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honeyhotteoks · 5 months

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always only you (c.sc)

summary: the date was terrible, awful even, but you just can't call your brother to pick you up. you have to call his best friend instead.

note: hi um....... i'm back and a seventeen stan now????? don't worry, i'm still working on ateez fic, but s.coups has taken hold of my brain and i needed to get this one out there so..... pls enjoy

warnings: non idol!seungcheol, fem!reader, older brother mingyu, seungcheol is mingyus bff, reader is called a sl*t in a mean way by her shitty date, v protective cheol, reckless driving, unprotected sex (wrap it up dont be like them), reader is curvy and descriptors like full, thick, etc. are used throughout, makeouts, grinding, cheol is obsessed with pussy, i mean fr he's a bonafide wap enjoyer, an oral aficionado of the wettest kind, anyways there's oral sex f receiving, hand stuff, rough fingering, rough but passionate sex, use of baby and princess, creampies b/c lbr he's gotta, anyways they're obsessed with each other

pairings: s.coups x reader

genre: smut and more smut, childhood friends to lovers

word count: 14.2K

It was a bad date.

Not the worst date you’ve ever had, granted, but still pretty up there in terms of terrible. He left an hour ago, the minute you interrupted his monologue to tell him that you were pretty sure things weren’t going to work out. You’ve never had someone leave in the middle of a date before, but then again, you’ve never actually told someone the date was bad in the middle either.

Not being able to find the right guy is starting to feel embarrassing. It’s been years since your last relationship and months since you even had a second date. Naively, you had had such a good feeling about tonight and having to be proven wrong at breakneck speed before you even got your entrees feels like some kind of poetic karma for something you must have done. You just wish for once you had kept your mouth shut, but your good feeling had been infectious and your excitement about the date bubbled up out of you to your friends and your coworkers.

You just wish you never told Mingyu.

I have a really good feeling about him. That’s what you told your brother on the phone a few hours ago. We’ve been talking for a few weeks, I think you’ll really like him.

Stupid.

You should have known he was on the rebound from the suspiciously large gap in photos on his Instagram. You should have known he was just trying to sleep with you from the minute he commented on your dress, from the way he touched your shoulder for too long for the first hug. You should have known on top of all of that that he would be boring from his joking non-answer when you asked about his most recent read. Sometimes it takes all of those things wrapped up tightly together and shoved directly in your face from across a dining room table to know for sure.

You just wish you never said a word to Mingyu. You don’t want to see that look in his eyes when you tell him he wasn’t the right guy. His eyes always go soft, mouth downturned, and it kills you every time because he means it when he says - You’ll find the right guy soon, anyone would be crazy to not love you.

Tonight you really don’t want pity, you don’t think you can handle it.

“Are you ready for the check?” The server’s voice snaps you right out of your thoughts and you look up at his sympathetic smile.

“Sorry,” You manage, “yes,”

“No rush,” He lies, immediately producing the leather billfold and sliding it across the tablecloth.

The floor doesn’t start to drop out from beneath you until you open it, despite having to sit here and eat your pasta alone. This place is expensive, more expensive than you thought.

Your eyes run through the bill. Four cocktails, two appetizers, two entrees, one slice of cherry cheesecake. The bills your date left on the table just barely covers three cocktails. You can’t afford this. The prices here were probably nothing for your date given how much he talked about his extremely smart investing strategies, but not for you.

You do fast math, panic math.

After paying the bill you’ll have 9,600 won in your debit account. You get paid tomorrow so it’s not the scariest number you’ve ever seen in your account, but it’s definitely not enough for a taxi home.

Your stomach churns.

You pay the bill quickly, quietly, the server’s hovering presence by your shoulder enough to tell you there is in fact a considerable rush. Your card is returned to you in moments, and he places a brown paper bag in front of you, “There’s an extra slice of cheesecake in there for you,” he says, “I’m sorry about your date.”

He’s gone before you can say thank you.

You suppose you can’t really sit inside anymore if you’ve paid the bill and you’re holding a to-go bag, so you step out into the chilly night air. It’s been raining lately, but barely. It’s been cloudy more than anything, and yet here you are walking outside into the cold night air and a late autumn storm of icy rain.

Your date was a special kind of bastard for leaving you stranded a half hour from your apartment in a storm like this.

The comments he made about you, about your dress and the way it fits flick through your mind and your jaw draws tightly shut. If you had had the wherewithal in that moment to slap him or toss a glass of water in his face you would have, but instead you sat frozen with your stomach in knots.

It takes you one flash of rage to scroll through your phone and delete the three dating apps installed, and then you open up your contacts and scroll for your brother’s name. He doesn’t live too far from here, and you know he’s probably out with some of his friends, but if you’re lucky maybe he’s close by. Your finger hovers over Mingyu’s contact, but you can't quite make the call.

You’re twenty-six, you should be grown up enough to get home by yourself after a bad date and not have to call him to rescue you. Embarrassment floods you, the idea of admitting you can’t afford the taxi tonight just sinks into your bones. You love your brother so much, but the idea of seeing him look at you the way he sometimes does and then slip money into your purse for you to find at home makes you want to cry. You’d call him and you’d tell him you’re returning it and he’d play dumb - What money, y/n? I didn’t put that there, maybe it’s like when you find 50,000 won in your old jeans?

No, you can’t call him. You can’t go over to his lovely little apartment with his absolutely lovely fiance and cry about the sorry state of your romantic life. Nothing about that will make you feel better in this moment, absolutely nothing.

You scroll away from his contact and you think about anyone else you could call, but there’s only one person who keeps coming to mind. There’s no way he’ll pick up, not when he sees your number on his phone, not after the way you’ve treated him for the past year, but his apartment really isn’t that far from here and if he doesn’t hate your guts you know he’ll at least give you a ride.

The rain picks up, pelting you hard enough that you have to duck back under the measly lip of the restaurants roof for what cover it provides, and you don’t realize you’re well and truly crying until your cheeks feel warm and wet and you can’t get a full breath, but here you are. Stranded alone, broke, and loveless in an apparently ill fitting dress, and there’s only one person’s voice you want to hear even if it’s just his stupid voicemail box.

Tears hiccup out of you as you dial, cold fingers shaking as you try to press the numbers you’ve had memorized by heart since you were thirteen and got your first cell phone.

The phone rings twice before he answers, “Hey, you,”

The easy sound of his voice makes your tears come faster. Your breath hitches in your chest, “Cheol?”

“y/n?” His voice shifts, “Are you crying?”

“I’m,” You hiccup again, “I’m sorry,”

“Hey,” He tries again, “y/n, is that you?”

“I messed up,” Your head is starting to throb and you press your eyes closed, leaning back against the cold wall of the restaurant and hiding as much of your body under the overhang of the roof as possible, “I’m sorry to call,”

“That’s okay,” Seungcheol says, his voice sounding strained, “what happened, princess?”

He hasn’t called you that in years, not since you were fifteen and carrying a torch for him. Not since you made Mingyu tell him to stop.

“C-can you come get me?” You wish you could just stop crying.

“Tell me where you are,” He answers immediately, and despite the rain you hear the sound of his car keys.

You give him the name of the restaurant, the closest cross streets, all blubbered out between fat tears and rain drops.

“That’s…” He sounds distant suddenly and then his voice reconnects, “twenty minutes, okay? I’ll be there in twenty minutes, princess, just take a deep breath,”

You drag in a shaky breath, “Cheol,” you scrub the tears from under your eyes, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know who else to call,”

“Me,” He says, his car starting up in the background, “you always call me if you need me,”

You haven’t seen him in almost a year, barely talked to him outside of sending reactions to each other's Instagram stories, but he’s coming.

The way you fell away from him was gradual at first, and then an intentional self preservationist wall. Mingyu had introduced his best friend to a girl, and despite your high school crush being supposedly dead and buried, you weren’t prepared for what Choi Seungcheol in love would look like. You started being busier and busier until his calls went unanswered and then eventually his calls just stopped altogether. Mingyu told you later that the relationship didn’t last, but the damage was done and in the end it was just easier not to reach out first.

You can’t believe he picked up the phone and you can’t believe the first thing he heard from you in a year was hysterical crying. Taking a set of deep, steadying breaths you wipe away the wetness from your cheeks. Your date had hurt your feelings, but you only let it last for a minute. You wouldn’t let a man with such a fragile ego get into your head, and besides, you’ve always liked this dress.

Seungcheol makes it to you in fifteen minutes flat. He’s broken at least six traffic laws to get to you, including running a solidly red, redlight, but he really doesn’t care.

He’s seen you cry before, plenty of times. When you skinned your knee at seven or that time he and Mingyu played a prank when you were eleven, tricking you into thinking you were home alone on Halloween night. He’s seen you cry at movies and at videos of puppies and the sound of moving music, and he remembers your eyes full of glassy tears watching Mingyu graduate college. He remembers the sound of it when your grandmother died when you were nineteen, the way your shoulders shook and your breath wheezed as you hid your face tightly in your brother's chest while he looked on feeling so, so helpless.

Seungcheol remembers all of it, but he’s never heard you sound like you did tonight.

Mingyu had said you had a date. Earlier in Seungcheol’s night at a bar not far from his apartment, his best friend mentioned it off hand. Mingyu said it like an afterthought as he answered one of your texts. Seungcheol tried not to notice the way his hand tightened on his beer can, enough to make the aluminum crack inwards on itself where his thumb dug into the cool metal. He tried not to think too much about what that meant, just like he’s been trying not to think too much about you at all lately.

Now his mind is racing, threading the pieces together as the wet road whips by. The threadiness of your voice turns synonymous with panic in his mind and now all he can think about is how he’ll find you when he gets there. He goes over the facts he knows while he stops behind a small block of traffic, his knuckles white as he grips the wheel.

A date, a bad date, a date you needed a ride away from. The kind of date you couldn’t tell your brother about, when he knows that Mingyu is always your first call. As the traffic disperses he presses the gas pedal and weaves around the slower cars, images flickering in his mind’s eye. A faceless man looking at you, making you uncomfortable, pressing into your space. His mind loops on the image of an unwanted kiss, of pushy hands finding their way under your blouse.

By the time he’s skidding into the parking lot of the restaurant his hands are shaking and he’s ready to kill.

When he sees you, wet and shivering on the sidewalk, he nearly falls out of the car trying to get to you. He leaves the key in the ignition, the door flung wide open with warmth pouring out into the chilly night air.

He looks flustered, rumpled like he was having a quiet night in. Heavy gray sweatpants that hang just right on his hips and an oversized white shirt. He’s wearing socks and slides and the second you see him it dawns on you that when you called him you must have sounded hysterical because he didn’t even try to dress for the icy weather.

“You look terrible,” You clap a hand over your lips to stop yourself from laughing, and you can’t believe that’s the first thing you manage to say to him after a year. You hate yourself for having no filter, no off switch, no ability to just be normal and say thank you for coming all this way.

His expression runs from panic to confusion in a split second, “What?”

“Fuck,” You laugh, shaking your head, “no, sorry, you look good, but it’s raining like hell, get in the car,”

He blinks, “y/n,”

“Come on,” You duck out from beneath the measly roof overhang and dart towards the passenger side door, “it’s freezing, I’ll explain in the car,”

Your dress is wet, but not soaked through, so you hope you won’t do any damage to his seats as you slide into the warmth of his car and shut the door. It takes him at least thirty seconds to follow you, but through his confusion at your reaction you bet he finally registers the cold wetness of his socks and it snaps him back to reality.

He leaves the car in park and turns his body to you.

You owe him an explanation, especially given the way you cried on the phone to him twenty minutes ago, but all you can think right now is that it’s really, really nice to see his face again. His hair has gotten longer, shaggier and curled a little at the neck and it might just be the fit of his shirt, but he looks broader. It’s only been a year, but he looks so much more like a man now. All you can manage is, “Hey, Cheol,”

“Hey,” He answers, shifting himself further in the seat so that he’s almost twisted up sideways, one leg tucked up to accommodate the position.

The front of his shirt is damp with rain and clinging a bit to his chest and you look down. You really do not need to be having these kinds of thoughts about him again, it’s only been a minute, ninety seconds at the most.

“y/n,” He says, his voice slow and soft, “what happened?”

Shame floods you, heating your cheeks red.

He stretches a hand across the center console, but he stops halfway, his fingers closing into a loose fist, “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know,”

“I won’t tell Gyu,” He offers quietly, “just tell me what happened, and I promise, I’ll take care of it.”

Oh.

Your head snaps up at his serious tone, “Nothing happened, I’m fine,”

He looks more confused than before if that’s even possible, and you can practically see him working out his next words.

“Cheol,” You shake your head, “I’m serious, I’m completely fine, I just needed a ride,”

“You were crying,” He says, not a question but a fact.

“I know,” You sigh.

“You were crying like something happened,” He draws his arm back and runs a hand through his damp hair, “and you called me?”

“I know,” You repeat, “it was a bad date, but that’s all it was. He ditched me without a ride though and I just,”

Seungcheol’s lips close at your words as he waits for you to finish.

“The thought of calling Mingyu and telling him about this just,” You clear your throat to push back a little bubble of emotion, “yeah, I couldn’t do that,”

“Oh,” His voice drops, and Seungcheol shifts in his seat, throwing the car into drive, “got it.”

“No, Cheol,” You shake your head, “that’s not what I meant,”

“It’s fine,” He peels out of the parking lot, “I’ll drive you home.”

He’s angry, pissed at you in that way he gets pissed. Tightened jaw, heavy sighs, his knee bouncing in irritation. If you give it five minutes he’ll tell you what’s bothering him, he’ll say it in a fast rush like he’s more disappointed than mad. You have to let him come to you when he’s like this, no amount of trying to explain will fix it, so you wait.

The drive is silent, and you fight the urge to jump in with directions when he approaches each light and turn. He knows where your apartment is, he helped you move in four years ago when you graduated college. Mingyu and his friends lifting box after box and telling you to just relax and let the professionals handle it. You smile at the memory.

He stays quiet until he turns off the major road and down the side streets that will take you to your apartment, but finally he says, “You can’t just call me like that and expect me to drop everything when you have a bad date,”

“Were you busy?” You didn’t think so judging by the state of his clothes, but it’s not out of the realm of possibility. He could have had friends over, maybe a girl. You wonder idly if he’s seeing someone.

“That’s not the point,” He glances at you, “and you know it.”

“I’m sorry,” You tell him, and you mean it, “I really didn’t know who to call, and I just,”

“What, y/n?” He pushes a little.

“I just don’t want to tell Mingyu about the date,” You confess, “and I didn’t mean to call you and be such a mess, the date really was bad and I was feeling sorry for myself, and I didn’t have enough money to get home,”

“What?” He swivels his head to the side for a moment and then refocuses on the road.

“I would have called a taxi,” You explain, “but my fucking date left and didn’t pay after we ordered all this food and it was more than I was planning for,”

“He didn’t pay?” He sounds disgusted and you smile.

“No,” You tell him, “but in fairness, I did tell him in the middle of the date it wasn’t going to work out,”

He laughs sharply, and you know he’s still irritated but at least he’s listening, “That bad?”

“Yeah,” You sigh, “but it is what it is,”

He glances over to you again, “So he walked out?”

“Basically,” You nod, “he said what he needed to say, dropped twenty-thousand won on the table like that was going to cover anything and walked out. At least now I know he was an asshole, I’m not missing out on anything,”

“What did he say to you?” His voice pops up an octave.

You’d really rather not tell him, you’d be fine burying the comment he made deep down inside never to be unpacked again. You shake your head, “It’s fine,”

“It doesn’t seem fine,” He starts, but you smoothly cut back in.

“I just didn’t want Gyu to feel bad for me I guess, he knew I was looking forward to the date, and having to call for a ride like this, I don’t know. I was embarrassed,” You explain.

“I still don’t understand why you called me, though,” He admits, and you can still feel the tension in him even though the conversation has been ebbing and flowing, “I’m not your brother.”

Irritation sparks in you at the comment, “I know you’re not,” you turn to him, “but we’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Friends call each other,” He says simply, “don’t they?”

You let his comment sit in the air between you for a moment, and then you sigh, “Yeah, they do. I’m sorry I disappeared on you like that,”

“I tried calling,” He says softly, “but you were always busy,”

“I know,” You breathe.

He drives further, slower now and safer that you’re in the car, and you can see him thinking through your words. Finally he slides his hand across the center console with his palm turned up, offering you his hand, “y/n,” he says, “are you doing okay? With money, I mean, after what you said?”

“I’m good,” You tell him, “it was just shitty timing,”

“If you need anything,” He squeezes your hand as you slide your palm across his, “I’m here, we don’t have to say anything to,”

“I’m okay,” You assure him, “but thank you, seriously,”

He nods, accepting your words, but then he asks something harder, “What did that guy say to you, y/n? I know you, you weren’t crying like that over not being able to get a taxi,”

You sigh, leaning back in the passenger seat, “Can I ask you to let it go?”

“You can ask,” He shrugs, “but so can I.”

You sit quietly, looking at your entwined hands resting on your knee. His thumb strokes over your knuckles slowly.

“Fine,” You murmur, “he said he didn’t want to date me anyways, he just came to sleep with me,”

His hand tightens on yours.

“And if I wasn’t going to fuck him,” You do your best to clean up some of the language he used when he got up from the table, “I shouldn’t have dressed like a slut,”

You leave out the part that really cut deep, the part that made the more form fitting dress you chose go from sexy to something sour.

“Give me this asshole’s name,” Seungcheol skids to a stop a little too harshly at the next traffic light and turns to you.

“No,” You shake your head, “I’m fine now, it just stung,”

His lips close in a tight line and then he sighs, “I’m so sorry someone said that to you,”

“Don’t apologize, Cheol,” You squeeze his hand, “you didn’t say it.”

“I know, but still,” He holds your gaze, “it was mean, and you deserve much better from a guy you’re seeing, and you don’t look like, or I mean, you aren’t a,”

You smile as he stumbles over his words and someone behind him gently honks the horn enough to let him know the light has gone green.

He jolts and refocuses on the road, clearing his throat, “What I’m trying to say is that you look nice, pretty. The dress is good, and you, um, you don’t look,”

“Thank you,” You cut him off, trying to save him from swallowing his own tongue out of embarrassment, and you ignore the way your stomach flipped over on itself hearing Seungcheol call you pretty.

“Yeah,” He swallows, slowing down to make the final turn onto your little block, “you know what I mean,”

“Mhm,” You laugh, breaking down any lingering tension, “Cheol, are you a little disappointed you didn’t get to punch my date? Is that it?”

“Shut up,” He sighs.

“Aw,” You smile as he pulls into a space by your apartment, “You were worried about me?”

He rolls his eyes as he kills the ignition, “You were hysterical,” he says, “what was I supposed to think?”

“Don’t worry,” You smile as he throws open the driver’s side door, “I think it’s kind of sweet that you went all knight and shining armor on me,”

His lip twitches, “Don’t make fun,” he says, “I thought something bad happened to you,”

“Nothing bad happened to me,” You find yourself assuring him again even though he already knows this, and you twist the moment back to a joke as quickly as you can, “unless you count listening to a guy talk about his ex for twenty minutes,”

He grimaces, “Ugh,”

“Exactly,”

“Actually, you know what,” He grins, “you’re right, that is a terrible date and you were right to call me,”

He’s out of the car and crossing to your door and relief floods your chest. Just like that, you’re back to normal.

Seungcheol pulls open your door to let you out and says, “Do you have a towel or something?”

“You want to come up?”

“If you don’t mind,”

“You just swooped in and saved my night, Coups, of course I don’t mind.” He smiles at the nickname, the one mostly used by his friend group and coined by Seungcheol himself during their short lived Soundcloud music career freshman year of college. The nickname stuck, but you and Mingyu knew him before and you’ve both always, always called him Seungcheol.

He ducks his head, smiles, and follows you up the stairs and into your apartment just like old times.

It’s a little strange seeing him like this after so much time has passed, but no matter what has happened in your life, even when your childhood little crush on him was making your nights sleepless, he’s always been there. He’s been a constant in your life since you could form memories, and when you really think about it, you’ve never not known Seungcheol. Suddenly seeing him in your living room feels right, and it makes you wonder why you couldn’t pick up the phone and say something real to him this past year.

“It looks good in here,” He offers, toeing off his slides in the entryway and stepping into your little living room, “it looks like you,”

“Thanks,” You’re pretty sure the floor of your bedroom is still covered in clothes from earlier, but he’s not going to see that and you’re just glad you didn’t let that chaos spillover out here.

“So,” He clears his throat lightly.

“Towel,” You jump, “right, hold on,”

You disappear down the hall and Seungcheol’s chest goes fluttering fast. He doesn’t need a towel, he doesn’t need anything except a pair of dry socks and his own bed, and he can’t figure out for the life of him why he gave into the little voice that told him to come upstairs. You’ve made it pretty clear over the past year or so that you’ve grown up, you’ve made your own group of friends outside of him and your brother and the guys. He doesn’t need to be here, you don’t need him anymore, you just needed a ride.

But he’s missed you a little. A lot if he’s being honest with himself. Sometimes he finds himself asking Mingyu about you, hoping you might drop by while he’s at his best friend’s place. Your name on his phone screen earlier in the night had stopped his heart cold. He couldn’t imagine why you were calling and not just texting, and he picked up the phone so fast he thought he might have fucked it up and accidentally pressed end. He tried to sound casual, normal, but his heart was pounding.

Standing in your living room he feels out of place, like a forgotten childhood relic unboxed in the middle of a new home. He doesn’t know which seat to sit in, he doesn’t have his spot on your couch here like he did at your old place. He doesn’t know where you keep your glasses or which remote would switch on the television. He doesn’t know which book you’ve been reading from the little stack on the table or the name of the place you’ve been working, and there’s a man’s jacket hanging on the wall in the hallway that he doesn’t recognize. He hopes it’s Mingyu’s.

He doesn’t know why he’s here. He should leave. He should go.

