#why can’t some of you chew quietly? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

naomiarai · 14 days

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𝔸𝕕𝕕𝕚𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕 — 𝙻. 𝙷𝚎𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚞𝚗𝚐

╔. ■ .═══════╗

➤ in which you’ve grown a liking to the roommate of the guy you tutor.

╚═══════. ■ .╝

➤ PAIRING — heeseung × fem! reader

➤ GENRE — romance, smut, fluff, comedy if you squint, f2l, college au

➤ WARNINGS — mentions of drinking, dom! heeseung, big dick! heeseung, sub! reader, unprotected sex, pet names (baby, pretty), oral (m.rec), vaginal fingering, doggy, manhandling, lots of kissing, creampie, multiple orgasms, spanking, slight nipple play, kind of public sex?/ semi public sex. [ lmk if i missed anything ]

➤ WC — 6.6K

➤ AUTHOR — reblogs and feedback are appreciated! (not proofread)

➤ [ enha masterlist ] [ taglist ]

You lift your head from the fiction book it was practically buried in, taking in your surroundings. The cafeteria was huddled with people, either stuffing their faces or babbling too much to care about their cold food. Reaching for your spoon, you fit the last of your rice into your mouth, chewing far too slow, with a sudden foul expression. You stare at Beomgyu, who weirdly stumbles his way towards you. What an idiot.

He makes his way to chair beside you, carelessly dragging it to sit down. You swallow expectedly, pulling a poker face. Beomgyu’s the last person you’d talk to, truly because he was a complete imbecile. The kind that if you were to tell him that he was one, he'd start fake crying and stick his very blue tongue out. (Yes he almost always has a blue fucking lollipop stuck in his mouth, and it TOTALLY irks you.)

Clearly not a big fan of him. So why would said Beomgyu come up to you?

He rotates his chair to completely face yours, letting out a deep breath; smiling at you uneasily. You arch your eyebrow, holding back a snort at how stupid he looks eyeing you.

“Uh..hi.. I’m Beomgyu, Choi—” he says; getting cut off by you before he could finish.

“Choi Beomgyu, I know,” you drawl. Who doesn't at this point?

He swallows nervously; eyes wandering away from yours, “Look, I know this is totally out of character for me, and I would kill to go back but, I kind of need your help” he whispers as if to make sure no one hears him.

Your face contorts into disbelief and confusion. Thats odd.

“Help? Why would you need my help?, don’t you have your buddies for that?”

Beomgyu's nervous, fidgeting with his fingers on the table. “Well, they could try, but it won't really help,” he confesses. “My grades are too low, I can't keep up the act of being okay, you know?” he mutters lowly.

You press your tongue against your cheek, getting what he’s trying to say.

“So, you're asking if I can tutor you?" you clarify, waiting for his nod. He quietly agrees. While tutoring isn’t exactly your specialty, you’ve given it a shot in the past. You could easily say no and leave him without help, but the opportunity to earn some extra cash is tempting enough to give it a go.

“Alright, what's the wage?” you ask in a relaxed tone. Beomgyu seems relieved, attempting to hide his grin.

“Thinking $10 per hour?” he suggests tentatively.

“Not quite what I had in mind,” you respond, unimpressed. Come on Beomgyu, you’re pretty loaded.

“How about $15?” he proposes without hesitation.

“Hmm, on second thought..”

“$25!” he interjects, irritation creeping into his voice.

You smile, content with the improved offer. “Deal.”

“Great, we can meet at my apartment, I just moved in last month; I need to be independent apparently” he says quickly. “Just a heads up, I have a roommate. I totally had to fight him for the apartment, so we’re rooming. He won't be a bother, we'll just have the place to ourselves in my room, he’s never home anyway”.

You nod in understanding and inquire, “Is he from around here?” Beomgyu nods and responds, “Yeah, his name's Heeseung, you know, the one thats’s boring AF?”

You take a brief pause, running your tongue over your lips as you wrack your brain for any sign of a Heeseung among your classmates. Surprisingly, you can’t seem to place him, which is unusual since you typically have a good grasp of everyone in your year. It's possible that Heeseung is just someone who prefers to stay under the radar, which might explain why you haven’t heard of him.

“Weird, I don’t know a Heeseung in our year” you say with confused tone.

Beomgyu shrugs nonchalantly, his eyes rolling in dismissal. “He’s always been like that. Anyway, I’m only still rooming with him because, well, he's almost never home and I can’t cook” he says, eyes bored.

The lunch bell rings loudly, abruptly halting your conversation. You glance at Beomgyu and manage a small smile. “I’ll drop by tomorrow; today's just too busy, you inform him. He gives a thumbs-up in response. With that settled, you start clearing your tray.

╰┈➤

Exiting the elevator, you walk down the corridor, each step bringing you closer to Beomgyu's door. He's waiting for you, his dark hair easy to spot in the hallway. You approach him, greeting him by waving your hand.

You quickly kick off your sneakers and step in, scanning the area with a keen eye. Everything looks neat enough, but the sight of a mop leaning against the wall and the freshly mopped floor makes you wonder. Did he just clean up right before you got here? Seems likely, considering he didn't bother to sweep before mopping. Looks like cleaning isn't really his thing.

Beomgyu gestures towards his room, pulling you out of your thoughts. You follow him inside, and as you step in, you’re greeted by a burst of color. The walls are painted a bold red, adorned with pictures and posters of basketball stars and iconic moments. You can't help but admire the shiny pictures that catch the light, giving the room a vibrant energy. “Cool room” you say, feeling drawn to the bright atmosphere created by all the basketball themed decor.

“Thanks” he says proudly, glancing up at his room.

You glance over at him, smoothly pulling out one of the chairs positioned by the desk, then lowering yourself onto its burgundy red cushion. Beomgyu follows your lead, exhaling audibly as he takes a seat beside you. He picks up a book from his cluttered desk and flips through it, his brow furrowed in concentration. Eventually, he slides it over to you, saying quietly, ‘I don't understand this.’

Examining the content, you meet Beomgyu's gaze with a bored expression. “Beomgyu, this is really basic," you remark casually, flipping through the pages without much interest. You know you’re being fairly annoying saying that. But if Beomgyu wants you to tutor him, he’ll have to deal with it.He gives you a dramatic eye roll and clenches his teeth, interrupting you with a sarcastically sweet tone, “Can we just get to the point already?” You stifle a chuckle, nodding in agreement. “Alright, alright”.

After spending about two hours tutoring, you're ready to wrap things up. Despite Beomgyu's jokes sneaking in here and there, you feel good about how it went. Plus, getting paid $50 is a nice bonus for your time.

You lean back in your chair, letting out a tired yawn. “Well, I guess it's time to head out,” you mumble, reaching for your bag. Beomgyu nods in agreement, rising from his seat. Just then, the sound of the front door being unlocked catches you off guard, causing you to glance at Beomgyu for reassurance. He seems unfazed. Oh. It must be his roommate, Heeseung, if you remember correctly.

You don’t think much of it, heading out of his room towards the door, Beomgyu following close behind. Glancing at the hand holding the door still, you stop on your tracks, awkwardly waiting for this Heeseung to enter. The soft creak of the door’s release draws your attention, as your eyes meet his, times seems to momentarily halt. Were people supposed to be this good looking or was it the lack of love in your life? God, he’s mesmerizing.

“_______”? You hear Beomgyu say, as your mind cuts your train of thoughts. “This is Heeseung, the one I was talking about yesterday” he tells you as you nod quietly in his direction, eyes still fixated on Heeseung.

Heeseung eyes you up and down, humming when Beomgyu introduces you as the girl from class who tutors him. You look familiar. You smile shyly, legs heading towards the end of the door. But what you caught on his face just as you stepped out brings red to your cheeks.

He fucking smirked.

It leaves you pondering, as you mutter a ‘bye’ to Beomgyu, not bothering to look at him. What was that? Did he do that to fluster you? You shouldn’t overthink it. Maybe he does that all time. Whatever, you’re not going to dwell on it. But it does leave you with more enthusiasm to come over to tutor Beomgyu. You’ll hope the only thing you’ll do here is teach.

It’s been about a month since you’ve been tutoring Beomgyu. You’re overall pretty satisfied with how it’s been going; you could see genuine improvement with him.

Other than the fact that you’re effort is going on the right track, you might also be taking advantage of your time there. Your suspiciously long ‘study breaks’ might have not always been for the said purpose. They might have been to make small talk with his roommate; when he arrived home earlier than usual. Or when the times up and you have to leave, delaying your departure so you can see his face atleast once a day. You can’t deny the attraction. Sure, the small talk might be slightly awkward but you atleast get to know him.

You walk out of Beomgyu’s room, on one of your so called ‘breaks’. Today's a good day. Heeseung’s home early!

You make your way towards the kitchen; you must say the counters are well done. They’re like a distraction if it gets awkward talking to him As the door to Heeseung's room swings open, the subtle movement sends a shiver down your spine, causing you to flinch involuntarily. You straighten up, hands crawling up a cabinet to find a glass for water.

You feel his figure behind you, somehow so close yet so far. “On break?” He asks, voice raspy. Must’ve took a nap. “Yeah” you mumble taking ahold of a glass. You turn around, drinking in his figure; oh fuck he’s in a tank top.

You almost stumble walking forward to fill your glass, just when you feel him grab your glass, “I’ll fill it for you. Grab me one too will ya?” he says grinning. Oh does he have to smile like that infront of you?

Nodding slowly, you walk back, getting another glass and handing it over to him. Heeseung mutters a ‘thank you’, proceeding to fill it up.

“Beomgyu tells me you don’t recognize me. I sit behind you in chemistry, silly , i was waiting for you to realise” he says with slight confusion laced into his words.

Your eyes become slightly wide, imagining yourself inside chemistry class. It ticks your brain. Of course, that’s why you must have looked familiar to him. “Right, sorry I never caught that”.

Before he can say anything you hear Beomgyu’s whiny voice calling your name, indicating it’s been far too long since you’ve been gone.

Now you’re on your way to Beomgyu’s again. It’s a Saturday, but he requested you to come. Just as you enter your cab, you hear the loud shrieking sound of thunder, indicating rain. Getting in, you sink into the cozy cab seat, the sound of rain tapping on the windows and occasional flashes of lightning outside creating a quite yet filled atmosphere. You gaze outside with a slight pout. It’s quite late as your leaving now, you hope the rain calms down by the time you have to go home.

Stepping out of the cab, rain pours down relentlessly. You dash towards the elevator, hands shielding your head from the downpour. Inside, you quickly fix your hair in the mirrored walls, hoping the rain doesn’t worsen. Looking into the mirror like walls of the elevator, you fix up your hair. God, you really hope the rain calms down.

The elevator’s soft robotic hum faded as you stepped into the familiar corridor, your feet moving automatically towards the well known door. With a sigh, you rang the doorbell, the sound cutting through the quiet. Taking off your sandals, you huff, waiting.

You hear feet walk up behind the door, unlocking it. But you don’t expect to meet eyes with Heeseung, white earphones stuck in his eyes and a song paused on his phone.

“Beomgyu’s not home..? It’s a Saturday anyway, you tutor him on Saturdays too? Geez” he says as you stand still, digesting what he just said.

Before you can answer him, your phone buzzes, a notification.

[Choi Beomgyu], 7:14 PM :

heyy im so sorry but uh i forgot i had plans today.. youve probably reached by now and its raining like crazy and I don't think its gonna stop so you can stay over for the night in my room, i’ll be at a friends’. use one of my tshirts or smtg. also heeseung's home so you wont get killed at night! again sorry!! </3

You internally roll your eyes. Seriously? But you can’t stay mad at him, he seems kind of genuine.

“I think I’ll have to crash here tonight,” you admit, your cheeks flushing slightly as you offer a tentative smile. As if on cue, Heeseung pulls the door open wide, ushering you inside with a dramatic gesture. “Beomgyu asked me to use his room, kay?” you explain, feeling a sudden surge of liveliness.

Heeseung chuckles at you, his eyes fixed on you as he watches you set down on your bag on the couch heading into Beomgyu’s room. You still feel captivated each time you enter his room; you wonder what Heeseung’s room looks like, you’ve only ever seen glimpses of it whenever he came out of it. Black walls or something.

You look around for his closest, quickly landing your eyes on the half-black, half-red wardrobe. Grabbing the handle and tugging it open, you start to look for t-shirts, thats’s something comfortable. And maybe some shorts as well. Yeah, you might look a bit awkward in it but it’s just for one night.

You frown your face, unable to locate any t-shirts. God, where does this man keep his things?

“What’re you looking for so interesting?” you hear a familiar voice say, flinching at it. You turn around to find Heeseung, arms crossed leaning against one of the open doors of the wardrobe. Dangerously close to you, you must say.

“B..Beomgyu asked me to use his t-shirt or something for the night” you explain, licking your lips. “But I just can’t find any”, you say with a annoyed sigh.

Was it just you or did you imagine the look of distate on Heeseung’s when you mentioned wearing Beomgyu’s t-shirt?

“They’re all in the wash, the idiot probably forgot, use mine,” he tells you, staring into your eyes with miniscule smile.

You can’t help but feel shocked by his offer, causing your heart to beat faster. It may seem insignificant, borrowing clothes, but it’s Heeseung. Your voice feels trapped in your throat, a rush of excitement running through your veins. It just feels special when it comes from him. But you definitely can’t say no, can you?

You reply in a quiet voice, trying not to seem overly enthusiastic, “If you’re completely sure...” He responds with a gentle smile while gently tugging at your wrist. Surprised by the gesture, you let out a soft gasp but ultimately decide to go along with it.

Entering his room, directly opposite Beomgyu’s, the matte black walls catch your eye, imbuing the space with a sleek, modern vibe. The abundance of books scattered; if arranged with proper shelving and space could make a pretty mini library.

As you find yourself in the midst of his room, you can't help but admire the coolness of both of your rooms. “You guys have such cool rooms” you exclaim, watching as Heeseung frantically searches through his closet. You hear his echoed chuckle as you walk towards him, taking a peek at his closet. He seems to have just destroyed its neatness. But you do notice the many t-shirts laying flat and wrinkled on the floor.

