knee, hand curling around his leg, and from there you could see the tiny brand on his loafers, a little gold insignia. Yves Saint Laurent. You wanted to laugh. His shoes cost more than you made in three months.

“What’s your name?” Steve asked.

You wore the same gold plated pin that every other staff member wore. The Lake House engraved on it along with the logo, a stupidly elaborate key. Underneath, your name was printed in bold letters, but Steve wasn’t looking at it. He was watching your face, brows raised expectantly. He wanted to hear you speak.

Pressing the tray to your lap, you lingered on the edge of the couch, eyes darting around for your boss, or worse, the girl this man was last seen with. Was it his girlfriend? Did he have a wife? You weren’t sure how old Steve was, but you didn’t see a ring on his wedding finger, not that that meant much in a place like The Lake House. Wedding bands frequented coat pockets more than fingers here.

You swallowed and told him your name, your voice cracking with nerves that you tried to laugh at but that came out wobbly too. Your shyness made Steve grin a little wider, his wide hands curling around his ankle as he lounged back against the cushions and appraised you with a look that shouldn’t have been proper for public.

He repeated your name back to you and it sounded so much sweeter on his lips. He said it slowly, a low murmur that made your tummy clench, like he was tasting it out, tasting it on his tongue. “That’s a pretty name,” he said. “I’m Steve Harr—”

You laughed, sharp and surprised. “I know who you are, Mr Harrington.”

If Steve was shocked by his news, he didn’t show it. It was your job to know the members, after all. Their names, their families, the work they were in. Their favourite table, their favourite drink, the time they liked to dine, their preferred slot for playing a round of golf. So instead he smiled and nodded before holding out a hand.

You took it and he squeezed gently, shaking it politely as he said, “well then, please call me Steve.”

You nodded, wondering if that was allowed. None of this was allowed. Fuck, you glanced around again, eyes a little wide, wondering if Frederick was in his office, god forbid, watching you through the cameras. Steve must’ve noticed this, because he swallowed down the last of his scotch and set the empty glass on the table. You’d have to move it soon.

“Relax.” His arm stretched out along the back of the sofa, tanned and corded with lithe muscles. His fingers tapped a beat on the leather, close to your shoulder. “Nothing bad is going to happen.”

You laughed, a shaky, ironic sounding thing. You forgot who you were talking to, just for a second, your heart pumping. “That’s easy for you to say.” You swore then, a pained noise, because Frederick was marching out of his office, three piece suit right across his shoulders and his pocket watch swinging.

He was coming over.

You made a noise similar to a squeak, drinks tray clutched to your chest and you made to jump up but Steve’s hand stopped you. Warm and wide, it took up most of your knee and you blinked at it in surprise. He didn’t move it when you stared at him and he still didn’t move it when Frederick approached, red faced and nostrils flaring.

“Mr Harrington, sir, it’s so good to see you back at The Lake House,” your manager began, his voice a well practised purr. There was a slight British tinge to his voice, one you knew was fake. “Please take my sincerest apologies for you being bothered. I’ll be asking my staff to join me in the office for a much required conversation about professional boundaries. Please excu—”

“Fred,” Steve greeted warmly, his smile much more forced than the one he’d been giving you. Frederick twitched. “Nice to see you.” Steve’s hand still covered your lower thigh and squeezed slightly, in what you thought was supposed to be reassuring but his thumb on the inside of your knee made you too warm. “No need for anything like that, actually.” Steve said your name, wrapped it around his tongue and licked over his lip like he was savouring it before he continued. “—was invited to sit with me.”

The clubhouse manager hardened, a flash of annoyance going over his features and his neck grew more red in anger. He smiled through it, a tight lipped thing that Steve grinned at and you had to duck your head, panic ripping through your body. You couldn’t lose this job.

“How nice,” Frederick finally ground out. He clasped his hands in front of him and glared at you from the sides of his eyes before he smiled at Steve again. “I hope my staff is doing her utmost to keep you pleased, Mr Harrington. Do not hesitate to ask for anything.”

You hated the way he said it, like any club member could get anything they wanted from you, just because they had enough money to be here. It made you square off your shoulders and lift your head, emboldened. Steve was watching you, that look of intrigue on his face once more. He nodded at Frederick and then gestured to his empty glass.

“Actually, Freddie, could you be a pal and fetch me another?” His tone was too polite, bordering on patronising. Frederick’s tight smile grew tighter, a thin line that stretched across his ruddy face until you feared it might split. “A Macallan, no ice. Anything for the lady?” Steve turned to you and winked, a subtle thing that let you know everything was under control.

But you knew better than to rock the boat, better than that, you knew not to drink on the job. Especially from the club’s bar. The only thing you could afford from behind the mahogany counter was the one thing Steve always refused. Ice.

“No, thank you,” you murmured.

Your manager had no choice but to walk away, his back rigid, proverbial steam coming out from his ears. You watched him snap Steve’s order at a poor, unsuspecting barman who then brought it back over on another shiny tray. He raised his brows at you when Steve thanked him for it and you shrugged, not knowing what was going on either.

When he left, Steve turned back to you, leaning back into the sofa. He looked more tanned that the last time you’d seen him. Maybe it was the dim lighting, the warm glow from the sconces along the walls, the amber coloured shade on the lamp beside him. Maybe he’d just been back to Italy.

Monaco. France. Spain.

He took a sip, eyes dancing over you and when he brought the drink back down to rest on his knee, he spoke. “Have you worked here long?”

It took you a second to realise he was speaking to you again, his voice lower and softer than it had been with your boss. You noticed Steve has a habit of direct eye contact, always looking right into your own eyes as he spoke. It was a little jarring, the confidence, that bold type of charm that must come with always getting what you want.

“Uh, yeah,” you scrunched your nose, trying to remember months and years. “Three years now, or close enough.”

“I should’ve come back sooner,” Steve quipped back, his smile easy, his eyes roaming over you. His ring tapped against his glass of scotch and you didn’t know what to do. Was he flirting with you? “Do you live in town?”

“Couple miles out, smaller place near Sugar Creek.” You weren’t sure why you were telling him this.

“Yeah, I know it,” Steve replied. “Makes sense, why I hadn’t seen you around before. Did you go to school ‘round here?”

You felt like you were being interviewed. A handsome, rich man asking the questions, sitting easy in his throne and you had an awful, awful urge to please him with your answers. To do good. To be praised.

“I went to St. Mary’s High in Green Bay,” you swallowed, your tongue feeling too big for you mouth. Nerves bubbled in your stomach. “Then I was supposed to move to California— Berkeley.” You winced, remembering.

Steve looked surprised, eyebrows raised, nodding. “What was your major?”

“Social law.”

Steve hummed. “Smart girl.” There it was. That praise. You tingled with it. “What happened?”

You heard the words he didn’t say, the unasked question. ‘Why aren’t you there? Why are you here? Wearing that silly little dress and heels that hurt your feet and that fake, fake smile that makes your cheeks hurt so much you want to scream into your pillow when you get home every night?’

You pondered over what to say. How truthful to be. How blunt, how ugly and honest. Shit, you could’ve said. Family, parents, money, bad luck, worse circumstances. Housing, a broken down car, an apartment that fell through at the last minute, a scholarship that didn’t happen, an aunt that got sick, a mom who didn’t like to let go.

Instead you smiled politely and said: “life.”

Steve gave you a wry smile in return, one that told you he could see through it all and he knew exactly what you wanted to say. Like he knew you weren’t allowed to and you were playing by the rules. Frederick was at the bar, staring at your back until you felt your bones crunch with the weight of it.

Steve finished his drink, slid his glass onto the table and ran a hand through his hair. “It was nice to talk to you,” he said simply. He took your hand, not to shake it like last time, no. Instead he held it for a beat or two, and when he took his away, neatly folded bills were left between your fingers. They burned.

“For the table service,” he said as a way of explaining. You didn’t know if he meant the drink or you. “I’ll see you next time, honey.”

And then he left. You watched him saunter through the bar, nodding and smiling at people who greeted him, taking his jacket from someone at the door and then he was gone.

That was the second time you met Steve Harrington.

If you walk away, I'd beg you on my knees to stay

A week later you were clocking into work with the intention of heading to the staff locker rooms, ready to wrestle yourself into that black dress the club called a uniform. It was early afternoon on a Wednesday and The Lake House was quiet, a few greying women you knew to be part of the book club were sat having tea by a window, a group of men leaving the gym, sweat barely there, but the towels over their shoulders had designer logos stitched in the corners.

Frederick found you with your heels in your hand, a look of disgust on your face as you kicked off your sneakers. He wasn’t even supposed to be in the girls locker room, but he shook his head at you and took the stilettos from your hand.

“No,” he looked irritated, as if you should’ve known better. “You’re on the green today.”

You screwed up your nose at him. You were never on the green and you told him as such. “The schedule has me in the bar all day.”

Frederick huffed as if such questions were an inconvenience to him. He ducked, rooting around in your locker as his shoulder bumped your knee and he came back with the uniform you hardly had to wear. A white tennis skirt, bordering on too short with pleats that made the men tip well, even as their wives glared. A forest green sweater to match, the same colour as the club logo, white sneakers that were brand new from never being used.

“Special request,” your boss told you in lieu of a real explanation. “Get dressed, they’re waiting. Hurry.”

You gaped at him as he bundled the clothes into your arms. “Who’s waiting?” You called after him. “What hole?”

“Any of them,” Frederick yelled back as he walked out of the locker room and down the hall. His voice echoed back to you, a daunting thing. “He booked out the whole course.”

Driving the beer cart over the green was always a nerve wracking experience. The drinks rattled noisily and the breeze kept catching at your skirt, threatening to flip it up over your thighs as you tried to manoeuvre the buggy around the man made dunes and valleys. You weren’t sure where you were driving to, or who you were going to meet, but you kept an eye out at each hole for someone, anyone.

It could only really be one of two people, you guessed. Mr Donaldson was harmless enough, but he had a decade or three on your own age. Divorced and the owner of a film company in Atlanta, the man liked to frequent the clubhouse during the summers he spent back in Hawkins, pretending he was visiting his young daughter when he really preferred to lounge at the bar during your shift, trying to convince you that you just needed to see his condo in Georgia.

The only other person you could think of that would request you and you alone, was someone you haven't seen since the week before. You’d looked for him, watched the cars coming into the lot to be dropped off for the valet’s to park but you hadn’t seen any BMW’s. Steve didn’t visit the bar, didn’t spend any afternoons in the smoking lounge - you didn’t even see him with Jonathan Byers at the poker night on Tuesday.