“Okay,” Your voice comes back, and he tears his eyes away from the little details of your life he doesn’t recognize to look back at you, “I’ve got a towel, socks, and I bet I have a sweatshirt of Gyu’s around here if you’re cold,”

“I’m good,” He recovers, taking the dry items from your hands.

Your fingers brush along his as you pass everything off and your stomach jumps.

“Come in,” You wave him in, “I’ll make some coffee or something and then I need to change,”

“You should get a warm shower,” He says abruptly, “you’ll catch a cold,”

“I’m fine,” You shake your head, “I wasn’t out there for too long,”

“I’ll make the coffee then, you need to get out of that wet dress,” He shoos you away and points to your kitchen, “I assume you have a normal coffee machine and not some fancy Italian thing?”

“I think you’ll be fine,” You smile, “I’ll just be a second,”

He nods, and you dart back down the hallway to your bedroom.

It takes you three minutes to change into something comfortable and clean and then kick all of your scattered clothes into the closet and shut the door. You run a brush through your tangled hair from the rain, and you almost forget that your childhood crush is walking freely around your apartment, but then you hear his laugh and you melt into the wall behind you. You missed the sound of it so much, and if you don’t get a handle on this right now you’re going to go out there and make a fool of yourself.

But then he laughs again.

You smile as you come back out into the living room, leaving your good sense behind in the bathroom, “What’s so funny?”

“I haven’t seen these in years,” He grins, and as you come around the corner you realize he’s looking at the photos you have framed and sitting in various spots on your bookshelf.

“Oh,” You smile, seeing the one he’s holding and studying, “yeah,”

“This one,” He tips the frame so you can see the picture, but you already know which one, Mingyu and Seungcheol in their first year of college stand in the center of the frame, Wonwoo, Jeonghan, Dokyeom, and Hoshi with their arms thrown around each other on either side. You are crouching in the center with Jeonghan’s little sister, both of you holding out a peace sign.

“Isn’t this the night we went to that haunted theme park?” Seungcheol asks with a smile.

“Yeah,” You take the photo back from him and look it over for a moment, “in Daegu,”

He nods, “I remember,”

“Yeah,” You place the photo back in it’s assigned spot and turn towards the kitchen, “I just remember you and DK scaring the living shit out of me,”

“God,” He runs a hand through his hair, “we did, I felt so bad about that after,”

“Mm,” You laugh.

“Gyu reamed us out for it later,” He follows you into the kitchen and watches as you pour two cups of freshly brewed coffee.

“He never told me that,” Your eyes perk up in surprise.

“He said,” Seungcheol straightens himself up to his full height and lets his face go passive for his impression, “‘If you ever make my sister cry like that again, you’ll be sorry,’”

“Sorry?” You laugh, “Mingyu wouldn’t know how to make someone sorry if his life depended on it,”

“I don’t know,” He shrugs, relaxing his shoulders and reaching for his cup, “it seemed pretty clear he wasn’t fucking around, we took him seriously,”

“Wow,” You lean against the counter, “that’s actually kind of sweet,”

“He’s always been protective of you,” Seungcheol points out, “even now, he’ll talk about you and I can see it,”

“I’m not a kid anymore, though,” You bristle a little.

“He knows that,” Seungcheol shakes his head, “he just worries, you know, it’s his nature,”

“Yeah,” You nod, taking a long sip of your coffee, “I know,”

Seungcheol hovers, not finding a place to lean or to sit in the unfamiliar place, and finally he just asks the question that’s been on his mind for the past twenty minutes, “Is that why you didn’t call him? He worries too much?”

“I guess a little,” You move past him and back into the living room, “come sit down, you’re making me nervous,”

He blushes and every little emotion you’ve ever had for him comes thundering back in your chest. There are at least three places for him to sit that aren’t directly next to you on the couch, but he ignores every one of them and sits next to you, barely a foot away, and turns towards you so he can put all his focus on you.

“So,” He prompts you, “come on, it’s just me,”

Talking to him was always easy, always. Even in the throes of your infatuation you were able to hold a conversation with him, sometimes a long one out on the balcony of your parent’s house. It’s almost irritating how quickly that familiarity and comfort comes back.

“I just feel like I’ve been really fucking this whole dating thing up,” You confess, “and Mingyu’s been… well you know him, he’s like the number one hype man for me making all my dreams come true, and being ten out of ten happy,”

“Yeah,” He nods, but lets you continue.

“But I just haven’t been able to make it work with anyone in a while,” You bite down the reason why in the back of your brain, “and every time I tell him about a bad date he just looks sadder and sadder for me,”

“Mm,” He nods, sympathetic, “I know exactly what you mean.”

“I’m so glad you picked up, honestly,” You glance down at the edge of your cup, “you’ve never treated me like that, and I just… I guess I needed a friend and not my brother tonight,”

He hesitates, but then his hand comes to rest on your knee and he gives you a squeeze, “I get it,” he says, “but, honestly it seems like you’re putting a lot of pressure on yourself,”

“I know, but,” You sigh, your words dying out as you focus on his lingering hand on your knee.

“What’s so important about getting a guy right now?” He asks, and you almost laugh at the absurdity of this man asking you that question.

“Cheol,” You shift on the couch to reposition, pulling back your knee from his touch so you can face him and admit this without being dizzier than you are about his presence, “I don’t know, exactly, but… don’t you feel like living alone is kind of fucking lonely sometimes?”

His eyes flick over you and then he nods.

The words keep coming as much as you don’t want them to now that you’ve started telling someone, telling him the truth of it and you grimace as you admit it, “The sick part is that I think it’s me. Tonight was the exception, he was a dick, but most of these guys are nice. They’re nice, they’re respectful, they seem to be interested in me, but none of them are what I want, none of them are,”

You have to stop. You have to get off this topic and off this train before you say something really and truly stupid and burn this newly restored friendship down to ash.

“Having high standards isn’t a bad thing,” He offers, “and Gyu sets the bar high for how you should treat a woman, I mean,”

“You think I’m talking about Mingyu?” You laugh sharply.

“He’s the best guy I know,” He starts to say and then the wheels start turning.

It happens fast, your absolute lightning quick strike to the match, but your poor decision making usually goes something like this. It makes you mad at first, his constant reference to your perfect brother, but then it all makes sense. Seungcheol really has no idea how you feel about him, as a person or otherwise. It doesn’t enter his brain that the guy who set your standards for men so high might be him, even after he drove illegally fast on wet roads just to come get you because he heard you cry. Up until the last year of your life where you tried to install some distance, he was always there. He was always your first call, always your last call too, and you could never really see anyone else while he was towering right in front of you. He’s never let you down and he doesn’t even know it.

“I can’t believe you,” The words slip out, and then you’re kissing him.

He takes a sharp inhale of breath at the way you collapse onto him, holding yourself up with one hand on his chest and the other on his neck, and his mouth is so warm. You press the first kiss tentatively, and then the second a little more insistently, and then you realize he hasn’t moved an inch and isn’t kissing you back in the least.

You fly backwards, your hand over your mouth, “Oh, god, I’m so sorry,”

He clears his throat and shifts, shaking his head, “It’s fine, don’t worry about it,”

“I can’t believe I just did that,” You blush scarlet, “I’m a mess, I’m so, so sorry, Cheol,”

“Really,” He avoids your eyes, “it’s fine, it was an emotional night, and you just said it yourself, living alone is lonely. We’re good,”

“I didn’t kiss you because I was sad,” You run a hand through your hair and slump back on the couch, “I kissed you because you were being a dumb ass,”

“I feel like you’re insulting me a lot tonight considering I just drove across town for you,” He’s not angry, not really, but he doesn’t let you off so easily, he never has.

“I kissed you because you’re the best guy I know,” You counter his words back, “and I’m sick of you always putting yourself down when-”

He yanks you forwards by your wrist, and this kiss is what you’ll count forever as the first one. He drags your body forwards as he leans back against the couch and kisses you hard, his tongue dipping past your lips this time, his breath mingling with yours.

You shift for better purchase, your chest and his flush together, and you moan softly against his lips when his hand slips lower on your waist.

He breaks the kiss, his forehead leaning against yours, “What the fuck are we doing?”

“I think they call it making out,” You manage, your heart beating fast like a bird.

“Jesus,” He shakes his head, “what are we doing?”

“Cheol,” You start, but he kisses you again, hungrier and hotter as he pulls you in.

You pant against his mouth, your brain exploding into little fireworks as his hands start to wander, and then he groans, “You feel so good,”

This is going somewhere fast, and with your hands twisted in the fabric of his t-shirt you swing your leg over his hips and let him wrap his arms around you.

“We should slow down,” You find yourself mumbling against his mouth, “but I don’t want to, I want you,”

He nods against you, his hands squeezing your thighs where they rest on either side of him, “I want you too,”

“We should talk more,” You manage as his kisses travel over your jaw.

“Later?” He asks, his hands dragging you closer, “God, that dress,”

“Yeah?” You’re breathless already.

“If I knew you were going to kiss me I would have peeled it off you,” He pants.

A moan gets caught in your throat, your hips jerking, nipples hardening against his chest as you throw yourself into another kiss.

“God,” He shivers.

“Cheol stay,” You can talk later, he’s absolutely right, and you beg him not to go between kisses, “please stay,”

Logic starts to pump through him at the implications of that, so much more than kissing comes with staying for the night and he starts to shake his head, but at the way you’re touching him he can’t quite tear his hands away.

“I should go home,” He murmurs against your mouth, fingers slipping underneath the hem of your t-shirt, “you’ve been drinking,”

“I had two drinks,” You connect your lips with his again, tongue dipping into his mouth, “like three hours ago,”

“Still,” He kisses you again despite his words, his hand now flat against the small of your back.

“I’m not drunk,” You pull yourself closer using his shoulders, “if you don’t want to kiss me, don’t kiss me, but don’t use that as an excuse,”

“I should go home,” He repeats, like saying it out loud might make his body follow his brain, but it doesn’t. All he does is tug you closer, your legs now fully splayed around his hips as he leans back against the couch and groans against your mouth.

“I should,” He starts again, whispered thoughts against your lips, but you push back from his chest and break your mouths apart.

“If you want to go so bad, go,” You pull your arms away from him, crossing them under your chest to hold yourself steady. Your nails press pinpricks into your palms.

“This isn’t about what I want,” His eyes soften in that tender way you love, and his hand cups your waist, thumb brushing a line over the deep curve of your hip.

“Why wouldn’t this be about what you want?” You press him, “Or about what I want?”

“Mingyu is my best friend,” He says, his mouth drawn into a sullen line, “and I never want to do anything that betrays his trust or hurts him in any way,”

“I’m not asking you to,” Your voice is small.

“Just,” He sighs, his head tipping backwards against the cushions and his hands slipping to rest over your thighs, “tell me something, okay? Be honest,”

“Okay,”

“Do you want me because you’re lonely and I’m here,” He asks, his eyes locked to the ceiling, “or do you want me because you want me?”

Your arms fall slack and you open your mouth to respond but he presses forwards.

“Because if this is a one time thing to make us both feel better,” He shakes his head, “I can’t do that, I have to go home.”

“Cheol,” You murmur, but he doesn’t lift his head. You reach for him, brushing a hand along his cheek and drawing his gaze back down from the ceiling to your face, “Seungcheol, look at me,”

“Yeah,” He finally follows your gaze.

“I love my brother, but this isn’t about him,” You tell him clearly, and you watch his lips part so he can cut in but you shake your head, “it isn’t. This is about us, and I’ve had a crush on you since I was fucking thirteen,”

He blinks, a grin breaking across his face, “You have?”

“Yeah,” You shuffle closer on his lap, “why do you think I disappeared? You started dating that girl and I just… it wasn’t my place to say anything, it’s not like you were mine, but,”

He brushes the hair back from your cheek as he nods, “It hurts to see the person you want with someone else,”

“Yeah,”

“And you wanted me?”

You nod, stroking his neck where your hand rests, “I just needed some space after that, I thought I could move on,”

“I know the feeling,” He smiles, his thumb tender against your jaw, “believe me,”

“I do,” You nod, “so believe me when I tell you I’ve wanted you for a long time and I don’t just want the one night,”

He sits frozen, his eyes studying your expression, and then he’s moving. Seungcheol pulls you down to meet his mouth again, hands roughly threading into your hair and gripping your hip as he tugs your bodies flush together. He kisses like you hope he fucks, passionate and a little messy, like his need to be inside you and consumed by you is more important than any vanity.

“God,” He groans against your mouth, “he’s going to kill me,”

“Probably,” You huff a laugh against his lips, rolling your hips forwards to slot your bodies together tightly, and at the feeling of his hardening cock pressed against your sex you can’t help the breathy moan that slips out.

He drops his hands to your hips, coaxing you into rolling them again as he presses upwards and you follow his guidance with ease. He curses softly and you roll your hips again, “Oh, fuck my fucking life,” he groans, kissing his way down your throat, ��he’ll kill me, but you’re worth it,”

“I better be,” You tease him, tugging gently on his hair as he licks a stripe along your throat.

“Oh, you are,” He shifts back up to kiss your lips again, his mouth pillowy soft and hot against yours, “and I love Gyu, but,”

“Seungcheol,” You push on his shoulders.

His rarely used full name gets his attention and he leans back just enough to see your face, “What’s wrong?”

“Can you please stop talking about my brother while you’re trying to fuck me?” You can hear the whine in your own voice, “I need you right now, we’ll deal with him later,”

“Sorry, sorry,” He smiles, “of course, come here,”

You melt into him as he gathers you closer, his warm, rough hands finding new expanses of skin to touch and it’s strange but delicious to know that there are still brand new things you can learn about a person even after knowing them all your life. He gets soft beneath you like butter when you touch his ears, audibly groans when you grind against him, and gets breathier every time you kiss his neck. He’s not afraid to make little noises in your ear, to curse when you do something right or softly beg you to do something again.

With his mouth on yours and his hands exploring you, you’re just a shaky wet mess in his arms and he doesn’t even fully realize it yet, still so focused on studying your body with his lips, his tongue.

“Ch-Cheol,” You whine as his teeth nip at your pulsepoint, “baby,”

His hands tighten, sliding to cup your backside through the thin fabric of your lounge pants, “Say that again,”

“Baby?”

He exhales hot air across your neck and chest, “God, I like that,”

“You hate pet names,” You sigh, remembering how his nose always crinkled in an uncomfortable scrunch when he heard people getting too coupley.

“No, I don’t,” His hand slides up, tucks under the waistband of your pants, and slides back down to feel your skin, “I hate cringey shit. You calling me ‘baby’ while you’re grinding on my dick isn’t cringey, it’s fucking hot,”

“Ah,” You tug his hair just a little, rolling your hips again, “yeah? Like this?”

His hips jolt up, pressing his cock against your clothed mound and he groans, “Say it,” he nips at your neck again and then pushes you backwards so that you’re sitting up straddling his lap, “and let me see you,”

For a brief flickering second you feel shy, another stark moment of awareness that the man between your thighs is Mingyu’s best friend, but it flashes away the minute you see his smile. He’s looking up at you like you invented the sun and you think it just might make you dizzy enough to say yes to anything he could ever ask of you.

“God,” His eyes rake over you, “you’re so fucking pretty,”

Blush creeps up your chest, “Yeah, baby?”

He swallows hard, his hands coasting up your arms and his eyes coming to rest on the heavy swell of your chest, “The prettiest.” His fingers tuck underneath the straps of your tank top and your bralette and he glances up to your face, “Can I see?”

“Please,” You whisper.

He moves slowly, peeling down the straps from each of your shoulders first, letting the thin fabric of your tank top droop down your arms until he’s left with just the stretchy elastic of your black bralette. His fingers trace your curves, the pad of his thumb ghosting over one of your hardening nipples until it pushes into a firm peak under the fabric.

“Cheol, please,” If he doesn’t touch you soon you’re going to be a squirming mess.

“Relax,” He toys with the strap, “we’ve got all night,”

You gasp as he dips forwards, peeling the front of your top down entirely until your breasts spill out of the elastic fabric. His lips connect with your skin, tongue exploring intimate parts of you in ways you’ve never experienced quite like this with anyone else.

“These,” He cups your full breasts in his hands, kissing along each swell, “are perfect, princess,”

You shiver at that, whining in his grip as he traces his tongue down and ghosts it close to your nipple, but you smile and manage, “I really took you for an ass man,”

“I’m an everything man where you’re concerned,” He flicks his tongue experimentally across the hardened bud and hums softly when you jolt in his arms, “so excuse me if I have to slow down and show my appreciation,”

This crush is going to kill you, that’s the thought that gets instantly banished from your brain the second Seungcheol wraps his lips around one nipple while his fingers pinch the other, setting a steady pace of sucking and teasing that is sure to leave pleasured little bruises.

“Oh,” You grip his shoulders, “oh, Jesus, Cheol,”

“Feel good, baby?” He switches sides smoothly and sucks again.

A jolt of pleasure rocks from your chest to your untouched clit and you rock down, trying desperately to press your aching center against anything for a little friction.

“Yeah?” He prompts you gently.

“So, so good,” You nod, rolling again, “but I need more, please,”

He nods against your chest, pressing one more kiss to your breastbone before he says, “y/n, I don’t want to move too fast or anything, we’ll do whatever you want, but,”

“But what?” You’re about a second from pushing his hand into your underwear yourself.

“Can I eat you out?”

Your stomach flips, “Oh, fuck yes,”

You’re on your back practically the second you give him permission. He holds you tight to his chest as he pushes himself up off the couch and flips you around, dropping you back onto the cushions and tugging at your clothes. Normally you’d be a little self conscious, especially in the brighter light of your living room and not the dim strategic lightning of your bedroom, but Seungcheol keeps looking at every inch of your body like he’s starving for it, groaning in pleasure at every inch of you that gets revealed, and you’re starting to think he really does like everything about you.

You help push off your pants with shaky hands, but let him loop his thumbs under the thin straps of your underwear and tug those free, a slick wet patch in the middle where you’ve been soaking through the cotton for the past half hour. You help him with your top, until finally you’re completely bare and he’s pushing you to lie back onto the extended length of the chaise while he falls to his knees before you.

“Wow,” He breathes, his hands running along your thighs, “just… wow,”

“Stop,” You can’t stop the blush now, and you fight the urge to reach for a blanket or cross your arms over yourself at his exacting gaze.

“Nope,” He dips his hands to your inner thighs and pushes your legs apart little by little, “I’m going to enjoy every bit of this,”

“Now you’re just trying to embarrass me,” You smile.

His tongue darts out to wet hips lips and he shakes his head, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,”

Your stomach churns, flipping nervously as he looks at you so earnestly.

“I’m serious,” He kisses your knee as he opens one of your legs wider, “I’ve thought about this a thousand times, but you’re so much better than my imagination,”

“Cheol,” You whisper tightly.

“Mm,” He sighs as he tips your hips back, maneuvering your legs wide and open now and shifting your hips to the very edge of the couch so he can tuck smoothly between your open legs, “I wonder if you taste as sweet as I imagined too,”

Your fingers grip down on the cushions, your heart hammering in your chest.

“Look at you,” He sighs pleasantly, his fingers ghosting along the edge of your lower lips, “is all this for me, baby?”

“Uh-huh,” Your breath hitches as his finger just barely touches your seam.

“You got this wet just from grinding on my lap?” He smiles, his teeth catching his thick bottom lip.

“Cheol,” It’s all you can manage, you really didn’t know he was like this.

His eyes soften up though at the sound of his name on your lips, and he kisses your thigh tenderly before looking back up to you, “Doing good? Okay?”

“Mhm,” You’re fine, you are, except you think you might come the second he touches you and you’re a little terrified at just how intense he is from minute one.

“y/n,” He squeezes you a little.

“I’m good,” You breathe, “I promise,”

“Okay,” He kisses your skin again and nods, “just relax, okay?”

“I’m relaxed,” You answer too quickly and one of his eyebrows goes high.

“Mhm,” He eases up on his knees a little to see your face better and smooths his hand from your leg to your hip to your stomach, “what’s going on?”

“This is just a little surreal,” You admit, “isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” He releases your legs and shifts up so he can lean over your body, catching your mouth again in a soft kiss, “it is, but do you trust me?”

“Of course,” You kiss him back.

“Then you should know,” He nuzzles your nose with his, “that all I want to do right now is make you come on my face until you can’t think, and after that if you still want to take this further we can, but baby, I really don’t care what we do tonight. I just want to be with you,”

Your mouth runs dry, and you can feel your core throbbing hard between your legs, your heart fluttering fast.

“So, please, can I make you come?” He smiles, pressing another quick kiss to your lips, “I think you want me to,”

“Yes,” The nervous knots in your stomach release, “please, Coups,”

His nose scrunches as he laughs, kissing his way down your chest, “It’s Coups now?”

“Cheol,” You whine, “you’re stalling,”

“It’s called foreplay,” He licks a firm line between your breasts and moves lower, “have you not been getting fucked right, princess?”

“F-fuck,” Your back arches as his lips travel down over your belly, eyes slipping closed, “Seungcheol,”

He shakes his head, his hair brushing against your skin, “No more baby?” He makes a sulky noise with his tongue against the back of his teeth, “Come on princess, call me baby,”

Your mind is spinning, and you gasp sharply as his fingers finally slide through your wet slit and land at the apex, pressing deliciously down over your throbbing clit, “Ch-Cheol, fuck, oh fuck, baby,”

“There she is,” He groans, and as his fingers fall away and his lips take their place. He licks a deep stripe through your folds and groans, spreading your legs open wide with his hands anchored on the backs of your thighs, “You’re perfect,”

You moan as he sucks the tender bud of your clit into his mouth.

“I’m going to do this everyday,” He pants, licking another stripe, exploring every inch of your cunt with his tongue, “you’ll be my dessert every night,”

“Ah,” Your head rocks back as pleasure lights up your spine, “baby,”

“Mm,” He groans into your core, burying his face against you and alternating perfectly between sharp sucks and flicks of his tongue.