“There’s a like a billion one of those t-shirts you’re searching for on the floor, Lee” you tell him, bending down to pick up the two you see. “And a pair of shorts too” you add. Heeseung hums in response with a grin, sighing as he pulls out a pretty white t-shirt and a pair of black shorts. Certainly a little too big for you, sure as hell comfortable. Plus it’s Heeseung’s, makes it all the better.

He turns towards you, holding the t-shirt out in display. “I think you’d look nice in this” he tells you trying to contain a smile sheepishly. Did he do all this searching, messing up his well organised wardrobe, just because he thought this one specific one would look good on you? You would kiss him if you could right now.

You try to stay calm, trying to hide your eagerness as you thank him softly, taking it from him. Turning around, you move to leave; but stop on your tracks when you feel his hand on your wrist stopping you. Instinctively you look back, Heeseung’s face mere inches away from yours. If you moved any closer, your lips would touch his. And you don’t know if that’s a risk you’re willing to take.

“You forgot this” he says,handing you the black shorts, brown orbs still looking into yours. You feel some sort of relief when he says that, quickly taking it from him. “Right” you say in response walking away.

As you walk away, you think about what just happened; would he have kissed you back if you did first? Does he like you like that? Or is it just some occurring tension between you two? You don’t know but you’ll let it play out like this.

Standing before the bathroom mirror, you take a moment to appreciate the comfort and loose fit of your attire. The t-shirt drapes effortlessly over your torso, offering a snug yet relaxed feeling. The shorts fit good at your waist too, thanks to it being elastic. Heeseung was right about thinking it’d look good on you. And again, it’s his.

You step out of the bathroom, slowly walking your way into the living room. You spot Heeseung on je couch, a video game console in his hands and eyes fixated on the TV screen. Stopping on your tracks you watch him, completely not noticing you. From what you’ve seen, he’s not as boring as Beomgyu has told you before. You see a second console on the coffee table. It’s so obvious they play together.

“Mind if I join in?”, you ask, your voice brimming with excitement as you make your way over to the couch where he's lounging. With a playful bounce, you settle yourself down right beside him, looking over at him.

His eyes roam over you, and you feel your cheeks heating up. Is he pleased with how his clothes fit you, or does he see something off? Heeseung’s gulp breaks the tension, and he meets your gaze once more, leaving you uncertain about what his look truly means.

“Do I look weird or something?” you say, laughing awkwardly. Please say no.

He almost immediately denies your assumptions, “No, fuck you don’t,” he says swallowing once more, “You look..good, that’s all” he continues. No, that’s not what he wants to say. He thinks you look hot. But best left inside his head. You internally sigh in relief, thank god. Resuming back to what you said, you ask again giggling, “So can I play?”

He nods his head in agreement, grinning. Bending over to grab the other console, you shuffle into a comfortable seating position, hands on your knees. “Good luckkk” you drawl with confidence. Heeseung scoffs at you with a smile, he’d kiss that attitude out of you but he'll watch you play for now.

“I’ve experienced Beomgyu storming out in anger because he didn't win like five times in a row,” he tells you with a cocky smile. Alright, skilled gamer Heeseung. Although your confidence may have wavered, you refuse to let it affect you. Your main goal is to enjoy yourself during your time here.

“Beomgyu acts like you’re so boring, yet he seems to have pretty good friendship with you” you say softly. Heeseung hums in response, “It’s because I only play with him sometimes, not really so often. He’s just over-dramatic, really” he brushes off.

You nod in understanding, “Let’s play then, shall we?”

You don’t think you’ve ever laughed this hard at someone’s face before. Heeseung’s face when you swiftly went past him and won the game has you breaking into peels of laughter. His face is truly priceless.

“Did that hurt your ego?” you say between soft giggles. Heeseung stares at you, holding back a grin. The way you feel confident after winning over him, entices him; He wants to ruin that confidence, he wants to ruin you. “Beginners luck” he replies instead. You continue to giggle at him, laughter dying down as silence pierces through. It’s peaceful, not awkward at all as the both of you sit in the rather calming quietnesss.

The quiet room suddenly got noisy with your unexpected hiccups. You felt them like tiny jumps in your chest, making you stumble as you hurried to the kitchen, your steps clumsy against the relentless spasms. Opening up the very familiar cupboard, you tap against its inner floor, reaching for a glass. Gasping quietly as you land your feet from tip toeing; you lick your lips, turning to go fill it up.

You’ve always liked this kitchen. It gave you a feeling nostalgia; having such a similar one back at your parents house.

“You enjoyed winning so much didn’t you?” Heeseung says with amusement lacing his words. Gulping down the last of your water with an uncontrollable smile, you nod at him. You like having him slightly worked up. It’s entertaining.

Heeseung walks over towards you, suddenly caging you with his arms. Your hands instinctively grasp at the counter behind you, eyes darting down. His eyes look into yours sharply inching even closer, if you went just a little closer, your noses would touch and at that point you should just kiss. Temptation clouds your mind and ball of confidence strikes you; retrieving your hands from the counter, you pause before connecting your lips to his.

His lips freeze against yours; certainly was not expecting you to do that. But as soon as he hears your soft whine, his arms that once surrounded the space around you, grabbed at your waist. The soft feeling of his lips on yours melts your body into desire, but before you can fall under it, you pull away.Heeseung groans just as you cut contact, looking at you with an puzzled expression. What are you doing to him? You give him what he wants and blatantly take it away. That’s the game you play huh? You tip toe, bending your neck over his as you take a peek at the wall clock fixed in the living room, just next to the kitchen. 10 PM it read. Time does fly when you have fun.

“Sex this late night ruins my sleep” you tell him with a fake pout plastered on your face. “Maybe next time, Lee” you add on as you cup his face, only to kiss his cheek before slipping away out. Heeseung freezes, shock etched across his features as he replays the scene in his mind. He grapples with your intentions, wondering when this “next time” will occur. It’s clear you’re pushing his buttons, you literally kissed him for a hot minute and left him helplessly hanging. You’re good at switching up aren’t you? If he has to play this game to put you in your place, then so be it.

All confidence that resided inside you vanished as soon as you closed the door to Beomgyu’s room. God, did you actually do that? Your ego definitely seems to spike sometimes. You don’t know if you regret it; from the sheer look in his eyes and searing kiss, it was obvious he liked you too. You just might have left quite an impression on him, it was bold of you. The future of your actions lay flat for tomorrow.

You wake up to the noise of the front door being opened, assuming it was Beomgyu, you rub your tightly closed eyes open. Having slept fairly well last night, you quickly got out of bed, arranging the sheets neat. This wasn’t your bed or home to leave untidy, like you occasionally do. Although you think Beomgyu is no better than you.

Walking out you see Beomgyu, helping himself to a cup of ramen. You’d like some breakfast before you leave.

“Hey, got another cup?” you ask with grogginess evident in your voice. Beomgyu finally takes a look at you, pausing at your question for a few minutes before nodding. He turns back momentarily to grab another cup, sliding it over to you. You can’t help but turn your eyes over to Heeseung’s room. Is he still in bed?

“Where’s your ‘boring’ roommate?” you ask him with a hint laughter in your voice. Beomgyu gives you a sarcastic roll of his eyes, “He left for the gym right as I came in” he says replying to your asked question. Oh. You guess the only time you’ll see him again is on Monday.

Finally pouring in the hot water, you close the cup with the paper lid, waiting. As you sit waiting for your meal, lost in your thoughts, your mind wanders aimlessly. Suddenly, a sharp gasp escapes your lips as your attention is abruptly pulled back to reality by Beomgyu, who has made an odd noise while pointing his index finger in your direction.

You look at him with a confused expression, “I thought I told you use my t-shirt? That’s not mine” he says, staring at you for an answer. Halting for short second, you reply back “I looked through your closet, and Heeseung told me that they were all in the wash, genius. So he lent me his”

Beomgyu looks at you with squinting eyes, processing all what you said before he casually hums. Opening your lid back up, you mix your noodles before going in for a much needed savory bite, humming in delight you look up with happy eyes.

“So, What did you do last night?” Beomgyu questions, inching his elbows closer to you. The question is harmless and innocent if you view it the way you should, but in your case, there are only two things memorable — winning over Heeseung and kissing Heeseung. You can’t help smile internally remembering them, you still feel the feeling of his lips on yours if you think about it long enough.

Beomgyu waves his hand infront of you, as to pop your thinking bubble, “R..Right, yeah, I didn’t do much, just played some video games and went to bed, that’s all” you answer stuttering slightly at your words.

His eyes light up at the mention of video games, a grin fighting for freedom on his face, “Who won?” he asks enthusiastically. You’re sure Beomgyu’s hoping for you to say that you had won, recollecting that he always lost to his skilled roommate. Licking your lips in a swift motion, you press your lips together in a tight smile, gazing at Beomgyu.

The look on your face is all he needs to let out a sigh of happy relief, “Fuck yes! Somebody actually beat Heeseung” he exclaims with delight offering you a high-five, which you gladly receive. Slurping up the last of your breakfast, you walk over to throw in the trash informing Beomgyu on the way that you’ll head out after changing back into your clothes from last night.

As if remembering something important, he calls you again, “ _______!, just wanted to let you know, I’m hosting a party at my parents’ place on Monday you know, since the semesters about to end. And they’re not home anyway. Your’re invited if you’re up for it” he blurts out.

“Who's gonna be there?” you question, intrigued.

“Like practically everyone; Yuna, the girl with red glasses, Heeseung, me, duh and—

“I’ll be there, send me the address” you cut him off, rushing back inside and change before you leave.

You apply a coat of rosy lip gloss, pressing your lips together with satisfaction. You look good tonight, clad in a snug black mini skirt paired elegantly with a delicate white lace tube top and your hair down in waves. The top showcases just the right amount of skin, accentuating the look of your slender silver chain. It’s both sexy and cute.

The party’s at 8 PM, and you’ll be just on time if you leave right now. You take one more good look in your full length mirror, nodding to yourself, before finally heading out.

╰┈➤

You stare in awe at the house the party resided in. It’s truly beautiful, and big. The lively music and joyful voices coming from inside indicate that Beomgyu has invited a lot of people. It’s clear he’s gone all out to make sure everyone has a great time tonight. You enter with a soft sigh, clutching onto your baby pink handbag. The music is loud but quite enough to hear people talk to one another. Your eyes scan around the area; looking for Beomgyu. The large table with drinks catch your eye as you spot Beomgyu sipping on a can of beer.

He locks eyes with you as you make your way towards him, managing a small smile.

“Oh my god, you’re like two minutes late” he exclaims dramatically, holding up his phone in the which glowed ‘8:02 PM’. You give him an unimpressed look. That seems to shut him up as he gives you a small pout.

You grab a can of beer from the table, popping it open and taking a sip.

“C’mon, I’ll give you a house tour, you’re probably the only one who hasn’t been here” he tells already walking ahead.

You faithfully trail behind him as he leads you on a tour through each luxurious room, offering short descriptions of their purposes. The surroundings are nothing short of extravagant, soaring ceilings, intricate architectural designs, and an abundance of totally unnecessary paintings on the wall. The overall aura of the place resembles a palace, filled to the brim with people.

As you both progress down the hallway, the fading music suggests you’re approaching the final room. Each room you’ve passed has been bustling with at least five people, engaged in drinking, sleeping, or playing some sort of game. However, between all this, Heeseung’s absence stands out. You’re left to ponder where he is : Either he dipped out on coming or he’s inside the room you’re just about to enter.

Beomgyu gestures towards the door, softly remarking, “And here’s the last room, my childhood sanctuary.” With a gentle click, he swings it open, revealing a truly elegant space. Stepping inside, you instinctively search for Heeseung, your gaze finally settling on him. He acknowledges Beomgyu, waving at him before he buries his gaze on you.

You look away as soon as you make eye contact, pretending to observe the room instead. Other than Heeseung there are few other guys in the room, they’re all sitting on the bed; probably chatting before you came in.

“What are ya’ll doing just talking? The drinks are downstairs, come down!” Beomgyu tells them with annoyance evident in his voice.

“I’ll stay, not in the mood to drink right now” Heeseung mutters, his eyes still fixated on you. Beomgyu looks at you with bored eyes as if silently letting you know that the person who just spoke is infact really boring. You give him a small giggle before telling him that you’d come down in a bit too. You just might have a little talking to do. Beomgyu gives you an expression of ‘you too?’ before leading the other guys out down with him.

As soon as you turn your head from watching them leave to head down, you slightly flinch at Heeseung walking past you to swiftly lock the door. Safe to say you’re not surprised. You slide your handbag off your shoulder, mounting it on a nearby shelf. Just then you feel a gentle tug at your wrist and immediate contact with Heeseung’s lips. You halt for a second before you wrap your hands around his neck, pads of your fingers pressing into the nape of his neck.

His lips feel just as soft as the first time, addicting you must say. He seems just as eager as you are, slyly pushing his tongue inside your mouth with a grin you could tell he had on. You whine into his mouth, signalling him to pull away to breathe. He pulls away slowly, a string of saliva connecting your lips as you pant heavily. God you really need him right now. His eyes look into yours as you giggle at the lip gloss smeared over his mouth. He looks at you amused as you wipe then gloss off with a focused stare.

“What happened to ‘sex ruins your sleep at night’ ?” he asks you mockingly, running his hands over your ass.

“Your dick’s hard” you retort, hands coming down to palm his cock. He hisses as you do so, mumbling a curse.

“I’ll just go fuck another girl” he tells with a smirk, eager to see your reaction. He’s really trying to piss you off huh?

“No you fucking won’t” you tell him with a laugh, connecting your lips back together. He dosen’t complain, immediately melting into the kiss as you still rub his hard on, making him moan into it. You don’t think you’ll ever get over how good his lips feel against yours.

“That’s right, so suck me off will you?” he says against your lips.

And that's how you end up on your knees, holding onto Heeseung’s thighs tightly while he thrusts his big fucking dick into your mouth. You eagerly suck and twirl your tongue around the lower part of his shaft, making sure to cover it with your saliva. The grip on his thighs becomes even tighter as he pushes his cock deeper into your throat, his mushroom tip brushing against the back.