You thought he might’ve left town again. Back to whatever European city he’d decided on for the week, for the month. Maybe he’d gone back to New York, maybe he had meetings. Maybe he had a girlfriend, one for each country.

Mr Donaldson was the harmless option. Annoying, sure. But bearable. Safe. Mr Harrington… he wasn’t harmless at all. You knew which one you wanted to see.

Sure enough, you turned the corner to hole eight to see a group of young men talking and laughing around their own golf cart. You saw some familiar faces, all known for being young, handsome and rich.

Billy Hargrove of Hargrove’s Vintage Motors. Crude, sharp witted, too flirtatious, he was the next in line to take over his father’s company and fortune, selling refurbished vehicles for prices that made your eyes water.

Jonathan Byers was there too, a young mogul who was up and coming in the art world. Once a critic, his photography had shot to fame after some black and white nudes of his then girlfriend were ‘leaked’ to the paper he once worked for. His family paid it all off as some sort of art nouveau exhibition, a look into scandal and sex in 30mm film. He lost his girlfriend but landed a gallery in the downtown neighbourhood of San Francisco.

Eddie Munson, someone you actually knew from high school. A decent guy, there because he worked for it, illegally, sure - but didn’t they all? One way or another? Selling weed and who knows what else to the majority of the population of Hawkins made for a popular man, but Eddie brought in bank when he started selling to the elite, the rich kids of Hawkins High who preferred powder at their parties. He got into The Lake House with cold, hard cash instead of his family name and he stayed in the background of it, usually.

A few other men lingered, clutching at clubs and practising their swings, Wall Street leeches that were stuck at the bottom of the totem pole but still decided they had enough money in their daddies bank to be able to click their fingers at you and smack your ass as their Rolex’s jingled.

Amongst them all, in black slacks and a white polo, was Steve Harrington. Sunglasses over his eyes, leather golfing gloves on his hands, he was smirking at something Eddie said before his head snapped to you. In fact, everyone was staring at you.

You tried to keep your head high and your expression neutral, turning off the engine to the golf cart and doing your best to swing your legs out without flashing anything you weren’t supposed to. You kept your hands on your skirt, smoothing it down, hoping that you could get through this shift without any embar—

A long whistle, salacious and eager, coming from Billy Hargrove. A few of the boy’s laughed and Billy grinned, sharklike, letting his eyes crawl from your toes to your tits. “Damn, Harrington. You paid for one of the good ones, huh? C’mere, Sugar, daddy needs a drink—”

You were frozen, standing awkwardly by the back of the buggy where the drinks were kept in a cooler, a thousand dollar pick ‘n’ mix of whisky, scotch and gin for the men to choose from. There wasn’t any Bud Light at The Lake House, not even on the green.

But Billy didn’t get much further into his catcalls, stopped by a hand on his elbow that tugged him away from you and the other men. The snickering stopped, a heavy silence falling over the group as Steve took Billy aside with nothing more than a touch to his arm. You watched as Steve slid his sunglasses off, his hard gaze on the other boy as he whispered something too low for you to hear. But Billy listened, albeit with a glare in his eyes, but he nodded, sharp and just once. His jaw flexed.

You didn’t know what was happening. You didn’t know what to do. You found Eddie’s gaze, saw his soft smile, knowing. He winked at you, twirling a club in his hand as he waited for the game to continue. And it did, once Steve seemingly dismissed Hargrove. The other men started talking again, easy and light like nothing had happened, requesting different drinks from you that you pulled out of the cooler, ice making your hands wet and numb.

And all the while Steve lingered at the back of them, sitting in the driver's side of the other golf cart, waiting with his eyes on you. He didn’t approach once Jonathan left with his glass of Glenfiddich, in fact, he didn’t make out like he wanted a drink at all. So you stood by the cart like you were supposed to and watched the men take turns at swinging a stick at a ball, yelling profanities when they missed, yelling more profanities when they didn’t.

You couldn’t help let your gaze wander to Steve, the picture of luxury as he leaned back in the leather seat, one leg out of the cart and stretched across neatly clipped grass. He was lighting a cigarette, held between his lips as he lowered his gaze to his cupped hands, gold zippo flickering with an amber flame. He looked up as he blew out the smoke, eyes finding yours, grinning when you startled.

Steve took another drag and asked, “you not comin’ to say hi?”

Three years of ingrained obedience made your feet move forward, doing as you were told at the words of another rich man. You felt unsure, walking across the green empty handed, but Steve hadn’t asked for a drink, so you stopped just shy of where his leg was stretched out of the cart. If you moved any closer, you would’ve been between his spread knees. You clasped your hands in front of you, pressed against your little, white skirt. It lifted a little with the breeze, a sharper wind than the day before that told the town fall was coming.

Steve watched the hem catch and fall back against your thighs, brown eyes tracking the movement to see what little new skin he could watch but apart from that, he didn’t make any of the lewd comments his friend had.

“Mr Harrington,” you said as a greeting. “Good afternoon, can I get you anything to drink?” You were polite to a fault, well trained, good mannered, an expert in making yourself small and only seen when spoken to.

Steve ignored your question. He inhaled his cigarette again, cheeks hollowing out, lips pursing, jaw sharpening. He smiled at you as he blew smoke out of the side of his mouth, the wind taking it away from your face. “I told you to call me Steve,” he said and his voice was quiet, a low thing that made your face heat up. You tried to apologise, but he kept talking. “How are you?”

You blinked, surprised at his question. You didn’t think you’d ever been asked that while at work. “Uh, I’m fine, thank you. How’re you?”

Steve nodded and flicked ash onto the grass, letting it sink into the course. “I’m great, thank you. Better now you’re here.” He grinned when you fidgeted, lips parting, hands unsure what to do. You twisted your fingers together a little tighter. “You okay being out here?” Steve let the cigarette balance between his lips and you watched it move as he spoke around it. “I can let you go back inside, if you’d like.”

Normally such words would be used as a trick, a trap, a warning. A subtle threat from an unhappy customer that would ensure you did as they wanted, even if it meant staying later than you were being paid for, adding extra time to their spa passes, even if it risked your own employment. But Steve looked and sounded genuine, his eyes watching you as you worked up the courage to tell him the truth.

“It’s okay,” you finally said, voice betraying how shy you felt. You sounded confident, in control. You felt nothing of the sort, especially when the boy grinned again, wider this time and god, he looked like he owned the world and everything in it.

“Excellent.” Steve flicked the stub of his cigarette away and pushed his sunglasses back onto the bridge of his nose. He tilted his head at the empty seat beside him and said: “jump in.”

You stuttered over an excuse, an explanation, eyes a little wide as you looked back over to the rest of the group, the drinks cart you were supposed to man all day. “I— I can’t? I’ve to stay with the cart all day, if I leave it I’ll get into—”

Steve cut you off with a tsk and a shake of his head. His voice turned to liquid gold as he spoke, rich and sweet and awfully condescending. It made you drip. “What did I tell you last time, huh, honey? No one’s gonna tell you off unless it’s me. Now c’mon, you don’t wanna spend some time with me?”

You could’ve stayed. You were sure Steve wouldn’t have been mad. You should’ve stayed. You were breaking rules. All of them. But Steve was grinning at you from the front seat of the golf cart, tanned arms flexed as his leather gloves gripped the wheel and all of his friends played pretend, like they couldn’t hear what was going on behind them as they took another swing.

You should’ve stayed. Maybe went back into the clubhouse, took off your sweater and skirt and played nice behind the bar in your usual attire, serving clients old enough to be your grandfather as they slipped fifty dollar bills into your hand just so you’d lean over for them again.

You got in the cart.

Steve positively beamed, a hot smirk that stretched across his pretty face and you barely heard the whistles and yowls of his friends as he sped away as fast as the buggy would allow. He went off course, cruising alongside the green and heading towards the path between the woods that took you to lovers lake.

“Feeling bad today, Berkeley?” The nickname caused your heart to jump, confirmation that he’d been listening the last time you both spoke, that he’d remembered.

But still guilt and worry gnawed at your chest and you looked around at the empty course, half expecting to see Frederick chasing after you both in the drinks cart you’d abandoned so carelessly. What did it matter, really? The price of everything in the cart was included in whatever it had cost for Steve to book out the entire fucking course for the day. A stolen scotch or two didn’t matter. Not really.

You didn’t know how to reply, so you didn’t say anything at all, just sitting by Steve’s side like a baby deer caught in headlights, like a good little girl that wanted to know if it really was true, if Steve really could keep you out of the trouble he was leading you into. The boy must’ve seen your bleak expression ‘cause he laughed, pushing back the hair that the wind blew across his forehead.

“Honey, it’s fine,” Steve glanced over at you as he turned down the dirt path to the lake. You could see his eyes shining at you through his shades, amusement making them glitter. “I promise.”

So you nodded and tried to smile, doing your best to relax into the seat and when the cart bumped over a fallen branch that Steve didn’t bother to avoid, the jostle of it made your thigh bump into his. He grasped at your knee as an apology of sort, murmuring something you couldn’t hear over the wind, but his palm engulfed your bare knee once more and fuck, fuck, you couldn’t think of anything else. His gold ring looked pretty against your skin, his tanned hand complimenting the dough of your thigh nicely and you tried to remember how to talk.

“Is there something you needed my help with at the lake, Mr Harrington?” You didn’t think Steve needed any help on how to work speed boats or jet skis, but still, you weren’t sure what else to say.

Steve laughed again, a pretty sound that made your toes curl and he slowed the cart to a stop at a shaded area along the shore, far enough away from the sandy embankment that the men on the lake in their fishing boats wouldn’t be able to see you. “C’mon now, I thought you were a smart thing,” Steve pouted at you as he turned off the cart's engine. His hand left your leg and you mourned the loss of it, heart jumping again when his hand curled around the back of your seat instead. “What did I tell you to call me?”

Your chest warmed like you were back in middle school, getting scolded by a teacher who you didn’t want to disappoint. It bloomed across your neck and face, only getting hotter as the entire sensation of it made you squeeze your clasped hands between your thighs. Steve’s gaze dropped to your lap, a quick glance down that made the corners of his lips curve up.

“Steve,” you said quietly, sounding shy, reserved. Your body was giving away too much, you couldn’t let your voice join in.

Steve nodded and the hand that was resting against your seat moved a little, brushing against your sweater until he could rub a thumb against your shoulder blade. “See, she’s a smart girl after all, isn’t she?”

You could only nod. What the fuck was going on? Hidden by the trees, on the edge of the water that was across from where you usually spent weekday afternoons. You could see The Lake House from here, could practically feel Frederick’s gaze out of the bay windows, boring a hole into the middle of your forehead as you sat with one of the most affluent clients on the rolodex. Steve Harrington had his arm around your back, his eyes on your bare thighs, his other hand ghosting along the hem of your skirt. He pulled at it, bringing it down the mere centimetre it had ridden up, knuckles skimming your too hot skin.