You are moving fast, from nothing to desperate something in the span of a couple of hours, but honestly you’ve never felt safer and better and more held than this. His hands roam your body, seeking every soft place he can grab and squeeze and hold onto, and you just know the bruises on your hips will be worth it when he finally fucks you.

“Come on,” He tips your hips back to get better access, wrapping his arms around your thick thighs, “don’t be shy,”

“Oh, shit,” Your hand flies down to grip his hair and anchor your position as he manhandles you, your other hand gripping the cushions, “just like that,”

He sucks harder and flicks the tip of his tongue against your bud again, quickening his pace and listening carefully for your sounds to know what you need. Looking down between your legs you can barely believe the sight, but there he is, Choi Seungcheol with his face glistening. His lips are puffy and red, his eyes hooded, and he grins when he sees you watching before nodding just a little and redoubling his efforts.

Your legs are trembling now, the start of your orgasm building up through the base of your spine and flooding warmth into your belly, and if he wasn’t holding you so tightly you’re sure you’d snap.

“Baby,” You whine, your voice sounding not quite your own as heat floods in your chest, “oh, God, please don’t stop,”

He sucks hard, shifting to kiss your core and push the tender muscle of his tongue inside you, “I’ve got you,” he pants as he works his tongue faster, “I’ve got you,”

He’s a mess, wet with slick across cheeks and sweat on his brow, and you think for a split second you might actually be in love with this man already, no one has ever, ever treated your body quite like this. As he shifts to tease your clit again, building the pleasure up and up higher, you grip down on his hair harder.

“I’m,” You stammer out, your back arching and your mouth falling slack, “I’m gonna,”

He nods into you but doesn’t stop the pace of his tongue one bit.

“I’m,” You gasp again, “coming, fuck, I’m coming,”

It hits you all at once, punctuated with his sharp suck to your clit and your legs snap shut around his head, your body wrenching sideways as the wave takes you from conscious to that hazy middle space of pleasure. You can barely breathe, you can't even think, all you can do is feel pulse after pulse of pleasure.

“Fuck,” He curses, and your brain connects enough to realize your legs are still snapped tightly shut around his ears but you can’t get your body to respond, “yeah, fuck, there you go,”

Everything you are is trembling in his hands.

“I could fucking die happy,” He says, shifting to nip your plush thigh with his teeth, his hands gripping down on your curves, “right here between your legs,”

You make a sound, you think, and he chuckles against your skin.

“Mm-mm,” He sighs pleasantly, his hands running from your thighs to your hips and down to cup your backside, “you’re fucking gorgeous, y/n, I love every fucking inch of you,”

“Y-yeah?” Your eyes flutter open.

“Mhm,” He flicks his tongue over your clit once more, eliciting a deep shudder from your hips before he says, “I can’t wait to fuck you,”

Your legs start to relax, and you look down, “Then fuck me,”

“I want another first,” He shakes his head, “please, let me make you come again, sweetheart,”

“Oh,” You shiver as he kisses your slit again, letting his tongue linger, “fuck,”

He sighs, “This pussy,”

“Cheol,” You blush hard.

“I would do anything,” He smiles, flicking your clit again with his tongue, “for this perfect fucking pussy,”

“Anything?”

He goes still between your legs and then he nods, wetting his lips with his tongue, pressing a kiss to your quivering cunt, and looking up over your body to meet your eyes, “Anything.”

“Will you come up here?” You reach for him, “Will you hold me?”

He eases your legs down off his shoulders and shifts up, “Yeah, of course,”

“Will you,” You nearly come again just at the sight of a sizeable wet spot on his sweats, and you tug at his shirt to try and silently communicate your need, “I want to touch you too,”

“Mhm,” He stands up, shucking off his clothes as quickly as he can, and when he pushes down his boxer briefs your muscles clench.

When you were younger, a teenager inexperienced with sex and boys, you imagined his cock. You saw the faint outline of it once through a pair of athletic shorts and you wondered what he might look like naked. You wondered if you would like his body. You wondered if he would like yours too. You can’t really remember what you imagined Seungcheol’s cock to look like, but you know this is better. It’s long, but not too long, like the guys who can’t fit it in all the way without smashing painfully into your cervix, but it’s thick. His cock is heavy, deserving of the word, and perfectly straight until the very end where it curls up towards his abdomen.

You want him inside you so badly you could cry.

“You okay?” He says as he slides up the couch next to you, your naked hip against his.

“A little nervous,” You admit quietly, turning towards him on the cushions and drawing him closer with your hand on his shoulder.

“Me too,” He says softly, maneuvering until one arm is wrapped around your back and your head is pillowed on his other, your chests flush against each other, his cock trapped between your stomachs.

“God,” You shift closer to him, tangling your legs together, “you’re so hard,”

He nods, sighing at the way your skin drags against his, “You’re making me insane,”

“Good,” You smile, finding his lips with yours, tasting yourself on him and dipping your tongue into his mouth as you deepen the kiss.

He groans against you, and you snake a hand between your bodies to wrap around his aching cock. “Oh, fuck,” he curses as you pump your hand up and down his shaft, “easy, it’s been a while,”

“Yeah?” You soften your grip a little, rolling your hand at the tip and feeling precum bead up and smear on your belly, “Saving yourself for me, baby?”

He moans softly, his eyes rolling shut, “You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe,” You kiss the corner of his mouth and pump his cock a little harder.

“L-let me touch you,” He pants, his hand pushing your hips back just enough so that he can fit a hand in between your thighs, “can I touch you?”

It’s dizzying how much he begs to pleasure you, and you’re starting to think maybe this is part of what he needs, but you’re still new to each other’s bodies and learning and you suppose you’ll have time to figure all of this out. It’s not just a one night thing.

“Touch me,” You open your legs for him and he immediately slides his fingers down your slit to your aching entrance.

“Don’t stop,” He urges you and you realize at the feeling of his fingers you stopped pumping your hand.

You smile, kissing him again and finding a new pace with a stroke of your hand and a roll of your wrist, “You feel so good, baby,”

“So do you,” He pants, and then he pushes two fingers inside your slick walls.

You choke out a wine, pushing your hips forwards into his hand so he can go deeper.

“God,” He holds you firm with his other hand, “you’re too tight,”

“Too tight?” You huff, still working your hand over his cock, “never gotten that complaint before,”

“Not a complaint, princess,” He teases, drawing his fingers out of your channel before thrusting back inside, “but I need to prep you a little, I don’t want to hurt you,”

Your muscles clench down around his fingers.

He laughs softly, “Oh, yeah, babygirl? You want me inside?”

You nod, a whine trapped on your lips, “Cheol, please,”

“Shh, shh,” He shifts, effectively sliding down the couch a little more while you slide up, and he rests his head on your shoulder and adjusts the angle of his arm so he can pump his fingers in and out of your channel at a steadier pace. He watches the way his fingers disappear inside you with rapt attention, cursing when he feels you grip down on him, “You want to come again?”

“P-please,” You’re doing your best to keep working your hand, but at the way his fingers are curled inside you and pressing rhythmically against your sweet spot you think you’re about to see stars again.

“Fuck, baby,” He sighs, “you’re so sexy,”

All you can do is moan, grip down on his shoulder and let him have you.

When he pushes in a third finger to stretch you, you gasp tightly at the sensation, the pleasure rocketing up your back and making your brain buzz.

“Are you close?” He pumps his hand harder, finding your nearby nipple with his tongue and your body arches again.

“Close,” You pant, your legs widening as you try to brace yourself, your hand falling away from his cock and gripping down on his thigh as the rolling wave of your orgasm starts to wash up over you.

“Come for me,” He’s gripping you hard, like you belong to him and he wants only to please you, and his words combined with the way his hands lay on you leaves you coming apart at the seams.

The sound of it is obscene, wet and filthy and pornagraphic and you’ve never in your life had sex with someone for the first time and had it be anything close to perfect. Your bodies want each other with such need. It's entirely outside your conscious brain, and you think if he can love your body like this then maybe he can love all the other parts of you, and you never want to let him go.

Your orgasm hits you harder than the first, locking your body up in spasmodic elation, and he curls around you when you twist to make sure he works you through the crest of it, his hand only slowing down when the pulses of pleasure start to ease.

When you come back to earth, you’re pressed face down onto the couch instead of up, your cheek against the cool fabric below you. Seungcheol is wrapped around your body like he’s glued to your back, and you feel his soft breath against your cheek and shoulder, his easy kisses on whatever part of you he can reach. His hand is still tucked underneath you and between your legs, cupping your cunt warmly and just holding you as you come down.

“Cheol?” You murmur, your brain almost a little foggy at the heady feeling of two full body orgasms.

“Hey, there you are,” He kisses you again, “feeling okay?”

“Mm,” You nod, “so, so good,”

He smiles, “Yeah? Did I get you?”

You laugh against the cushions, shaking your head, “Babe, I just came so hard I blacked out,” your body stretches, pressing your core into the cup of his hand, “you definitely got me,”

“Mm,” He rocks his hand and you sigh a little overstimulated sound, “should we stop here?”

He doesn’t know, you realize it suddenly, he has no idea how badly you want him. He’s been so focused on your body, your pleasure, your wants, but you can see it now in the hesitation in voice that he still doesn’t know for sure if you want to be here with him or if you just wanted someone.

He’s been touching you like it might be the only time, his only chance to have you and hold you in his arms. Didn’t he believe you when you said it wasn’t one night?

“Seungcheol,” You wriggle in his arms, “baby,”

“What’s wrong?” He gives you the space to roll and you twist against him.

You see his eyes when you turn, like he’s waiting for something and you curse yourself inside for not telling him like he was telling you. You smile, pushing his shoulder until he’s flat on his back, “What’s wrong is that you’re not inside me,”

“O-oh,” He gasps as you hook a leg over his hips and straddle him, your body hovering over his prone cock.

“Mhm,” You drop your body over him, your slick slit nestling directly over his cock, “but I’ve been so selfish,”

He shakes his head to protest but you lay your fingers over his lips to stop him.

“I want you, Cheol,” You drag your hips and find the head of his cock so you can dip and press it against your entrance, “so fucking much,”

He’s breathing heavy against your hand, your eyes locked on eachother.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” You stay steady above him.

He nods, just a little.

“I’ve never wanted anybody like I want you,” You tell him, “never,”

His lip quirks a little, a small smile as he presses a kiss to your fingers, “I’m all yours,” he whispers.

You sink your hips back in one smooth flush motion, taking him inside you to the hilt without warning, and his head falls back as he moans. He’s stretching you out wide and full, his thick cock pushing into every spot inside you that you didn’t know could feel like this.

“Oh my fuck,” Your body moves on it’s own, rocking your hips in a circle to take him deeper and roll your clit across his pubic bone, “Cheol, Cheol,”

He blinks hard, finding your eyes at the sound of his voice, “Yeah?”

You feel strangely like you might cry at the rush of endorphins, and you roll your hips again, whining out a need, “Hold me, please? Please, touch me,”

Seungcheol softens, his hands unclench on the cushions below him and he coasts his warm hands over your thighs, your hips, up and down your sides, “I’m right here,” he murmurs.

You relish in the feeling of it, and you direct them from their wandering comfort to a landing place on your hips, the perfect soft place for him to grip in with his fingers and keep you steady while you work him. He follows your lead, watching you above him with no hesitation, and his mouth falls slack when he watches you get your position right on your knees and lift up to draw his cock out of your warm, wet channel.

“y/n,” He pants tightly.

You sink back down hard and he groans, cursing and no doubt leaving a pretty bouquet of bruises where his fingers press down.

“Your cock,” You moan as you bounce again, finding a steady rhythm, “you feel so perfect,”

“Yeah?” He bounces you, teeth clenched as he tries not to come too early.

“Made for me,” You grind down and jolt against the pleasure, “never felt something this good,”

He groans, a hot pant of breath and then he stutters his hips upwards, “D-don’t, I’ll come,”

“Good,” You sink down and back up, feeling him stretch you open again and again.

“Come here,” He reaches up for you, tugging you down by your neck to get you close and you can feel him suddenly reposition and change the angle, take back control as he pins you to his chest and pumps his hips.

The way his cock punches into you, curved and pressing directly into your g-spot, makes you choke out a moan and dig your nails into his chest.

“Say you love my cock,” He pants suddenly in your ear, “if it feels so good, say it, tell me,”

You moan sharply, “I fucking love your cock,”

“Fuck yes,” His hand claps down on your ass and grips you tight as his hips piston upwards.

“Ah, ah,” Your legs are trembling again, “I can’t,”

“Yes, you can,” He pants, “I want to feel you come on my cock, babygirl, squeeze me,”

Your eyes slam shut.

“So fucking tight,” He breathes, “so wet,”

“For you,” You choke out and hips stutter.

“Oh, f-fuck,” He pushes up hard, but instead of thrusting he locks his hips there with your bodies pressed flush together and at the sound of his sudden moan, the way his hands lock tight on your body, the way warmth floods your belly, you know he’s coming.

Your brain somersaults and you rock your hips, trying to keep catching the friction against your clit to help push you over the edge, “Ah,” you whine, “no, please,”

He doesn’t go anywhere though, he just presses his hips up to keep giving you the pressure you need and holds your hips down with his broad hands, and you hear him hiss at the overstimulation but he groans and manages, “Come baby, you’re so close, there you go, there you go,”

You’re saying something, but you can’t really hear it. All you can feel is the bubble about to burst inside you as you drag yourself fast and frantic against his body. You’re needy and seconds away, falling into trembles again.

“So beautiful,” He mumbles, dragging your mouth up to his and locking you in a heady kiss.

“Cheol!” You squeak against him, body cracking apart into shakes as you come, probably louder than you wanted to as you fall into the sweet space between his neck and shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” His softening cock slides out as you come, but he slides a hand between your thighs and rubs fast circles on your swollen clit, “fuck, look at you, god, you’re such a mess,”

Your brain is dizzy as he talks you through the edges of your orgasm.

“So wet,” He bites down softly on your shoulder, “soaked for me and full of my cum, fuck,”

As you collapse on his chest, your orgasm receding, his hand slows, but his fingers stay slipped between your folds in the messy mixture of your slick wetness and his release. You are a mess, but he seems to like it and if you’re benign honest so do you.

“I’m so,” You breathe out, shaky and exhausted, “god, I don’t know,”

“Mhm,” He sighs, and finally he slides his fingers out of you to rest on your hip, his other hand stroking a line up and down your back while you recover together.

You need to get up, run to the bathroom and get the shower started, but you’re boneless and floating and he’s just the perfect temperature, so for a little while you don’t move.

When he shifts his hips under yours to readjust your eyes pop open and you start to move, “Am I hurting you?”

“Shh,” He wraps his arms around you and gathers you tight to his chest, “don’t you dare go anywhere,”

“Yeah?”

“You’re perfect,” He repeats and you smile against his skin, “next time I want you sitting on my face,”

You laugh against him, “Next time?”

He’s quiet, his fingers still dragging up and down your spine, “If you want,”

You shift up in his arms, settling on his chest so that you can see his face, “So much,”

He cups your cheek, brushing his thumb along your face, as he smiles, “I missed you, you know,”

Tears prick at the back of your eyes and your throat goes thick, and you don’t trust your voice but you nod and press your lips to his, “I missed you too, all the time,”

He gives you a moment, just staying calm and kind with his hands, and then he leans up to capture your lips once more, this kiss so much softer and more familiar from the frantic emotion a few minutes ago. His kisses travel from your lips to your forehead and then he smooths back the tangled mess of your hair, “We should get cleaned up,” he murmurs, “how are you feeling?”

“Like I might not ever walk again,” You joke wryly.

“I didn't hurt you, did I?” He leans to look you over, “I got a little carried away,”

You shake your head, “No, I’m perfect, I promise,”

“We didn’t talk much beforehand,” He notes, brushing his palm over the swell of your hip, dipping at your hip crease, and tracing up over again at the curve of your thigh, “I just want to be sure you’re feeling okay with everything,”

“I’d tell you if I wasn’t,” You press, “you know I would,”

“Good,” He sighs.

You stretch on top of him, your knees aching from your curled position and you smile, “You want to get a shower? We can share the hot water,”

“You’re insatiable,” He quirks an eyebrow at you.

“Not for sex,” You slap his chest lightly as you climb off him, wincing at the sudden stretch of your knees, “I can barely move,”

“I like a challenge,” He sighs, rolling off the chaise and stretching long and you catch yourself watching the strong flex of his back, the cut of his shoulders, the curve of his ass and his muscular thighs.

Maybe you could rally.

Seungcheol turns and his eyes flick over your body too, “Yeah,” he nods, “I think I can get one more out of you,”

“My shower is shockingly small, so,” You reach for him, guiding him down the hall with you, “we’ll see,”

“I said I like a challenge,” He shrugs, and all of a sudden you can’t stop laughing.

Your shower is small, but in the end it doesn’t matter. Seungcheol ends up crouched on his knees anyways, with one of your legs hitched over his shoulder while he takes his sweet time with his tongue bringing you up to your softest, easiest orgasm of the night. You trade lazy kisses in the warmth after, the suds long gone and your fingers pruned by the time you fall into bed.

You don’t have to ask him to stay, he just does. You talk for as long as you can keep your eyes open, stories of years ago when you saw him almost every single day. You whisper late into the night, until finally he falls asleep first, his head lolled to the side, but his hand still wrapped tightly around yours.

You tumble into sleep right alongside him, his skin smelling of sweet peach and nectarine.

In the morning, you wake up to something cold suddenly pressed to your cheek and you start to stitch together the world around you in quick threads.

“Kkuma,” Seungcheol’s voice reaches you first, a hushed whisper as he tries to get his dog’s attention, “come here girl, let her sleep,”

You groan a little, and you realize the something cold was Kkuma’s very wet nose against your cheek. Instead of listening to Seungcheol, she presses her nose to you again and follows it up with a lick, her panting excitement pushing you from laying on your side to your back as she collapses over your chest.

“Kkuma!” He exclaims quietly, “down girl!”

Your eyes start to pop open, and this time you see his dog’s fluffy white face inches from your own, delighted that you’re awake.

“Kkuma,” He tries to drop his voice to a lower tone to get her attention.

“It’s okay,” You yawn, reaching up to scratch Kkuma behind the ears, “I’m awake now,”

“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol moves into your bedroom, and you can see he’s fully dressed and has been for some time, “I didn’t think she would just jump on you like that,”

Your brain is still a little sluggish and you rub your hand over your face, “Did you go home?”

He grins and nods at your sleepy question, the answer obvious from the dog on your chest, “Yeah, I needed to run home and take her for a walk, I hope you don’t mind I let myself back in,”

“Not at all,” You smile up at him, “I’m just sad you’re not in the cuddle pile,”

“We can fix that,” He tosses his beanie on your nightstand and then holds up a little carrier containing two coffees and a few little pastry bags, “and I bring gifts,”

“From that place by your apartment?” You brighten, recognizing the stamped logos on the cups.

“Mhm,” He passes over your cup, “sugar, no cream,”

“You remembered,” You push yourself up in bed, Kkuma adjusting herself to snuggle into your side, and accept the cup, “thank you,”

He lays his heavy denim jacket on the chair by your dresser and slips back into bed with you, dragging the covers back over both your legs, “Of course, I did, not that much could have changed in a year, right?”

“Mm-mm,” Your legs slide together as you tuck under his arm and settle back into his chest.

His fingers play with the ends of your hair while he sips his coffee, and then he sighs, “y/n,”

Your stomach freezes and you wonder if you’re about to get let down easy. If waking up in the morning cleared his head, if a text from Mingyu changed his mind, if on the trip back to his place he worked out the right way to break your heart, if he practiced it out loud in his car with the dog.

“What’s up?” You say, hoping you sound far more casual than you feel.

“About Gyu,” He exhales heavy, his coffee leaning against his thigh as he gathers his words, “listen,”

“Don’t,” You murmur, pressing your eyes closed, “please don’t go,”

“Go?” He asks.

“I’ll tell him, and I know he’ll be fine after the shock wears off,” You twist in the bed to look up at him, “please just stay, last night was… Cheol, please just think about this,”

His brows knit together tight in confusion and he sets his coffee on your bedside table to free up his hand and brush it along your cheek, “I was going to say, about Gyu, I’m meeting him for lunch at two. I’d like to tell him about us today,”

“You what,” You blink.

“I’d like to tell him that I picked you up after your date,” He says, “and that we got to talking, and that we kissed,”

You can almost see Mingyu’s wide puppy eyes as he realizes where the story is going to go.

“And that I asked you out on a date,” Seungcheol finishes, “and he’s going to ask me a lot of other questions which I definitely am not going to answer, except one thing,”

You swallow nervously, your coffee almost tipping to the side forgotten in your hands until he plucks it up and sets it to the side.

“He’s going to ask me if I’m serious about you,” He says calmly, like you’ve discussed this before, “and I’m going to say yes, but that’s the kind of thing you should know before your brother does.”

“You’re serious about me,” You say it back, your heart picking up as the words come off your tongue.

“Yes,” He nods, unequivocal, “and I hope you feel the same way because before I drive across town and tell my best friend I’m in love with his sister, I just need to know if you feel even a tenth of that,”

Your heart should be pounding, your stomach fluttering, your body flooding with emotion at the casual confession, but all you feel is calm. Mingyu told you once that life would fall into place, you just never thought you’d have that realization while it was happening around you.

You try to keep a straight face when you say, “There’s only one problem,”

“Okay,” He says, but you watch his hand fidget in his lap.

“You never actually asked me out on a date,” You point out with a smile, “and I don’t want to lie to Mingyu about anything,”

He grins, his tongue dragging against one side of his teeth as he shakes his head in disbelief, “You’re right,” he says, “that’s my mistake, will you go out with me?”