“J..Just like that baby, god you were made for this” he rasps with eyes closed shut, fingers caressing your hair. You let out quiet moans against his dick, your panties progressively getting wetter. You’re desperate for him inside you.

Continuing to suck him off, you decide to tease him a bit, after all he is, so close to coming. You pull off his dick, retrieving your hands from his thighs and grabbing at the base of it and giving his red tip kitten licks. He groans at loss of your mouth, eyes glaring at your doe eyed ones. “Don’t fucking tease or you won’t get to cum later” he warns you. The thought of not cumming when your pussy was dripping and pulsating like this sent shivers down your spine.

You almost immediately stuff his cock back in your mouth; but you pause when you feel feel Heeseung’s hands gripping your hair, fucking your mouth. It’s sloppy and messy; you feel hot tears well up at your eyes, falling down endlessly as he continues to fuck your throat deep.

“Thats’s a good girl, fuck, ’m gonna cum” he moans, his movements in your mouth gradually easing as he releases his warmth down your throat. Heeseung breathes heavily, his eyes widening with a smile as he gazes at your exhausted expression; cheeks flushed, eyes watery, and most likely a very wet pussy. He bends down to pick you up again, mounting you on his lap as he lifts your skirt, fingers dipping into your soaked cunt.

You whine into his neck, feeling him move your drenched panties to the side, filling your cunt with two of his fingers, sinking in and out of you painfully slow. Heeseung chuckles at your whimpers, finding them cute as he adds a third finger, picking up his pace. He starts pressing wet kisses into your neck, sucking on the shell of your ear which only fueled the building pleasure inside of you.

“Hah—! please, wanna cu..m gonna cum” you groan into his neck as you cream over his fingers, knot in your stomach free as you relieve your high, hugging Heeseung tighter. He brings up his coated fingers up to his mouth, licking them clean.

“Need to fuck you now, but let me eat you out next time, yeah?” he whispers into your ear, as you finally look at him again placing a kiss on your lips. You hum in response, a slight gasp escaping your lips as he flips you on your stomach, ass up in the air; removing the your skirt and sticky underwear. He takes a moment to look at your glistening cunt, slightly swollen from your previous orgasm.

You want to say something you know you shouldn’t, because one, it’s way beyond the truth and two, not when he has you under him like this, no control over him and pussy ready for him to slip into. But you like pissing him off and getting him worked up. Just as you feel his dick poke at your entrance, you whisper, “Small dick”.

You may have said it in a low voice but the way you feel Heeseung stiffen up behind you only confirms he had clearly heard it.

“Oh yeah? Enlighten me on the girl who was fucking choking on this small dick not so long ago” he spits out with amusement lacing his words, cock slipping into your folds whole without notice. You let out a string of choked moans, words breaking down into nothing as he pounds into you relentlessly. Falling face down onto the sheets, you tug on them tighter, body jerking and thighs shaking. To say he felt good buried inside of you was a huge understatement.

He hold your hips tighter, cursing at how you clench down at him each time he goes deeper into you.

“Look at you, cunts sucking me in so good, been desperate for my cock haven’t you?” Heeseung growls with a cruel laugh, leaning down to suck on your back as he still fucks into you. You don’t answer, mind fogged up with cock ruining your pussy as your eyes roll back. One of his hands pull you back up, then grabbing at your bouncing tits, rubbing at your nipples.

He slaps your ass, eyes watching it jiggle with each pound he gives. “Fucking answer me” he demands you, only making you moan louder as you feel his tip brutally hammer at your cervix, pushing you towards the edge.

“Yes! hnng!— fuck yes! gah- please” you blurt out, the need to cum again building up fast.

Heeseung lets out a shriek, cock swollen inside of you as he fills your cunt up with his cum. But he still fucks into you, getting you closer to your high. The way he filled you up only tightened the knot inside you, squirting out on his cock and coating. Your vision sees white as you pant heavily, head throbbing.

Heeseung slowly moves your tired body onto his lap, picking you all over your face as you get back into your senses. “What a way to finally say I love you” he tells you, kissing the crown on your head. You giggle at him, feeling a strong sense of euphoria rush through you.

“I’ve always liked you” you tell him, looking away and playing with his fingers. He chuckles at you, placing another kiss on your lips. “Good, I had a thing for you too” he whispers into your ear.

Suddenly you hear a stiff knock at door, you jolt up in surprise, “Can you please open the fucking door? I need to piss! All the others are occupied!” you hear Beomgyu’s voice outside, desperate to get inside. It makes you realise you literally fucked on his bed, and totally messed up the cheeks. The thought of cleaning it up burns red into your cheeks.

You look up at Heeseung, as if asking what to do. But with the grin he has on his face says otherwise.

“Wait just a little more, I’ve got to make _______ cum again!” he screams out at the door slyly spreading your legs again.

You don’t think Beomgyu has to use the bathroom anymore.

1K notes · View notes

peachsayshi · 3 months

Text

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ blessings ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

↬ summary: nanami kento tries to be the perfect husband and father but when a tough night fighting curses ends badly it results in nanami snapping at his daughter.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ minors / ageless / blank blogs (dni) ↬･tags: nanami x female reader; hurt/comfort; nanami has a daughter; domestic drama; being a jujutsu sorcerer is hard; momotarō is a famous Japanese folk tale :c ↬･ wc: 3,383

↬ notes: hi, everyone! I'm currently not really active at the moment so please don't feel disheartened if I haven't been responding to your messages or tagged posts. I'm taking a small break and only coming online for a bit to catch up on some messages, read fics or queue posts. I'll be back to properly posting and interacting soon but in the meantime I wanted to share that I finished up this draft over the weekend. I was actually debating if I should post this but then just decided to go for it! sending all my love xx

nanami’s head is heavy, completely clouded with despair, and it tints his brown eyes a shade of murky gray. the walls of his beautiful home feel narrow, almost claustrophobic, which explains why he’s struggling to catch his breath right now. stepping into the hallway, he instinctively peeks into the dining area to find you and his daughter eating dinner together. she’s sitting on the chair, her legs far too short to even touch the ground, holding a half eaten onigiri between her small hands. you are by her side, sneakily tidying up after her as you brush away the stray beads of rice trickling onto the table.

a little glow blooms in nanami’s heart at the sight of you both but there is a vicious creature residing in the pit of his stomach that veils the bright light away.

he quietly takes off his jacket, his bruised fingers loosening the tie around his neck. he clears his throat before announcing with exhaustion to you both that he’s finally home.

your eyes meet his, the muscles on your face falling immediately. he can practically feel the blood rushing through your veins as worry washes over you. the reaction makes his chest uncomfortably tight, but he knows that he can’t hide his expressions around you like he used to.

you both move together so fluidly now, like a single body of water that ebbs and flows to its own natural current.

he escaped the night’s fight with a few cuts and a couple of bad bruises, but there is currently a student on shoko’s table who barely made it through. the young man arrived at jujutsu tech only a couple of weeks ago, but his naive and charismatic qualities turned into fatal flaws in the world of sorcery.

he bit off more than he could chew by trying to take on a special grade curse.

shoko promised nanami that she would heal the boy, but admitted there was only so much she can do in regards to the aftermath of his injuries. the sorcerer couldn’t bare to leave him behind, but gojo refused that he stay and insisted that he return back home to his pretty wife and adorable daughter immediately.

“I’ll handle things from here,” is what his superior said, while nanami’s guilt climbed up his throat.

that student was his responsibility...

...and he failed him entirely.

“papa’s home!” his daughter chirps. the pitch of her voice ringing in nanami’s ears to pull him back to the present and far away from the scene where life and death were dancing together in a tango. “papa, look, look...mama and I made onigiri!”

her feet bounces up and down, and there’s a touch of a pink against her cheeks when her mouth stretches into a beaming grin. the innocence in her eyes makes nanami falter and he can feel himself falling deeper into the abyss. for a minute he resents himself for selfishly bringing such a beautiful thing into this world, only to gamble with the fact that she may potentially be in his shoes one day.

he begs for that outcome to never happen, beseeches whatever higher power above him that exists to spare her from this life. she should never have to go through this, never have to experience these heartbreaks that only wither a person down.

“I can see that,” nanami replies in a low voice before shifting his attention to his feet.

right now, he can’t stomach an ounce of her purity, and it radiates around her like a halo. she's so unbothered by his presence, so completely unaware of the sudden change in the atmosphere around her...

“we made tuna, salmon, and veggies...” she babbles on.

“how nice...” nanami curtly interrupts, before anxiously running his fingers through the strands of his messy blonde hair.

“which one do you want, papa?” she questions eagerly, pointing her sticky hands at the plate to show off the selection of triangles.

“sweets,” you interject just as nanami turns on his heel to walk in the other direction, “how about we finish up eating our dinner, and we can save some for your daddy tomorrow...”

“nooo!” she whines far too loudly, which forces nanami to stop dead in his tracks. he glances over his shoulder to see her puffing out her bottom lip with disappointment, “you said...you said we make it so we eat together!”

she’s only six.

she can’t perceive that her father is struggling to hold himself together. deep down inside nanami knows that, but it isn’t enough to keep his cool. he doesn’t know why his daughter’s insistence causes him to pinch the front of his brows with annoyance or why he shoots a frustrated look in her direction.

he doesn’t know why he’s suddenly picturing shoko calling the student’s parents to deliver the news that the man who was supposed to protect their child was unsuccessful in his duty.

he doesn’t know why he feels at fault for everything that happened, even though the circumstances of the events were completely out of his control.

he doesn’t know why he’s imagining himself on the receiving end of a very similar call, or why he can’t stop picturing his precious daughter on that table instead…

all of this pummels into him, and the monster emerges out from it’s cave.

“be quiet and stop making such a fuss.”

his voice comes out sharper than expected, and the expulsion of his frustration allows him to see the crystal clear picture before him.

the room is dead silent.

your face is in full shock at the hissing tone of your sweet husband snapping at his darling baby girl who he only ever speaks to with a gentle voice.

what truly unravels nanami is the look that his daughter is giving him - her angelic features are sullen, but her eyes remain wide with surprise. her bottom lip is slack, and the only sound he can hear is her uneasy breathing. her eyes, the most beautiful gems in existence, twinkle as tears begin to form and she tries to quickly blink them away before turning her attention back to her plate.

nanami doesn’t know he managed to stop time itself but the three of you remain frozen in place.

he regrets his words immediately.

he wants nothing more than to pull his precious girl close into his chest and smother her with apologies. the part of him with sense tells him to follow through and make things right with her, but instead he begrudgingly continues to wallow in his own self pity as he walks over to his room.

･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

the house is unusually quiet now, the music of domestic joy morphing into hushed murmurs and whispers outside your room door. you settle your crestfallen daughter into her bedroom before moving to check on your husband next.

fresh out of the shower, nanami is seated on the edge of the bed with his exhausted eyes pressed firmly into the palms of his hands. he exhales a heavy breath, his dirty work clothes still piled just outside the bathroom, and your heart nearly collapses seeing him in such a state of disarray.

you kneel before him, two hands sliding across the soft material of his sweats as you brush them along his thighs before carefully bringing them up to circle around his wrists.

“kento?”

he allows you to pull his palms away but your throat constricts when a band forms tightly around your neck. you swallow the lump with an upturn of your brows as you are greeted with red, exhausted eyes. you cup that handsome face in your hands, your thumbs sweetly motioning back and forth across his cheeks as you try to soothe the tension away.

after all this time together, it hurts you to see that he still tries to hide his tears. nanami constantly holds himself to the highest standard, always ensuring that he can solidify himself as the rock for you and your daughter to depend on through thick and thin. it’s so rare for you to see him crack, to watch him crumble under the overbearing weight of the things that he is burdened to carry.

“you had a rough night,” you point out in a low, sympathetic voice and he simply just nods his head in acknowledgement.

his eyes flutter close again when you lean forward to press a tender, reassuring kiss on his brow. “you want a talk about it?”

the way his voice shakes makes you shiver, but you tentatively listen as he relays the events of the night before finally concluding that satoru called him only a few minutes ago to reassure him that the student in question is alright.

“he lost an eye, but at least he’s alive...” he concludes somberly, the warble in his final statement prompting you to wrap your arms around his neck as you pull him in for a protective hug.

nanami receives it with gratitude, strong arms circling around your waist as he buries his nose into the crook of your shoulder and breathes in.

your scent is a reminder of his permanent sanctuary.

a safety, a reassurance of home.

you stroke his blonde locks between your fingers until he exhales, "i'm so sorry," he breathes, "I...I didn't mean to snap like that..."

a tiny smile tugs at the corners of your lips, and you unravel yourself to cup his jaw into your palms once again. "I appreciate the apology, but I don't think I should be on the receiving end of it..." you hint sweetly.

nanami closes his eyes guiltily. "I'm a horrible father."

you click your tongue with disappointment, your face falling as your disapproval pinches between the space of your brows.

"you're just human," you remind him defensively, "you're a wonderful father, the best man that our daughter can look up to"

"did you see the look on her face?" he replies, his voice unnaturally small. the tender expression he gives you is filled with regret, and it's enough to make your heart ache all over again.

"kento," you contend, "don't do this to yourself. we're both going to have days where we mess up, but that doesn't mean that the problem can't be fixed."

you thread his hair between your fingers, like your brushing through rays sunlight. "she's waiting for me to read her a bedtime story," you explain, "but I'm sure she would rather be with you instead..."

"I doubt that," your husband replies as he reaches for your hand to kiss the inside of your palm.

"we will always love you, kento," you answer back, "unconditionally. on your good days and your bad ones"

he didn't even know how desperately he needed to hear that, for your certainty to remedy away all his sorrows, until they actually left your lips.

your husband's throat tightens, tears pricking his eyes once more but he hides them away when he leans in to seek out a kiss from the woman whose heart he deeply adores.