He didn’t look away from it when he asked you: “And if you are a clever, little thing, d’you know why I brought you here?”

If it had been dark, if it had been closer to night, if the grounds had been empty and the lake was still, maybe you would’ve felt more scared than you were. If it had been anyone else, maybe you would have been sitting there in the shadow of the trees and cursing yourself out for being so stupid. Going with this boy - this man - letting him take you off alone and away from prying eyes, letting him touch your leg and get too close. It was stupid, wasn’t it? Despite what Steve said, this wasn’t smart, was it?

But you found that you didn’t care. You really didn’t fucking care. Not one bit.

You shrugged, cheeks warm, too wary to say anything out of turn, too cautious to say anything too bold for fear of losing your job. Or worse, being rejected.

Steve pouted. “No?” He tutted and sighed, a dramatic sounding thing and he let his hand fell back onto your leg, higher this time. You held your breath as he skimmed his palm upupup until his fingertips disappeared under the hem of your skirt that he’d just pulled down for you. “Well, I wanted to personally invite you the poker game with me tomorrow night. You know the one, don’t you? It’s in the lounge, nine o’clock.”

You tried to steady your breathing, exhaling sharply from your nose as Steve’s fingers wandered, never going higher, going slow and soft enough that you could slap his hand away if you wanted to. You didn’t. “I’m working that shift,” you whispered.

His eyes met yours, his grin blinding. “Good, you’ll be there then.”

“Working,” you reminded him, the last syllable of the word hitching in your mouth as his fingers passed over your leg once more. You felt the cool metal of his gold band on the inside of your thigh. “I’ll be there to work.”

Steve nodded, like he understood, like he wasn’t planning to monopolise every minute of your shift, wondering how long he could keep you by his side at the poker table before you got too worried and scrambled back to the bar. “Of course.” He pulled back a little, his nose too close to brushing yours as you couldn’t help but lean in too, head tilted up to his like you did it all the time. “And then after that,” he took his hand from your thigh and you tried not to cry about it, ‘cause he used the back of his hand to push your hair away from your face instead. “You could come back to mine?”

Oh, fuck. You couldn’t help the smile that fluttered across your face, the giddy, shy laugh that followed. You were flustered and it showed, and as much as it made Steve smile back, it made him hard as a fucking rock.

“Shit, uh, god, sorry,” you shook your head, as if to clear it. You felt fuzzy, hazy, under Steve’s spell as he kept smiling at you, clearly entertained by your flushed face, your dazed expression. “I’m really not supposed to do that.”

You didn’t say no, Steve noted. You didn’t say that you didn’t want to. In fact, from the way your eyes dropped to his lips over and over again, Steve was pretty sure he could seal this deal with you faster than his last visit meeting with that winery in Sorrento.

That wasn’t to say you were easy, no. Just real fucking cute. He had a forty percent share in that vineyard and soon enough, he’d have you too.

“What?” He played dumb, all syrupy sweet smiles and his voice all soft. He traced a circle around your knee. “You can’t see me out of work? Surely Fredrick isn’t that much of a tyrant, honey.”

You squirmed under his gaze, the one that made you feel like he was undressing you. You were too warm and his innocent fingertips on your knee were making you wanna drag his hand back up your thigh and underneath the hem of your skirt. “We’re not supposed to involve ourselves with club members.” Your words felt dull in your mouth, heavy and cotton like.

Pointless.

Steve pouted, lips pursing like he was trying to get you to kiss him. He tutted; his warm, wide palm curling around your thigh again. He squeezed gently and your mouth fell open, panting, an invitation. “What if I want to be involved with you, hm? What then, honey?”

You let your head fall back a little, lips wet and parted, eyes closing briefly, because Steve let his fingers slide up a little further, the tips of his middle and pointer finger brushing, just fucking barely, across the cotton of your underwear. You knew you were wet and you knew that he did too. How could he not? The damp fabric dragged across his digits and you saw the realisation in his eyes, that flash of heat, that curl of his lips that made his smile a smirk.

“Remember what I told you?” He let his lips fall into ‘o’ at your small noise, an almost whine that sounded blissed out. God, he could have fun with you. “Do you? C’mon smart girl, what do I always get?”

You blinked at him, sucking in a breath as you fought the urge to grind down on his hand. Steve took his fingers away, the damp tips of them trailing back down the inside of your thigh as he waited for an answer.

“You told me,” you took another breath, looking around quickly, burning at the sight of the boats on the lake, the blurry people across the water by the clubhouse, sitting outside for afternoon tea. “You told me you always get what you want.”

That was the third time you met Steve Harrington.

Don't blame me, love made me crazy

The night after, you’d spent too long getting ready for your shift. Too long in the shower, letting the steam fill the tiny room, honey and peach scented body wash running in rivers down your bare skin, your razor chasing after it as you did your best to make every crevice of your body silky smooth.

You told yourself you weren’t going home with Steve Harrington. You told yourself you couldn’t, that you weren’t allowed to.

But you took the time to layer mascara on your lashes, fixing any smudges before finishing your makeup with a layer of gloss on your lips, tinted a rosy pink and drawing more attention to them than you’d usually want. Black dress, clubhouse mandated stockings and heels, freshly polished. You left for work with your heart in the back of your throat.

The Lake House was quieter than usual on poker nights, mostly because each guest had to buy their way in. All players had to place a ten thousand dollar deal in with the croupier, pockets emptied and jackets checked at the door. It made the smoking lounge feel bigger, men seated around a large poker table, the dealer in the middle, chips stacked high and cigar smoke lingering in the air. It smelled like tobacco, leather, expensive cologne and money, and god, the tips were good.

There were familiar faces around the table, Billy, Jonathan, Mr Donaldson, a few other men from the club that liked to order expensive drinks and call you things like ‘sweet cheeks’ and ‘sugar.’ The room was dimly lit, a soft amber glow that was kept in the room with closed drapes, velvet lined chairs, and bar staff that were trained not to speak unless spoken to. Everything was hushed and whispered, men talking money over glasses of liquor, cigars in one hand, their dealt hand in the other.

Then there was Steve, coming into the room a little late with another suit on, sharp and with a matching black shirt underneath, looking like he didn’t give a shit. He didn’t look at you as he took his seat, smirking at something Jonathan said and sliding a wad of stacked bills towards the dealer. He got his chips, he got his cards and the game began.

It took a whole twenty minutes before he raised his hand, a two finger salute that let you know he wanted a drink. You beat the other waitress to it, slipping in front of the new start - Vickie something - and your heels clicked as you made your way over to Steve. You already had a drink on your tray, poured the minute you saw his hand go up, his eyes still on his hand.

A Macallan, no ice.

You placed the tumbler on the table in front of him, knees bending slightly to make sure it didn’t spill. Without warning, Steve’s hand snuck along the back of your thigh as you placed your tray under your arm, ready to walk away. Fingertips traced over the crease of your knee, ghosting over your stocking. You watched his gaze flicker to the drink he didn’t have to ask for, a slight curve to the corners of his lips as he smiled his approval. He leaned back, head tipped up to you so you had to bend down slightly to meet him. His hand was slipping up the back of your thigh the whole time, hidden from the rest of the room, from the other players, your boss in the corner.

You bent at the waist, feeling your skirt rise up, feeling Steve’s hand do the same. His thumb ran along the crease below your ass, over the sliver of bare skin between your underwear and stockings.

“Smart girl,” he whispered in the shell of your ear, making you burn. His voice was low and a little rough from hardly talking, only communicating with nods to the croupier, dead face glances at his opponents. His chips were stacked high for his efforts. “You look pretty. How ‘bout you just stay beside me, yeah?”

You weren’t supposed to. But you did. You watched as your boss frowned, as Vickie looked surprised. Beside Steve, Jonathan snickered quietly and across the table, Billy narrowed his eyes.

“Breakin’ some rules?” He mouthed to Steve.

Steve ignored him.

The night came to an end close to one o’clock, once the bar was almost dry and Steve had most of the money. He accepted the passive remarks about his poker face, his ability to lie through his damn teeth, how he didn’t need all that money anyways. Then there were the handshakes and slaps on the back, good natured talks and invites to lunches, chats about business opportunities and stocks. And all the while you tidied, putting away empty bottles of thousand dollar whisky, pouring hundred dollar glasses of Malbec down the drain. Cigar ash on the table, white powder tipped dollar notes that everyone pretended to not notice. Heavy tips on the table top, damp from spilled drinks, pushed into your apron pocket while the men around you tried to get a peek up your skirt.

And then Steve was leaning over the bar top and still ignoring Billy. He was watching you clean, eyes tracking the way your hands slid the cloth over the mahogany, and while your cheeks warmed at his attention, you let him. You were off the clock, your shift over. Bar closed.

Home time. Maybe.

“—you even listenin’ to me, Harrington?” Billy sounded annoyed, words twisting on his tongue, whisky making them come out a little slower than he wanted them to.

“No.” Steve’s reply was short and bored sounding.

“I said, you fucker, that I need a ride. S’posed to be on a goddamn flight at five o’clock and this fuckin’ tequila is makin’ me piss like a fuckin’ racehor—”

Steve didn’t take his eyes off of you as he took his wallet from inside of his suit jacket pocket. Using two fingers, he offered Billy a fifty, holding the bill in front of the other man’s face. “Take a cab.”

Billy looked offended at the suggestion. Disgusted, actually. “A cab? What do I look like to you, huh? Huh? A fuckin’ peasant?”

Steve just shrugged and slapped the bill on the counter anyway. “I’m having company,” he told him. Then he drained the rest of the one drink he’d ordered from you all night and met your gaze straight on. “You ready?”

Not, ‘would you like to join me?’ Not, ‘would you like to come back to mine?’ No. Just a simple question. ‘Are you ready to go?’

You nodded. Yes, you were ready.

Billy laughed, a sharp and mean thing as he looked between you and Steve. Then his gaze turned salacious, drunk and lazy as he took in your short dress, your shiny lips. He nudged Steve and nodded towards you. “You not sharing this time, Harrington?” He tutted. “What a shame.”

You didn’t know what to say. If you’d been at a bar in town, standing on either side of it, you’d have listened to the twitch in your hand and lifted it, letting your palm meet Billy Hargrove’s right cheek, regardless of how much money was in his wallet. But Frederick was by the door talking to Mr Donaldson about summers in the Bahamas and you couldn’t do shit.

So you turned your back, polished another wine glass and slid it back onto its shelf.