“I’d love to,” You lean into him so you can press a quick kiss to his lips and take his hand in yours, lacing his anxiously twitching fingers with yours to hold him steady, “and if Gyu gives you any lip about this,” you kiss him again, “tell him I’m in love with his best friend,”

“You are?” His fingers tighten on your hand.

“Mhm,” You suddenly can’t keep your lips away from his, “and you tell him that if he does anything to ruin this, that I’ll make him sorry,”

“Now that,” He laughs, “that I believe,”

You pull him down to you and your body without another word, and with a hushed apology he pushes Kkuma off the bed so he can splay you out in the middle of the mattress. He takes you fast, hurried and full of need now that you have so much time ahead of you for slow. For now, you have a lot of catching up to do.

When you finally make it out of bed the coffee is cold and Seungcheol is late for lunch.

#honeyhotteoks updates #honeyhotteoks fics #seventeen ff #seventeen fic #svt fanfic #svt ff #scoups x reader #seungcheol x reader #choi seungcheol #scoups #scoups fic #scoups smut #scoups ff #seungcheol smut #seungcheol fluff

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lighteyed · 11 months

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you and i (back at it again) / steve harrington

summary: steve's left standing alone after starcourt, until you show up for him.

word count: 2.2k

author's note: inspired by this tik tok because i nearly shed a tear also this is my first time posting in awhile be nice pls

He watches his friends reunite with their families, mournful. He stands alone and contemplative by a cop car, the various spots of bruising and swelling on his face beginning to pulse with pain the more his adrenaline began to fade out of his bloodstream. The cops at the station said they'd called his parents house, his house, but no one had picked up. He knew they were home. He kicks a rock near his his foot, shoving his hands in the pockets of the bloody uniform he was still wearing. He wants a shower. He wants to go to bed. He wants to go to bed with the serenity of someone who knew they were loved. He wouldn't be able to do that if he went home. The word home a loose term.

"We can take you home if you need a ride, son," one of the cops says to him. Steve kicks at another rock. Home.

"That's alright," Steve says dismissively, ignoring the tight twist in his chest. "Someone will have gotten in touch with my parents by now. I'm sure they're on their way." The cop looks doubtful. Steve hates that he looks doubtful. Steve hates that he's also doubtful. "Couple more minutes," he swears. He knows he might as well walk his ass home, though.

He leans against the hood of the car, rubbing at his jaw. His hand comes away bloody. He's about to accept the cop's offer for a ride, maybe, he figures, he'll just go to Robin's and sit there for as long as her parents will have him, when a car comes careening into the lot like there's not fifty officers of the law standing around, the tires screeching loudly across the gravel. It's barely at a stop, practically still moving, when you throw the door open and throw your body out of it.

"Steve Harrington, what the fuck?" You leave your car door open, leave it in the middle of the road, still running, to get to him in time. He gazes at you, and it's a stupid look in all honesty, mouth agape, his brown eyes big and tragic looking, his face torn up and swollen. He wasn't expecting you. Why would he have been? You'd been broken up for a few months now and he was still nursing his wounds from it, knowing it was supposed to be for the best; you felt like he was hiding things from you and he knew that he was, hiding all the stuff about the Upside Down, not wanting you involved, wanting you safe. And in a way he was glad for it. He'd gotten through this with you unscathed, and who knows what would have happened if you guys had still been together. When he looks at you, though, when he allows himself to be pulled in closer, your hand coming up to graze his cheek, examining every scrape on his face with softness and worry, he allows himself to want. To miss you.

You tilt his face back, scrutinizing his features. He keeps his eyes on you. You showed up for him. No one else but you. You were here. "The fire is all over the fucking news and I didn't know if you were working tonight so I was sitting by the phone waiting to hear from someone and then your friend Robin called and said you were waiting here for someone to come get you so I just came in case and- and what happened to your face? And where are your parents?"

He shakes himself out of his stupor. "They didn't answer the phone." But you did. You answered and you were here. A wave of pure love rushes through him. He knew a thing or two about being alone, had felt that way for as long as he could remember, no matter how many people he surrounded himself with or how many parties he threw, but you were here, and he wasn't alone. Steve wraps his arms around you in one sudden movement, an outpouring of affection he hadn't realized he'd been reserving for you. Always you.

You stand there for a moment, processing, before you respond, leaning into his touch. The sirens wail around you. Neither of you move. He's safe. You breathe relief into the embrace, holding him tighter to you. He's hardly talking, and usually he's the one talking the absolute most, but he's stunned, both with what's just happened, what he's borne witness to, and with the way you care about him despite everything, more than anyone he's ever met, and the way he cares about you and how could he ever, ever let himself let you go? How could that ever happen? It's all he thinks about as he holds you, feeling safer than he's felt in awhile, the smell of your hair and your skin filling his brain with serotonin.

"Am I taking you home?" You pull away, staring up at him, his ruined face that is still so painfully gorgeous, still so hard to look at. Your hand is remains poised on his cheek. It's warm and welcome.

"No, no, your house, please," he brings his hand up to meet yours.

"I got you, c'mon, honey." He turns and thanks the officers who'd been waiting with him before letting you lead him to your car. He keeps his hand on yours. It tethers him to reality. He's here and he's okay. Or he will be, soon. He's here and he's safe, at the very least. He's not trapped and being tortured. No one's going to hurt him. He's got your soft hand in his and he's okay for right now.

The drive to your house is silent, but it's not awkward. You try to keep your eyes on the road as much as you can but you can't help that they keep finding themselves back on Steve. You've never seen him so reserved. You're sure it was more than a fire that happened back there, and you're sure he won't tell you a thing about it. You drive one-handed the whole way home. You let him need you.

At your house, you get your bathroom set up for him to shower, placing fresh towels on the rack for him, laying out your products on the counter. He would've been able to find them regardless, but you busy yourself with it anyway. When you go into your bedroom to tell him the bathroom is ready, his shoes are off and put into the corner he used to always put them in, and he looks exhausted. "I didn't bring clothes to change," is the first thing he says.

"That's what you're most concerned about?" You give him a funny look. You open your closet and rummage around on the ground for a second before tossing him a pair of his old sweatpants and a t-shirt. He stares at them in his hands. "I didn't know if I should give them back. So I just... didn't." He smiles a little. The first you've seen all night.

"Thanks," he waves them in the air before retreating down the hall. The door shuts and the shower squeaks on.

The way you loved Steve was unconditional, as much as you wish it wasn't sometimes. Even when he was pushing you away, even when he kept things from you, you'd always be there for him. He didn't have anyone in his corner like that. And you wanted to be. It wasn't something you felt obligated to do. You cared about him, and so you went to him. He'd do the same if the roles were reversed. It was unconditional because even when being there for him hurt, you still stayed. You still loved.

When he comes back into your room, his hair dripping but clean, God, he feels clean, his face devoid of dried blood but bruised and wounded, you're waiting for him with a first aid kit and a fresh ice pack. You must've heard the water shut off and gotten everything ready for him. The old sweatpants and t-shirt smell more like you now than they do like him but he's not complaining in the slightest. Something about you keeping them instead of throwing them away or lighting them on fire makes him think maybe there's hope. Not that you had a bad break up to begin with, it was more sad than angry, nothing that warranted a clothes burning, but still. Still, still, still.

He sits down where you indicate, rubbing his towel across his head to soak up the sopping water. His face is flushed from the hot water. You sidle up next to him with the medicine and bandages and try not to get too caught up in him. He places the ice pack on his puffy, blackened eye. He doesn't get it, this gentleness. He doesn't think he deserves it, really. After everything, does he deserve it? Does he get this peace?

"You're fidgeting," you mutter, narrowly missing the spot you were aiming for.

"Oh, sorry," he lifts his chin up a bit more and tries to sit still. You're so patient and kind and it makes him ache a little. You take care of him and it's not for any reason other than you caring about him. He's not used to anyone caring about him. "Are you sure this is alright? You don't wanna... be alone?"

"No, I wanna make sure you're okay," you answer easily, as easy as breathing, swiping medicine across his wounds with the lightest touch you can manage. He hisses in pain, and you wince, feeling it, too.

"Are you sure? You don't have to."

"I want to, Steve, I promise." You pat his cheek, another gentle, affectionate maneuver from you. If he's okay, you're okay. He takes this in. He thinks he really feels his heart expanding.

As you start dabbing at his other wounds, you speak, finally. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course you can," he replies, blinking up at you with his good eye.

"Was this..." you hesitate. He probably won't answer. "I don't doubt there was a fire but this..." you gesture to his face. "This looks a hell of a lot worse than just escaping a fire, Steve, you look seriously fucked up."

"What, you don't think I look pretty anymore?" He smiles again and you roll your eyes at him, but you smile back all the same.

"You're very pretty, Steve, but you have a black eye and there was blood all over your face and you're all cut up." He swoons just a little when you call him pretty. He's got an ego, what can he say? He continues smiling at you, a little high off painkillers, a little high off being here with you. If he's gotta be tortured he may as well get you back out of it.

"You look pretty, too, y'know," he says softly, his free hand twisting a strand of your hair around.

"Dodging the question I see," you raise your eyebrows at him but say nothing else. It was to be expected.

He takes a deep breath, looking up toward the ceiling, thinking maybe all this time he's just been stupid and silly for not telling you sooner, maybe he could've been with you all this time if he'd just told you, maybe it wouldn't have been the end of the world to have you involved. Maybe it would all be fine. "I wanted to keep you safe from all of it. See what happened to me? It could've been you, if you had been there."

"I would've wanted to be there with you," you insist. "You know I would."

"I do," he nods. "And that's why I don't involve you, babe, if something happens to me it doesn't matter to anyone but if something happens to you-"

"Why would you say that to me? You think I wouldn't care if you died?" You take his face in your hands, and he drops his ice pack. "Steve, are you an idiot? It would matter to those kids you spend all your time with if you died. It would matter to Robin, and to your family even if they take you for granted, and it would matter to me. I love you so much you moron, you can't say it wouldn't matter. I wouldn't be here if it didn't matter. I go out of my mind worrying about you, don't tell me you don't matter."

His head spins, in the best possible way. The pain from his wounds doesn't register. Your hands on his face registers. You words register. Everything else is background noise. "You still love me?"

Oh. Your face warms. It's not like it had been that long since you'd called it off, it should've have been a surprise to him, but hearing you say those words makes him light up. You see him light up. "Yeah, of course I do, it doesn't go away just 'cause you won't tell me anything about your life," you grumble, taking your hands off him.

"Hey," he whispers, grabbing for you before you can tear yourself away from him. He brushes the hair back from your face. He has that look in his eyes that make people fall to their knees. Heavy-lidded and tender. Soft. Loving. "I love you, okay? I do. That's why I try to protect you. I'll tell you anything you want." He knows it now, for real, that he can't lose you again. Not this time. "C'mere, come back." You let him pull you in. "I'll tell you anything, please don't leave me, okay?" You shake your head at him. Never, never. He's pleading, desperate. When he moves to kiss you, the desperation is laced in it, he's lurching forward and he's hungry and yearning and your lips meet soft and fast because he wants to savor it after so long.

The disconnect of your lips sends him reeling, he wants to dive back in for more, for more of everything, but you stop him. "It's me and you, okay, always. But you gotta let me all the way in this time." You tap his heart lightly. "All the way, Steve. Everything."

He leans back. He is hesitant and bruised and bloody, a little bit broken, but mostly he's in love. Mostly he wants to give you the world. So he takes your hands in his. He tethers himself to reality. And he talks.

#trying to convince myself posting is FOR FUN i don't have to want to VOM from nerves every time i go to post...#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #stranger things x reader

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loserdiaz · 8 days

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r/relationship_advice

u/hot_pilot84 • 2d ago

MY (40M) BOYFRIEND? (33M) IS IN LOVE WITH HIS BEST FRIEND (36M) AND IM THE THIRD WHEEL

I'm new to this reddit stuff, but a coworker suggested it, and I thought I'd give it a try. I probably should start saying he's not really my boyfriend??? We just started dating a few weeks ago, and it's been... interesting. But I really like him and he is a nice, sweet guy.

He recently came out, so I've been trying to be patient and understanding. But recently it's been hard to spend any time alone because his best friend is always there.

Now, I also like the guy, so I don't really mind, and to be honest, I kinda suspected from the first moment they were in love with each other. They both talk about each other all the time, and when we hang out together, I can't help but feel like intruding on an intimate moment I shouldn't be part of.

Like, our second date was at his sister's wedding and the best friend spent most of the time glued to our side. He has a son who my date adores, so they danced together for most of the party as well. It was cute, but again: it felt like intruding on a private moment.

Then we had a relaxing night at his place, eating take out on his couch and watching a movie.... when the best friend just, came in. No notice, no knocking. He has a key to the place and he just walked in. It was awkward at first but we insisted it wasn't a big deal so he stayed for tge rest of the night.

By the time I was leaving, my date was telling him to just get comfortable on the couch.

Another thing is. My date? Situationship? I don't know how to call it anymore. Well, I recently found out that he is the legal guardian of his best friend 's kid? In case anything happens? I wouldn’t find this weird at all if it wasn't for the fact this man has parents and sisters and other close family members that also have a less chance of dying along with him on the job. (They work together.)

Also. Recently, the best friend broke up with his girlfiend and called this guy in the middle of our date. So, he crashed again.

All of this to say, I'm not really hurt? This was new and sure, I like the guy. But to be honest my expectations were low. This is fairly recent, so it's not like my heart is broken and I just lost the love of my life. No, that's not the problem.

I just don't think these two know they're in love with each other, and it’s starting to get really uncomfortable for me. Should I say something? Should I talk with my date about it or just break things off and keep it vague, but that we should still be friends? Should I talk with both of them at the same time and confront the situation?

This is a situation I don't even know how to begin to get a handle on. Does anyone know where I should start?

rctherpcliarredditor • commented 1d ago

to be honest, i don't really have any advice for you. i just find this gay drama really hilarious. thoughts and prayers for you, my man 🙏🏼🙏🏼

twohottakes • commented 6hrs ago

definitely have a conversation alone with your date. point all of this out to him and tell him you don't wanna get in the middle if there's deeper feelings involved for someone else. all the luck to you, man!

storyreddit23 • commented 2hrs ago

talk to ur date!! and pls, post an update if u do. i wanna know how this ends.

#this is so silly #but im sick and this is the best i can do rn ig #eventually i will go back to my wips #reddit au #ig #tommy kinard #evan buckley #eddie diaz #bucktommy #??? kinda #buddie #buck x eddie #911 abc #911 on abc #my writing #april writes #buddie fic

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nothorses · 9 months

Text

"the public education system is intently evil and all teachers are abusive because it was the worst experience ever for me personally"

guys, look, I'm legitimately sorry that happened to you. that's fucked up. it shouldn't have happened, and it shouldn't be allowed to happen again to you or anyone else. I'm sorry.

public school was hard for me too, at times, and I'm still suffering the consequences for the harsh grading, the arbitrary deadlines, the hours of completely useless-to-me homework. I could name a few teachers who have been pretty fucking terrible. the fact that nobody considered getting me evaluated for ADHD has had an impact on my self image and academic success that I can't erase.

and also.

I grew up in an area where education, in particular, is incredibly progressive-leaning. educators are working really hard to create and try out education philosophies and practices that prioritize kids and their learning, rather than teachers and what they think kids should learn.

My sex ed was comprehensive, and came entirely from school. My gay sixth grade teacher taught me about HIV/AIDs in a useful, accurate way. In high school, I learned about the way orgasms work & I was prepared not to feel shame for normal stuff.

I learned that Communism was not what the USSR actually practiced, and what it really means. I learned about atrocities and, specifically, the genocide of indigenous people committed in/by the US. I learned about the military industrial complex, the school-to-prison pipeline, and I learned about manifestations of racism specific to my local area. I learned about Stonewall, and the intersection of the civil rights movement with gay rights and disability justice.

My creative writing teacher taught us about LSD, and the real reasons we shouldn't do it, after a hilariously ineffective assembly run by some local cops. He spoke gently, carefully, and emphatically about his friends and his own experiences. Later in the semester, he read us a story he wrote about two gay men finding each other in a deeply homophobic environment.

My sci-fi teacher made me feel safe & seen as a kid with "weird" interests. My US History teacher helped me research and put together a 10-page paper on the modern relevance and mission of Feminism. My government teacher made me feel appreciated for the work I put into the class, and the thought I put into what I said in it, even though he disagreed with a lot of it. My sixth grade teacher bought me books to read with his personal money, whichever ones I asked for. My third grade teacher made me feel safe. My science teacher in middle school made me excited for and passionate about science, and saw and nurtured the effort I put into her class.

A lot of stuff sucks, absolutely. But I am seeing new teaching methods being tried out all the time, and I am watching teachers get really excited when I teach their students about the roots of modern graffiti in US black history & to question property laws, and just...

There's hope. there are so many people doing so much work to make things better. so many people agree with you on what education should be, and are trying so fucking hard to put that into action, and so many public schools- not just teachers, but whole schools and even districts- are really doing that work. so much is getting better.

I had more to say, about necessary childcare and trusted adults and outside contacts and time away from abusive family. But like. Please just sit down and listen to more people on this, and please talk to educators and education professionals about what's really going on in this big huge world of philosophy, science, and practice.

#education

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chocopokkie · 11 days

Note

Love your work❤️🩷 Could I request Alastor X Female Reader kissing for the first time since they been together. Starts off slow then intensifies. Can be fluff/spicy

Hi!! Thank you for the request, I really hope you enjoy it as much as I had fun writing it!

Warnings: None?

"So, toots, you're telling me you and Freaky Face haven't done ANYTHING? Not even KISS?" Angel Dust exclaimed boisterously, his voice reverberating through the lobby of the Hazbin Hotel as you two lounged in the plush seating.

You felt a flush of embarrassment creep up your cheeks at his blunt question. "N-no, that's not true! We... we hold hands!" you hastily defended, your words tumbling out in a rush as you sought to explain the extent of your relationship with Alastor.

Angel Dust let out a raucous laugh, his scarlet eyes glittering with mischief. "Holdin' hands, huh? Real scandalous stuff, toots."

You rolled your eyes, playfully swatting at his arm. "Oh, shut up, Angel. It's not like you're one to talk about romance."

He grinned wickedly, leaning in closer. "Oh, trust me, sweetheart, I know plenty about romance. Just not the kind that involves hand-holding if ya know what I mean."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his irreverent teasing, grateful for the distraction from your own awkwardness. Despite Angel Dust's antics, a warm fondness for your peculiar relationship with Alastor filled your heart. Yes, you wanted more but you didn't know how to voice your desires to him.

"Ok, Angel, what would you do if you were in my situation?" you asked, hoping for some feedback that might help from your friend.

"Oh, what WOULDN'T I do, toots?~" Angel Dust purred in response, a suggestive gleam dancing in his crimson eyes as he leaned closer with a playful grin. You playfully swatted him again, sharing a laugh. It was typical of him to respond with something sexual, and you should have known you'd get an answer like that.

--That night--

You were just about ready to head to bed after a long day, lights turning off when you hear knocking at the door. Who could that be at this hour, you wonder. Slightly annoyed, you flip the lights back on, get out of bed, and answer the door only to see your partner Alastor at the door. "Hello, Cher, I hope I'm not intruding on anything!" Alastor happily exclaims, his voice carrying an eerie cheerfulness as he steps past you, inviting himself into your room. Despite your initial surprise, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement at his unexpected visit.

"Oh, Alastor! Not at all, make yourself comfortable!" You hastily say, flustered at his surprise appearance. You two have been in a relationship for a while but this is the first time he has been in your room.

Alastor's smile widens, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes as he saunters further into the room. "Well, well, aren't you the hospitable host!" he chuckles, his voice smooth as velvet.

You can't help but smile at his playful demeanor, feeling a warmth spreading through you at his words. Despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach, being with Alastor always feels like coming home.

You move over to your bed and sit down at the edge, casting a tentative glance towards Alastor who remains standing in the middle of the room. "Soooo, what can I help you with?" you ask, the words tumbling out awkwardly. You've never felt this awkward around Alastor before, except perhaps in those early days when you were still getting to know each other. But there's something different about him right now, something that sets your heart racing and leaves you feeling inexplicably anxious.

Alastor starts stalking towards your position on the bed with an almost predatory grace, his movements fluid yet purposeful. He stands directly in front of you, his presence looming over you, and delicately places a gloved hand on your cheek, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "I just wanted to come and see you, darling," he murmurs, his voice a low, velvety rumble that resonates deep within you. "It's been such a busy day for us both, after all." His words are laced with a hint of longing, a vulnerability that you rarely see in him, and it fills you with a strange mixture of tenderness and apprehension.

He moves gracefully and takes a seat next to you on your bed, his hand still gently caressing your cheek as his gaze remains locked with yours. "And also, maybe I came here to be a little selfish," he admits, his tone tinged with a hint of mischief that leaves you intrigued. Selfish? The word hangs in the air, leaving you momentarily perplexed as you try to decipher its meaning. Before you can even process the thought fully, Alastor leans in closer, his eyes closing. His lips meet yours in a sudden, unexpected kiss, catching you completely off guard. What has come over him all of a sudden? In that instant, time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the sweet rhythm of your shared passion, the world fading away until there is only the two of you, bound together in an electrifying embrace.

The kiss intensifies, and you feel the gentle pressure of Alastor's tongue tracing the curve of your bottom lip, a silent request for permission that you eagerly grant without hesitation. With a soft sigh of surrender, you part your lips, inviting him in with a newfound sense of urgency. The taste of him, mingled with the heady scent of desire, sends a thrill coursing through your veins.

The kiss was only a minute or two, but it felt like it lasted a lifetime. As you break apart, breathless and exhilarated, you can't help but utter a soft "Oh wow," your heart still racing from the intensity of the moment. Alastor lets out a breathy chuckle, his crimson eyes sparkling with amusement. "What? Did you like that, cher?" he teases, his voice laced with playful affection. The warmth of his gaze washes over you, and you find yourself smiling in response, unable to contain the swell of happiness that fills your chest.