･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

nanami leans his shoulder against the frame of his daughter's room. his heart patters lightly, making him realize that he might actually be nervous. it's strange, he thinks, that he would feel hesitant to approach his own child considering that he was her guardian but nanami had never allowed his professional life to fracture into his personal one like this before.

she's seated on the floor next to a pile of books and her stuffed rabbit secured tightly underneath her arm. there's a warmth in his chest when when he makes note of the soft toy, because he purchased that himself the day she was born and the pair have been inseparable ever since.

he clears his throat, bringing his scuffed knuckles to gently knock on the door.

"my love?" he calls out to her.

his daughter perks up, her breathing changing slightly as it rises and falls with a hint of apprehension. she glances over her shoulder to see him.

"where's mama?" she asks, her question shattering the man into a million pieces at her subtle dismissal.

"taking a shower," he answers cooly, "but I'm here to get you ready for bed..."

her lovely eyes refuse to lock into his own, and she simply tucks her lip between her bottom teeth to avoid giving nanami a reply.

she looks so much like him when he was a child. he remembered when his parents used to scold him too, and how he would also hide away in his room. the only difference is that nanami's parents were far more traditional - a time where elders were never submissive to young hearts.

"may I come in?" he requests politely, ensuring that his daughter knew she had a choice if she wanted to speak to him.

her nostrils flare slightly while she considers him, but to his relief she nods her head eagerly.

nanami steps into her room, always feeling largely out of place amongst her things. "did you find a story for bed?" he asks.

she again quietly nods her head and picks up her favorite book; a compilation of japanese folktales with beautiful illustrations. you both have been reading one for her each night ever since she got it it as a present from her grandparents.

he crouches on his knees to meet her at eye level. "you've really been enjoying this one, haven't you?" he carries on, hoping to coax more words out of her.

“yeah,” she replies in the same mousy voice of uncertainty. she shifts her attention away when she stands on her feet, clutching onto the stuffed bunny tightly while her other hand swings the book by her side.

“and what tale are we reading tonight?”

she shrugs her shoulders with indifference, a hint of pink blushing her cheek. “I dunno. I…I can just until mama is ready…”

nanami visibly slumps. her rejection an entirely new painful experience that he's never endured before. he scratches the back of his head anxiously, finding himself at a loss for words. the seconds pass, an awkward bubble surrounding both father and daughter. it’s only broken when nanami exhales a sigh, and reaches his hands towards her waist to draw her into his frame.

“darling,” he addresses tenderly, “can you look at me?”

“no, you were mean…” she blurts out, her bottom lip trembling slightly.

nanami’s heart sinks.

that’s the first time he’s ever heard those words from her lips.

“I know,” he murmurs shamefully.

her mouth forms into a tiny button of a pout but she meets his eyes for the first time as he acknowledges his behavior.

nanami arches forward to kiss her forehead, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, sweetheart. I’m so sorry if I upset or scared you”

she fidgets with the book in her hand. “did you not want onigiri?” she asks, her innocence tugging the corners of her father’s lips into a small grin.

“it wasn’t the onigiri, my love,” he reassures, “daddy just…had a bad day at work…”

“why was it bad?”

nanami sighs once again.

she still doesn’t know that he’s a sorcerer. you’ve both reduced his position to her by simply explaining that nanami “helps and protects people".

thankfully your daughter doesn’t pry too hard to ask any further questions.

“someone I know got hurt. so, daddy was a little shaken up when he came home…”

"shaken up?"

"scared, my love"

his daughter shakes her head in disbelief, “nu-uh, you never get scared, papa” she rebuts.

nanami huffs out a laugh, flashing her a full grin now as he brings his fingers to his chin to to ponder her sweet statement. he quirks his brow and cheekily replies, "we can't all be brave like you," in an attempt to lighten the mood.

his daughter narrows her eyes towards his hand, her mind instantly distracted with other things already. "you got hurt too papa!" she gasps, dropping the bunny by her side to point at his knuckles.

nanami glances at his fingers covered in red marks.

"wait!" she exclaims as she places the book by his side. "I have something!"

she spins on her heel and rushes towards one of her drawers. meanwhile, nanami just takes her in with his love soaked eyes, watching as she rummages through her stuff with determination until she scurries back his way.

"got it!" she squeaks with a smile, and to his surprise she jumps right into his arms with such nonchalance it nearly make him crumble on the spot.

your voice echoes in the back of his mind: "we will always love you, kento. unconditionally. on your good days and your bad ones"

"mama bought it for me," she explains, regaining her father's attention once more.

nanami rests his cheek on her shoulder, and inhales her powdery scent as he keeps one arm warmly secured around her waist. he watches her peel off the plaster of the band aid, lbefore grabbing his hand and placing it unevenly over his knuckles.

"now a kiss!" she adds, as she brings his hand to her mouth and exaggerates a loud "mwah" sound for emphasis. "mama says the kiss is what makes it all better"

nanami instantly feels significantly better from this remedy of love. he extends his digits out, and looks at the hot pink "hello kitty" band aid that now rests comfortably on his knuckles.

"thank you, my darling," he coos and peppers her cheek with a few kisses before turning her to face him once again. "you made me feel a lot better"

she flashes him an equally large smile in return, showing off her missing teeth.

"I did?"

nanami chuckles as he scoops her up in his arms to give her a well deserved bear hug. she laughs as he stands on his two feet, and sheds away any lingering thoughts of apprehension that may have stuck.

"you always do," he reassures, his soul vibrating back to life when he feels her return his embrace. “you think you can forgive me for how I spoke earlier?”

“yeah,” she confirms and squeezes him just a little tighter. "I love you lots, papa"

"oh, my angel," he hums, "you have no idea just how much I love you too..."

･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

after winding down from your evening pampering session, you decide to pass by your daughter's room to check on your little family. you peer through the cracked door to find nanami spread out on your daughter’s bed, with your daughter curled into side and her head resting on his chest.

“did I come from a peach too like momotarō?” you hear her ask, but your heart flutters at the sight of your husband’s pearly whites.

you’ll never get over how much you love seeing him smile with such genuine emotion.

“no,” you hear nanami reply calmly, his finger lightly holding the page open. “you remember your mother explaining how you used to live in her stomach first?”

“oh yeah,” your daughter replies with a hint of disappointment over the fact that she was not birthed from a piece of fruit as mentioned in one of her favorite folk tales.

“shall I carry on?”

“uh-huh,” she answers and she readjusts her position to get even more comfortable. "I think if we look hard enough we might find momotarō..."

"you think so?" your husband wonders with honest curiosity.

"I know so, papa!"

"how many peaches do you think we need to check?"

"hmmm," she mumbles, "maybe a million?"

"a million?" your husband dramatically replies, "that's a lot of peaches don't you think,"

"I mean, it's less than a billion..." she responds quite matter of factly.

you catch his gaze from between the door that’s ajar. his expression fully relaxes, and you smile knowingly in his direction at the sight of father and daughter making up.

“papa?” his daughter questions upon his sudden silence, but your husband keeps his focus on you as he hums in acknowledgement before replying, "you're not wrong, but it'll still be quite a challenge to cut through a million peaches..."

"we might need some help," your daughter adds on.

you blow him a secret kiss as to not interrupt further, and quietly close the door before heading back to your bedroom.

#[peach is away.💌]#[peach queues.🧡]#nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x female reader #nanami x ofc #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento angst #nanami angst #nanami hurt/comfort #jujutsu kaisen angst #nanami fluff #jujutsu kaisen fan fiction #jjk fluff

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astarion-approves · 9 months

Note

Tav making astarion a flower crown?

Astarion x GN! reader

Tav makes a flower crown for Astarion. 400+ words drabble

Fluff, just 100% fluff, short and sweet. Third person. No beta and rushed proof reading.

----

Through the woods and over countless bridges, Tav was always stopping to pick up a flower along the way. Didn’t matter if it was raining, if there was a battle waiting in the distance, or if the team was exhausted and needed to stop for the night— Tav was always grabbing flowers.

None of the others saw exactly what they were doing with them, mostly assuming it had something to do with creating potions or that it dealt with their magical abilities. Sorcerers were always a strange breed after all.

Perhaps chewing on some flowers would grant them the ability to talk to animals or even as a quick caffeine boost. They all paid no mind to it.

At night, for weeks, Tav would sit away from the rest of the group, fiddling with something in their lap, little glows of light coming from them as they worked in silence.

But then, one morning, Astarion woke up to a surprise waiting beside him.

A crown made entirely of flowers, little daisies and peonies, roses and hydrangea, lillies and buttercups, more flowers than he could even name or count. They were shrunken down so that such a wide variety could fit in a single crown. Their stems weaved together in such a delicate and elegant design. Each flower looked like it just bloomed for the first time, even when Astarion recognized some of them as being picked from the ground weeks ago.

“What’s this?” He picked it up with careful hands, and a sudden warmth flowed through his fingertips and down his arms.

“It—“ Tav sat in their own bedroll, watching Astarion as he studied the crown. Tav was nervous, their hands closed together and blush filling their cheeks. “It’s a flower crown.”

Astarion snorted. “Yes, I know that. Allow me to rephrase. Why the flower crown?”

Tav took a breath, their eyes cast down words as they spoke quietly, “We don’t know what the future holds with these tadpoles and… The crown— it’s enchanted. Protection from sunlight. The flowers will absorb any sun that touches you.”

“You’re telling me,” Astarion began, his lips pressing together for just a moment. “That you… made me a crown to protect me from the sun?”

“Y-yes, but I can’t guarantee that it works. I just… I wanted to at least try.”

“Without asking for anything in return?”

Tav shrugged. “We’re friends, why would I?”

Astarion sighed and put the crown on, looking up to the sky he saw that the day was mostly overcast, but it felt like the sun was shining directly on him and keeping him warm.

He would never admit how good it felt.

“Well, how’s it look?” Astarion leaned back, facing Tav and posing with the crown. “Am I still as handsome as ever?”

Tav smiled. “Always.”

It felt strange having someone you barely knew care so much for you… and to expect nothing in return. Now Astarion felt all warm inside, his heart aching as he gazed back at Tav.

And it wasn’t because of the crown.

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate #astarion bg3 #astarion x mc #bg3 astarion #astarion x gn reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #x gn reader #x gn!reader #gn reader #fluff #cute #velvet writing

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luveline · 9 days

Note

coworker James au could i request kne where maybe reader starts her period at work unprepared and bleeds through so James gives her his jumper and she's like wtf but also thank you <33

James worries about you reluctantly until you need his help. Then he’s less begrudging. fem, 1k

“Why are you wearing that?”

James digs through the office fridge for his oat milk. “What’s wrong with it?”

“I’m just wondering.”

“It's cold out. People wear jumpers when it’s cold.” James grabs the oat milk from the deep recesses of the shared fridge and lets his tricep flex as he stands. Does he think you’ll care? No. But he does it anyway, he doesn’t work out for nothing. You probably can’t tell with the jumper, anyhow.

He’s expecting you to wrinkle your nose or fake a keck. You look at him funny.

“What’s wrong? You’re poorly,” he says.

“I’m not poorly, I just want some toast.”

“There’s no butter,” James says. No point letting you wait by the fridge.

You nod dispassionately. “Well, that makes sense.”

“I have a tangerine in my bag.”

“Okay, thank you.”

You’re definitely poorly. You wander out of the kitchen, James assumes to sit back down at your desk while he makes his coffee. He could make you a cup at the same time, it might help you pep up for the rest of the day, but he hasn’t made you any before and why should he start now? Everyone gets sick, it doesn’t make you less of a dick.

Even as he thinks it, he realises what he’s doing. James Denial Potter, what use is it anymore, pretending he doesn’t like you? You piss him off royally, but disdain? It’s like everyday you’re getting prettier and sweeter and softer in the eyes and James just has to watch.

He takes his mug to his desk. You’ve already posed his little Smiski figurines to be standing next to each other, though now you’re nowhere near his desk, instead having flopped toward the left side far from his reach with your face in your hand.

He sighs and grabs his back. The tangerine lays at the bottom near his lunch box, and it begs to be kept, but you’re looking too sick to ignore. It’s cruel to leave you without, at this point. “Here,” he says, popping the orange on the border of your two desks. “Quick, before you pass out.”

“Thank you,” you mumble.

It’s sad to watch you eat the orange. Your chewing is morose, your eyes tracking up and down your screen with little hurry.

He cracks too quickly. “You okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine.”

“Do you want a cup of water?”

“James. I’m fine, I’m just tired.”

You stand and stretch with a sad moan, joints popping audibly, your arm over your eyes as they do. You let it fall and begin to walk away from the desk nook toward the bathroom, and that��s when James notices your accident.

He jumps up from his seat, his hand held forward and trying to catch you before you can get too far away. He takes your hand, to your confusion, pulling you back toward him.

“James, I’m fine,” you say, clearly shy.

“You’ve bled through.”

Your face fills with palpable, horrified mortification. “What?”

“The seat of your trousers,” he says quietly. James can’t confess to caring about discretion when it comes to human function, but he doesn’t think you’d enjoy your private business being shouted across the office. “It’s not a lot.”

You freeze.

He lets your hand fall.

“It’s okay,” he says, frowning at your embarrassed pouting and the glossy shine that’s formed over your eyes.

“I don’t know what to do,” you confess under your breath.

It’s so stupid because it’s not vulnerable, you aren’t some wounded animal that needs his help, but he has that awful aching sorriness for you that he can’t bite back. You’re not his friend and he’s sympathetic anyways, he’d never let you feel embarrassed over something you can’t help because he knows exactly how it feels (even if your particular affliction isn’t one he suffers). James nods at you decidedly and leans forward, grabbing the neck of his jumper and pulling it off quickly.

“Here,” he says, his hair tickling his ears as it falls back into place. He offers the jumper. You don’t take it.

“James, I might…”

“No, it’s okay. It’s fine. Just take it and I’ll see if I can sort something out. I’ll get Lily for you. What do you think?”

“Are you sure?” you ask.

“Of course I’m sure. Tie that around your waist, yeah?”

You take the jumper from his hands. “I’m really sorry.”

“Sorry? It’s fine, it happens.”

“You don’t even like me and you’re always doing things for me,” you say, wobbly.