“You know,” you heard Steve murmur. His voice was low, controlled. Dangerous sounding. “You keep letting your mouth run like that, and I’ll make sure you don’t have a reason to get that five am flight. One call and there won’t be no fucking meeting in L.A, do you understand?”

You didn’t hear Billy’s reply. In fact, you weren’t sure there was one. Instead, Steve walked to the side of the bar and brushed some invisible lint off of his jacket as he waited for you to untie your apron. You hesitated, watching as Fredrick disappeared into his office and then, and only then, did you step out from behind the bar to join Steve, letting him place his hand on the small of your back and guide you out of the clubhouse.

He made it too easy to break the biggest rule in the book.

—————

Steve drove you to a townhouse on the edge of town, the opposite direction from your own home. He took you there in his BMW, a shiny maroon car that looked brand new, with leather seats and shiny detailing on the dash. He didn’t touch you in the car, he just opened the door for you to get in and get out, only offering a hand that you took as you stood on his driveway.

His house was lit up by lights on either side of the huge garage, another by the double doors. Three floors, a water feature in the front yard, a security system at the entrance. Steve pressed some buttons before something buzzed and clicked, and he opened the door with no grand flourish, extending an arm for you to enter first.

Everything was sleek and polished, not quite the bachelor pad you expected, but luxurious all the same. Wooden floors and a large fireplace in the living room, the leather and suede of the clubhouse swapped out for a huge sectional, covered in cushions and throws. There was art on the walls, scenes of Greek tragedies, half naked women with dreamy looks on their faces, full curves and thick thighs. A shiny kitchen that looked barely used, bottles of scotch and whisky and gin on a golden bar cart in the corner, a full wall of books surrounding the biggest television you’d seen. The house smelled like Steve, like his cologne, like new leather and oak.

His footsteps echoed across the room as he strolled into the kitchen, an open plan thing that let you watch him from where you stood by the front door. Steve held up a bottle of wine. Red, a label you recognised from work, something that Frederick charged far too much money for. In your opinion.

“Drink?” Steve asked.

You nodded, stepping into the room a little more. There were a few lamps on, a warm flow from each that cast shadows over the floor, up the walls. The curtains were closed, heavy drapes that kept out the night, kept in the secrets. Like you.

Steve appeared at your side, passing you a glass filled with a little ruby coloured wine. He grinned at your quiet thanks and offered his own for a toast. The glasses clinked and you took a sip, dark cherries and bitter chocolate swirling your senses, or at least, you were sure they would’ve if you hadn’t decided to gulp it down. Steve laughed softly and took your empty glass, setting it on the coffee table with his own. There was a stack of big books in the middle of it, something about American architecture and cars of the sixties, a candle that had never been lit and a cigar box with his initials engraved on the lid.

“Here, sit,” Steve suggested and you sank into the sofa with him. The boy immediately lounged back into the cushions, arms stretched out over the back of it as he appraised you, head tilted to his side. “You don’t do this often, huh?”

You turned to him, puzzled, your hands sliding nervously up and down your bare legs. Your dress suddenly felt shorter than ever and with the way Steve was looking at you - hungry, predatory, bold - you weren’t sure if you wanted to tug the hem down to your knees or take the full thing off and drop it at his feet.

“Do what?”

Steve gestured to himself, to the huge living room you felt a little bit lost in. He smirked, “go home with guys you barely know.”

You swallowed thickly, wondering if it would seem rude if you reached out and stole the rest of his wine. If you’d feel braver and bolder if you were to gulp down more Malbec, if the price tag on the bottle would feel better on your tongue. “Not usually,” you said. You left out the part about how you’d be fired on the spot if your boss found out who you were going home with.

Steve smiled, eyes shining at you like he thought you were cute. He patted the space on the couch beside him. It felt like a million miles away from you. “Come over here,” he said softly. You noticed how he didn’t ask, or suggest. It was an order, as gentle as it was. “I won’t bite.”

You scoffed a little, enjoying the irony of his words despite how he’d looked at you all night, like he wanted to sink his teeth into you, like he wanted to just eat you up. “You won’t?” You asked him, doubtful, even as you slid closer, your thigh brushing his.

Steve dropped his hand to your knee, fingertips barely brushing your skin as she skimmed up and down, up and down. Each pass got him closer to the hem of your dress and you thought back to yesterday, in that stupid golf cart by the edge of the lake. How easy you made it for him, head thrown back, chest heaving, legs spread. You wanted that again, the feeling of his teasing fingers brushing up against the front of your underwear, lace this time, and already damp.

Steve flashed a grin, all teeth, more bite than a smile and you resisted the urge to clamp your thighs together, trapping his hand between. You’d never been this hot for a guy, never been this easy to fold. You felt delicate with Steve, ready to crumple, ready to fold.

“Not on the first date, no,” he assured you.

Your brows rose into your hairline. “This is a date?”

Steve flattened his palm against your thigh and squeezed, leaning into you, nose brushing your cheek until you ripped your head for him and it skimmed the line of your jaw. Your breathing changed too quickly, stuttering to a hitch until it picked up, your eyes closing as you felt Steve’s lips brush against you in the briefest of touches. It wasn’t even a kiss.

“What did you think it was?” Steve whispered, his words hot against your neck. You could smell his cologne, rich and peppery, could feel the slight stubble on his jaw scrape against your throat and you were desperate now, you needed him to kiss you. “What did you think I invited you here for, honey?”

His hand was higher now, fingers under the hem of your dress and you wanted to fall into him, you wanted to crawl into his lap and spread your legs, get properly dirty for him and pull your dress up around your hips and show him how you liked to be touched. Although, you had a feeling he wouldn’t need much help. “I, I don’t know—” you interrupted yourself with a gasp, Steve’s fingertips running along the lace edge of your underwear, teasing the crease of your thigh. “A one night stand, maybe.”

The boy laughed, a soft noise that was buried in the crook of your neck and he finally, finally, put his mouth on you. He kissed sweetly at the spot under your ear, grinned against it when you squirmed at the feel of him and then dragged his parted lips down the column of your neck. You felt the tip of his tongue, a tiny touch, teasing, warm and wet.

“Just one night?” Steve tutted, letting his fingers slip underneath the edge of your underwear. You were an elastic band now, pulled too right, fraught with unspent energy, ready to snap at the tension. “What if I wanted to keep you, hm?” His fingers ghosted over your folds, already slick and wet for him. If he was affected by it, he didn’t show it. He pulled at you gently, spreading you for him, a single digit touching your needy clit as he kept you open. It was filthy. “You’re too pretty for one night, aren’t you?”

You didn’t know what you were agreeing to, but you nodded anyway. You were sure you already looked wrecked, head slack and leaning against Steve’s shoulder, his lips now dotting over your hairline. Legs open, underwear pushed up and to the side by Steve’s hand, his one finger sliding up and down the seam of your cunt. The rubber band was getting tighter.

Steve hummed, a deep, warm noise that rumbled in his chest. “Look at me, honey,” he ordered and you did as were told, eyes heavy and haze unfocused as you turned your head to face him. He was so close, the only evidence he was as turned on as you were, were his blown out pupils, his heavy eyelids. “There she is, oh sweetheart, you’re gone, huh?” he cooed.

You thought he might kiss you then, you thought he might kiss you, finally. But he nuzzled his nose against yours - a surprisingly sweet thing - before he murmured, “take your clothes off for me.”

It was embarrassing, the way your lips parted and your cheeks went hot. You wondered if Steve felt it, the warmth that exploded from your skin at his words, the way your empty cunt clenched around nothing at his words. He gave you clit one more passing nudge before he moved his hands from you completely and sank back into the couch. One arm over the back of it, legs crossed, the other hand brought to his mouth so he could rub the finger he’d dipped along your pussy against his bottom lip.

It was obscene.

He nodded to the space between the sofa and the coffee table and licked his lips. “C’mon, honey, strip.”

You should’ve pulled down your dress and thrown what was left of his wine in his face before you slammed the door on your way out. This man, this rich boy with his big house and shiny car, was ordering you around like you were still at the clubhouse. Like he could flash his members only card and get what he wanted. He hadn’t even kissed you. He didn’t know your last name, and shit, the only reason you knew his, was because him and his family were at the top of the client list at the place you worked.

You could lose your job over this. Worse, you could get your heart broken.

Steve must’ve sensed your hesitation because he reached back over to brush your hair from your eyes, where it had fallen in a mess when you hid your face in the dip of his shoulder as he tapped at your clit again and again and again. He pouted, tsked in a way that sounded sympathetic. “Oh honey, are you shy?” Condescension dripped from him, words liquid gold, sticky sweet and trapping you. He ran the back of his knuckles down your cheek, his thumb dragging over your bottom lip. It was as close to a kiss as you would get. “It’s okay, hm? Am I not playing nice? Am I being rude?”

You didn’t know what to say. You were being sucked in by this man’s charm, his caramel coated words, the way his brown eyes turned soft as he took your hand and led you to stand up in the middle of his living room. “I’m sorry, honey,” Steve whispered. “How awful of me. Lemme try again, huh?” He kissed your cheek, a soft, lingering thing before he left you standing, sitting back in front of you once more.

Steve pushed back his hair and let his eyes appraise you before he rolled his shirt sleeves up and leant back into the cushions. A king on his throne. And the entertainment for tonight?

You.

“Take your clothes off for me, honey,” he tried again, his voice softer this time, lower, dirtier. And then he smiled at you and added: “please.”

With shaking hands and a held breath that made your chest burn, you pulled the material down your shoulders, reaching around your back to tug at the zip. And when it fell open, exposing your skin to the warm air, it was too easy to let the entire dress fall down over your hips. It pooled at your feet and you stepped out of it, heels still on, legs covered in the sheer black stockings that the clubhouse made mandatory for poker nights.

Steve’s lips made a little ‘o’ shape, an appreciative thing that made you pulse with need. You saw then how his dress trousers were tented at the front, an impressive bulge that twitched when you smoothed your hands over your upper thighs, a nervous reaction to being so exposed.

“Oh,” Steve exhaled as he let his eyes rake over you. Soft skin between black lace, thigh highs pulled taught against your curves, tits pressed up in a bra you’d chosen as you thought him. You hoped he wouldn’t embarrass you, you hoped he wouldn’t ask you to do something like spin for him, show off for him. Because you would’ve. “Aren’t you a pretty fucking picture.”

He didn’t need to talk after that. He just lifted his chin towards your chest and you were pulling off your bra for him. You hated how the control of it all made you wetter, the space between your legs fucking throbbing as you waited for your next instruction. “Unless you want those ripped,” Steve was gazing at your underwear, eyes seeking out every dip and line he could make our in the wet lace. “I’d take them off too.” He didn’t let them hit the floor with the rest of your clothes, instead, extending one hand and crooking his fingers.