Oh you couldn't wait to tell Angel Dust about this.

#alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x you #fanfic #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x you #short story

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steddieas-shegoes · 2 months

Text

oh love, i'm terrified

for @steddielovemonth prompt 'love is terrifying'

rated t | 1,585 words | cw: negative self views | tags: falling in love, getting together, love confessions, sappy and fluffy

💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

He thought he was being obvious.

He doesn't do this stuff for everyone else. He doesn't show up after work to hang out for no reason other than just wanting to be around the other person. He doesn't talk on the phone for three hours in the middle of the night to comfort the other person after nightmares. He doesn't fucking stargaze with anyone.

But with Eddie he does. Steve always goes out of his way for Eddie.

He knows why, and he feels like everyone can see it too: he loves him.

But somehow, Eddie doesn't see it, or chooses not to.

Even Dustin, oblivious to human emotion as anyone else Steve's ever met, pulled him aside after Hellfire one night --yes, he even attends Hellfire now-- to ask if he knew he was flirting with Eddie so much.

Robin and Nancy had called him out on two different occasions for touching him too much in public, but he hadn't even realized his hand had gone to his waist!

And Eddie still seemed clueless.

Or at least, most of the time he seemed clueless.

Sometimes, though, Steve could swear he looked at him in a specific way, a way that Steve would think is understanding and maybe even returned feelings. But he never said anything, never did anything out of the ordinary for Eddie.

Months of wondering what the hell he could do differently, months of being less and less subtle every day, months of showing how much he loved him without actually saying it.

All for Eddie to still be oblivious.

But not tonight,

Tonight, he was going to Eddie's to have dinner and watch a movie. Wayne was on a fishing trip with his buddies from work, and all the kids were at the same summer camp, probably torturing underpaid teenage counselors.

No interruptions were possible.

He could bring out all his moves, and if Eddie still didn't get it by the end of the night, maybe he could even use his words.

"Dinner's almost ready!" Eddie yelled from the kitchen as Steve let himself in. "I didn't burn anything!"

Steve rolled his eyes fondly. "Sounds like something someone who burnt dinner would say."

"I didn't! I mean one edge is a little crispy on the lasagna, but I think that's because our oven is older than Wayne. You think the government could've given us a better oven for my troubles, but apparently not," Eddie turned to Steve standing in the doorway. "You look...nice."

Steve always liked to look nice, but he'd decided to dress up a little bit tonight, try to make his intentions clear right from the start. His hair was done as usual, but he was wearing his khaki slacks instead of jeans and his nicest navy polo instead of the t-shirts he'd mostly been wearing outside of work. He even sprung for his watch that his dad gave him as a graduation gift. He hated to know how much money was wasted on it, but it did look nice.

"Thanks. You do too," Steve replied.

Eddie looked down at his own clothes and back up at Steve. "Dude, I'm wearing sweats and a t-shirt that has more holes than cloth. You don't have to lie."

"I'm not lying. You always look best when you're comfy," Steve shrugged. "Need help with anything?"

Eddie shook his head. "Not unless you wanna grab beers from the fridge. I forgot to get some this afternoon so they're just Wayne's PBRs, but a cold beer's a good beer, right?"

"Right," Steve agreed, walking to the fridge to grab the beers.

Dinner went as dinner usually does, except they actually sat at the table this time instead of the couch. Eddie seemed surprised when Steve set his things down in front of the chair he only sat in to keep Eddie company while he planned for campaigns, but just silently joined him.

They talked and joked, they made themselves laugh so hard beer almost came out of Eddie's nose. It was perfect.

After, Steve started working on the dishes, Eddie standing by the counter watching.

He was quiet, which was unusual, especially when no one else was around to fill the silence.

"Everything okay, Eds?" Steve asked as he scrubbed a particularly difficult area on a fork.

"What? Oh. Yeah."

Steve turned to look at him, suddenly worried when he saw Eddie's face turned down to the floor. This wasn't them. They'd just had a nice dinner, and now Eddie was being...shy?

Now was his chance. He could say it. Robin would be proud of him for finally just doing it.

Hell, he'd be proud of himself for doing it.

But something seemed wrong, and the last thing Steve wanted was to turn a good night bad because he couldn't reign in his feelings for a bit.

He wiped his hands on the towel by the sink and turned fully towards Eddie.

"What's wrong?"

Eddie shook his head once, then sighed. "I kind of feel like I've been wined and dined tonight. And that's ridiculous because you're just one of my best friends, and you're straight, and it's all been in my head for months, but-"

"Woah. Wait." Steve interrupted. "You've been noticing that for months? And you didn't say anything?"

"Well, no. I didn't wanna ruin our friendship because I can't handle my own hopes getting up." Eddie leaned away from Steve further. "I know you don't mean it that way. I don't want you to change anything."

"Eds-"

"And if you do want to, that's fine! Whatever would make you comfortable. I just have to say it's feeling very 'I have romantic feelings' for you territory and I know you don't so."

"Eddie."

"I'm also not good at that though. No one's ever shown interest in me other than one girl in high school who ended up moving away a week later so I didn't even have to break her heart."

Steve crashed his lips to Eddie's, half hoping it would shut him up, and half hoping he would somehow keep rambling. He kind of loved watching him ramble.

It did shut him up. Even when Steve pulled away, Eddie's silence was deafening.

"Sorry. I should've asked if I could first, but I don't think you would have even heard me. Was that okay?" Steve asked.

"Why did you do that?" Eddie sounded heartbroken.

That's not what Steve wanted at all.

"I wanted to. I have wanted to."

"No you don't."

This was not going the way Steve had hoped for. "How would you know I don't?"

"Because I'm me! I'm just the dude who gets the good weed, and says funny shit, and cooks dinner sometimes. I'm not a girl Steve Harrington falls in love with, or even takes on a date. I'm not the type you build a relationship and future with. I'm just the guy who gets to watch everyone else do that. I'm not good for that."

"What the hell do you mean?" Steve was angry now. Who had convinced Eddie he couldn't have good things, couldn't be loved or love someone, couldn't be important? "You're Eddie Munson. You saved us all from an evil wizard dude and nearly died doing it. You're the guy who makes me a sandwich when I come over for Hellfire even though there's strict no eating during the campaign rules because you know I've been working all day and need to eat. You turn all my bad days good, and make my life better just because you're you."

"Steve-"

"My turn." Steve crowded him against the counter, hands cupping his cheeks and eyes boring into Eddie's. "I need you to understand something. I've been trying to show how much I care about you, how much I love you, for months, and I've been thinking I've just been terrible at it. I thought I truly did lose all my charm. I've been pulling all my moves out for you. I was starting to think maybe you just were trying to ignore it all to let me down easy, but it isn't that. It's because you don't see how fucking amazing you are, isn't it?"

Eddie's eyes were shining with unshed tears.

"Because you are. You're incredible. Maybe the best person I've ever known other than Robin. I find excuses to be near you. I find reasons to talk to you. I didn't even have a nightmare the other night, I just wanted to hear your voice. I'm in love with you. Like, the real stupid, do anything for you even if it hurts me kind. And if you don't feel anything for me besides friendship, I'll leave right now and I'll do my best to get over it so we can be friends."

"And if I do?"

"If you do love me, then you should kiss me."

"I've never kissed anyone."

"That's not true. We kissed two minutes ago," Steve smirked, his heart racing in his chest.

"I'm scared," Eddie's whispered admittance nearly broke Steve's heart.

"Oh love, I'm terrified. Love is like that. But we've faced scarier things, haven't we?"

Eddie's soft lips against his own was the only answer he needed.

Love was terrifying, even for Steve, maybe especially for Steve, who was used to giving a lot more love than he received back. But as they kissed in Eddie's kitchen for seconds that turned to minutes, minutes that turned to hours, they got just a bit less scared.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddielovemonth #love is terrifying #falling in love #getting together #love confessions #idiots in love

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lovingmattysposts · 5 months

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Welcome to my page😽

(things to know about me, masterlist, rules)

Me!: HELLO FELLOW TRIPLET LOVERS. You can call me Autumn so you don't have to address me as 'lovingmattysposts' because WOW is that a mouthful. Also it was meant to be read as loving-matty's-posts but when you put it together it looks like it says loving-matty's-spots??? Whatever i tried.

If it wasn't clear, I'm a Matt girl! (Chris still hits different sometimes though). I'll go back an forth like damn elena gilbert but will always end on matty🫶.

I've been writing short stories since I was in middle school and I'm a freshman in college. (Still somehow can't spell for shit though for some reason). So not to hype myself up, but I would consider what I write to be decently okay and MAYBE even go as far to say a 'good read' lmao.

I want to get close with everyone one here so DO NOT BE AFRAID TO MESSAGE ME ABOUT ANYTHING! I'm going to turn on my requests and anon so that you can send in whatever you want, send me questions, statements, story ideas, whatever you guys want to see from me.

I write smut so: I'm 19 years old so some of the stories will contain smut and if that bothers you do. not. read. it. That's it. Just keep scrolling. Or! If you like my work but don't want to read about that stuff, I will have warnings before series parts for smutty parts. Just skip 'em. I will also have fluffs and just angsts and some chill ones, not all of em have to be getting that ddddddd-woahhh who said that...

What i plan on doing: I plan to keep up the My Best Friend's Brother story for a while (my first project), and I also have another story that i'm waiting to post. I plan on doing blurbs, one-shots, headcannons, texts, snaps from the boys. Whatever y'all want. JUST TELL ME.

What I won't write🫵❌: weird ass shit bro, just don't be weird with requests. Like, i'm not writing incest. (this should go without saying). Nick with a fem partner in a sexual way. I do not do threesomes or shit like that and I'm not getting too freaky with the smut, just good ole fashion LOVING (sometimes a tad freaky) smut 😄.

Now Go!

SERIES MASTERLIST

ONE-SHOT MASTERLIST

TAG LIST: COMMENT ON THIS POST

Love, Autumn

#christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 5 days

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AITA for telling my mom I don't like it when she slaps my ass? potential tw

so I (22 trans m) currently live with my mom (65), and I've always had issues with how she interacts with my body. today she woke me up to try on a pair of pants I bought yesterday before she washed them, and I asked her if she could stop staring at me while I took my pajama pants off to try on the jeans. she pushed back and laughed it off saying it didn't matter, so I had to change in front of her cause she refused to leave the room. this has happened many times before where she insists on watching me change, even when I'm completely naked, despite me asking her not to.

I put the pants on and she immediately comes over to inspect how they fit for herself, tugging on the waistband and looking them over, then promptly slaps my ass. I immediately recoil and tell her I didn't like it and I want her to stop, and she scoffs and rolls her eyes at the suggestion. I tell her it's weird because we've had this conversation before since her slapping my ass is a frequent occurrence, and like usual, she insists there's nothing weird about it because she's my mother and she isn't doing it to be sexual. when she does this, she usually says, "I birthed that ass, so I'm allowed to slap that ass if I want to." I tried to tell her that I'n an adult and I should be allowed to tell her when I don't like something she does to me, and I was visibly pissed off and kicked her out of my room to go back to bed.

I could hear her in the other room walking around saying loudly, "ohh, so I'M aaaaalways the problem. I'm the problem, of course," in like a mocking tone because she clearly thinks I'm in the wrong. I know she's an asshole for a lot of other reasons (she's pretty transphobic and doesn't respect my name, pronouns, or that I'm on hormones, and she frequently takes out her anger issues on me by yelling at me if I even look at her wrong when she's mad), but this one has been bothering me a lot since I moved back home after college (I'm also unemployed and wouldn't be able to move out for a while despite already wanting to get away from her)

for further context, she's always had a specific way of interacting with my body that I think is weird but she refuses to see it. she insisted on personally bathing me into middle school, then continued to say that I needed her help to shower correctly even up to now, so she frequently walks into my bathroom or bedroom when I'm entirely naked and will look my body over and I'm not a fan of it. she also still tries to force her way into changing rooms if we go shopping together so that she can have the final say in how I look in clothes, and she never even wants to turn around or wait outside while I strip.

I've tried to get her to stop before but she keeps doing it, insisting that she's my mother so she's allowed to, even though I'm an adult who hasn't lived with her for the past four years and is very autonomous, so it's not like she still does everything for me. she also pushes back and says that if I think it's weird then it must mean I've been assaulted before and that's why I don't like it when she touches me. I'm also autistic and don't like frequent hugs or any kind of touching and she doesn't like it when I tell her to stop doing that too, but her slapping my ass and insisting on seeing me naked is the stuff that really bothers me, the rest I tolerate just so I don't have to argue with her all the time.

I've asked friends before if they think it's weird she does this, but she's so insistent that she should be able to touch me whenever and however she wants just because she's my mom and that she can look at me naked because she birthed me and has seen me naked before, so why is it different now that I'm a full on adult. I honestly don't know who's in the wrong for this specific thing and if I'm over exaggerating like my mom says I am, but I'm so sick of her touching me when I tell her not to that I needed to poll answers, so:

am I the asshole for telling my mom to stop slapping my ass and insisting on looking at me while I'm naked despite being an adult and asking her not to?

#aita #am i the asshole

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sleep-paralysis-buddy · 4 months

Text

Want

Jim Hopper x Reader

Warnings: smut, age gap, size kink slightly, praise, foul language, Jim being fucking oblivious.

Hoppers old.

Or getting there at least.

And he knows it.

But somehow you're still here in his bed, your youthful cheek squished against his chest, your arm thrown around his middle that he knows isn't as toned as it used to be. 'A Dad bod,' you'd called it. Said it was hot. He'd just rolled his eyes, giving your ass a playful swat.

You'd met when you began secretary work at the police station. It was a long, pining heavy minute before he ever approached you romantically. You'd flirted with him, or tried, but he couldn't possibly fathom someone as young and vibrant as you wanting him. He'd tried to avoid you, despite working so closely together. That all changed one night when he had to stay late to do paperwork, and you'd volunteered to stay behind to help. He'd tried insisting you go home, telling you he'd take care of it, saying you should get some rest. But you'd stayed, helpfully pointing out that it'd go twice as fast with 2 people.

So there he was, 1am with the prettiest girl to give him any attention in a long time, your thigh bumping his under the table. He crosses his legs. Partially to put space between the two of you, partially to hide the growing tent at the front of his pants.

The view you'd given him wasn't helping. The white button down you wore was slightly undone at top, unbuttoned in you're frustration, allowing him a view of your breasts swelling past the top of your bra everytime you bent to retrieve your dropped pen.

You're barely through half the stack of reports and files when you suddenly stand and lean across him, your hair in his face, your chest brushing his arm.

'Sorry Cheif, just looking for the notes that go with this case,' you explained, flipping through the stack. He let out an involuntary groan, the scent of your shampoo flooding his senses, his cock straining painfully against his pants. If you heard, you never let on, finding the folder you were looking for and sitting back down. Looking back now, the memory makes him chuckle, wondering how he'd been so oblivious to your advances.

'I'm gonna..ima run to my office quick,' he said, standing and turning quickly, 'left some notes somewhere in my desk. Might be a minute.'

'O-oh! Take your time!' You told him, but you looked-and it had to be his mind playing tricks on him-disappointed? He shook his head as he hurried off to his office, quickly shutting the door behind him, fumbling with his belt, desperate for some relief from the pressure. He fell back into his chair, giving his throbbing cock a couple long pumps.

'Fuuuck,' he breathed, precum leaking out of the angry red tip and onto his fingers. He used it to glide his hand over himself with ease, moaning as he imagined it was your spit, your pretty lips wrapped around him, bobbing your head up and down, those big innocent eyes staring into his. Your name tumbles from his mouth, sweet on his tongue.

Just as he felt his release rising in him, there was a knock on the door.

His door.

That he forgot to lock.

There was no time to stuff himself back into his pants before you're opening the door and peaking your head in, so he just spun his chair to face front, hiding his lap under his desk.

'Hop? Everything good? You find those papers?' You asked, knitting your eyebrows together, making him want to kiss the bump that formed between them.

'Oh, yea, no, sorry,' he said a little too quickly, 'I uh, I think Flow might have had them last, but she keeps her desk locked at night. No big deal.' He shrugged, wishing you'd take his explanation and leave. He was still exposed under his desk, twitching, his release still sitting on the brink.

Instead of leaving, you stride into the room, shutting the door behind you, 'maybe they're still in here. Here, lemme che-,' you'd walked around the edge of his desk and he'd nearly jumped to stop you.

'No! That's REALLY ok, it doesn't matt-,' he didn't speak quickly enough, watching in horror as you shut the drawer open next him, finally exposing his dirty secret to yourself. He braced himself, ready for you to scream, ready for you to call him a dirty old man, a pig, ready for the profanities to spill like venom from the mouth he'd wished so many times to kiss.

But it never came. You just stood there, your mouth open in a small O shape, your clear and intelligent eyes wide.

'I'm so sorry,' he breathed, and moved to pull his pants back up, his face cherry red, 'God, I'm sorry, please-' you stopped him in his tracks, resting your small, soft hand on one of his large calloused ones. You bit your lip and looked up through your lashes at him, and he swears he's never wanted anyone or anything like he did in that moment.

'I thought- thought you-,' you spoke softly, fumbling over your words, and then you whispered 'I thought you didn't want me.'

He pulled you forward by your waist at this, leaning his forehead against yours and breathing out shakily, 'you have no idea how long I've wanted...' He trailed off, brushing his hands lightly over both sides of your face, like you're delicate and precious, like he could break you if he touched you too hard.

He wanted to break you.

'Can- can I?' He looked at your lips as he asked his half question. He didn't need to finish. You knew what he meant because you wanted the same thing. You nodded slowly and bit your lip again. He threw his head back and whispered a curse under his breath, and sighed, 'let me do that for you.'

He kissed you softly at first, his pointer finger and thumb tilting your head by your chin. And then he got hungrier, greedier. He kissed you like you were fresh air and he was a man drowning, his fingers digging so hard into your sides that you could imagine his fingerprints bruising onto your skin, his teeth nipping the soft flesh. He kissed down your jaw and neck, his stubble scratching and tickling your skin in just the right way, and you moaned, digging your nails into his back. He pulled you down onto his thigh, one leg on each side of his, the pressure and friction on your clit making you dizzy.

'So damn beautiful,' he said it against your skin, like it pained him, and it did. In his mind, this was a fluke. There was no way you'd want him more than once. Sex with an older man, that's all it was. Just a taboo to you.

So when you ran your hands down his chest and sang his praises, he thought he was going to melt right then and there.

He put his hands on your hips and began guiding you on his thigh, relishing the way your eyes flit back into your head. 'Yeah sweet girl? Feel good? Come on, ride my thigh, get yourself nice and wet for me. That's a good girl' he growled the last part, ripping open your shirt, the snap buttons coming open with a loud CLACK. He bent his head and softly kissed your chest, sucking and leaving hickeys anywhere that wasn't covered by your bra.

As if reading his mind, you reached around and undid the clasp, letting both your shirt and your bra fall off your shoulders. He felt his breath hitch in his throat as he looked at you. The moonlight from the window behind him illuminating your skin, your head thrown back and your eyes shut tight as you ground yourself onto him. The need to be close to you was settled in his very bones, every fiber of his being wanted you like an addict wants a drug.

He had so much he wanted to do. He wanted to sit you on the desk and bury his face between the pillowy thighs he so often found himself daydreaming about. Wanted to see you bruising your knees for him, your eyes glassy while he hits the back of your throat. But all that could wait. He needed you too badly to take his time, to worship your body like the alter it was to him.

'Want me pumpkin? Hm? Need me to stretch you out good? Make you feel full?' He purred, brushing the hair from your face. You could hardly answer, your mind already so scrambled for him, babbling your pleas and cries.

He lifted you by your thighs, his hands finding home on your ass under your skirt as he held you above him, ready to lower you down onto him. He couldn't believe his luck as he watched you in wonder, his head falling forwards and into the crook your neck as you lowered yourself onto him, your tightness wrapping around him, ripping a loud, full moan from his throat. He helped you bounce, keeping you upright as you fucked yourself onto him, kissing him hard and deliberately.

'Jus' like that honey. Fuck, you're so good. Wanted you for so long. Drive me absolutely insane,' you felt him say against your lips. He hugged you tight to him, one hand cradling the back of your head, and bucked his hips up into yours, holding you and cooing sweet praises as he used you, just like he always wanted to. The amount of times he'd imagined this exact scenario at night, when the only one to keep him company was his hand, was uncountable.

He could feel his orgasam rising again already, and he would have been disappointed in himself if he couldn't feel you reaching your own breaking point.

'Gonna cum for me? Hm? Gonna cum for your Police Cheif like a good little whore?' Oh, he was loving this. 'Where do you want it baby? Where do you want me to cum? All over that pretty face? On those perfect tits of yours?'

You're were panting, your face pressed to his shoulder as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

'Jim- I,' you stumbled over your words, moaning as he hit your sweet spot over and over again, 'pill. Have the pill.'

His head spun, 'yea? Want me to fill you up with my cum? I wanna see it leaking all over those perfect fucking thighs of yours, oh FU-' he almost loses himself to his own words, hips slamming messily against your ass.

'Cum for me princess. That's it, be a good girl, scream it for me.'

And you did, your release white hot. You pulled down the collar of his shirt, biting his shoulder, leaving teeth marks he was still admiring in the mirror the next day.

He followed you closely, shooting thick, hot ropes inside of you, moaning and cursing, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head as you shook against him.

'Did so good f'me honey. Made me cum so hard. God,' he buried his face in your neck and breathed in, high off the scent of you and him mixed together.

Now, as you stir against him, whining softly in your sleep when he kisses your forehead because he just can't help himself, he smiles softly.

He might be old, but damn do you love him. And if a few gray hairs don't bother you, then he can keep coping with it.