James blames the hormones he thinks you might have ravaging your system right now. You’re tired, you clearly didn’t eat enough at breakfast, and you’re on your cycle. It’s not a nice mix of things to experience, and to pile some public humiliation on at work must make crying inevitable.

He takes your elbow into his hand, bending just so to put your faces on better level. “We don’t always get along,” he says softly, “but that doesn’t mean you have to do things by yourself, without anyone to look out for you. Okay? This isn’t a big deal to me.” He gives your elbow a mild shake. “Okay?” he asks again.

You sniffle but don’t cry. “Yeah, okay.”

“Okay. Don’t worry, angel. Those trousers were a choice anyway.”

You wave him away with a weak laugh.

James walks one way in search of HR and you slink to the bathroom with his jumper around your waist. And Remus, who’s gaze had been summoned by the rapid departure of you both at the same time, sits gobsmacked at his desk. James had looked not even a millisecond from kissing the frown from your lips, his thumb pressed with tender care to your arm, and you’d just let him do it, the rigid set of your shoulders relaxing the longer he touched you.

Remus takes his phone from his pocket to text Sirius. Need to talk to you about James

What’s he done?

Remus sort of thinks his friend might be falling in love. It’s gonna be a total disaster.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

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steddiealltheway · 8 months

Text

(I think I’ve written something like this before but… oh well!)

Steve and Eddie don’t really remember becoming friends.

Sure, they know they must’ve bonded during the Upside Down shit and the aftermath with the series of tests they went through together at Hawkins lab because they didn’t want a repeat of the Will situation.

But they can’t pin point a moment when they started talking to each other as if they weren’t just mutual acquaintances who went through the same hell and shared the same love for Dustin. And the strangest part about it all was that it felt easy.

And here Steve is, sitting in Eddie room, flipping through a magazine he had laying next to his bed, asking question about random things in it just to hear Eddie voice. Plus, he liked all the random information he contained. It kind of reminded him of Dustin, but Eddie was always able to put it into the simplest terms so he could grasp what he was talking about.

But today, Eddie seems somewhat distracted. As if something big is on his mind. And Steve knows that it’s consuming him when he doesn’t answer or acknowledge one of the questions Steve asks about Ozzy.

Steve glances to his right and sees Eddie staring off twirling a silver ring over and over while he chews on his bottom lip. “Eddie,” Steve tries.

Eddie snaps out of it, teeth releasing his bottom lip which is now more plump and red than usual. His hands drop to his thighs as he shoots Steve an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I was off in my own world.”

“What were you think about?”

Eddie shakes his head and leans back against the wall, pulling his hair in front of his face. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Steve continues to stare at him, shifting his knee so it presses against Eddie’s. “You can talk to me, you know?”

Eddie nods but doesn’t look at him. He looks far off again.

But Steve respects his wishes and doesn’t press further. He turns back to the magazine and continues reading on.

“I kissed someone in the Hideout bathroom recently,” Eddie says suddenly.

Steve slowly puts the magazine down and turns to him. “Someone?” Steve prompts gently. Eddie had told him before when they were in matching hospital gowns that he had feelings for men in the past and maybe women too. But he wasn’t sure. He confided in Steve that he didn’t see himself ever dating anyone at the time - didn’t think anyone would want to.

“Some guy,” Eddie answers and sighs, dragging his hands over this face. “I don’t know. It was weird because usually guys want more from me, you know? Especially if they’re dragging me off to the bathroom. But…” Eddie trails off, lost in thought again before he turns to Steve and locks eyes with him. “We didn’t do anything. We just kissed a little, and suddenly he told me he’d see me later. Just winked and ran off. But I can’t tell if he just chickened out or if maybe… maybe this is more than that.”

Steve takes a second to process everything, trying to connect the puzzle pieces of this mystery man to come up with an answer, but he knows there’s a bias within him. He wants so badly for the man to want more from Eddie. For him to want to take it slow and ask him out on a date.

But… a small (big) part of him, which he’s unwilling to admit, wants to find that the man chickened out.

Steve does what he always does and takes the feeling and stuffs it down along with all the other feelings he struggles to hide.

He distracts himself by asking, “And what was the kiss before like?” Which is a horrible question when jealously is practically pulsing through his veins.

Eddie shrugs. “I don’t know. I can’t really tell the difference between passion and lust.” He looks down and quietly adds, “I don’t know if I’ve ever had a kiss that wasn’t lustful.”

The statement fills Steve with a deep ache that he wants to file away with everything else. He wants to be detached from this all, but he can’t.

“Why don’t you show me?” Steve asks.

Eddie laughs. “I’m not going to make out with my hand or something.”

“No,” Steve says clearly, and doesn’t back down. “I mean, why don’t you show me.”

Eddie stares at him, the humor disappearing from his face as it’s replaced by disbelief. “You want me to kiss you?”

The question rings true in way too many ways, but Steve just shrugs nonchalantly. “It’ll help me understand the situation more.”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow for a moment before he licks his lips, eyes searching Steve’s then dipping down to stare at his lips.

Steve wishes he could read that expression. Is there longing there? Curiosity? Boredom? Nothing but unenthused wonder? Lust? Passion?

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “We can do that if you’re okay with that.”

He’s more than okay with that. Steve nods. “Yeah.” He wishes more words would come out, but maybe it’s better this way.

Eddie jostles the bed as he stands up. Steve looks up at him and his outstretched hand, frowning. “What are you doing?”

“Recreating the scene.”

Steve accepts the explanation and lets Eddie pull him up. He follows him out of his room and into the small hallway.

Eddie gestures to the door and says, “So pretend that’s the bathroom door, okay? I’ll be the guy, and you’ll be me.”

Steve nods, heart already pounding in his chest so hard he can hear it in his ears.

Eddie glances at him and lays a gentle hand on his arm. “We don’t have to do this, you know. I can just try to explain it or embarrass myself making out with my hand or a pillow or something.”

Steve smiles and reassures him, “I’m good. As long as you’re good.”

Eddie nods at him once and turns toward the door hesitating before turning back to Steve. “Can I ask you something weird?”

Steve shrugs. “Sure.”

“Can I kiss you before this whole thing? Just as a warm up before I stick my tongue in your mouth.”

Steve laughs and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds nice.”

“Okay,” Eddie says with a small smile and inches closer to him, hands fidgeting nervously at his side.

Steve grabs them and runs his thumbs over the back of Eddie’s hands, squeezing them gently. He steps forward, hands trailing up his arms, his neck, cupping his face gently. “This okay?” Steve practically whispers.

Eddie nods and takes a step closer, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist. “Yeah.”

“I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie says, leaning forward, eyes fluttering shut.

Steve takes a stabilizing breath before pulling Eddie in, letting his eyes close as his lips brush against Eddie’s, pressing in closer in a gentle kiss before they both pull away.

They stare at each other, eyes wide, not knowing what to say. But Steve’s too scared to say anything when he knows he’s going to sound breathless from a mere peck.

“Ready to recreate the kiss?” Eddie asks, moving away from him and breaking the moment.

All Steve can do is nod and remind himself what this is all about.

Eddie shoots him an awkward thumbs up before grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the door, pushing it open and closing it behind them only to press Steve against it.

Steve can’t help the moan that’s ripped out of him at the sensation. But Eddie takes the opportunity to lean in and kiss him, harder than before, almost instantly deepening the kiss, brushing his tongue against Steve in filthy strokes. His hands move through Steve’s hair wildly, pulling him in closer, and tugging at the strands, making Steve practically a puddle of goo in the process.

God, he feels like he can’t breathe in the best way.

His hands come up to press into Eddie back, trying to get him to move closer, to successfully pin him fully against the door, but Eddie keeps his distance. Pulling away from the kiss, nipping at his bottom lip before stepping back completely.

Steve breathes heavily, staring at Eddie’s pupils blown wide, the pink flush to his cheeks, and the glossy look to his lips that Steve can’t help but think is all his doing.

“Well?” Eddie asks.

Steve tries to latch onto the words in his brain floating around. They seem entirely unimportant in this moment, but Steve knows he has a question to answer. A reason he’s doing all of this.

He runs a hand through his hair, feeling the wild strands, wishing he hadn’t messed with it before he got a chance to look at himself. He takes a deep breath and ignores the way he feels and focuses on the question at hand. “It felt more like lust to me.”

Eddie’s face crumples for a moment before he hides it behind his hand. He scrubs them over his face before he laughs humorlessly. “Figures. Jesus H. Christ, I should know by now.”

Steve’s mind lingers on what Eddie said before. “And what if you had a way to know?”

Eddie shakes his head, confused. “What do you mean?”

Steve tries again. “Like, what if you had a measure to know the difference between lust and lo- passion.” Steve silently curses the slip up, hoping Eddie doesn’t notice.

But the other boy just frowns and crosses his arms. “Now how would I do that?”

“The same thing again, only I show you what it’s like on the other side of things.”

Eddie stares at him for a few seconds before inching closer. “You want to do that?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies instantly. “You of all people deserve to know.”

Eddie glances at the ground and shakes his head. “I don’t know about that.”

Steve’s heart breaks, wondering if he’ll be able to show him what he truly means to him. He slowly tilts up Eddie’s chin and takes a step closer, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. He lets his hand linger before resting it against Eddie’s jaw, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “You do,” Steve says, looking him in the eyes to show him the truth in what he’s saying.

“Steve…” Eddie says as if it’s a plea and simultaneously a disagreement.

And Steve answers him by leaning in and kissing him again. It’s like their first kiss shared in the hall moment earlier, but Steve doesn’t let it be a warm up this time. His left hand presses against Eddie’s back, pulling him in as close as he can. His other hand makes it way into Eddie’s hair, intertwining in the strands as he pulls away to breathe before reangling and kissing him again.

Eddie’s hand comes up to the back of his neck, grounding Steve as his lips move against Eddie’s slowly but firmly. They pull away for a moment, letting their breath intermingle as they catch it before they both move together again.

He lets Eddie learn what it’s like to take his time, enjoy the slowness and linger in the moment. To be held close and gently caressed.

Steve’s hand trails down from Eddie’s hair, tracing the same pathway from earlier but backwards, down his neck, his arms, and to his hands, intertwining their fingers together.

Eddie gasps lightly into the kiss as Steve squeezes his hand, and takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, letting Eddie explore rather than take.

Steve’s not sure how long they stand there, kissing as if there was no tomorrow, lingering in every moment. Breaking away momentarily to catch their breath before swooping back in, not letting the moment end. Because once it ends, they may never come back to it.

The thought hits Steve, drenching his thoughts with painful clarity. This is the moment everything he’s tried so hard to push down finally all comes up. No turning back now.

He pulls away from the kiss and rests his forehead against Eddie’s. He pants out his name quietly when Eddie tries to kiss him again.

He seems to understand, moving to rest his forehead against Steve’s before squeezing his eyes shut. Their hands remain intertwined.

Neither of them say a word, not wanting to break the moment or face reality.

But a question lays heavy on Steve’s mind.

“I don’t think it matters about what the kiss with the guy felt like. What matters is how did you feel during it?”

Eddie shakes his head and squeezes Steve’s hand. “Steve…”

“Eddie…”

Eddie takes a deep breath and whispers into the shared air between them, “Nothing close to what I just felt.”

Steve slowly pulls away and looks Eddie in the eye. “Are you sure?”

“Christ, Steve. No one has ever made me feel the way you just did.”

Steve pauses and asks, “What about other than that kiss? Do I make you feel like that all the time?”

Eddie’s hand loosens it grip as he steps back, shaking his head. “Don’t make me answer that, man.”

He’s stopped when Steve’s grip tightens, trying to keep him close. “You make me feel that way all the time,” Steve says, hoping he didn’t ruin everything they’ve built up to.

Eddie steps closer and cups his face. “You promise?”

Steve nods. “Yes.”

“Thank god. I was about to silently pine for the rest of my life. Shit,” Eddie says with a laugh.

Steve smiles, a laugh escaping from him as joy fills his entire body. “Yeah?”

“I was a fucking goner as soon as you kissed me the first time,” Eddie says.

Steve laughs, “I already was way before then.”

Eddie’s eyes widen. “You’re telling me I could’ve had this sooner?”

It’s seems like Steve’s incapable of doing anything but laugh.

“Steeeeve Harrington, we have so much lost time to make up for,” Eddie says, stepping closer.

“Tell me about it,” Steve says, moving in to kiss Eddie again.

He hopes eventually Eddie will forget what it was like to only know lust filled kisses, but, for now, he settles on helping him learn about passion and love.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie ficlet #stranger things

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seravphs · 1 year

Text

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — TEEN DAD! GOJO x FEM READER

When Megumi gets injured on a mission, you realize you’re not capable of taking care of a child.

wc — 1.8k

tags — misunderstandings; self doubt; the pitfalls of teenage parenting when you’re all child soldiers; mild angst with a happy ending; happens post sometimes a family is you, teen dad Gojo, and the six year old child he accidentally orphaned, part I of teen dad gojoverse, in which you and Gojo raise Megumi together.

You shove Megumi into his arms, a bundle of bloody black fabric and dead weight. Gojo doesn’t stumble - he never does - but it’s a close call as he instinctively wraps his arms around whatever you’ve pushed onto him.

“Teleport! Teleport!” You’re so frantic you’re incoherent. It takes a full minute, a minute you don’t have, before you realize that you can’t just say things. Gojo, as invincible as he is, can’t read your mind. You have to explain what’s going on, but how can you focus when Megumi is bleeding out? His little face is growing paler and paler by the second.

His hands are so tiny. Why is that the only thing you can focus on? They’re grasping the front of Gojo’s jacket for dear life as he coughs weakly.

“Teleport him back to HQ! Get Shoko!”

You resist the urge to shake Gojo by his lapels, slap some sense into him. It would only hurt Megumi. Why won’t he move?

“I can’t!”

“What do you mean you can’t? Go! He’s losing so much blood, you have to go now!”

You know you’re getting hysterical, but Megumi is dying right in front of you.

“I can’t teleport! There are conditions-“

“He’s going to die!”

“Stop- I need to think!”