A silent, ‘give them to me.’

And you did, watching as he slipped them into his trouser pockets, keeping his eyes on you, trailing them over your thighs that were slick with how wet he’d got you. He’d hardly touched you, you scolded yourself, not even a kiss. It was embarrassing, mortifying. It was the hottest thing that had happened to you.

“Keep those on,” Steve murmured, talking about your heels and stockings. “And come sit back down for me, honey, yeah?”

The fabric of the couch felt soft under your bare skin and you hesitated before you let yourself relax into it. There surely would be a wet spot underneath you, evidence of how turned on you were, but Steve didn’t seem to mind.

“That’s it,” he encouraged softly. “Get comfy, hm? Such an agreeable, little thing aren’t you?” Steve was sliding off the couch as he spoke, one palm pressed to his crotch as if to stave off some of his own need. He knelt in front of you, mouth parting in a sigh as he dropped to eye level with your cunt. “Think you can spread those legs for me? Let me see you, honey, there’s a girl—”

He cut himself off with a low groan as you brought your feet up, heels on the edge of the couch as you spread your knees, sticky thighs parting. He could see all of you, fuck, he could probably smell you. The low light made every part of you glisten, the heavy rise and fall of your chest cast in an amber glow.

“Oh she’s real fuckin’ pretty, isn’t she?” Steve asked you, eyes tearing away from your pussy to look up at you. “Spread ‘em wider for me, baby, can you do that?” Another moan from the boy as you let your knees fall apart, almost touching the couch. Steve smoothed his hands up your tights, bracketing your cunt before he did the same as before and pulled your folds even further apart. “Look at that,” he whispered.

You couldn’t. You let your head fall back onto the cushion, eyes squeezed shut as you let your own hands fall onto your knees. You dug in your nails, crescent moon marks on your skin as your tried to keep a grip on reality. You were almost certain you’d come with just one touch.

“Want my mouth?” Steve asked you and his voice was back to that sugar sweet drip, it was thick with an affection, like he was being so nice for taking care of you. You already wanted to thank him. “Want my tongue?”

His thumbs rubbed up and down your folds, keeping them spread apart, a dirty massage that made your clit pulse with each tiny movement. You nodded, letting out a uneven breath and Steve tutted.

“You gotta look at me then, c’mon, Berkeley.” He nipped at your thigh, teeth biting at the skin and it made you cry out. “Look at me and tell me you want me to eat you out.”

Dirty, filthy, obscene, sinful.

You were under no illusion that giving Steve an order made you the one in charge. He played you like a puppet, a boneless girl that wanted nothing more than to come all over this rich strangers sofa. You had a one track mind, no shame left, not when Steve was pressing his mouth over you folds, not licking into you, not yet. Just kissing. You wanted to cry.

“Eat me out,” you begged, eyes glassy as you tried to lift your hips but Steve pulled away. He grinned at you, waiting. “Eat me out, please, Steve. Fuck, want your mouth yeah, please?”

“Where?” He asked, dragging it out. His voice was unholy. “Where do you want my mouth?” His thumbs were still moving, up and down and up and down. “Tell me.”

“My pussy, Jesus Christ,” you whined. You couldn’t ever remember being this pent up. “Please.”

“Oh,” Steve cooed, “she’s so polite.” And then he gave you no other warning, dipping his head so he could lick a stripe through your folds, the hot, wet contact of his tongue making you cry out.

You were unraveling too fast. His thumbs had you taught for him, every part of you feeling his tongue, his lips. Steve groaned into you, a happy, pleased hum that told you whatever game this was, he’d won. He kept his tongue flat, slow, broad strokes of it going from your entrance to your clit until you were curling over him and clutching his hair, doing your best to not suffocate him. But Steve moaned louder and moved his hands to your hips, sliding down until they cupped under your ass and he encouraged you to grind against his face. Tongue still out, kept flat for you to rock yourself on. It was pornographic.

Then Steve was mumbling into you, voice a rasp. “Good girl, honey, that’s it. Keep going, make yourself come on my tongue, yeah?”

So you did, obedient as ever, letting out a gasping cry as your legs shook, cunt still clenching around nothing ‘cause Steve had broken you with just his mouth. It was dirty hot, the way he dragged himself from your sensitive slit, tongue running over your folds even as you whined, licking over the crease of your thighs to get everything you’d spilled for him. You watched as he appeared between your knees, hair tousled, lips and chin shining in the low light, his cheeks flushed. It was ironic, how he looked more boyish after he made you come, expensive black shirt creased from where your legs had pressed against him, his own gaze a little fucked out.

Logic would suggest that perhaps you’d get a kiss then, something soft and sweet to soothe you down before he fucked you senseless, before you got to wrap your own fingers or lips around him. Steve looked big, if the solid press of him against his trousers was anything to go by. Thick and still rock hard, an easy eight inches trapped taught against his thigh, just as impressive as his wealth and status. Your mouth watered.

He kissed the inside of your knee instead, his heavy lidded gaze on yours before he offered you his hands to help you sit up and then said, “I better get you home.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Home,” Steve repeated. He passed you back your bra, your dress. Not your underwear though, no. They were still in his pocket. “I gotta be at the airport in—” he checked his watch, the picture of blasé. “—an hour.”

You pulled on your dress, a little speechless. This boy had just made you come harder than you’d ever managed yourself and now he was busying himself with lighting a cigarette he pulled from the packet in his pocket. Your eyes wandered, he was still hard.

“What about,” you licked your lips, suddenly shy. You nodded towards his crotch, the absolute monster he packed in his slacks. “What about you?”

Steve grinned, bending down to peck your cheek as you wriggled into your uniform, trying to pull yourself back together. “I’ll live,” he told you, blowing out smoke as he spoke. “We’ll call it an IOU, huh? But my plane leaves soon, honey. I’ll cash that favour when I’m back.”

“When?” You blurted out. It sounded like something a girlfriend would demand to know and you cringed, but Steve kept smirking. He helped you slip on your heels, cigarette hanging from his lips that definitely tasted like you.

“Unsure,” he told you casually, “there’s things I need to wrap up in Monaco before I can go to Tuscany for a few weeks. There’s problems at the vineyard and there’s a new plot I want to look at in Alassio too.”

All you heard was money money money. So you nodded and gave him a small smile, legs still a little wobbly from his touch, his mouth, his tongue. And when Steve dropped you off at the door of your too small apartment, he took your chin between his finger and thumb and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your jaw, just below your ear.

The kiss goodnight to your lips didn’t come. You felt confused, a little stilted. But you got out the BMW and waved goodbye, wondering what you were supposed to do at three in the morning after Steve Harrington had tumbled your world upside down.

PART TWO

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington oneshot

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riitah · 1 year

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[lover's quarrel] - gojo satoru x fem!reader

*sorry, i forgot to tag this: spoilers for jjk 0, but it's only mentioned in like one sentence and it's a very small detail SYNOPSIS: you and gojo got into your first argument as a couple, but you didn't expect him to come forward to apologize first. WORD COUNT: 1.3k HONORABLE MENTION: special thanks to my beta reader “henry rumpelstiltskin III of the nuclear sock kingdom”! :DD AUTHOR'S NOTE: egocentric fictional men who apologize first>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> - (he'd apologize first because I said so) - (he'd also be so embarrassed about it because i said so) - (because y'know. he probably never apologizes first. except this time.) - (holy crap i hope this isn't too ooc like i've never seen him get into an argument with anyone before 😭😭😭)

You. The couch. And the deafening silence.

It wasn't like you and Satoru haven't gotten into arguments before; back in high school, he loved to bother the crap out of you when you were busy doing something that required your full attention, and many of these button-pushing sessions led to full-blown arguments where the two of you hurled insult after insult at each other (though they were more of a one-sided thing, because he just laughed at you and your reddening face, asking if that was all you got). And Shoko and Suguru would watch all the while, one enjoying the entertainment she was getting and the other patiently waiting for a moment where he could calm the both of you down.

But this argument was different. It wasn't some small fight between teenagers that the two of you would forget in a few days. Heck, it might even last a few days instead, now that Suguru wasn't here.

Suguru.

You sighed, remembering that you fought with him, too. Figuratively and literally.

You sunk into the soft seat and leaned your head against the back cushion, letting out a loud groan.

Should I just apologize and get this over with?

After all, knowing your boyfriend, he'd be way too prideful to say sorry first.

Right. Boyfriend. Maybe even soon-to-be ex-boyfriend.

You tightly clutched the hem of your shirt at the thought, your heart feeling heavy. The remnants of the feud buried themselves deep into your chest, pulling and clawing at it as if it was trying to rip something out of there. It hurt knowing that the relationship you were once so happy to establish might not last as long as you thought it would.

Your best friend and your boyfriend; two heartbreaks, two people lost.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back tears. The room gradually grew darker and darker as the sun set in the distance, a painful reminder to you that Satoru had been gone for hours. Pulling your knees to your chest, you rocked back and forth, wondering where he could be this late.

Certainly not at some club, right...?

Your stomach twisted in a way you couldn't explain, and you let out a choked sob.

He can't be. He's not like that.

But Satoru had never been romantically involved with anyone before you. So how did you know what to expect?

You felt your fingernails digging into your skin, hard enough to make it bleed. You hated the way the scenarios were running through your head, the way none of them were him coming home to you without smelling of sickly sweet perfume and without having lipstick stains all over his neck. It was truly a different kind of pain knowing that someone who had declared his love for you merely six hours before could take it all back in an instant.

This is all so, so stupid. Maybe this was a mistake from the start.

Grabbing your coat that was lying right next to you, you stood up to leave.

Maybe a break would serve the both of us some good.

You put it on, not bothering to zip up the front.

I never should've said yes.

You walked towards the door, your footsteps soft, hesitant, and gradually slowing down to a stop when you arrived. You reached for the doorknob, still unsure of your decision. Your hand hovered in midair as you looked down at your feet, warm tears still streaking down your cheeks.

Is this really the right thing to do?

You couldn't think straight, or pinpoint what exactly you felt. Anger? Worry? Dread? The different emotions were all mixed into one, forced down your throat and into the pit of your stomach, with the sole purpose of breaking you from inside out.

You didn't want to think about anything anymore.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath before wrapping your hand around the doorknob, and--

The door flew backwards, striking against your palm. Your eyes opened in surprise, darting from the doorknob to the tall man that stood in front of you.

Neither of you said a word.