#jim hopper #jim hopper x reader #hopper #hopper stranger things #hopper x reader #hopper smut #jim hopper x reader smut #jim hopper x you #jim hopper x y/n #jim hopper x fem!reader #jim hopper x afab!reader #jim hopper smut #stranger things 4 #stranger things #stranger things smut #strangers things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction

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vivwritesfics · 4 months

Text

POV: Oscar saves reader

An NNTA AU

Just before she is due to marry Carlos, Oscar takes her away

For this, i'm pretending all the US immigration stuff doesn't exist, like, I know its seriously difficult to get a visa to live and work in the US, but i've ignored that here

Series Masterlist

It was the night before the wedding and Y/N was crying into her pillow

You know how the story goes, what happens when she marries Carlos

And, in a way, she knew it too

She knew what was going to happen to her, the impending tragedy she could feel coming

No amount of consoling from Oscar had any effect

In our original story, Oscar disappears to get some beers and let her have one last fun night

But, in this story, Oscar didn't do that

While she had been sleeping, Oscar was wide awake, putting things in place to get her away from Carlos's house

The hardest part had been getting a car and stashing it outside of the gates

If it was still there when they went to escape, he would have been incredibly surprised

"Pack your bags," said Oscar as he gently pulled her away from the pillow and wiped the tears from beneath her eyes

"Osc," she began, but he threw a bag onto the bed and pulled an already packed one from beneath it

Wordlessly, she got on with it, packing her things into the bag

The bag was tiny, not nearly big enough to pack all of her things

But she did what she could

"What're we doing?"

Oscar took her hand and kissed the back of it

He pulled open her bedroom door, keeping his hand on his gun as she looked up and down the corridor

When he saw nothing, he walked out, Y/N trailing behind him

He went to the stairs, kept his gun pointed down as he looked for any of Carlos's men

They had a clear run to the stairs

Oscar kept a tight hold of Y/N as they ran towards the front door

Outside would be a different story - there would be cameras everywhere and probably some men too

"When we're out there, run like hell," he said and waited for Y/N to nod before he opened the door

They did just like that, ran like hell

The gates weren't the most sophisticated and Oscar easily got them open

He took Y/N's hand and pulled her towards the car that was still stashed away

Within seconds they were driving towards the airport, and nobody even knew they had left

"Where are we going, Osc?" Y/N asked as she leaned her head against the window

Finally, he answered her, "The Sargeants have offered us a place to stay in the United States," he said as they drove on the highway

The flight from Spain to the US was long and Y/N slept through most of it

Oscar didn't, though

He kept his arms wrapped around her, alert and protective

When they touched down in Florida, Logan and two other men in suits were there to greet them

"I'm putting my ass on the line for you, mate," (because I love the way logan says mate) he said as he pulled Oscar in close

Oscar looked at the girl behind him

"She's worth it," he said

The Sargeants had multiple safehouses

That was where Oscar and Y/N found themselves, in one of the Sargeant's safehouses

It was their perfect little haven

It was hard for Y/N not to fall in love with Oscar

If she wasn't already in love with him when she lived in Carlos's house, she certainly was now

The safehouse had one bed (because I love that trope)

At first Oscar refused to sleep in the same bed as her

He took a couple of pillows and slept on the floor

But then Y/N insisted that he sleep in the bed with her

They fell into a domestic sort of bliss, and that was how they got together

They didn't think about it the first time they kissed, laying in the bed they now shared

It had become normal for Oscar to hold her close while they slept, still protective

For a full year, their life was normal

Y/N wanted to get a job, she wanted that sort of normality, so she did

She went by her middle name, calling herself Piastri instead of Norris

That made Oscar wear his polite cat smile

Oscar got a job too, working for the Sargeant family

It was really nice, working with his best friend

They went karting together, taking Oscar back to the days before he began working for Webber, when his Formula One dreams were close to being a reality

After a year of peace, Lando found them

It had been a solo mission, something he hadn't told anybody about

His men didn't know, the man that should have been his brother in law didn't know

Lando made the trip to Florida alone, letting Sargeant know that he was on his way

The Sargeants pulled Y/N and Oscar in

Oscar was immediately protective when Lando walked into the room, but the Brit held his hands up defensively

"Relax, nobody knows I'm here," he said, looking at his sister (who had been pushed behind Oscar)

"I'm proud of you," he said, "both of you"

"Both of us?" Asked Oscar, unable to stop the face he was pulling

Lando nodded his head

"You got my little sister away from a marriage that i never wanted to happen"

Y/N stepped forward. "Why are you here, Lando?"

Truth was that Lando wasn't going to come, not until he found out that she was going by Piastri

That gave a certain idea (that they were together) and Lando couldn't not check it out

He was right, it seemed

The way Oscar was protectively in front of her told Lando everything he needed to know

The way Y/N was holding the back of Oscars white button up shirt told him

"I'm here giving my blessing"

"I don't need it," Y/N replied quickly

"I don't care, you've got it"

Taglist (CLOSED): @biancathecool @multi-universe21 @formulas-bitch @gills-lounge @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @carlossainzwho @f1lov3r @samaib11 @charli123456789 @queenofmanydreams @ironmaiden1313 @vellicora @glitterf1 @80sloverry @lightdragonrayne @moonayu @bellsalabanccini @topguncultleader @handsupforamiracle @cmleitora @jenniferrvsesi @barcelonaloverf1life @sbella13 @nicolettecallednikki @darleneslane @thehufflepuffavenger1 @champagneproblems17 @aespie @yukheizcigarettes @rewmuslupin @hollie911 @ashy-kit @ririgy @stqrgir1 @zaynzierulez @minkyungseokie @rafaaoli @carolinesainz @ashies-ln4op81aa22 @measimp @mizelophsun11 @eviethetheatrefreak @andydrysdalerogers @chonkybonky @shobaes @celesteblack08 @watermelonworries @gracielukey @cassie0sstuff @goldenharrysworld @venusesworld @sparklyperfectionstranger @evans-dejong @graciewrote @formulaal

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kneelingshadowsalome · 10 months

Note

I have an odd request… perhaps a captain price fic where the reader is much younger and edgy- likeee covered in tats and stuff,, and price isn’t rly used to that but finds it hot as hell… idk maybe they work together ?? Smut ensues …

IDK I have tatts and wonder what he’d think of that 👹👹

Just an idea 💡❤️😫

Fire it Up (John Price x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.8 k

Tags/warnings: Smut 🔞 mutual pining, flirting, swearing, older man/younger woman dynamic, forbidden love, smoking & drinking, voice kink, a tiny brat taming kink squeezed itself in here too. Reader has tattoos and works as a coder at the base. Rough ~10yrs age gap described, reader is of age I hope to god it goes without saying (Price is canonically 37) Also: no use of 'daddy' in this fic

A/N: I'm so glad for this request anon and I hope you like what I made! Also people please be gentle, this is my first Price fic 🥹 God I wish I could attach the fat scent of cigar here to give you the full experience.

You don't know what caught your attention first.

The cigar, perhaps. Or the beard? Might be his hips, the ass that tells you this man can fuck a woman for hours.

Or maybe it's the fact that he's too old for you.

No, not too old…

Just older than you. A decade, perhaps, if you were being gentle with him and lenient with yourself.

He certainly isn't old enough to be your father, but he wasn't the type of man your eyes usually drifted on either.

He looks like someone who's supposed to be fishing in Alaska, sucking that fat cigar while taking in the view of mountains while trying to catch wild fish in some wide, free stream.

He's supposed to come home to a remote cabin: to his little wife who pours him a scotch after he has shown her what he caught today. Make sweet love to her while stars shoot and speckle the indigo night.

He looks like someone who makes love to women.

You, on the other hand, want to ride with him to the sunset on the back of a Harley, clutch his jacket as he drives you to some bizarre highway motel. You want to watch him drink that scotch from your navel.

You'd do all kinds of crazy shit with him, keep his head between your legs with both hands, grind all over that mustache, and see how wet it gets. You want him to pound you with those narrow hips, take you from behind while you look back with parted, swollen lips and relish the sight of what must be a grown man's hardened body, covered with hair and scars and–

"The bug's still there."

You return to reality, look at the code on your screen, and then at your colleague, a 20-something bloke who looks at you with the lethargic stare that only belongs to techies. You've just been caught daydreaming your eyes off in the middle of a lazy afternoon. Coffee doesn't do shit after 2 PM…

"Yeah I know. I'm working on it," you say. But when the dude leaves, you decide it's time for a creative break. You tell yourself it's only because the code jumps on the screen, not because you hope to catch a certain someone smoking outside.

The leather jacket is a little too much these days, but you throw it on out of pure habit. You realize the weight of your mistake when you go outside from the ventilated building and notice the sweltering heat. Spring has finally turned into summer.

Coffee doesn’t do shit, but it’s time for another kind of wakey-wakey. And butterflies are a funny term for something that mainly feels like it’s eating your insides out of pure excitement.

Because he's here too.

Jonathan Price, although no one calls him Jonathan. Few call him John, either.

Mostly, he goes by the title Captain.

He's stressed; you can tell. But his eyes soften immediately when they fall on you, a brief look to the side, just to know who else comes out to have a breath of fresh air or a smoke. He looks like he's been expecting you, but that might only be a silly girl's daydream. You two share a vice, and you've never been more grateful for your bad habit before this place and him.

And you wouldn't call it necessarily a bad habit. It's simply stress relief if you do it once or twice every few weeks. It's not like you smoke two packs a day. It's not like you even smoke one cig per day.

Although ever since you started this odd little job in this odd little place, you've smoked one or two nearly every day… And it's not because of the stress.

It's because of Price.

John. You’d like to see his reaction to you moaning that word in his ear…

"How long have you been here?"

His eyes are still on you, mouth covered by a hand as he makes love to his cigar. And that bedroom voice always gets you. It's better than the upcoming slow drag of nicotine. You're not here for tobacco at all.

"Two weeks." You reach for your excuse and try to prevent your hands from trembling as you light the cig. Usually, you're not this shy with people. Not with men, anyway. But with him, your wits and words disappear.

You blow the smoke through the air with a quick, lively wisp where he lets it roll out his tongue in a heavy cloud. He's still watching you as if to weigh what kind of woman you are exactly.

"How about you?" You continue the small talk with nervous ease.

He chuckles; the little smile even shows a flash of teeth as he steals a look at the clouds, calculating years with those surprisingly lively eyebrows curled up toward the sky.

"Ages."

He's not that old. Perhaps well over his thirties, might be knocking his forties. The statement is merely an underline of his stress today. You can only wonder what kind of pressure the captain of Task Force 141 is under when you get sleepless nights from a stupid source code. There are a few wrinkles around his eyes, but they only tell you that this man smiles a lot. He might be the only one in this compound who smiles a lot.

"Have you ever tried a cigar?"

There's a glint in his eyes as he offers the thick roll of tobacco to you. It's suddenly difficult to breathe, difficult to even keep your thoughts together.

"No," you shake your head as if your answer wasn't enough to tell him he's the first person ever to offer you such a thing. Then you realize the word does not precisely deliver your eagerness to try that stout cigar.

"Would love to," you hurry to add with a soft smile. "Can I have a taste?"

He walks to you slowly, and your eyes drop to those hips, which sway like he's purposely trying to seduce you.

Fu–ck…

Then your eyes sink even lower, between his legs, to his fucking junk, and it's too fucking late–

Jesus–get your shit together…

You force your eyes back to his and see the little glimmer in them gain a surprised spark – you're totally caught red-handed on checking him out.

Fuck. How can you be so stu–

"Gently then, kid."

You swallow your heart and thoughts down and take the offered cigar; of course, your first thought is how thick and heavy it is. And somehow, you decide right then and there that you will no longer be the nervous, hot-cheeked woman on the corner.

It's time to make him flustered.

So you take a hollow-cheeked, slow suck on the fat cigar. A chaste, savory taste, more like, but there's nothing chaste in the way you raise your eyes to his, putting every ounce of soft seduction in that stare.

He draws breath slowly – his face is full of expression for an allegedly cold-hearted elite soldier. You don't know how often women flirt with this hunk of a man, but he sure looks taken aback by your sudden play. Probably thinks you're too young for him – and you curse the second time you put that jacket on. You want to see his reaction to your sleeves.

"Mm. It's thicker than I thought," you weigh the cigar between your fingertips and let the smoke roll out your mouth. The man switches his weight from one foot to another, speechless, and you suppress a big beam of a smile.

"The taste," you emphasize as if innocent, as if you didn't see that shocked little shift. "Round, and… god, it's almost sweet."

You smile as you give it back, and he chuffs an approving laugh through his nose – those eyes are bear-warm playful now, his mouth curves into an easy smile.

"Nice," you look him up and down as if you're talking about the man and not the cigar.

"Beats those little sticks."

His voice drops down a few notes; it's almost a husky growl. You barely make out the words he's saying. The tension in the air could form little balls of lightning around you, the flirt is over the roof, and there's even no roof because you're outside – and you take your jacket off, slowly, to make it clear it's summer and not spring.

His eyes fall on the ink immediately, and he blinks a few times, draws some more breath – you tweet your thanks accompanied by another smile and go back inside.

You know he's checking your ass in those black jeans as you walk away.

….....

It doesn't end there.

You see him again and again and again, and at some point you realize he has to walk almost 100 meters from the other end of the base to get to the little corner where the two of you smoke.

He's intrigued but decent. Holds a distance, never says anything that could be taken in the wrong way – or even in the right way. But he's fucking you with his eyes.

No… making love to you.

And it drives you crazy.

You don't want that. You don't need that. To be that little wife in the cabin. Pouring him a drink, climbing in his lap, ghosting a finger down the stubble on his chin, see how wide and proud it makes him smile to hold you like you're his and his alone...

God. When did it come to this?

You suck on his fat cigar every now and then. Look him in the eyes while you do it. Once, it makes his tongue dart out, it wets his bottom lip, and then he does that thing with his mouth... the thing where he kind of purses his lips and it makes the mustache dip, and you realize, you learn it's a sign that he's restless, he's flustered.

You make the big, burly captain of Task Force 141 flustered.

And he doesn't smell like the people inside smell. Of stale coder sweat and Joy Division and soft drinks and mommy's home-cooked meals. He smells of rich forest and fine bourbon and half-burnt gasoline. Maybe Saxon on vinyl. Definitely beats those little sticks that are your nerdy co-workers at the hacker department, as you call it.

He may have a flask somewhere; perhaps he takes a sip or two every now and then, whether at work or not. And you don't blame him. Even with those laugh lines and that brown bear benevolence, you can tell he's seen things.

You wonder what he's like out there in the field. Brutal? Or just efficient?

He never asks about your tattoos, but he eyes them often. There's a certain admiring esteem in his stare. He's checking you out, scratches his chin, and rips his eyes off when they start to drift down. He forces his eyes to stay above your neckline no matter the cost. You mourn that you got rid of the septum a few years ago: you're pretty sure he would've liked that, too. After all, it's a piercing that screams 'warrior' the most. Break after break, you return to your desk, aroused and giddy and surrounded by the rich, masculine aroma of his cigar.

One night, he drives by when you're walking home after what was supposed to be one or two pints.

The car is a big, black pick-up, and when it slows down and starts to inch by your side, your first reaction is a silent curse of why the fuck don't you carry some pepper spray in your pocket.

"Hey, you ok?"

Your head rises from the asphalt the second you recognize that smooth, pleasant voice of a man you had compared every guy to at the pub that evening. The whole man is brimming with burnt sienna, he's hard alcohol with no ice…

You stop and turn, a little wobbly from the pint turned to two or three. Or four.

"Yeah. Had a little girl's night out."

The car rumbles softly, not two meters away, and the sound reminds you of his voice. A soft purr that can turn into a growl, even a roar if he wants to.

He looks like he's going fishing, even without the boonie hat. The dark hair is cut short, so you won't have anything to tug if he ever ends up between your legs. But you don't really mourn that fact, because he looks so damn good.

He looks you up and down, and you notice the briefest blob of his Adam's apple before he gives you another offer.

"Want me to give you a ride?"

Would love a ride.

Would fucking love to ride you.

"Sure. That's kind of you."

Your eyes must be sparkling like the fucking stars.

"No problem at all," he leans his elbow on the open window and waits while you round the car and get in. You try to tone down your drunken state, but your moves are a little too brash for a calm and collected coder lady this man has usually caught leaning against the wall of the workplace you two share.

"Did you have fun?"

He sounds like a dad picking up his girl from a school disco, and you purse your lips in slight distaste and amusement.

"Yeah. You know how it is when someone asks you for a pint."

He gives a short laugh and starts to drive. "That never ends well."

You smile and turn to look at him.

"Mm… This one kinda did."

You enjoy the brief look out the window, the sight of someone so formidable and robust and experienced trying to find his way out by feigning something caught his attention in the black, empty distance of a quiet city.

"Glad I could be of service," he brushes off your flirt like it's nothing more than a speckle of dust on his coat.

The rest of the ride is silent, too silent. He turns the music off in case it "bothers you," and it turns into an awkward, overly polite fight about whether to keep it on or not.

It's a minor shock to notice he was listening to some classical. Not 80's rock, not country, not even BBC. He was just soothing his nerves.

You can't put your finger on what makes you feel so sheepish around this man – usually, you put men on a leash with a few dry jokes and a hearty laugh or two. Now, your flirting is shy and does nothing: there's a wall built up, and from behind that wall, only a few stolen looks…

The pick-up is humming, the engine is running at idle next to your place far too soon, and it's time you get off the car – but you have vehemently decided you will knock down that fucking wall even if you have to drag him to your bed.

"You wanna come up and have a nightcap?"

Another look out the window as he raises his hand over his mouth, fiddles with his mustache, and avoids the rising heat between you two.

"Thanks, kid. But you need to sleep."

Your heart is pumping, and you feel like a harasser as you place your hand on his thigh.

He doesn't move, but you can hear the audible swallow this time. He doesn't move a single finger even when you slide your palm down that leg, then drag it over to the inner thigh, and start to drift back up slowly, slowly, to give him the time and space to stop you before you reach….

….the visible bulge between those legs, the absolutely gorgeous, ample bump pulling at those pants, something so delicious that you must fight tooth and nail not to race your hand up there and give it a fond grope.

His hand falls over yours just before you reach it.

"Kid. Let's leave it here and call it a night."

His voice is strained and tight, and he's still looking out the window. You don't move your hand away because he doesn't move it away. His warmth stays there, keeping you against him, and you feel like shit for thinking it's not a no… That it's a yes when he seems to hold your hand as a prisoner, wanting to feel your dainty little palm against him.

Your fingers curl slightly, a hopeful gesture to imagine how it would feel to curl and claw at his hips and that ass while he's fucking you.

"Listen. You're a nice girl. A very nice–"

You give a heavy, demonstrative sigh and finally draw your hand away.

"Come on Cap… You're seriously going to give me the "you're a nice girl" talk?"

Finally, he turns. His nostrils quiver as he tries to keep his breaths calm. Your lips part like it's a whole caress he just gave you – and his gaze drops to your mouth instantly. You start to see where the problem is.

You're too young.

You're forbidden.

"I offered you a nightcap," you tilt your head slightly. "You can come up or you can go home."

You wet your lips, give the bottom lip a tiny little bite, and offer him the last, inviting, soft smile. It must hold an equal amount of sorrow because you can't drown the bitter feeling of rejection, no matter how many drinks you've had that night. No matter how much he seems to want you, it doesn't change the fact that he's apparently decided to stay strong and keep his hands off the cookie jar.

You turn and get out of the car, lean on the door for the final fucking time...

"Didn't know I'd only get to suck your cigar... You're all smoke and no fire, Price."

The door flies closed with a louder slam than you originally meant.

Now that was a little bit passive-aggressive, you have to admit. But you're drunk, and he's being a pain in the ass, calling you a kid, looking at you like that, having a fucking hard-on and giving you nothing.

…But it does the trick.

You smile like an idiot when you walk to your place and hear the purr of the engine stop. Another car door opens, then closes, wide footsteps follow you…

A nightcap it is, then.

He looks even bigger when inside a place with walls and a roof. He stands inside your apartment tall and wide as if he's waiting to call attention. Those large hands are over his crotch, concealing the swell of erection you already saw in the car.

You know the tank top you wear reveals even more skin covered in tats as you throw your jacket away and go get him that drink. The glasses glide on your table, slide nearly to the floor, and the bottle of Jim Beam meets the counter with a devastating clank. You look at the excuse to get him into your place and sigh.

"You know what… Fuck this."

Offering cheap bourbon to someone like him seems a bit ridiculous. So you offer him something he might actually like. Something he actually came here for.

You walk to him and throw your hands around him – he stiffens from the middle but looks down at you with a heated glimmer in those eyes. You could've sworn they were charred brown, the same color as his cigar, but up close you see they're actually molten iron. Mercurial.

"You sure about this?" He asks softly.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He unclasps those hands from over his groin, and the warmest weight falls to rest on your waist, even steals a caress to your hip. You want to hurl yourself at him, press yourself against his crotch and grind until you bleed from just that tiny touch he finally gives you.

"You've had one too many, love."

Love…

Shit.

The warmth spreads from his eyes, from that hand, from the word that rolls out of his mouth like a beautiful puff of smoke. It unfurls inside your heart, swells inside your throat, plummets to your groin, and you switch the weight to your other leg to feel how that hand gains more weight as it gets pressed more firmly against you.

"Doesn't change the fact that I want you."

Your voice is nothing short of a purr. When have you ever purred like that to a man? You sound like a housecat, tame and adoring, waiting for a gourmet meal.

"You really want an old man?"

He still has that reserve in his eyes, decent and distant, but underneath, you sense a terrible heat, like the glow of a cigar lit in darkness, an adamant smolder that never dies out.

"You're not that old."

Your purr turns into a deprived meow. You dangle from his neck, and the smoke, the fire that surrounds him, blends into the gentle scent of a man, the musk of a mature beast. You know he's hairy under those clothes; he fucking has to be. The vision of how his cock must look, surrounded by untame, coarse fur, has tormented you night after night.