In the back of your head, you can hear Shoko telling you in that cool and detached tone of hers that you’re hyperventilating.

Look, she says, you see that? You’re breathing too quickly. You feel lightheaded, right?

Gojo spreads his jacket out on the ground of the forest. “Help me get him ready. I’m going to sew up the cut.”

“Let me-“

“I’ll do it. I’ve done Getou’s before. You just focus on keeping him breathing.”

You can do that.

Hunched over Megumi’s body, Gojo gets to work. He looks so frail, spread on the grass with only Gojo’s jacket beneath him. His eyes are normally dark, but they’re blacker with pain, his pupils swallowing up his irises.

The first puncture of the needle makes him wail before he slaps his hand over his mouth. You peel it back and make vaguely soothing noises, trying to be comforting.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you murmur, letting him rest his head in your lap.

“You can scream, Megumi. I know it hurts. Oh, honey, I know. I know.” He’s making this face that agonizes you. His nose is all scrunched up as he clenches his jaw. He’s the type of kid that would rather chew up his suffering and swallow it back down then let anyone see it.

This happened on your watch.

Sick self hatred rises in your throat.

Gojo would’ve never let anything happen to Megumi.

He whimpers quietly and you flinch. Without even thinking of it, you reach for his hand. You force yourself not to tremble. You’re an adult. It’s your responsibility not to scare him like that.

His eyes are closed as Gojo grimly works the needle through, but there’s a jump in his frantic heartbeat, as tiny as a rabbit’s. You can detect it through the pulsing vein in his wrist, funneling blood to the injury only to waste it on air.

He’s such a brave kid - your brave little boy. You smooth his sticky wet hair back from his face, damp with sweat. He moans in pain and twists away. Your heart crumples.

It takes so much for him to be vocal about anything that hurts him. How much pain must he be in?

“Gojo,” you say.

“I’m trying!”

You know. Going any faster is likely to have dangerous consequences. This is the only way. How cruel. You have to hurt him to help him, and isn’t that just the story of your parenthood?

You curl around him, protective as if your body can shield him from his own body working against itself. The more blood he loses, the harder his body fights to keep him alive.

It’s an infinitely long minute before Gojo proclaims the grim deed finished. Megumi had passed out long beforehand, his death grip on your fingers slackening as the pain pushed him into nothingness.

He wakes up on the long drive back to campus. Ijichi has never bent so many speeding limits in his life. Normally a careful driver, he shoots furtive looks at the kid staining his back seats red. You can feel his judgment of what kind of parent you are settling over you.

Shoko must be thinking the same thing as she patches Megumi up in your kitchen. Her reverse cursed technique seals the cut up in seconds flat, though a scar remains, puckering the flesh of his forearm.

“Just like Utahime,” Gojo tells him, pinching his cheek. “You didn’t cry either, so you’re better than her.”

“Don’t talk about your seniors like that,” you say absentmindedly, though your mind could not be further from disciplining Gojo for his poor behavior.

You can’t send Megumi to the Zenins. You know what they’d do to a sweet kid like him. They’d turn him into a monster like his father. You shudder, thinking of the creature from your nightmares who had stolen the life of a sixteen year old girl, and nearly taken Gojo with him. You could never let them do that to Megumi. They probably wouldn’t take care of Tsumiki either, unless to hold her over his head. But just because they aren’t fit caretakers doesn’t mean you are.

“Hey.”

Gojo’s been trying to get your attention for who knows how long. When he sees that he finally has it, he sends Megumi off to bed and jerks his thumb at the door. Wordlessly, you follow him to the porch. It’s dimly lit from a singular overhead bulb without a covering. The two of you stand in a circle of light, the night outside pressing in against the walls of your home.

“What is it?” He says impatiently. “I fixed everything, didn’t I? Why are you still upset?”

“It’s not you,” you say. It’s so cliche, but what else is there to say? “It’s my fault.”

“Don’t,” he says softly.

You pull your hand back when he tries to take it. There’s a perverse sense of satisfaction in denying both of you what you want. You don’t deserve this.

He’s silent for a long time. You let the silence stew, determined to outlast him. Quickly, it becomes clear who has the upper hand. You shift from side to side, nervous and tense, while he just waits with his hands shoved in his pockets. When you finally look over, he’s wearing his sunglasses again. His hair glows under the porch light, attracting moths. “Finally felt like playing nice?”

He’s attractive when he’s mean. You hate that about him, the way the cruel twist of his mouth ties knots into your stomach. It would all be easier if you could hate him, but everything he does only makes you love him more.

What a twisted little family you’ve built for yourself.

He sighs. “Stop that. Don’t-“ he waves his hand in your general direction in frustration. “You always do that. It’s not your fault.”

“He needs a real parent, Gojo. I couldn’t protect him.”

“I was there too,” he says. “You don’t see me agonizing over my mistakes. It happens.”

What mistake, you think bitterly. Gojo’s only fault is trusting you with Megumi. He’s the strongest. If it was him, nothing would’ve happened.��

“It wasn’t your mistake. It was mine. If I hadn’t been there, everything would have been fine.”

“Again?” Gojo says quietly.

It’s a forceful reminder of how much you sound like Getou right now. He never recovered from what that monster - Megumi’s father - did to him. Even now, your class lives with the scars of that day. Gojo’s face is wistful for a brief moment, deluged by memories. Then it’s gone, wiped from his expression like it had never been there.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you say, wondering if it’s too late to take it back.

Gojo never falters. He’s unreasonable and childish, but he’s as solid as stone. You’ve watched him shoulder every single burden he’s ever been asked to carry since he was a child, and now he’s taken on one more. You promised Gojo that you would watch his back, regardless of whether he needed you or not. The words you spoke in a fit of anger and self pity bring you regret now. Weakness isn’t just failing to shield Megumi from all the dangers of sorcery that you wish you and Gojo had been protected from. Weakness is running away when it gets hard.

Megumi’s your baby.

You’re not going to give him up.

A step forward has you pressing into Gojo’s space. He doesn’t yield, watching you with those ancient eyes.

“I know it’ll only get harder, but it has to be us, right? Who else will keep him safe from the Zenins? I won’t leave, Gojo. I promise.”

His relieved expression contrasts with his smug words. There’s a crooked smile on his face when he says, “I knew you wouldn’t just abandon us. You think Megumi wants to stay with me? You’re the one keeping him here.”

“I get it,” you smack his arm. “No need for flattery. I’m with you until the end.”

“I’m not kidding,” he protests. “There’s no universe in which Megumi likes me more than you.”

How can you stay upset when he looks so proud of himself for finally figuring out the right thing to say to get you to stay?

“He doesn’t,” you insist.

Gojo rolls his eyes. “Don’t lie to me. Here, I’ll prove it.”

It’s not uncommon for Gojo to put Megumi to bed. In fact, it’s a chore he fights you for. It’s probably one of his favorite parts of having Megumi around. He likes telling stories, and surprisingly enough, he’s good at it. He gives each character its own voice. More often than not, he ends up as invested in the bedtime story as Megumi is. Tonight, when he closes the book, he doesn’t leave. The soft light of the lamp on the bedside table shines through a crack in the door as Gojo and Megumi talk in hushed whispers.

“I want my mom,” he says quietly.

You lean against the door, pressing your head to the wood to try to keep yourself from falling to the ground. You want to try. You want to be there for him. But Megumi needs his mother, not some teenager who can’t even take control of her own life, much less a child’s. You’re all he has, though, and you have to make it work. You wish Mrs. Fushiguro was still alive, even if that means you would’ve never gotten to meet him.

“Then ask her to come in,” Gojo says.

Megumi makes a startled noise. You can almost see him burrowing into his blankets.

“Go on,” Gojo coaxes. “Oh, come on. Don’t be shy now. You really won’t? Fine.”

He calls to you. “Come in, sweetheart. Don’t keep us waiting.”

The first thing you see when you open the door is Megumi’s head buried beneath the covers. Gojo’s trying to peel the sheets back.

“What are you hiding for? I brought you your mom! You should be thanking me!”

“I hate you!”

“I told you,” Gojo says. “He loves you more than me.”

#sera writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojou satoru x reader #gojou x reader #gojou fluff

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sttoru · 10 months

Text

“AS IF THE MEMORIES HAVE A HEART THAT ONLY BEATS AT NIGHT.”

༄ sypnosis. your boyfriend is on a business trip, yet always finds the time to call you at night. though, this time he’s lonely and in need of comfort.

༄ note. inspired by one of mahmoud darwish’s poems plus by my love for this man. sigh he’s so pretty. excuse me if this is too sappy.

༄ tags. satoru x reader. female reader. pet names such as ‘sweet, love, baby, babe, angel”. satoru is clingy. this is just uhh, fluff and sprinkles of angst + reverse comfort. spoilers jjk manga (stuff w/ suguru & toji).

“what are you doing,” “where are you,” and “who’s with you,”

satoru, as always, didn’t give you the chance to greet him properly once you picked up his call. your boyfriend was sent on a mission overseas and has been calling you every night since.

he says it’s to ‘hear your pretty voice’ and because he apparently ‘can’t survive without hearing it at least once a day’.

“satoru— love, calm down.” you chuckle softly, putting the call on speaker before going back to eat your dinner.

you hear the sorcerer let out a small whine over the phone, “my bad, sweet. you know i always look forward to speaking with you.”

you hum lightly in response. satoru has always had the habit to call you whenever he misses you even in the slightest of amounts.

some may find that annoying, however you’re aware that you are the only person satoru can rely on at the end of the day. that’s exactly why you try your best to answer all of his phone calls.

“how’d the mission go?” you ask after swallowing a bite of your food.

“pfft, the usual. dealt with some annoying curses that’ve been plaguing the area.” your boyfriend groans; he wished he didn’t have to take care of his duties so he could be with you all the time.

satoru just wanted to hold you in his arms, cuddle you, shower you with love, take you out on cute dates and spoil you with all kinds of gifts. his responsibilities as a teacher and as the strongest sorcerer constantly got in the way of that simple dream.

“good work, baby. you did well today.” you reply, earning a small ‘i-know-i-did’ huff from your boyfriend.

“thanks,” satoru adds, his voice muffled. it sounded like he had some food in his mouth, which you easily guessed was something sweet, “you know.. i was thinking about us— eh, you in particular.”

a silence falls over the phone afterwards. it was like satoru gave you a moment to process his words before he continues.

“well, when do you not think about me?” you snicker.

you couldn’t see it, but satoru rolled his eyes at your comment before letting a chuckle escape his lips, “hey! was trying to create a sentimental mood there.”

“but, i guess— yeah. true.” your words were the truth; satoru was a hopeless man when it came to you. you’ve invaded his thoughts, his heart and even his soul.

“anyways,” your boyfriend continues, pausing slightly to swallow the snack in his mouth, “i know i say this every day, but i wish you were here with me.”

you stop chewing on your food as soon as you hear the slight change of tone in satoru’s voice. you immediately knew that he needed you at the moment.

“mhm, i know,” you reply quietly. you wanted to let him get it all out before comforting him properly with your words.

satoru took that short answer as a sign to keep talking and opening up about his feelings to you.

“it’s just,” he sighs defeatedly, “actually, i don’t know. i guess being alone during times like these really gets to me.”

satoru stared at the ceiling as he laid on his back. his phone was on the pillow right next to his head, also on speaker.

when he’s with you, it’s easy to forget about all kinds of gloomy thoughts that may enter his mind. all satoru has to do is focus his attention on you and he won’t have any time to dwell on such stuff.

however when he’s alone, he’s left with his own brain and the thoughts that ate away at him ever since the inevitable incident with toji a few years ago.

suguru. amanai.

rustling sounds; satoru’s moving positions on his bed to somehow focus on your voice again.

“i guess it’s also because it’s unknown what the future holds.” satoru pauses. this time the pause was for him to collect his thoughts.

you knew what he meant by that; satoru had went through a few traumatic events over the years. he’s faced betrayal, loss and death ever since he was a teenager.

even if he doesn’t say nor show it, satoru is scared of what the future holds for him. especially with you in the picture now— he doesn’t want you to change or disappear on him. the thought alone makes his heart ache.

“..hey, can you promise me one thing, angel?” satoru eventually speaks up again, his voice a hushed whisper over the phone.

“of course. what is it?” you answer softly.

a third and short silence falls between you again.

“promise me that you’ll stay safe.” satoru sounds like he’s desperately trying to keep his tone neutral, however you could sense some vulnerability in there.

now that you’re thinking about it, you’ve never seen or heard satoru cry out in sadness or distress. though you know for sure that those feelings are building up somewhere inside of him. it’s only a matter of time before they need to be released.

“i promise,” you start in a comforting tone, “i promise i’ll stay safe, satoru.”

you could hear your boyfriend sigh in relief. just a small promise like that was enough to calm him down a little. for now, that is.

“i’ve failed many people before,” satoru continues, still trying to keep the tone of his voice neutral, “however, i will not fail you.”

you nod to yourself. the rest of your dinner was getting cold as you used your chopsticks to absentmindedly poke the rice while listening to satoru over the phone.

“you’re too important for me to lose,” he murmurs, taking a deep breath to steady his voice, “if it ever comes to that.. i don’t know what i’ll do.”

satoru actually doesn’t know how he’ll react or what he’ll do if you—the only person worth fighting for—would leave him; will all the thoughts come crashing down on him and cause him to finally break down?

he doesn’t know. nor does he want to find out. ever.

“don’t you worry, love.” you answer, “i hereby promise you that i won’t leave your side any time soon.”

you sigh, a small smile on your face which satoru couldn’t witness. you figured to cheer him up with your own words— it felt like he needed a mix of distraction and comfort at the moment and that’s what you wanted to give him.

“i’m not going anywhere. you’re completely and utterly stuck with me for now.” you playfully warn him, putting emphasis on the two words, “there’s no backing out of this, ‘toru.”

the sorcerer couldn’t help but laugh slightly at your last remark; you always knew how to make him feel better in an instant. that’s why he loved you to death,

“make that forever and we have a deal.”