You were rooted to the spot, your legs frozen. Beads of sweat rolled down your back, tickling you, futilely trying to distract you from the situation at hand. Your hands felt clammy, your breath was stuck uncomfortably in your throat, and a single tear awkwardly slid its way down the side of your face, seemingly not getting the memo.

Satoru stared back at you, his sunglasses sitting on the bridge of his nose, slightly crooked. His blue eyes blinked at you, with a hint of confusion behind them. He was also slightly panting, you realized as you saw his shoulders slightly heave up and down from the corner of your eye.

"...(Y/N)?" His voice was gentle, void of any anger, unlike the tone he had used with you just hours before.

You didn't reply in fear of breaking down in front of him, in fear of coming off as some kind of victim when the fault was yours as much as it was his.

"What are you... Were you leaving? Were you crying?"

He sounded so confused, so worried. He touched your wet cheek, brushing against it with his calloused hand.

"Toru, where were you?" Your voice was barely audible.

One second passed. And then two.

Please tell me that you didn't give up on us.

And then three. And four.

The silence dragged on. And your hope dwindled along with it.

"Toru, I..." you said hoarsely.

Your heart dropped when you finally smelled the faint trace of perfume. The very same sickly-sweet smell you had been afraid of.

It can't be.

Can it?

"Were you...kissing some other girl?" Your voice cracked a little.

"What?! No!" His eyes widened as he frantically shook his head, and then he exhaled and furrowed his brows. "Was that why you were crying?"

You nodded meekly, feeling as though you were about to cry all over again. "I thought you'd want to break up with me."

"I'd never." You felt his lips press against your forehead, the warmth still lingering even after he pulled away. "And..." He dropped his hand to his side and glanced away, preoccupied with something on the floor, his voice quiet, sincere. "I'm...sorry."

Now it was your turn to widen your eyes. Did he just...apologize?

He peeked at you, and then grinned when he saw your expression. "Dumbfounded, aren't you? You should be honored to be the first and only person I've ever apologized t--mmph!"

All of the sadness seemed to have evaporated from your body as you grabbed his face with one hand, bringing it close. "Do that again."

He squinted at you. "I got you flowers," he suggested, squirming in your grasp. "And perfume too, so if you smell that on me, that's probably from the shop." A pause, waiting for you to let go. "And chocolate." Another pause, a smirk forming on his face. "Sexy lingeri--?"

You gave him a deadpan stare before he could finish.

"Kidding, kidding! Obviously." He laughed, the sound filling your stomach with butterflies. "So does that mean you forgive me?"

You sighed, nodding, letting go of him. "I'm really sorry, too. It was a stupid thing to argue over."

"Well, that marks the end of our first lover's quarrel!" He readjusted his glasses and smiled at you before bringing his left hand out from behind his back. "Good thing, because my arm was about to start cramping--"

You didn't register the rest of his words as he showed off the items he bought for you, your mind still trying to process what had just happened.

Toru knows how to apologize...

Surprised? Happy? Maybe giddy? Or all three?

You let a giggle slip, and he turned to you, the bouquet of flowers in his hands raised like a trophy.

"What're you laughing at?"

"Nothing."

You pulled in by the collar for a taste of his soft lips, whispering against them a quiet "I love you."

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo x female reader #gojo satoru x female reader #gojo x reader #gojo #gojo satoru #jjk imagines #gojo satoru x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #oneshot #this was so anticlimatic holy crap #but i hope you enjoyed

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chrollohearttags · 1 year

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containment • e. jaeger

synopsis: you’re the newest female guard at an all male prison. No one said it’d be easy but you were prepared for anything..except the new inmate on your cell block.

themes: forbidden romance/relationship, prisoner eren, modern au, correctional officer reader (black and fem coded) power play, lots of fantasizing and masturbation, consensual sex, he’s also a heavy switch and minors do not and i cannot stress this e-fucking-nough..interact!

cw:3.5K

📝: I’m up at 3am, letting my insane thoughts win again so please don’t hold this against me if it’s too long or just wild in general but this is just some notes/imagines to what will be a full, multi-part fic eventually, just wanted to mainly focus on the spicy stuff for now.

you were one of the only three female guards to ever work at the state’s all male maximum security prison. A facility notorious for housing some of the county’s most terrifying criminals..naturally, it was said to be no place for a woman and you were subjected to harassment, heckling and sometimes violence but you didn’t allow it to stop your goals. As physically strong as you were stubborn, you didn’t fear them in the slightest.

it was only six months after your assignment to the close containment unit that he was put onto your floor and things began to shift..an inmate by the name of eren jaeger; he was most certainly different from the other convicts you made contact with on a daily basis…

never gives you a hard time, always complied and is always in his cell either drawing or reading. If they didn’t give him time off for good behavior, you didn’t know who would get it. Also was super intelligent.

sort of intimidated the other guards and prisoners because of his eerie silence. They didn’t know why he’d been on a floor like this but act so well behaved. no one ever got on his bad side though..they knew better because he’d remind them why he was locked up in the first place.

has a slick ass mouth and every time you asked what he was there for, his response was “whatever they say I did.”

you didn’t make it your mission to be chummy with the prisoners, but he made the job a bit more tolerable. “good morning, officer (l/n)..” it was how he always greeted you..in addition to a little faint smile and telling you how pretty you were that day, whether barefaced or with some light makeup on and oddly enough, he always knew the scent of your perfume. “I can compliment my favorite guard, can’t I? Is that allowed?” the sarcasm and sweet gestures were something you had grown accustomed to. “You’re as cute as you are dangerous, Jaeger. Too bad for you, they don’t reduce sentences for adorable one liners.” although those words should have meant nothing come from a criminal…

it’s one day, however..when you were seeing him off to library cleanup duty that it went from harmless flirtation to a heated, forbidden love affair. “Not to be gross or anything but I gotta go take a piss, officer. I’ve been holding it since we left the cell.” he had been working diligently without a break for two hours so you’d allow it.

never had to worry about him trying anything as he had seen you take down men twice his size by yourself and even had subdued him once after a fight was incited by somebody else but he didn’t back down. (an ass whooping from you he’d soon never forget).

during that little bathroom break, you accidentally caught a glimpse of what he was working with…down south! You’d try to look away but really couldn’t help yourself. The man was hung like a horse. As a guard, you were to remain professional so the thoughts had to subside.

it was all but inevitable when you’d take him to the rec yard for exercise and you’d watch him do curl ups on the metal bars. His entire muscular back and arms riddled in tattoos; some professional pieces and others by the tip of an ink pen etched in prison. It’d be a huge violation if you’d ever acted on them and to you, that’s what made the fantasy all the more hotter.

on the trip back to finish up his last bit of library work, he utters something to you that made you freeze… “I know you were watching me earlier, officer..in the bathroom. I could feel those pretty little eyes of yours staring. Such a pervert.” Muttering sarcastically because his nasty ass loved the thought! To which you’d call his bluff and ask him so what if you were and he’d double down on it. “Then next time I’ll let you come help.” He always had a witty, smart mouthed comeback for everything.

it was getting harder to deny the sexual tension that was brewing though and as it were only the two of you left, the banter would become more and more risqué. Completely inappropriate and wrong but it felt so right..

“Can I get a good night kiss?” asks it every night when you take him back to his cell, to which you’d only ignore and instead, shove a stick of gum between his lips as a reward for his hard work..it was as close it were going to get for now.

it was when you got home that those disgusting desires could run rampant. In the solitude of your shower or bedroom, you were free to fantasize about this man and all of the things you wanted him to do you. Touching yourself, wishing it were him…a filthy criminal. From pinning your legs back and pumping you full of dick. Slapping, choking and tugging on your hair. Riding his pretty little face as you came all over his tongue. unbeknownst, he felt the same.

truthfully, it couldn’t be helped..watching the plump curvature of your ass sway in those black uniform cargos and your big supple tits tightly stuffed into that grey polo with the prison’s insignia on the left breast pocket every day drove him crazy. Those plump, juicy lips always covered in gloss that he wouldn’t mind shoving his cock between. Holding your head still while he throat fucks you into oblivion. And he just knew that pussy was fat with a mean grip. Many of nights had he lied in this cell, quietly stroking himself to the thought of his favorite guard bouncing on his dick, riding him before he’d take over and fuck up into you..smacking that round ass as he covers it in baby oil.

hearing you cry out his name..telling him how big it is as he forces all nine of those thick inches in you until it fits..just a few of the dozens of scenarios he’d play in his dirty, perverted mind. It had been years since he’d felt the touch of a woman so it was hard to restrain himself. He’d end up biting his sheets a way to gag his moans as his enclosed fist pumped until he’d splatter a giant nut all over his knuckles. Luckily he was alone in here.

when you returned to work a couple days later, that steamy tension had reached its boiling point and during day duty, you couldn’t take anymore. You needed him now! Favor was in your corner because he happened to be caught with cigarettes he smuggled from another inmate, which would have been a big infraction.

but instead, you snuck him off to a nearby closet where he’d become your personal fuck toy for the afternoon in exchange for your silence. It was his own damn fault..violating the rules and looking so damn good all the time. And he didn’t hesitate!

“You can keep a secret, can’t you, officer? I promise I won’t tell if you won’t.” taunting as he forced you back on his thick cock with his shackled hands. He’s made you squirt more times than any man ever has and it had been so long since he’d been in some pussy and especially one this tight so you had to keep him quiet because he was losing his shit. Didn’t hold it against him when he came too quick and..inside of you because you had been waiting a long time for it.

now, it’s become a regular occurrence. You can’t leave him alone and vice versa. Makes sure that no one else give you a hard time ever again and would handle it personally if they did. Guards included..in return you make sure he gets a little more on his commissary or drops him in a few cigarettes or snacks when it’s permitted. Even letting him get extra time outside, just so you could have him to yourself.

Can’t exactly communicate via cell phones so he writes you love letters that he hides in areas around the prisons for you to read when you get home. Full of filthy detail of how he’d be fucking you if he were a free man, how much he adores you and of course, all the trouble the two of you will get into the next time his beloved CO comes into work.