And now he's finally here. In your apartment.

You skate your hands over his chest while slowly dropping into a squat, then languidly kneeling in front of his crotch.

He doesn't stop you, not even when you open his belt and the zipper and crawl your fingers down the waistband of his underwear. You have to stifle a delighted gasp upon seeing how his cock springs free and stands proud in front of you in all its glory. And fuck yes he's hairy – the hairiest man you've ever had.

Cigars feel like tiny little sticks when you wrap one hand around him and lick the weeping slit like it's your favorite ice cream. The groan that follows is a husky eruption above you and gets stuck in his throat as you take him in your mouth.

"Fucking hell, kid…"

He's thick, broad, and the musk fills your nostrils, but what he just said makes you pull back and whisper on the bulbous tip–

"Don't call me a kid," you breathe on his cock, swirl your tongue around him, and his thighs bunch. "Old man."

You finally manage to push some buttons.

The back of his hand brushes your cheek, then slides over to your throat. He's gentle but firm as he forces a thumb under your chin, curls fingers around your neck as if you're a cat who's about to be force-fed some medicine that's only good for her.

"Is that how you wanna play it?"

His thumb brushes down the ridge of your throat. Tentative, promising.

"Perhaps," your lips quiver with anticipation as you smile; your voice is a pitched vibrato before it drops, just to give him a reason to put you in your place... "Old gum–"

The hand pulls up, the grip tightens just enough to guide you back to your feet and up to meet his face.

"Didn't know you asked me here to tame a brat."

Fuck…

You almost moan.

The hand doesn't choke you; it makes love to you. Claims you as his.

"Really…?" You sigh. Flash him a filthy, guiltless smile.

The fire surges forth and nearly buckles your knees. His eyes flash in rhythm with your grin, like a sudden flicker of a campfire in the middle of a dark, parched forest.

"This what you want? Hmm?"

The rumble reminds you of the engine of a Harley roaring to life. His throat is burned from the fire of his cigars, the hand on your throat is used to squeezing dead metal and pulling pins from frigid grenades. But even they can't stand a chance against his woodland fire and sycamore smoke. He could bring a cold, inanimate rock back to life with all that fire.

"Yes. I want it. John."

His name on your tongue is a cat's meow. It has the exact effect you hoped for.

"Let's get the brat tamed, then."

"Hah," you finally moan. "Promises, prom–"

The fingers around your throat pull you to his mouth with a python strength. His lips spread yours with soft devouring as he coats you in fire. The coarse beard smells of sweet tobacco – nothing like a pungent cigarette. It's like an old memory: safe and sturdy and strong. Male.

You moan in his mouth – god, what will it be like when he's inside you? – and he capes both arms around you and crushes you against him. Broad shoulders envelop you like a shroud of thick smoke, the cock gets trapped between you like a hot spear, and you mewl like a slut.

Your pussy clenches, just from his warm mouth, the rich velvet of his lips. He takes everything with that kiss, and you're weak in his arms as he bends and molds you against him just the way he wants, opens your mouth with his own and breathes you, samples you like those puffs of smoke he sucks from his cigar.

Your brain short-circuits, you barely notice how your top slides up as his hands go under it. It's dragged up, up, over your breasts and then over your head as he detaches just enough to rip that piece of clothing away.

You look at him like he's Christmas, then reach for your bra while he opens his pants more to get them down. Your jeans are accursedly tight, and he's breathless, too: the whole room is dark and filled with heavy breathing and rustle of clothes as you claw your socks off, slide your strings down and away, watch him get out of his shirt and throw it on the floor too, all propriety gone.

And then…

Jesusfuck–

He picks you up, lifts you from the ground like you're nothing but a leaf, and strides with you in his lap until your back meets a wall.

The barrel-like chest presses the air out of your lungs while your back travels up – you don't know if his arms or chest do the lifting, but you're being positioned for his cock to enter. Your hands try to grasp something solid before it's too late – his back and neck – your legs wrap around him, feet hooking over his ass as the thick of his tip pokes your soaked folds, and after a few seconds of probing, slides in.

"F–uck…" you gasp, sounding so needy that it could be a voiceline from a bad porno movie. His lips find the place between your ear and neck immediately.

"Be good for me now," he gruffs, dark and round like the sweetest bourbon, although you know he's the finest single malt in the world. "Be good…"

"Ah–John…"

I'll be good…

Just for you, I'll be so, so good.

He pants heavy on your neck, grunts as he starts to fuck you against that wall. You knew he might be intense, but apparently, you had no idea. The man is needy as fuck, and has concealed it up until this point.

You could cry, scream from joy from the thickness that spreads you, fills you with every fat glide of a thrust. The sex borders on rough but is so incredibly tender too, so needy it makes your heart collapse, compress into a taut knot in your chest. It's the softest rocking, the gentlest fucking as he retreats, then ruts into you again and again with sharp, rusty moans. You're in a slow but steady rodeo with this man, your breasts pressed against a solid chest covered with hair, and it tickles, even if his pecs threaten to crush your ribcage.

"You're one hell of a girl," he gruffs in your ear, beard grazing up and down your neck. "Taking me so– Fucking hell, look at you…"

His eyes are embers as they sweep over you: your abundant ink, the helpless, adoring look in your eyes, the little mouth that opens with a gasp, the trickle of sweat that forms between your breasts and meets the hair on his chest.

He doesn't have to look down to see how greedy your cunt is for him. He can feel it.

"This is what you wanted the whole time? Huh?"

He's all smoke. All fire.

"Yes…"

"Wanted me to take you against a fucking wall? Eh?"

"Yes…just, just take me," you moan and purr some more, giving him everything he wants. "Fuh–fuck me good…"

"Ahh shit..."

You know you're a drug to certain decent men. But to him, you're a forbidden fruit in all its aspects.

A calm, collected captain who enjoys wide respect, eyeing an edgy, younger woman from the tech department? That's not how this was supposed to go. Thirsting for someone who did what they wanted, looked just the way they wanted, walked this earth like a dark fairy – that's not his usual go, surely. He was supposed to settle down with a proper lady. If he were to settle down at all.

"I've dreamed of this," you whisper in his ear, lips moving just enough to deliver your secret to him.

"Yeah..? Me too," he gives your throat more love with a velvet growl. "Know I shouldn't, but–"

"Shh. Don't–don't…" You grip him tighter, taste the spruce and salt as you breathe his neck. "It's good. It's all good."

He rumbles in approval. Your skin is raw from his beard; even the coarse hair dusting his thighs feels too rough on your skin. And your skin is used to being needled, shot full of ink right inside the dermis. But this… This is branding.

You're silk in his rough embrace, and plundered with no remorse. You sigh and moan, hug him... And then he dares to stop, panting and throbbing inside you.

"Darlin'. Where's the bed?"

The soft question makes you panic. If you go to bed and let him push inside you while you're lying on your back, if you brave a look into those eyes while he takes you, you'll develop more than just a horrid lust for this man. If he collapses on top of you, spent and spoiled while you're at your most vulnerable, you'll tie a string from your heart to his, and you can't, you just can't allow that to happen.

Because he's untamed too. He's not a man who settles down, he's not up for domestication; he's a wandering fire.

"No–no bed," you pant on his muscles, the shoulder that keeps you safely pinned on the wall. "John…? Please."

He's breathing wild too, disguises his surprise well.

"Alright."

He sounds disappointed, and it's not because he doesn't have the strength to maul you against that wall. The rejection stings him too. It makes you want to offer a truce, a little something. When he rocks you again, you graze your fingers up the back of his neck, knowing he will feel ripples across his scalp from your caress.

"We can smoke a cigar after," you propose, not knowing why your voice still comes out as an airy whisper. "Together. I'll pour you that drink…"

His chest swells with a deep breath, he huffs fire on the hollow trench between your collarbones.

"Fuck, woman…"

It's dense syrup that surrounds you much like those shoulders and arms, that coarse hair, that bold male want.

"And after that I want you to…" You catch your breath and sound like a mouse with your next shy question. "Would you go down on me, John?"

It's like you're under a bear attack, but he stills; his head tilts a little to the side and meets your temple.

"You wouldn't tease a man like this," he says. A soft warning, brimstone coated in velour, but the core of it is despair. So much need, so much forbidden, distant want…

"Right? No more teasing."

He's still thinking that you're teasing him… That it's some kind of a joke that you want him.

"I'm serious... I want your mouth on me. I need your–"

"I'll put my mouth on you as soon as we're done here, love."

You have to bite your lips, suck them between your teeth to prevent another deprived moan from escaping.

"Want you to fuck me all night," you continue to whisper on his neck. You should shut the fuck up because it doesn't take a bed to tie that string from your heart to his. After all, they're right there, beating against each other through bone and skin and chest.

"Yeah? That's what you want?"

"Want you to… F-fuck me slow and good from behind and–"

You sniff. Whimper.

You should be ashamed: mewling for more when he's already buried inside you. What kind of a brat are you, wrapping your thighs around that narrow waist like you never want him to pull out?

And you're not crying.

It's just that the cock inside you is throbbing against your walls as if he's making a home there, his hands dig into your ass cheeks like you're his already, the breath upon your sweat and skin feels far too affectionate. When exactly did a raw wall-fuck turn into such an affectionate, gentle taste of love?

And it's not enough. You want to climb on top of him every morning, ride him slowly and watch him unravel as the sun climbs the sky and coats that fur in gold.

"Could you do that? Please… John, please," you whimper and whine, beg like you're tame already.

"I'll fuck you all night if that's what you want. Fill this pretty, tight cunt up every way you like."

It's coarse smoke. It caresses you until your legs start to shake. He adjusts his grip, drags the pull-outs like he drags those pulls from his tobacco. Keeps you nicely in place for him to drive back in–

"I'll fuck you 'till you cry, love. Yeah?"

He punctuates that promise with another good, fat thrust. You moan all tame now – a rippling stream, laughing and crying in his molten hold.

His cock fills you while your thighs quiver and tremble in his hands. Your pussy throbs; it sucks him already, the orgasm is seconds away, and your fingertips search for support but only slip over sweaty, hard muscle.

John. John.

"Fuh-…"

He spreads you a little. Those arms are pure iron as they mold you for him to plow. You know he can feel the waves, the way your cunt grips him with longer, deeper pulls as you start to sound downright pathetic.

"Just like that, just like… hah…"

"M-hm. Yeah," he bends the vowels, daubs them with smoke. "That's it. You're doing good. Doing so well my love."

He huffs between the thrusts that have turned into slow, intense love-making. He's making love to you – god, why does he have to be like this…

"Cum for me. Nice and pretty, yeah? Come on."

He encourages you with words, but you can't hear them anymore.

Heat coils in the pit of your core just before you burst with a heady scream.

The spasm is so sudden you almost hit your head on the wall. He's at your throat the minute it's exposed, and your scream turns into a weak wail when his tongue grazes your skin. It's blazing, and dips into the hollow between your collarbones like it's a shot glass full of scotch. Next thing you feel is fire, even some teeth on your neck.

And you thought Price might, just might be intense…

Your head drops as the blunt of the orgasm leaves you. Your feet unclasp, and next up would be some soft waves, but the man continues to fuck your shattered cunt and marshmallow soul with a good, intense pace. The words that pour out of your mouth are those of a brainless person.

"Ah–hah, God–"

"Where's that cheek now, mm..? Pretty little thing."

"John–h…"

The thrusts rub you against that wall like he wants to staple you there.

"So nice and good for me now, ain't ya? Cummin' on command…" An amused chuff right on your poor, chafed skin… "Begging for my mouth and cock."

You travel up and down in a limp heap, trying to hold on to him with weak limbs as he drives into you with a tight series of half-thrusts. Your legs hang loosely on the side, but he has no trouble carrying the full weight of you.

"Slow–slowly, Cap…"

"Ahh fuck–"

He swears on your ink, right on the trotting pulse on your neck. Through the vapor of man sweat and rich smoke and a whiff of cedar trees bending in the wind, you feel him tense and thicken.

"The fucking things you do to me…" he pants with a low growl, hushed but intense. Your pussy answers with a good, demanding pull.

"Fuck… fuck–!"

You're a limp doll between him and the wall when he comes. Pressed between a rock and a hard place, literally. His chest being the rock, an entire boulder that whips the oxygen from your lungs as he drives deep, his balls giving a few taut pulls against your ass as he empties himself into you with a satisfied, dry moan. A dark, ripe blossom, shooting straight to your core while you're sealed tight around him.

The world goes still after that; the only thing that moves is your breath and his, a refreshing hot breeze coursing through the stale air. The darkness of the room isn't half as snug as the safety of his arms.

Your fingers find his neck, the short-cut hair and the skin pounding with a rush of blood. He lets you go reluctantly, bends a little to set your feet back to the solid ground. He doesn't pull out, keeps huffing all over you even when you're returned back to the earth.

And you never want to come back. Your cunt still throbs around him and cries a tiny, thick stream down your thigh. His upper body still pins you against that wall, his breaths still mist your skin, caress the red burns of his beard.

He feels so good. Too good…

When he pulls out, he does so with intense care. He gives you some space to catch your breath, and you finally notice he has fucked your legs into splinters.

"I'm…" You break the hush of heavy breathing with a soft laugh. More viscous load pushes out of you with it. "I don't think I can stand."

"Yeah? Tried to take you to bed," he muses softly, sounding annoyingly content with his achievements.

"Gotta admit it was a good idea."

"As was the nightcap," he rasps, voice drenched in soft smoke.

"We'll get there eventually."

"I have no doubt about that."

You give him a soft, warm chuckle as you cast your eyes between the crest of his pecs. Rough, tight muscle meets your soft breasts with heaving breaths, and teases your nipples to taut little points. The wet hair on his chest looks good paired with your inked, smooth skin… You two look so goddamn fine together.

"I hope I didn't make you deaf with that scream."

He stands at his full height, but tilts his head down and slightly to the side as if you were a new, interesting species he's just found on his travels.

"Wouldn't complain, love," he says. More wet syrup, just for you. He weighs you with his stare, curious and appeased, and you feel shy. For fuck's sake, you still feel shy even though this man was inside you just a moment ago.

"The bed. Now be a good girl and tell me where it is."

"Down the…hallway."

A delicate little whisper, again.

It's laughable, how the veteran of Task Force 141 turns you into something so dainty and meek. Captain John Price takes you against a wall like you're nothing but a doll, makes you purr and beg, reassembles you into a weak-willed woman who gets carried to bed.

This is not how it was supposed to go...

He lifts you back in his lap while you continue to hold onto him like he's your prince Charming. A laugh spills on your lips when he tries to lay you gently on the bed and you manage to pull him down with you. You end up tumbling there in a sweaty, messy heap.

"Knew you were trouble," he's smiling too as he settles beside you. You curl and wrap yourself around him, your bodies mold and curve together like they're made for each other.

He's so solid, so warm, the kind of man you'd love to fall asleep on every night. No more cold sides of the pillow, no more tossing and turning and trying to get the code out of your head. Just… this chest, those ember eyes burning in the night. Some soft breathing, a roaring engine standing still, waiting for you, just for you…

"I hope this wasn't a one time only occasion," you test the waters.

"No." He shifts a little, disentangles from you slightly. "Unless you–"

"No."

You bend in his arms like a young willow, cut his doubts off with a kiss. It's passionate, and so sloppy it threatens to make the same sounds as your cunt and his cock a while ago.

The hand on your hip tows you closer, then steals its way down your leg. You hike your thigh up, perfectly willing. You're a sticky mess, but so is he: his rock-hard thigh meets your still soaked pussy like these two have always belonged together. And this man's full fire has escaped you until now. There are so many hidden, wild things in him too.

He would look so good on a Harley… He would look good on a motel bed after riding for days and days with you attached to him like an eloped dark bride. The nights would be smeared with hot sex and cinder and smoke, a dash of scotch on top, he could drink it from your lips. You would serve it to him from your mouth, round the taste a bit so that it wouldn't burn so much…

"Have you ever been to Alaska?"

The liquor is leaving you, but you don't feel any more sober. The lava in your veins has only been replaced by another kind of fire.

"No."

"Would you like to go?"

"What'ya mean," he murmurs on your tongue, and you know he's hard again just from the thick lust coating his voice. "What kind of question is that?"

"I was just thinking."

"What were you thinkin', kid..?"

"Don't… call me that," you laugh. In truth, you're growing quite fond of it. It reminds you of old movies. "Here's looking at you, kid" and all that.

His laugh is a charred roll in his chest. To him, you're a brat – an unruly kitten – no matter what you say.

"Kid. Why Alaska?"

He's curious. Borderline hooked. You steal a peek into those vulcan eyes.

"You'd look good in Alaska. Old man."

"Really," he rumbles a soft purr against your heart.

Another soft kiss follows. Affectionate… He plays time, but he's also a probing, scanning. You bloom in his embrace, unfurl on his lips like he just wrenched you wide. He could haul you to the cabin right now and you would only cook him dinner.

It's too late, even if you try to shift after such a kiss. Escape to press your cheek against that place between his pecs, the spot where the hair is darkest and thickest. You want to lick that valley where his heart meets his musk. That scent must be born from a good, stout heart.

"Would you take me with you…? If you ever decide to go."

It's a fragile question. A baring of the heart. It holds so much more than an inquiry about whether he would whisk you away on a secret leave. It's strings, pulling from your heart to his, taking root.

"Sure. But you're quite a handful, love."

"Is that so…?"

You crawl over him as gracefully as you can. He allows you to straddle him, and of course he does. You're no threat; you're only a one woman show. The only thing he's probably missing right now is a glass of scotch and a thick roll of tobacco.

He takes in the view with hunger: not satiated by that pent-up fuck, just like you're not...

But then his hands come to rest on your thighs to check if they're still shaking. The touch bleeds possessiveness: it's a thoroughly absent-minded, instinctual attempt to reach for you. It tells you you're exactly where you belong.

"You seem like the kind of woman who's not for the faint of heart," he says like you didn't just mewl in his arms like the tamest fucking housecat.

And perhaps that's what intrigues him. Contrasts. And even more than that, the odd place where black fuses into white, the gray area where everything is possible. The split-second moment when the skin accepts the ink and traps it in.

Everyone always says you get buried with your tattoos. That you should think twice before staining your skin with such permanent hookups.

But the thing is, you get addicted to it. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff before a bungee jump. You know you'll never be the same person after you jump, and you know you can't leave that cliff without jumping. It's a stalemate until you clear your mind of doubt and just plunge.

And you don't want to leave this earth without getting stained and sweaty, without dipping your soul into the full experience. You're supposed to get a little dirty. This is Earth, after all.

Your fingers disappear somewhere in his slick fur. Sunrise is hours away, but his eyes spark aflame. They're always, always smoldering like the butt of his cigar. He's a man who causes wildfires at the end of the world – he's a reckoning, a flicker in the dark forest, roaring into a bonfire as soon as the wind passes through the trees.

And you've always loved fire. Wild, and free. The only thing that competes with such freedom is a wide, wild stream.

"But you can handle me. Right?" Your fingers curl softly around the hair surrounding his navel. "Tame me and everything?"

It's an offering that causes even fire to tilt its head in curiosity. In the end, you're not sure who tamed who.

"Someone has to," he grabs your hips with rich promise.

You'll pour him that drink. Light him a cigar after his mouth is full of your taste, see how well it pairs with fire and smoke. You'll toast to the Harley, the crazy motel…

And Alaska.

#john price x you #john price x reader #john price x female reader #captain price x you #price x reader #captain price smut #captain price x reader #john price smut #john price #mw2 smut #captain john price #john price fanfic #cod fanfic

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theabigailthorn · 5 months

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Hey I’ve been a fan for a little while now, and I just wanted to say that you’ve been an inspiration for me, a younger transfemme. But I do wanna also ask: what’s it like being a trans woman with her life together? I’m 19 (as of sending), been on hrt for almost 5 months, and have been trans for a year and change. But I’m scared. So, I guess, I wanted to ask: does being trans ever become the norm, my baseline? What’s it like after 2-3 years? And does it get any less confusing or scary?

I think there are a few things going on here.

I don't have my life together as much as it might seem; I just don't show you all the ways it's not. I don't talk publicly about the auditions I don't get, or the things I try and fail at, or the insecurities in my own head that hold me back sometimes, or the handful of decisions I've made that were bad calls and which still keep me up occasionally. I've talked about trauma and mental illness in the past, but I only ever discuss stuff I'm comfortably over - when I'm overwhelmed or in the middle of a crisis I don't post about it. I don't set out to deceive you by presenting myself that way, I just keep my most private stuff private. Everybody has failures and regrets and insecurities: "it's a sign of having lived," as my friend Phoebe told me today. But you see a curated version of me that appears not only more together than the real person, but more together than any real person.

Also, if you're 19 a lot of your life hasn't been in your control until pretty recently and a lot of it still might not be. I'd say it's okay to not feel like you have it all together. You just transitioned, which I think is one of the hardest things a human being can do: you can give yourself credit for that even if you feel like you're not settled into it yet. Congratulations!

As for it becoming the baseline, I mean yeah? Kinda? At least for me. Sometimes I forget. I had a moment today in the gym where I saw a man and I was like "Oh yeah, I used to be one of them, sortof? Weird!" The first year is the hardest, or so they say. I wouldn't say I get less confused or scared now, just scared and confused in different ways. I worry less about getting attacked in the street than I did in my first year, for example. (I'm lucky and privileged in that regard.) But I worry a lot more about other people. I struggle a lot with survivor's guilt, which is something only people who survive get! Anyone who's had a drink with me in the last six months has heard me beat myself up because the night of The Prince premiere in New York was the night of Brianna Taylor's vigil in the UK. That wasn't a deliberate decision - the premiere was booked and paid for months before she was even killed - but I've become a lot more sensitive to those sorts of feelings precisely because I spend less time worrying about myself. I'm more aware now of what my transness means for other people. Like, I made an ironic joke when I came out that I'd become The Transgender Princess of TERF Island, and it's kindof haunted me since - I didn't set out to become "a famous trans person" but it's happened a little bit and it's going to happen a lot more next year. That comes with serious responsibilities and a few mild drawbacks, as well as perks, obviously. So I guess that's a longwinded way of saying I might be a weird person to ask this question because, at least for right now, my transness, my whole self, doesn't just belong to me.