“fiiine,” you reply in an over exaggerated tone before giggling, “forever it is. don’t get bored of me any time soon then.”

“oh, don’t you worry, angel.” satoru chuckles, sighing the stress away in one deep breath, “i’ll never get bored of my favourite girl. never in a million years.”

he sits up on his bed before standing up and walking to the window of his hotel room. satoru looked outside while grabbing another snack from a nearby table.

the sky was beautiful; it reminded him of you, though your beauty was no match for the sky. you were prettier than nature itself.

“satoru.” you call out to him over the phone and he immediately snaps back to reality.

“yeah, baby?” he replies, unwrapping his chocolate bar with one hand in the meantime.

“be reaaaal honest with me. like really honest.” a grin forms on your face as you thought of what to say next.

“you know i always speak the truth with you,” satoru mutters with a smile while putting a piece of chocolate in his mouth, “go on.”

“how many of those chocolate bars have you eaten today?”

the question caught satoru off guard and he instantly stops chewing.

satoru turns his head to the left and then to the right, eyes narrowed and body in a defensive stand like somebody was going to attack him any time soon.

“wh— the hell? how did you know? don’t tell me you’ve been secretly watchin’ me the entire time.”

you could already picture the way he’s probably checking his entire hotel room at the moment. your poor boyfriend may be strongest, but not when it comes to such silly ‘scary’ stuff. it’s adorable.

“babe, you never go a day without eating that one specific chocolate bar.” you giggle softly, taking another bite of your own food, “i’ve come to know your eating habits by now.”

“that so?” satoru grins to himself as he puts another piece in his mouth, “what am i thinking at the moment then? if you know me so well.”

you roll your eyes and get up to put your dishes away, taking your phone with you to the sink. “hmm.. well let me think.”

“take all the time you need, baby.”

satoru constantly tells you that you’re always on his mind, so you figured that this time wouldn’t be any different.

you know it’d probably be something sappy that’ll make you both giggle uncontrollably.

“maybe, something like—“ you start in a teasing tone, “i don’t know, uhh— ‘i love you?’”

there it goes; the uncontrollable giggles and laughter that fill both of your ears. it felt like you were two young teenagers in love again.

“damn, i’m really that predictable, huh?” satoru eventually says, trying to catch his breath as his tummy started to hurt from laughing so much.

“nah. i’d say it’s the power of love.”

another fit of laughter follows.

so, the night went on and on; going from discussions about random stupid stuff to deep philosophical conversations and back to the cheesy, lovey dovey remarks.

and of course, the call wouldn’t end without a direct and sleepy ‘i love you’ from your dear boyfriend.

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #jjk x you #gojo fic #satoru x reader #satoru x you #jjk fic

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handful0fteeth · 2 years

Text

hot for teacher

summary: you’re going on your first date with steve harrington, and hours before he’s due to pick you up your best friend gives you some rather unsavory information.

pairings: steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: smut, minors DNI, explicit language, dirty talk, (slight) rough sex

words: 13.6k

EDIT (09/24/2023): i am not a “no beta we die like men” person, but this?? she was not up to my standards. so i fixed her! enjoy ya horny bastards

"You know I heard Steve Harrington can't eat pussy?"

This announcement from your best friend is enough to make you choke on the mouthful of sandwich you're chewing on and spew chunks of it all over the table.

You drop your food noisily back onto its plate and reach for your drink, struggling to breathe while there's still turkey and lettuce lodged in your esophagus. The diner's patrons ogle you as you attempt to collect yourself, some concerned, some plain annoyed.

"Christ, dude!" Kelsey laughs, leaning over the table and thumping you hard on your back. You wave her hand off and guide your straw into your mouth, desperately gulping down Coke with one hand pressed to your chest as if that’ll ensure the food doesn't take a wrong turn on the way down.

"You have to - fuck, dude - you have to give a girl some warning before you just say shit like that, Kels," you sputter. You wipe a hand across your damp eyes and take a couple of steadying breaths, and finally, the reality of what Kelsey just said hits you. You look up and blink away the tears to get a clear look at her.

"Steve Harrington can't eat pussy?" you ask quietly, not wanting to attract any more attention. Kelsey nods, a smug grin plastered across her face. "Apparently, it's like a dog trying to drink water," she giggles. "Katie Kaspbrak went out with him last week, and she's been telling everyone how God-awful he is at head."

"Katie Kaspbrak? The same girl who swore half of the staff at school was in love with her?" You lean back against the cool vinyl of the booth and cough lightly, suddenly less interested in this gossip now that you've learned the source.

Katie Kaspbrak would lie about what she had for breakfast if she thought it would make her seem more interesting. Actually, now that you think about it, she has done that.

"That's what I thought too," Kelsey continues, "until Belinda Carter and Donna Greene overheard her, and they said the same thing. Belinda said she was so shocked that she just faked it until he thought she came and then made an excuse to leave."

You pause. Katie Kaspbrak is one thing, but two other girls? That can’t all be a coincidence.

But… it's Steve Harrington. Every girl - and some of the boys - you've ever spoken to have the hots for him, whether they want to admit it or not, and how could he be so sought after if he gives such a piss-poor performance at something so fundamental? You pick at an errant lettuce leaf that juts out from the edge of your disheveled sandwich, pretending to find it fascinating so you don't have to look at Kelsey's elated expression anymore.

"Why are you waiting until now to tell me this?" you ask. Kelsey leans back in her seat and pops a french fry in her mouth, glancing at the dusty clock that hangs in the diner's lobby.

"Just wanted to give you something to look forward to before your date, Y/N," she says with barely contained glee. "I can't wait to hear all about it tomorrow." You shoot her a dirty look.

"Who says we're even gonna go that far tonight?" you counter, but you both know you're full of shit. You look down and pick at the skin around your fingernails to avoid Kelsey's knowing gaze because if you meet it, she'll see the uncertainty written all over your face.

She loves messing with you like this; she's done it for almost every date you've ever gone on, regardless of who it's with. You pick up your sandwich and take a too-big bite to avoid having to talk anymore.

"Yeah, right. You've wanted to bang Steve since the moment you saw him, but you'll magically dry up the second you get the chance. Sounds legit."

You stick out your tongue, letting Kelsey get a nice view of the smushed-up chunks of meat and bread hanging off it, but it doesn’t deter her snickering.

Her smug declaration is all you can think of for the rest of the day. It's so distracting that, while getting ready, you accidentally kiss the burning hot barrel of your curling iron to your temple and put your shoes on the wrong feet twice.

Who says that you have to go down that path tonight, anyway? Who says Steve is even the kind of dude to want to fuck on the first date?

Well...everyone who attended Hawkins High says, actually. Son of a bitch.

Perhaps you could just go down on him and insist he doesn't have to return the favor; it's not like most of the guys you've been with haven't leaped at the opportunity to skip the preamble and shove their dick in something anyway. The only problem with that is…you really wanna fuck Steve Harrington.

Really, really badly.

And you want it to be as good as it possibly can be. You've wanted this for years, and now that you've both graduated, who knows how long Steve plans to stick around in Hawkins so you can have your chance?

The time Steve promised he'd pick you up rolls around quicker than you'd anticipated. In the mirror, you smooth down your skirt one final time and fluff up your curls.

Kelsey doesn't know what she's talking about, you decide. Who were you to listen to gossip spread around by Katie Kaspbrak anyway? You practice smiling brightly in the mirror and notice a smear of lipstick across your front teeth. You lick at the stain and then rub it away with your index finger. It would be fine.

Everything would be fine…right?

A car horn beeps twice before you can successfully reassure yourself.

He's here.

Oh, God.

You fly down the stairs two at a time, briefly worrying about how humiliating it would be to crack your head open before your date and snatch your purse off the kitchen table as you say goodbye to your mother. She reminds you of your curfew, and you give a vague acknowledgment as you pull the front door shut behind you.

In the faint evening light, Steve's maroon BMW is almost black, glimmering in the sour yellow streetlight like the shell of a beetle. Your heart leaps into your throat, but you croak a "Hi!" around it. Steve Harrington climbs out of his car gracefully, and his easy smile, accompanied by the bouquet of flowers he has clutched in his hand, is enough to make your knees wobble a bit.

"You look really pretty," he says, eyes flickering up and down your body. You're grateful for the dim outdoor lighting as your face flushes scarlet. "Thanks. Are those for me?" you ask, pointing at the bouquet. You wanna kick yourself as soon as you finish saying it. Of course, they're for you, you absolute buffoon. You’re on a date - who else would he be carrying flowers for?

Steve chuckles chuckles under his breath and extends them toward you. "You said these were your favorite, right? I saw 'em while I was getting stuff for tonight, so…Yeah." You gingerly take the flowers from him and bury your nose in the petals, inhaling their fresh scent as you look up at him through your lashes. He’s clenching and unclenching his fists by his sides, though his expression remains as casual as ever.

Is he…nervous?

He reaches in front of you as you walk up to the passenger side of the car and opens the door, bowing his head and gesturing for you to come inside exaggeratedly. You giggle and sink into the leather seats as he scurries around the car's hood. As he swings the door shut behind him and settles in behind the wheel, you silently draw a few steadying breaths.

The inside of his car smells distinctly of cologne and floral soap, so much so that you have to briefly wonder if he got his car detailed in anticipation of your date. His cologne is woody and sweet, not so strong that it stings behind your eyes, but you know the scent will stick to your clothes whether he lays a hand on you tonight or not. The thought makes your stomach flutter a little. As he revs the engine, you absently twirl the stem of a flower around your finger.

"By the way," he says as he pulls out of your driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires. "If you hear something clunking around back there while we drive, that's just Lucille."

You cock an eyebrow. "Lucille?"