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kentopedia · 4 months

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.𖥔 ݁ ˖ SHADES OF RED — nanami kento

summary . . . kento tries to move on, but he sees you in every shade of red

contents . . . ex-boyfriend nanami, nanami pov, f!reader, reader is only mentioned but she loves the color red, suggestive part at the end, kento has a new gf but :/ he wants you bad — 700 words

notes . . . erm this is so self indulgent btw ! everyone around me laughs at me for only getting my nails done the color red and this was born bc i got my nails done today. in my yearning!kento era ig <33 he can miss us instead of the other way around smh

kento had never considered himself a sentimental man.

he’d always had the keen ability to let go of things easily—or, at least, to let go of them without too much regret. he’d never been overly emotional about things that served as reminders to his past. kento could’ve passed his childhood home and, sure, he’d feel a twinge of nostalgia. but it was one that he’d get over once he was out of the neighborhood, on his way to something different, somewhere better.

perhaps, it was a lack of sentimentality, or perhaps his future orientation was just a mechanism to help him cope with the ever-changing thing he called life.

too bad that approach never worked when it came to you.

even after you broke up with him, kento saw you everywhere he went. four years together was too much time, and time wasn’t enough to wash away the smell of your perfume, the love letters you’d written that he’d shoved away. kento still had a few of your belongings you’d never come back for. pieces of jewelry you’d left behind, and he’d never been able to get rid of.

your pretty red lipstick still stained the corner of his sofa, the tiny little smear where you’d accidentally dropped the tube.

you’d apologized, embarrassed, so flustered he thought you might cry. but he’d only laughed instead, pushed the cap back on, and kissed the lipstick right back off your face.

it had been his fault anyways.

your golden bracelet still hung with his watches, interlaced with rubies and diamonds. an anniversary gift he’d gotten you, and one that you’d thrown at him angrily when you finally left him.

there was a red ribbon in the center console of his car, one that he’d left there in case you ever forgot a hair tie.

there were reminders of you everywhere, there was red everywhere. the color of the passion, and the color of the fiery love that had burned bright between you.

he saw you everywhere…

even in his new girlfriend.

the first time gojo met her, he told kento how much she looked like you. maybe a little bit taller, her hair a little bit different. her lips were wider, eyes a slightly different shade.

still, the similarities were striking. and she’d never know.

besides all of the red, kento had erased whatever traces of you he could find, kept them locked up in a pretty burgundy box that was tucked away in his closet.

and maybe she was similar to you in appearance, but she was gentler, softer, and she had an affinity for shades of pink. a light rose color was her favorite.

she probably thought that it bothered him, the obvious sign of femininity taking over his apartment. but kento appreciated that the lacy ribbons she left lying around, the lingerie sets, were much lighter than the color you’d tended towards.

“kento,” she interrupted his stream of thought, as he stared at the splotch of maroon on his sofa, remembering how you’d stained his cheeks the same color.

he hummed. it’d been nearly six months since he’d seen you last. it’d seemed like longer.

he shouldn’t miss you this much.

he did, though.

“i’m thinking of getting my nails done.” his new girlfriend—the one that looked like you but wasn’t you—stretched her hands out, looking at the chipped pastel pink at the end of her nails. half of the paint was gone.

“okay,” he said, shrugging. shades of pink, she lived in. it’d be a shade of pink again.

she looked at her fingers, scrutinizing them like she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. “i’m not sure it’d suit me, but… what do you think of red?”

kento’s eyes had drifted over, and for a moment, he contemplated a protest. it didn’t suit her. she was a gentle, sweet soul. her voice soft, words loving—she was pink.

then, he remembered the softness of your palm over his thigh, your fingers threaded in his hair. nails longer, filed perfectly, a beautiful red color painted onto them.

he missed you.

he felt guilty for his answer.

“sure, honey,” kento said, smiling. “that’s pretty.”

when she came home later, kento had pulled her into the bedroom, turned off the lights, the room dark already with the sun that had set. her hands were smaller than yours, fingers more slender, but the color of her nails was the same.

he could imagine your hands between his legs, stroking him lovingly. and kento had to seal his lips tightly to keep your name from spilling from them when he imagined you instead of her.

“mmm,” his new girlfriend had muttered, snuggling into his side. kento stared at the ceiling, sick with longing. “i love you. night, kento.”

he didn’t answer.

when she was asleep, kento climbed out of bed, padded to the kitchen with his phone in his hand. it was past midnight, but you tended to stay up later, a book on your lap, with some form of red on the cover.

his finger hovered over your name; there used to be a red heart next to it, and he wanted to put it back.

he wondered if this would just be another one of those times where his calls went unanswered. or, maybe, this time, you’d pick up.

kento didn’t care anyway.

he pressed the call button.

#idk it's long enough so i guess i'll add tags #i’m sorry #kento nanami x reader #jjk x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #kento nanami x you #nanami x reader #jjk x fem!reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #xoxo rylie 💌 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆#beloved kento 💋 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

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vamossainz55 · 1 year

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love is easy (love is kind) - carlos sainz jr.

a 4 + 1 : the four times carlos almost says i love you, and the one time he (kind of) does | fluff, no warnings a/n: this one has been brewing in my drafts for ages, i hope you enjoy it

the first time it almost happens is the same time he realizes, wound up in his drivers room before a race.

“what are you even staring at?” your voice bounces off the walls with an amused laugh, ripping his attention away from the window to glance over you instead.

he’s playing with his lips, bottom lip pinched between his index and his thumb as he watches you walk over to him.

the sound of your steps is nothing new, he’s so familiar with the beat that he would recognize it even with his eyes shut. for the first time though, he notices the way your hips sway at each step.

you’re dressed simply, how you’ve always preferred: a nice classic t-shirt (that is probably his) along with a pair of blue jeans.

it’s nothing new, he’s pretty sure he’s seen you wear it a million times before.

but his shirt looks better on you than it usually does, and your jeans hug your curves in a way that makes him feel wrong for looking. you look different, but he can’t seem to point out why. he can’t seem to pull his eyes away either though.

he’s too busy studying you to realise how close you’ve gotten, suppressing the little jolt his body has the moment your hands find their place on his shoulders.

it’s not the first time you’ve been this close. in fact, you’ve been closer, but in that moment it feels like it’s too much for him. without thinking, he instinctively straightens his back, tucking his feet a bit under himself as he scoots to sit further onto the bench.

if you notice it, you don’t say a thing. instead, both of your eyes meet as he looks up to you, eyes tracing your face as you smile down at him.

did your smile always look that sweet?

he wants to speak but the breath he takes is intoxicating, the scent of your perfume sends shivers down his spine. he doesn’t understand it, smells the familiar floral notes of your usual fragrance but all of the sudden it’s all he wants to breathe in.

“you’re zoning out carlos,” you tease, hand loosely looping around his wrist to place it down on his lap.

the touch almost burns and he feels like his skin is on fire.

“sorry-“ he apologizes, clearing his throat to try to get the overwhelming amount of air out of his lungs. he flushes red when your hand finds his hair, giving his locks a gentle tussle.

“you’ll do amazing, you always do” it’s words that you’ve said countless times before, the usual encouragement you give him every time you attend a race.

he always forgets how much he needs to hear them, up until the moment you’re there to remind him.

“i just feel weird, a bit nervous” he murmurs, breath caught in his throat from the way your fingers go to fix his hair from the same mess you made. once you’re done, you sit beside him. your knees brush each others as your leg presses against his.

“that’s normal, but hey, you’ve done this a million times before.” right he thinks. you think we’re talking about racing. your fingers intertwine together as soon as your hand finds his.

he wants to laugh, almost does, because at the end of the day, you’re still right. he has done this a million times before. he’s known you since you were both six, stumbling around to play in the park. you held hands the moment you got too scared to go up the rope, and your knees touched when you both tried squeezing down the slide together.

he doesn’t understand what’s so different, what’s causing the pull in his chest that’s making his stomach twist.

“hey, look at me,” and he does, heart beating faster.

you only smile though, tongue swiping over your bottom lip, and he almost needs to look away again to just breathe.

“just do whatever your gut tells you to,”

there’s a beat of silence and for a moment he questions whether you’re still talking about racing- or if somehow, in some twisted way of yours you’ve managed to read him, the same way you always do.

his lips part, words hanging on the tip of his tongue i think - i love you?

but before he says anything there’s a knock on the door. it startles him to the point where his hand slips out of yours, knees brushing away.

it’s rupert. “carlos, warm up before the race.”

he takes a deep breath and gets up, calling back a nervous ‘okay’ before his eyes are darting back to you.

you’re looking at your hands for a short moment before you look at him. this time you’re the one looking up.

you smile. “see you later?”

he nods, letting out a deep breath. “see you later,”

he doesn’t end up having the guts to tell you before you leave to go home. deciding to wait it out just a bit longer.

ii.

the second time is during the summer holidays — you’re on your usual mallorca trip, both of your families agreeing to arrange some of the days to stay in the sainz’s villa together for a little bit.

he hadn’t seen you since the race, not in person at least. of course, you both consistently caught up. whether it was through off handed texts or quick facetimes here and there, you both always made sure you could still catch up.

it’s not like anything’s changed per-se. your dynamic remains the same. sure, maybe carlos’ stomach did a weird leap whenever you picked up the phone, or maybe he appreciated a lot more the way your voice curled at certain words, but he kept his tongue between his teeth, a self made promise to wait until he saw you again in person.

he knew he was postponing it though, the fear of you thinking differently being overpowering. the only worst thing he could imagine than having his heart broken by you would be losing your friendship.

that’s why, even after months of deliberation, hours of laying on the bed, staring at the ceiling trying to figure out how to tell you, the moment you enter the villa, pushing your oversized luggage with a wide smile on your face, his mouth goes dry and he forgets every single word he wants to say.

you smile at him, eyes crinkled and a wave of your hand.

he sucks in a deep breath and smiles back, walking over to you with open arms.

confessing to you is a long forgotten memory for the rest of the trip. its easy to fall back into the rhythm with you.

he thinks its fine, you’re both fine, but things are always fine until alcohol is involved.

he should’ve known better.

you’re both pressed against each other in a club, music so loud that he swears he can feel it in his veins.

the night had taken a steep turn. one glass of wine with the parents turned into one whole bottle, and one bottle after dinner turned into two (and at some point, you really did lose count).

before he could even grasp what was happening you had already convinced him to get dressed to get to the nearest club. what if we don’t get to party together any time soon? you had asked.

and that’s how you both end up there. in a packed club with the base buzzing through your body. you’re dancing, back pressed against his chest as your hips sway to the music and he swears his heart is about to beat out of his chest.

he tries his best to move his own body with yours.

he steps to the right, before stepping to the left, but he struggles to find the rhythm, feet nervously moving side to side in an attempt to somewhat dance. of course by his clumsy luck he steps on the back of your heel, sputtering an apology just as you turn to face him.

you do so with a smile, and of course you do.

“you’re always so stiff,” you joke, arms swinging over his neck as you move closer to let some people pass. his hand instinctively goes to your back, sliding down to your waist to keep you in place. he feels how clammy his hands are; he can only hope that you don’t comment on it.