Oh also, some great advice I got from my friends: Paris: "Only change the things that bother you on your good days," and Mattie: "Don't believe anything you think about your life after 9pm."

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triptuckers · 4 months

Text

capture the flag - leo valdez

Request: nope Pairing: leo valdez x apollo!reader Summary: during capture the flag, no one gets stuck in leo's traps and he wants to find out why Warnings: none Word count: 800 A/N: this has been sitting in my drafts for a while and now that I'm back in my pjo era time to finish it! enjoy :)

capture the flag is always fun. it's a nice way for people to train together while it feels like a game. even though sometimes people get too competitive.

it gives leo the chance to litter the forest with traps, and to test new inventions. of course, he could test them in the bunker or on his friends. but this is the real deal. no one knows where the traps are, how many there are. it's the perfect conditions to test them.

he's made a new batch of them but for some reason none of the traps work.

whenever he goes to check on them, they're all disabled. no one's activated them, or he would have found a fellow camper near one.

and leo is absolutely sure he activated them. they didn't blow up so there's nothing wrong with them.

and yet they're disabled.

rather than trying to capture the flag, he decides to hide in the bushes near one of his traps to see what - or who - is disabling them.

he listens to the sounds of the woods around him and pulls stuff out of his tool bel two mindlessly build little machines.

after a while, he spots movement out of the corner of his eye.

whoever it is moves quietly and gracefully. so definitely not an ares kid, leo concludes.

the person slowly walks over to leo's trap, careful where they put their feet down on the forrest floor.

leo watches as they walk around the trap, examining it. he shifts to get a better look at who it is.

he frowns slightly. he would have expected someone from the hermes cabin. maybe piper because he's spent a lot of time trying to explain his machines to her.

but he didn't expect it to be a daughter of apollo.

to be fair, leo thought the apollo cabin didn't know anything about traps or machines in general. their skills were mostly archery, medicine and music. not traps built by a hephaestus kid.

leo's eyes follow your hand movements as you carefully prod around the trap. surely you wouldn't be able to- and you disabled it.

smiling to yourself, you straighten your back and us your foot to slide the now useless trap aside.

when you turn around, you hear leaves rustle behind you.

instinctively, you knock an arrow on your bow and turn on your heel.

you are met by leo, who is frantically waving his hands in front of his face.

'don't shoot, don't shoot! I come in peace!' he yells.

you lower your bow. 'leo! gods, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you!'

'that's alright.' says leo, lowering his hands. 'I was the one hiding behind you.'

you frown. 'why were you hiding anyway? usually you like to be in the middle of the action.' you say.

'can't help the fact people start fighting over me wherever I go.' says leo, making you chuckle.

'yeah, right, valdez. as if anyone could come near you with the amount of traps you're setting.' you say.

'speaking of which.' says leo, walking over to his trap and picking it up to examine it. 'how did you know where the kill switch was on this?'

you shrug. 'that's a tactical secret I can't reveal.' you say. 'for future capture the flag purposes.'

'or you just got lucky.'

'23 times?'

'yeah, that seems unlikely.'

you smile. 'there's a window in the roof of bunker nine.' you say. 'it's actually a two way mirror. it doesn't let any light through. gives me a perfect view of your workspace, though.'

'so the tactical secret is spying.' says leo.

'can't win if you don't play a little dirty every now and then. plus it's cool to see all the stuff you create.'

you shoulder your bow. 'good luck activating all of the traps again.' you say. 'I need to get back to my cabin.'

you start to walk toward the noise your fellow campers are making, to see if your team is winning and how you can help.

'hey!'

you turn around to see leo is still standing in the clearing with the trap in his hands.

'if you want to, I could show you how to make these? then you will be able to do more than just disable them.' he says.

you smile at him, you've always liked leo.

but you are surprised, you know leo is kind of protective of bunker 9 and usually only Hephaestus kids go inside. it must be a huge deal for someone from another cabin to be invited into the bunker.

and Leo wants you here.

'sure.' you say. 'I'd like that. but first we have to steal your flag.'

'oh no, you won't.' says leo.

with one last smile, you disappear into the woods, leaving leo to reactivate his trap before coming after you.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rulesHere’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit/Max

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roosterforme · 8 months

Text

Batting Practice Part 29 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: It was your wedding day, and Bradley realized he was getting everything he wanted... not just a perfect wife, but a perfect family of three. After exchanging vows and promises, you and Everett take him home, because there's something important you want to ask him.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, swearing

Length: 3900 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

"I can't believe you're getting married tomorrow," Molly said from the spot where she was lounging in the middle of your bed eating tortilla chips dipped in marshmallow fluff. "I remember when you married Danny. God, you looked fucking miserable that day."

"I was miserable that day. Young and stupid, too. Thanks for reminding me." You tried to take the bag of chips away as you said, "I hate crumbs in my bed. Can't you at least sit on the floor or something?"

She whined and reached for the bag. "It's not for me! It's for the baby. Now be a nice auntie and let me have my little snack."

You weren't sure of all the details of what had gone down. All you knew was Molly and Bob were still together, and she was keeping the baby. Apparently there had been some pleading on his end. Molly said he begged her not to leave him, and then he promptly told her about a million times how much the idea of having a child with her thrilled him. And slowly but surely, over the past few weeks, she seemed to become attached to the idea of being a mom.

"Fine," you sighed, handing her the chips. "Have your snack. But just remember, I'm not doing it for you."

"The baby thanks you," she said, rubbing her tiny bump as she shoved four chips into her mouth. "I wonder what the guys are up to," she said after she was done chewing.

"Watching the Phillies game. Or at least that's what Bradley texted me a few minutes ago."

"Give me your phone! You're not supposed to be talking to him! Bob was supposed to hide Bradley's phone under our bathroom sink. My god, I can't trust him to do anything right," she said with a soft smile on her face. She yanked your phone away and tucked it behind her back. "Now try on your dress one more time. Your tits look so good in it."

"I need you to zip it. Go wash your hands."

She rolled her eyes so hard, it was like she was fifteen years old again, and then she went into your bathroom like she was told. "What's it like living with Bradley?" she asked, moving his stuff around on the counter. "Does he like belch all the time and scratch himself?"

You started laughing as you tried to pull your dress on. "No! He's perfect. It feels like he's always been here. He takes care of almost everything for Ev, and he's actually quite tidy." You skipped over all the parts where you and he had been making love all over the house just because you could, but you did add, "I love having him with us."

Molly turned around and smirked as she came to zip your dress. "If I ever marry Bob, which I might not!" she said, cutting off your excited look. "If I do though, it'll be in the middle of a wildflower meadow just after sunset. And I'll make my own bouquet with the flowers beforehand. Oh, and I'll have to make sure Bob takes his allergy pills. But it'll be so dreamy."

You were gaping at her in the mirror as she zipped the dress. "Really?" you asked, flabbergasted. "That's literally nothing like what I thought you were going to say."

Molly sighed and made her way back to the bag of chips. "It's these fucking hormones. Fuck! I want to get married in the middle of some flowers now! What the hell?" She was wiping at her eyes as she told you, "Pull your dress down a little bit. I'm telling you, Bradley won't even be able to focus on the ceremony with your boobs looking like that."

"The ceremony is only going to be like ten minutes long. If that," you reminded her. But damn, she was right. This dress fit you very well. "Thanks for having an emotional breakdown in the middle of the dress shop and kind of forcing me to buy this dress after I sat on the floor with it on."

She smiled at you as she dipped a chip into the fluff. "That's literally what I'm here for."

-------------------------

The following morning, Bradley pulled up to Petco Park with Bob and Everett in the Bronco just as the sun started to warm everything up for the day. He was getting married in an hour and a half. He felt jittery, but he wasn't nervous. He felt warm, but he wasn't uncomfortable. He felt like everything was the way he never knew, until very recently, that he wanted it to be.

"Ready, kiddo?" he asked Everett as he opened the back door. Everett scrambled into his arms and wrapped him in a hug around the neck.

"Yep!" he replied, and then the three of them were making their way into the Players Only Entrance where a security guard was waiting for them. "This is so cool," Everett whispered. The ballpark was basically deserted since the game didn't start until three o'clock, and they only passed a few other staff members as they entered the Padres locker room.

"Remember that fun tour we went on?" Bradley asked Everett as Bob held the door for them. He kissed his stepson on the cheek before setting him down on one of the benches.

Everett muttered, "Yeah," as he looked all around the room in awe. "But we went in the visiting team locker room."

Bradley laughed and looked around as well. "We sure did, because we wanted to see all the Phillies gear."

"Can we all go to Philadelphia?" Everett asked.

"Well, Philadelphia made it to the short list of vacation spots when I talked to your mom. We'll work on her. We already got a Phillies room out of her."

Everett was smiling nonstop as the three of them changed into their baseball jerseys in the same room where the Padres players would be putting on their uniforms in a few hours for their game against the Rockies. Bradley checked himself out in the mirror. They all matched, more or less, in their white jerseys with gold stitching and letters. Molly had been in charge of ordering them from a small boutique shop. Everett's said GRAND SLAM on the back. Bob's just said BOB. And Bradley's said GROOM; he was a little surprised his didn't come back saying TURD-IN-LAW to be honest.

When the security guard poked his head inside and said, "You can go out onto the field now," Bradley's heart started pounding. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he put his Phillies cap on backwards. Then he put Everett's on him backwards and picked him up again.

"I love you, Ev," he whispered, tears gathering in his eyes. Bradley was in some ways more emotional about becoming Everett's stepdad than he was about marrying you. Because it was like a bonus. A little extra responsibility he never planned for. Falling in love with you was one thing, but this was something else entirely. Every time he looked at his kid, he saw innocent trust returned to him, and all Bradley wanted to do was make him feel safe and loved.

"I love you, Dad," he replied, like it was already the most natural thing in the world. And Bradley supposed it was. Because the two of them seemed to be cut from the same cloth. And Bradley was more than happy to step into the role of a father for this child.

When Bradley turned to Bob, he asked, "You have the rings?"

"In my pocket," he promised, and then the three of them were on their way. They walked quietly through the tunnel and out onto the turf. Everything smelled fresh, like grass and damp earth. Everett's head was on a swivel, looking all around, just like when they took the ballpark tour months ago.

They were being waved over to home plate by John, their tour guide from that very special day. "It's nice to see you again," he said, shaking hands with Bradley. "I've just been informed that your bride is on her way up from the other locker room."

"Thanks," Bradley muttered, anxious to see you and be with you. He held onto Everett a little tighter as they waited, and he laughed softly. Somehow you managed to pull off this wedding, and the fact that Jake was the one who helped you do it was almost too funny.

"Hi, Mommy!" Everett called, waving his hand as Bradley whirled around to find you walking out onto the infield. A strangled noise escaped him as you made your way closer with a soft smile on your lips. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. It was the only word to describe the day and how he felt and how you looked with Molly holding the bunched up bottom of your wedding dress.

"Kitten," he whispered, feeling short of breath as you joined him on home plate. Your dress was simple but beautiful, and Bradley wasn't ashamed to admit that he couldn't stop glancing at your tits. But it was the smile on your face that had him grinning, too.

When you leaned in to kiss Everett's cheek, Bradley took your chin in his palm and tried to kiss you. "Stop it!" Molly screeched as she finished straightening out your wedding dress. Bradley froze as she added, "You're not supposed to kiss her until John says it's time! Have you never been to a wedding before?"

"I'm so happy I'm gaining not only a wife and son today, but also such a lovely sister-in-law," he told her in response.

Molly smiled sweetly at him. "You should be delighted."

"Can we get married now?" you asked with a laugh, and Bradley set Everett gently down next to home plate.

"It's the only reason I'm here," he promised, taking your hands in his. "To marry my beautiful Kitten and live happily ever after."

You smiled at him as he pulled you a little closer. Everett was practically standing between the two of you, so excited for what was to come, and Bob and Molly stood next to John.

"Ready?" When everyone nodded, John said a few words about how he was pleased that he could perform this short ceremony today after being the one who gave them the tour of Petco Park. He told them that they made him smile so many times that day as they interacted with each other. And then he asked if you and Bradley wanted to say anything to each other.

"I'll go first," you said, ducking your head for a beat before you looked Bradley in the eyes. "The first day we met...the first day of tee ball...I took one look at you interacting with Everett, and I thought maybe there was a small chance that it wouldn't have to be just the two of us forever." You let go of Bradley's left hand and smiled at Everett as you ran your fingers along his cheek. "Not that there was anything wrong with the two of us, Ev. You know that, right?"

Everett nodded and told you, "I know."

"We were so close to perfect. But Bradley makes us even better," you said, looking up to meet his eyes again. You studied him for a beat, and Bradley watched your eyes fill with tears. "It's hard to explain how you make me feel so confident, when at the same time, you make me feel like you'll be strong when I can't."

"Kitten," he whispered, wiping your tears as they fell.

"I love you, Coach," you said with a soft laugh through your watery eyes that had him smiling and shaking his head. "You belong with us."

"I really do," he agreed.

"Your turn," you whispered, and with a nod, Bradley knelt down in the dirt next to home plate, his jeans getting messy in the process.

"Hey, kiddo," he whispered to Everett, loud enough that you could still hear him.

"Hi, Dad," he replied, and Bradley wrapped him up in his arms as he started to cry.

"Thanks for letting me marry your mom," Bradley told him, his voice a little rough as he kissed Everett's forehead. "And thanks for letting me be your dad. I'm going to make some promises to you, okay?"

"Okay," Everett said with a little shrug that made Bradley chuckle.

He wiped at his tears as he said, "I promise to play baseball with you in the park all the time. At least until your mom gets annoyed. And I promise we'll watch the Phillies together in Philadelphia, because it's the only way to see the Phanatic up close."

"Yes!" Everett said, clapping his hands.

"And I promise to help you with your homework and make you pancakes and collect baseball cards together. And we can do anything else you decide you want to do, okay? Because I love you, kiddo."

Everett hugged him again, and when Bradley stood and looked at you, he was crying in earnest. "Kitten, I love your son just as much as I love you."

"I know it," you whispered, crying as well.

He took a deep breath and laughed. "Are you ready for your promises, Kitten?" When you nodded he took your hands in his again. "In front of Ev, Molly and Bob, and this immaculate turf at Petco Park, I promise I love you more than baseball."

You started laughing through your tears, and Bradley turned to see Molly wiping her own tears on Bob's jersey.

"That's a lot of love," you told him, squeezing his hands.

He nodded, pulling both of your hands so they were around his waist. "I promise I love you more than the Phillies. And I always will." He let his forehead come to rest against yours and said, "And if you'll let me be strong for you sometimes when you need it, then that's an honor, Kitten. Because you're the strongest person I know. But I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere." Your eyes closed as Bradley's lips brushed your forehead and his hands slipped around your waist. "John, I'm ready to kiss my wife."

"By all means," he replied, "go right ahead."

Your hands were around Bradley's neck, nudging his backward cap and pulling him closer, and then he was kissing you while your little cheering section of four people went wild.

"I love you," he promised against your lips, but you pulled him in for more with a smile. He brushed your nose with his and kissed you one last time. Then Bob was holding out one ring on each palm, and you let Bradley slip yours on before you took his left hand in yours. His ring looked perfect after you slid it into place. And then Everett was reaching for him, and Bradley scooped him up while you hugged your sister and kissed Bob's cheek.

"You're really my dad now," Everett said, letting his head come to rest on Bradley's shoulder.

Bradley held him close. "I think I already kind of was."

--------------------------

The fact that your wedding reception consisted of ballpark food and cheap beer in one of the Padres' suites had you and Bradley smiling nonstop. The two of you had taken wedding photos while the park was still empty, and most of the shots were of the three of you.

"Could I interest you in some nachos, Kitten?" Bradley asked, stealing a chip as he handed you a tray.

"Thanks, Coach," you said, kissing his cheek. "You know, I don't think we give Bob enough credit."

"What do you mean?" he asked, dipping another chip into the cheese and eating it.

"Well, we only met because he got you to coach the team with him in the first place. And he kind of let you bully me into being the Team Mom."

Bradley shook his head. "That seems like ages, not just just five months. You'd wear your little black skirt to practices and prance across the grass in your high heels. Fuck, you're so sexy." You giggled as he kissed you behind your ear. "And your tits look amazing in your dress."

"You can thank Molly for making me buy this one."

Bradley glanced toward where Molly and Bob were making out in the corner. His hands were all over the barely noticeable swell of her pregnant belly, and she was raking her fingers through his hair. "Nah, Bob's busy thanking her himself at the moment."

As more guests showed up just before the game started, you watched Nat squirt some ketchup onto a hotdog for Everett. And then you watched Bradley hold a napkin up while he ate it, just like he always did. The two of them were so shockingly similar, it was jarring at times when you remembered that Danny was Everett's biological father.

"Talk about an upgrade," you whispered, taking a sip of beer before you went to greet Maverick. You barely watched the game, too busy chatting with your friends and kissing Bradley nonstop. But the Padres won which made Bradley and Everett happy, so it made you happy, too.

And then by six o'clock, you had an exhausted seven year old son on your hands. He was crashing from all the snacks and the excitement of the day. "Time to head home," Bradley said, picking Everett up and kissing your lips. "And then we can send Ev off with my delightful sister-in-law."

You looked up at him, confused. "What do you mean? Ev's going to their condo for the night?"

"Two nights. I'm taking you to Palm Springs," he told you with a smirk. "We're having a real honeymoon now, and then I was thinking over winter break, we could take a family trip to Disney World?"

You threw yourself at him, and he collected you in his other arm. "That sounds perfect." You'd never been to Palm Springs or Disney World, but suddenly you wanted to go everywhere with him.

"You said Philadelphia," Everett whined in Bradley's grasp.

Bradley kissed his forehead. "That'll be in the spring, silly. Gotta go when the Phanatic is active in his natural habitat."

Your heart pounded as you walked out across the parking lot to the Bronco. Because it turned out Molly had been keeping two secrets today: one for Bradley and one for you and Ev. You didn't expect to be this nervous, but here you were, barely able to get your seatbelt buckled around your dress.

Bradley was sweet and gentle, taking the buckle from your shaking hands. "Are you okay, Kitten?" he asked, the dying sunlight turning his eyes a deep amber.

"Yes. Just can't wait to get home. Ev and I have a special wedding gift for you."

"Well, I can't wait either."

You bit your lip and looked out the window as you muttered, "Hope you like it."

Because Molly was the one driving her car, she and Bob got back to your house first. She was unlocking the front door so Bradley could carry Everett inside while he yawned. "We'll be out on the back deck," Molly said, taking Bob by the hand. "Let us know when Ev is all ready for his sleepover."

Now Bradley was the one who looked confused as they closed the back door behind them, leaving the three of you alone in the living room. "Ev's bag is already packed," Bradley said. "He can go with them anytime."

"That's true." You felt too hot in your wedding dress now, thinking you might need to take a minute to yourself. But then Everett was climbing out of Bradley's arms and reaching for the box you'd stashed under the couch.

"Can we give it to him?" he asked, looking up at you for permission with wide, innocent eyes.

"Yeah," you whispered, running your hand over your chest, trying to calm the pounding of your heart. Your eye caught on the baseball covered in hearts that Bradley had used to propose to you where it sat on your mantle. He belonged here with both of you, and you wanted Everett to have every opportunity to live his best life. "We can give it to him."

Then Everett thrust the wrapped box into Bradley's hands, and you realized you were both staring at him. You reached for your son, pulling him closer to you as Bradley shook the box a little bit. "This is for me?"

"Yes," you and Everett said in unison, but now you felt like you were going to be sick as he started to rip into the silver paper. And then he was opening the box.

A smile lit Bradley's face as he set the box aside and held up a Phillies jersey, examining the front of it. "I love it," he said, nodding his head. "But it looks a little small for me, doesn't it?"

You pressed your lips together as you squeezed Everett's shoulder. "Look at the back," you told him, your voice a little shaky.

Bradley turned it around and read it. "Bradshaw. But it's a child's size." When he met your eyes, you could barely see through your tears, and you even sensed that Everett was anxious now.

"It's not for you, Coach," you informed him softly. Then you looked down at your son for a beat as you said, "It's for Ev. This is just our way of asking you if you'd like to be Everett's father. If you'd like to adopt him."

You watched Bradley's lips part, but no words came out. He was looking between the two of you in awe as tears seemed to fill his eyes. Then he read the back of the jersey again as he sobbed. "Come here," he whispered, kneeling down in front of Everett and tucking the jersey under his arm. "Is that what you want, kiddo?"

Everett wrapped his arms around Bradley's neck and said, "Yes."

Then Bradley looked up at you with tears in his eyes. "You'd let me?"

"Yes!" you said, now crying as well. "It's what we want."

He buried his face in Everett's neck and squeezed him. "Yes, I want to adopt you, Ev," he managed. As he stood with Everett in his arms, he kissed you and whispered, "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

"We can do it soon," you told him, hugging him a little awkwardly as he held Everett. "I'll have my lawyer change my petition from child support to adoption. We can get new papers served. No more Danny. We don't need the money anyway. Not like we need you, Coach."

Bradley leaned down and kissed you. "First thing when we get back from Palm Springs, Kitten. Let's get this ball rolling. You won't have to worry about custody or Danny anymore. You won't even have to think about it. And I'll get my bonus," he told Everett with a grin. "A son to go along with my wife."

-------------------------------

Married! Adopting Ev! Happiness! Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32

PART 30

Don't forget to check out Bob and Molly in The Curveball!

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