“well, you know I don’t like dancing.” carlos murmurs, and your faces are so close to one another that he can count each one of your lashes if he wanted to. you let out a small laugh at his words, looking down as your nose tickles his shoulder.

he can feel your breath against his neck and he can feel the bumps forming on his skin.

“I know, thank you for dancing with me.” you say softly before looking up at him again.

he isn’t sure if it’s the flashing lights in the club but for a split moment, he sees stars in your eyes.

it takes everything in him not to kiss you.

you both dance until your feet are sore, sing until your voices are gone, and laugh to the point where your cheeks are hurting .

the night ends almost the same way it starts, both of you sitting in the back of a cab, carlos almost slurring out his address to the driver. he says the name of his street before pausing because, what was his house number again?

“house number thirty-five please,” you say, finishing carlos’ floating sentence as you press yourself as close as possible into his side. the car is moving and your head is spinning and you just need to feel him next to you.

you miss the way carlos swallows, the way he bites the inside of his cheek as his eyes gaze over you.

you’re saying something about the night, how fun it is and how much you missed having those nights together and carlos can only listen along, watching you scroll through your phone. he wonders whether you two could be like this all the time. just you two.

his tongue swipes over his bottom lip, three words floating in his mind. i love you.

he’s about to say it, the words practically about to drip off his tongue. before he opens his mouth though he sees you open a chat.

“jack?” he asks teasingly, the name not ringing a bell to him. “is that your boyfriend?” you often tease each other like this, but your answer startles him.

“actually,” you pause, looking up at carlos with a flustered expression. “I’m kind of seeing him,” theres a little twitch of carlos’ nose but he stops himself from reacting, biting the inside of his cheek to stay grounded. it takes him a split second to muster up the courage to speak, but even then he doesn’t have much to say.

“oh, that’s nice” he simply responds; the three words never end up leaving his lips.

because ultimately, he rather have a bit of you, than none at all.

iii.

the third time it happens is when he’s visiting you, in the heart of london, tucked in a bar’s booth.

he’s meeting the infamous jack, a curly haired blonde boy with blue eyes who shows his dimples everytime he smiles. carlos learns that he’s born and raised in london, grew up in a well-off family. he’s smart (like you), has a master’s degree in computer engineering and is now working on starting a startup, that no matter how many times he tries to explain, carlos can’t really seem to understand.

most importantly though, carlos learns, that he’s there for you. he lives ten minutes away from yours. picks you up in the morning to take you to work, and comes over every other night. he cooks the dinner, you wash the dishes, and he buys you flowers on the way to yours every thursday when the market is open.

carlos learns that jack is everything that he isn’t. and it’s fine, he’s fine. the bitter pill had been swallowed the night in the club. he had seen the blush on your cheeks, and the smile on your lips.

that’s why he’s surprised, confused even, that in that same night, as soon as jack leaves you both to go out for a call, you bump your foot into his with a guilty look on your face.

“what’s wrong? i like him.” carlos says, brows furrowed as he leans back onto his chair. you mirror the same actions as him, sighing softly as your arms cross over your stomach. you mumble something under your breath, but the bar’s too loud for him to hear.

“what?” he asks again, this time leaning closer. you look mildly annoyed as you run a hand through your hair.

“i said i think i don’t like him,” you look guilty again, and even through the dim lighting, carlos can see your eyes go over him, studying his expression, looking for an answer that unfortunately he doesn’t have.

“what do you mean you don’t like him? he sounds like he’s nice, treats you well,” he murmurs, this time hunching over the table to hear you better. his eyes bounce from you to the door, double checking to see if jack is anywhere near.

“that’s not what i meant,” you sigh in frustration. “i mean like- i don’t like-” you stumble over your words, trying your best to find the best way to say it. when you realise you can’t, you just blurt it out. “i don’t think i love him.” you say it a bit exasperated this time. his brows knit together and his head tips to the side.

carlos is quiet for a bit, and you practically can hear the cogs turning in his brain as he tries to understand you. he clears his throat, swallows whatever knot that is forming in his throat. “you’ve been seeing him for like what? four months? these things take time no?”

“i know these things take some time, but, i just don’t think i can fall inlove with him.” your fingers graze over the rim of your wine glass before you hold the stem and twirl it. “i mean- i don’t know if i’ve ever been inlove,” it’s not really a confession to any of you, you were twenty five, almost twenty six now and you had never found yourself in a long-term relationship.

“i mean, if you know, you know.” carlos almost cringes with how cheesy he sounds, and you clearly agree with the way you roll your eyes.

“have you been inlove?” the question floats in the air for a bit, and carlos’ breath hitches a little when he looks up to meet your gaze.

“i think so,” he’s been in relationships before, one long term one and several short flings. they never lasted, or amounted to anything fruitful. there was no bad blood with any, none of them just, went anywhere. but he wasn’t thinking of them when he was answering your question.

“how does it feel like?” your question is innocent, just like the way you smile at him before resting your chin on your hand. carlos can’t help but smile back.

“it’s small things, i think. for me, love feels like the first sip of coffee in the morning.” he had your order memorized by heart. a latte macchiato with a pump of vanilla and oat milk.

“or the smell of fresh bread when you pass by a bakery?” he remembers your baking phase. taste testing more than a dozen cakes for weeks. he swore he couldn’t eat chocolate for a month after.

“or the giddy feeling you get in your stomach when you tell a joke that makes people laugh?” you nod at his question, a small smile on your lips as you hold back a laugh.

his chest swells a little, really, but he doesn’t show it. “i think most importantly, love is easy. it’s the first person you want to text when something happens, good or bad,” he wonders if you know, if you can hear the rush of his heart beat.

“love is,” carlos stops, not because he wants to but because he notices the way the door opens and closes, spots jack’s figure approaching the table. he feels a clap on his back, prompting him to straighten back in his seat almost instantly.

he flashes your boyfriend a smile, watching the way he slides into the booth next to you and giving you a kiss in the process.

love is.. carlos thinks, love is… the way I love you.’

iv.

the fourth time he almost says it, the world stops a little. in a surreal type of way that he doesn’t understand what’s going on.

you and jack didn’t last. but he didn’t stand a chance after carlos’ small little speech. he felt sorry, really. he was a nice guy, but carlos couldn’t deny the little sense of satisfaction when you had told him you both called it quits.

none of you bring up your break up apart from the are you okay? question carlos had asked when he found out. you simply had given him a smile and shrug with a promise of i’ll be fine, and somehow he convinces himself to trust your word for it.

he comes to learn though, that you are fine. he sees it from the moment he picks you up from the airport, rosy cheeked and blurry eyed from the flight. despite that, you’re smiling, dimpley and excited as you hug him (you hold onto him for a tad bit longer than usual, but he doesn’t complain).

by the end of the day you’re both in carlos’ parents’ kitchen, quietly helping them dry out the plates. reyes is by the counter, sipping on her glass of wine with carlos sr. putting away the plates.

it’s easy the way you all move around eachother, the domesticity of it all. you flow between his family like water down a stream, fitting perfectly into the commotion of it all. of course reyes teases you both, how can she not when she sees the way her son looks at you? or the stolen glances you gave back when he wasn’t looking.

she doesn’t push it too far though, she never does. instead, she makes sure her and her husband are tucked in bed the moment the house is clean.

by the time you’ve both unwinded, you’ve decided to crash on the couch for a movie, both too wide awake to sleep just yet.

the lion king is playing, both of your favorites, and despite the stretch of the couch you’re tucked into carlos’ side. you’re flushed against him, and he can’t help but draw absent minded cirlces onto your arm, with his arm that's wrapped around you.

it’s a usual set up for your movie nights but something feels different.

it isn’t helping that he can feel your gaze bouncing from the tv to him. he lets it slide four times before lowering his head to look at you, brow raised.

“what? don’t tell me you want popcorn now?” he asks, knowing that he could always make you get it yourself. its not like you didn’t know the house well enough. not that he ever would though.

“no, i was just thinking,” you murmur, looking over at him and he moves a little to face you better, leaning his head against the couch.

“what is it?” he asks, reaching over to fix a single strand of hair of yours that was sticking out. you watch him closely, features soft and murmuring a thank you once his hand moves away.

“about what you were saying about love,” it takes carlos a moment to remember, and when he does his breath falters a bit. you notice it, but you continue anyways.

“i think i get it now,” carlos can only nod, prompting you to continue, “it’s like the feeling when someone gives you the last bite of their food,” you think of the ice cream you had shared with him over dinner. you’d given him the last bite- since he’d realised too late you had gotten vanilla at the last moment. you complained (of course), but still hovered the spoon infront of carlos’ lips.

“or like the feeling of your hand out the window of a moving car breaking through the wind” you’d always have the best car drives with carlos, driving aimlessly outside the cities, enjoying the quieter scenery.

carlos doesn’t miss the way your eyes drop from his eyes to his lips, and his world stills. “but ultimately, i think love for me is the feeling of being with someone, and feeling at home.”

you both don’t know how you’ve both gotten so close, foreheads almost touching as you look into eachothers eyes. the only sound in the room is the faint soundtrack of lion king which had been long forgotten by now. his gaze flickers from your eyes to your lips, and he lets out a shaky breath. he has to say it.

and he almost does, lips parted to speak, but instead of his voice the next thing he hears is a loud bark. you both flinch, a space being created between you.

both of your eyes jump towards the door, to find piñon, innocently turning his head to the side. carlos almost curses. almost.

“i… need to take him out.” he murmurs, getting up to grab piñon’s leash.

the first time he says it… well he doesn’t really say it.

it happens right after the race is over, after he crosses the line and pushes himself out of the car. the crowd is cheering and his ears are numb from Adami’s screams on the radio. he somehow can’t feel his legs, or his hands, or his face. he finally did it. he’s won his home race.

he’s smiling, so wide that he feels like his cheeks are going to shatter. climbing over the seat before he stands, raising both his fists in the air.

the moment he jumps off the car he’s running to his team. he hugs them tight, but they only hug him tighter. if he wasn’t running on adrenaline, he wouldn’t be sure how he would have pulled away.

he moves to the rest of the team, unclasping and taking off his helmet before he rips the balaclava off. as soon as the fresh air hits him, his head whips around, looking for you.

the moment he sees you its like tunnel vision, he runs to you, high with a mix of adrenaline and the thrill of winning.

“carlos-” before you can say anything else he closes the gap, stealing the next words from your lips.

he pulls away wide eyed and breathless, your lips still ghosting eachothers. “congratulations,” you murmur and carlos nods, lips parting and he wants to say it, wants to scream it, but he’s feeling too much that the words don’t come out of his mouth.

instead though you smile, shaking your head. he didn’t need to say it.

“carlos, i know, i know, me too.”

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