You swear you see the ghost of a knowing smile creep across his lips, but an evening shadow cuts across his face before you're entirely sure. "Just a safety measure, that's all."

~~~

The date is more perfect than you could have ever imagined it to be. Steve takes you to a restaurant near the video store where he works, a little Italian place that's surprisingly upscale - at least, upscale for Hawkins. Your fingers don't get the opportunity to graze a door handle or the back of a chair the entire time, as he's always right behind you, reaching around your body to beat you to it.

His gaze never leaves your face when you talk, and he's so clearly hanging on every word you lose your train of thought a few times. It's jarring to have the guy you've been obsessed with for so long give you his undivided attention - in a good way, of course, but that doesn't stop the words from getting caught in your throat.

He’s so pretty it's hard to maintain a coherent thought; all you want to do is stare at him and memorize the details of his face. The way his hair gently curves over his forehead, and he pushes a hand through the soft fringe to get it out of his eyes; the way his eyes sparkle in the warm, low light of the restaurant, transfixed on you like you're the single most intriguing thing he's ever laid them on.

You're not even halfway through offering to pay for half of the meal when he informs you he slipped his card to the host before you were even sat, and it's already taken care of. You insist he at least let you cover dessert - a small square of tiramisu you both nibble at - but he waves you off.

"You can pay for the next date," he says coolly, smiling behind a sip of his drink. You pull the cloth napkin from your lap and pretend to dab food from your mouth so you can hide your giddy smile and blushing cheeks. Next date, huh?

After dinner, he drives you to the outskirts of Hawkins, parking in a clearing in the forest that overlooks the blinking lights of the small city below. You have a perfect view of the moon as it gleams in the sky, full and white, and the stars glitter against the black velvet of the night without all the light pollution.

You sit on the hood of his car, legs crossed under you, picking at a loose thread on the hem of your skirt as it pools in your lap. You tug a too-big jacket tighter around your shoulders, a gift plucked from his trunk once he saw you shiver from the autumnal air against your skin.

Steve is leaning back on his palms, head dropped between his shoulders as he stares at the sky. Goosebumps ripple across his skin, and every so often, his body twitches forward with a slight shiver, but he seems content enough in his short-sleeved shirt.

He catches you staring and chuckles when you avert your eyes and pretend to be fascinated by the paint on his car.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" he asks.

"A cute guy," you respond, your voice smaller than you intended. You clear your throat.

"That's so funny; I was just looking at a cute girl!" he exclaims, and you laugh. "Crazy how that works, huh?"

"Aren't you freezing?" you ask. Steve shrugs.

"I'm alright. It's refreshing. Keeps me awake," he murmurs.

A few minutes of silence pass comfortably. You listen to the sounds of the forest around you, only slightly concerned when you hear a twig snap in the distance or something rustle in the foliage beyond the car. But Steve's lack of interest in either puts you at ease. After a while, he points at a random spot in the sky and announces, "Found it!"

"Found what?"

"My friend Dustin - total nerd, by the way - was talking my ear off yesterday about constellations, like, how to find them and shit, and I found one!" He gestures for you to scoot closer without taking his eyes off his discovery, apparently not wanting to lose his spot. You do so, body hovering close enough to his that you can feel the warmth radiating off his skin, and his cologne wafts pleasantly back up into your nose. You follow the direction his finger is pointing in, scanning the inky blackness of the sky.

"Do you see it?" he asks excitedly.

"Did your nerdy friend happen to tell you what this constellation was called?"

"Uh. Ursula…something…I think. He said it was "the littler one" of the two."

"Ursa minor?" you posit. Steve snaps his fingers and points at you affirmatively.

"There you go! Do you see it?"

You shake your head. The name is familiar, but you don't remember what it's supposed to look like. You mostly slept through your astronomy class in high school.

Suddenly, an arm drapes itself around your shoulders and pulls you in, and warm fingers caress the sides of your jaw, tilting your face further upwards. Apparently, Steve has decided that the best way to help you see what he sees is by manually guiding you in the proper direction, so he's pressed your bodies together and is trying to angle your head in just the right spot.

Your stomach flips, and your heart jumps into your throat. This time, you're worried you'll choke on it. You're sure Steve can feel the blush in your cheeks burning beneath his fingertips, but he's either too engrossed in Ursa Minor to care or is choosing not to mention it.

"Right…there. See?" Steve says, voice notably lower than before and now right against the shell of your ear. A shiver walks its fingers down your spine.

“O-Oh, yeah,” you stammer. You do see it, a tail of shimmering dots curling into a small rectangle of stars, but you're more focused on Steve's mouth right out of the corner of your eye, his lips parted and quirked up into a smile. His hair brushes against your cheek as he turns his head toward you, and his index finger presses itself against the curve of your jaw to encourage you to look at him.

His eyes shine in the moonlight, dark and kind, as they flit over the details of your face, lingering the longest on your lips. He's warm and solid against you, and you tentatively place your fidgety hand on his knee.

He's so beautiful, you think to yourself. It isn't a word you've ever used for the other men you've dated, but it fits Steve well. A square jaw still soft at the edges with youth, wide brown eyes framed by lashes so thick and long that they fan across his cheekbones when he blinks, full pink lips barely parted and pursed like he has something to say. Beautiful.

Steve’s finger slides down the edge of your face until it reaches your chin, pinching it between bent thumb and forefinger. He leans in close enough that you can feel his breath wash over your lips.

You, on the other hand, forget how to breathe entirely.

He hesitates, and you feel a tug in your stomach as the thought of him pulling away from you occurs. Does your breath offend? You did eat a lot of garlic bread at the restaurant. Maybe you should've packed gum in your purse -

"Is this okay?" he murmurs. You blink, a little caught off guard by the question.

“Huh?” Very astute.

“This,” he says, and his thumb presses itself briefly in the center of your bottom lip as if to punctuate what he means. “I mean…can I kiss you?”

You swallow hard to avoid swooning at the question and clear your throat. "Yes. Yes, please kiss me."

He barely even has to move to capture your lips, so softly at first, like he’s afraid you’ll suddenly change your mind if he applies more pressure. Electricity thrums beneath your skin, zapping every nerve you have until your entire body is lit up with excitement. Your free hand trembles as you rest it against his chest. His heart thumps wildly beneath your palm, indicating that Steve Harrington is just as nervous as you are right now. This helps you to relax a bit, strangely.

Steve's arm slides down from your shoulders to wrap around your waist and pulls you firmly against him. He smiles against your mouth as a contented sigh escapes you and pulls away just enough to mumble, "Still okay?"

You bunch up the fabric of his shirt in your fingers and bring your lips back together, kissing him with more fervor. He hums against your mouth, satisfied with his answer, and his smile grows almost imperceptibly.

When he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip, you gasp, and his hand slips up to the nape of your neck and buries itself in your hair. He doesn't pull, just holds you firmly in place, and though the act is relatively small, its possessive nature makes you unconsciously sink into his touch. Your mind races with thoughts of what it would feel like if Steve did pull, just a little - how your neck would bend forward, how your eyes would be forced skyward, and how you'd have no choice but to arch toward him as he kept you where he wanted you.

He keeps you still as he pulls away, chuckling at the little mewl that falls out of your mouth at the lack of contact. He soothes you with kisses peppered down the expanse of your neck, pausing only to nip and lick at random spots of flesh. You moan breathily into his hair as he sucks on a patch of skin just above the neckline of your shirt, and your hand creeps even further up his thigh.

"If you give me a hickey…my mom will kill me," you breathe, and Steve snickers against your neck.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks. The thought is enough to make your stomach sink with dread. You shake your head ardently. He grazes his teeth against your throat, his satisfied grin tangible against your buzzing skin.

"I didn’t think so."

He makes his way back up to your lips after sucking another hickey into your flesh, this time thankfully below where your clothing can cover, and doesn't waste a second slipping his tongue into your mouth.

You swear you'll turn to liquid any second now and slip straight through Steve's fingers. Steve tastes faintly of tiramisu still, and you eagerly chase after the taste, your tongues sliding against each other. The hand in your hair glides down your spine and pauses above your ass. His fingers twitch hesitantly against the hem of his jacket, hiking it up only to smooth it back down several times. He waits for you to move to give him some indication that you want to go further.

So, you oblige him.

You pull away, a thin line of saliva connecting your lips. It's Steve's turn to whine at the empty space where your mouth used to be, and it's a sound that resonates right into the fingers still curled against his chest. It makes a feral heat stir in your belly, and you make a brief mental note to find what else elicits that noise from Steve Harrington's lips later.

You decide if there was any moment in your life to be bold - it's right now. You use the hand on his chest to nudge him up the hood of the car so his back is flush with the windshield, and before he can question what you're doing, you swing one leg over his lap and sit, straddling him.

He takes a surprised breath and smiles at you, the moonlight making his eyes shimmer like liquid bronze. You kiss him again, and he boldly reaches down and grabs two generous handfuls of your ass. With a groan, you roll your hips back into him, urging him to grab more, grab harder.

Your hands grip either side of his slim waist and dip below the edge of his shirt. His skin is so warm compared to the chill of the evening, and you find yourself wanting to do anything to obtain more of his heat.

"Do you…wanna head inside the car?" he asks breathlessly, kissing the corners of your lips and down your jaw. "It's a lot more comfortable."

"I'm pretty comfortable right here," you say, and Steve laughs. He sits up straight and slots his hands under your knees, pulling you forward and down so you sit directly on his crotch. Despite the multiple layers of clothing between you both, you definitely feel something hard nudging at your inner thigh, and you let out a noise that's half surprise, half arousal.

"He's getting a bit restless if you catch my drift," Steve drawls, capturing your chin between his thumb and forefinger again. Your eyes flicker downward as if you’d be able to see with your legs and his jeans in the way. God, you want to see it, though, need to see it.

"'Course, if you're uncomfortable, we don't have to,” he says quietly, earnestly. “It’s up to you, Y/N.”

Your answer is to grind down on his dick hard enough that he pushes air out through his gritted teeth and grips your ass tighter. "Like I said," you purr against the shell of his ear, "I'm plenty comfortable."

Though Steve helps you back onto solid ground gingerly, there's a tautness to his muscles, a stiffness in how he moves that belies how desperate he is to get you into the car. He tries to adjust the front of his jeans casually, and you pretend to be staring into the treeline when he glances in your direction. You cock your head a bit in confusion when you notice him pull something long and thin out from below the backseat. It appears wooden, and the flared nub at the bottom is familiar enough that you realize it's probably a baseball bat. However, the top of the bat is oddly lumpy and seems to be covered in something spiky; you can't tell for sure what that could be because it's wrapped tightly in a tattered blue towel.

He pops the trunk and throws it inside, acknowledging your puzzled expression after slamming it shut with a calm smile. "Lucille," he says simply. You decide you'll ask about it later. If you remember.

What you do remember, as soon as your back is nestled against the interior car door and Steve slots himself between your thighs, fingertips pushing the fabric of your skirt further up around your hips, is the conversation you had with Kesley.

"You know Steve Harrington can't eat pussy?"

You try to push the thought from your head by carding your fingers through Steve's hair, marveling at how soft it is while he plants kisses along your inner thighs. His lips brush across the intersection of your hip and thigh so gently that it makes you squirm a bit. Steve, despite your efforts, takes notice.

"Ticklish?"

"Uh. No?"

It's a lie. A bad one.

Steve smirks up at you and pushes your skirt past your pelvis, over your panties. Before you can stop him, his mouth is latched down over the sensitive juncture of your thigh, and you squeal in protest. Your breathless laughter and pleas for him to stop go unheeded, and he pins your writhing hips to the leather of the backseat so he can continue sucking a bright red hickey into your skin. Seemingly satisfied, he pulls off with a pop and strokes a finger over his handiwork. You bump his head with your knee, a halfhearted attempt to get him to stop prodding.

"Cute panties," he says lowly, and his finger follows the thick tendon that runs from your inner thigh to the edge of the cotton fabric. He drags the tip of it just underneath the seam of the gusset, pulling it far enough from your skin that it snaps back and makes you flinch. You remember agonizing over which pair to wear while you dressed - everything was too itchy, tight, plain, or extravagant for a first date. You only settled on the blush pink pair currently hugging your hips because they were the least offensive thing you could find.

You swallow hard, your hands fidgeting from their place atop your chest, and reflexively try to shut your legs. You're suddenly painfully aware of Steve staring at you, your most intimate part. A thin scrap of cloth is the only thing that separates your pussy from Steve Harrington's eyes, and while it's not like no one has ever seen you in states very similar to this, this time is…different.

The butterflies in your stomach are hammering against your ribcage and fluttering into your lungs, threatening to cut off your air supply entirely. You're sure you're going to suffocate before he can make any further moves, and you're gonna pass out right in the back of Steve Harrington's car before he's even really done anything -

“Y/N?”

Steve's warm hand squeezing your hip pulls you from your thoughts. You pull the pooled fabric of your skirt up against your stomach so you can look at his face. His expression is hued with concern.

"Hm?"

"Are you okay?" His thumb rubs in small, soft circles above the purpling hickey on your thigh.

"Yeah! I'm totally fine, I just…sorry, I kinda got lost in thought."

"Are you sure? I can stop if you need me to, yanno, if you're feelin'...like, weird about any of this."

You shake your head and smile, brushing a lock of hair off his forehead. "I'm absolutely fine, Steve. I promise you. Did you say something before? I didn't hear you."

"I, uh…" He curls the tip of his finger beneath the gusset of your panties again, this time tugging experimentally. "Just wanted to know if I could take these off."

Your face is scorchingly hot, and if it weren't for the shadows cascading over the both of you, you’re sure Steve would laugh his ass off at the shade of red your cheeks have achieved. Any verbal response you might muster is lodged impossibly tight in your throat, so you just nod, let your legs fall further apart, and lift your hips off the seat so he can work your panties down your legs.

He does so with something akin to reverence, inching the fabric further and further off your body until his warm breath unfurls over your bare skin in deep, measured breaths. He carelessly tosses your panties somewhere in the front of his car, eyes transfixed on the spot between your legs. You're torn between wanting to yank your shirt collar over your eyes so you don't have to look at the deferent expression on his face, the damn near worshipful look in his dark eyes, and wanting to sit up to get an even better look at him.

"Wow… you're…fuck." Steve Harrington is at a loss for words because of you. You keep the glow of pride you feel at that fact to yourself…for now. You pull your legs back toward your chest, hooking one hand under your knee ditch to hold it steady and give him a better look.

"Are you, uh…can I, like, eat you out?" he asks, and though part of you inwardly leaps for joy at the request, another part wants to suggest he do literally anything else.

You're being stupid, you chide yourself. Who gives a shit what Katie Kaspbrak or her stupid friends say? They're probably full of it anyway. Why are you entertaining the idea of telling Steve fucking Harrington he can't eat you out?

"Yes, please," you hear yourself breathe out despite your internal reservations. Steve smiles and raises a hand to replace the one keeping your leg pulled back. You take note of the way he licks his lips before he brings his mouth down against your pussy.

It's…well…it's interesting.

His tongue bypasses your clit completely and instead presses against your urethra, of all places. It isn't flat or relaxed; instead, a stiff pinpoint of muscle grinding uncomfortably into a spot that is decidedly not meant for that kind of stimuli. You shift, uneasy, but he seems to interpret it as a pleasured movement, which only spurs him on. He digs the tip of his tongue harder into your flesh, and you're grateful he can't see how your face is screwed up in distress.

Oh, God…oh, God. It really is awful. It's almost excruciating, and Katie Kaspbrak was fucking right. What do you do? What will he say if you tell him it's not good? Will he get embarrassed or hurt or even angry? Has anyone ever tried to tell him that this was wrong before?

You're conflicted and debating on just letting him finish up and possibly lying for the rest of time that Steve Harrington is a champion at eating pussy, until his tongue flicks upward and the unrelenting nub of his tongue stabs into your clit. You yelp involuntarily and yank your leg out of his hand, tightening your thighs. You press your fingers against your slit, hoping to soothe the throbbing ache Steve's harsh ministrations have brought on.

"What, what happened?" he asks, frantic, sitting up as much as he can in the confined space of the backseat.

He looks so much like a kicked puppy it's physically painful, maybe more painful than the burning sensation in your clit, and you consider for a moment just brushing it off as a leg cramp and letting him continue as if it's the best head in the world.

But you can't. You won't. If Steve doesn't know what he's doing wrong, he can't fix it, right? You just hope he's genuinely ignorant of how unrefined his skills are and not just overconfident and uncaring. The apologetic expression he's wearing is encouraging that it's the former.

"I…that hurt," you hiss between your teeth. "That hurt a lot."

"I'm so sorry," he says, reaching towards you instinctively, but then he seems to reconsider and takes his hands back. They rest atop his knees, clenching and unclenching, just like when he picked you up. "I…I thought that's what girls liked. I haven't…no one's told me any different, and I don't, like, have a bunch of practice - I mean, I've had practice, but no one's ever said anything before. I had no idea I was hurting you. I don't…I don't have to do that if you don't want it. I can do something else. I mean, Nance never really liked it when I did that either, so-"

He stops, eyes widening once it dawns on him what just came out of his mouth. Admittedly, you're a little shocked yourself. You attempt to keep your expression neutral to not make him feel worse, but you clearly fail because Steve cringes away when he catches a glimpse of your face.

"Shit…sorry. I shouldn't… it's not cool to bring up your ex on a first date. I know that. I'm sorry…Look, if you wanna go home, I get it. I kinda messed shit up, so I can-"

He's so fixated on his contrite ramblings that he doesn't notice when you sit up, nor when your hands cup either side of his face, and he only stops talking once you've pressed your lips against his, making it physically impossible. You feel the tension melt out of his body, and he tentatively grips your elbows.

"I'm fine," you start, leaning your forehead against his. His breaths escape in panicked, warm bursts against your lips. "I don't need to go home. I'm absolutely perfect here, with you. You didn't stab me with a burning hot poker or anything, so I'm doing pretty alright." The corners of his lips twitch upward in a sad suggestion of a smile. You should know better; you shouldn't ask about Nancy Wheeler even if Steve accidentally brought her up first, but you can't help the question that ripples from your lips.

"What do you mean, 'Nance never liked it?'" you ask carefully, and his muscles flex beneath your fingers. You're treading on thin ice. You rub your thumbs over his cheekbones, attempting to put him at ease and have his eyes meet yours.

"It's… it's stupid," Steve mutters, eyes downcast at his lap. "She…Nancy really, super hated it when I went down on her. I never thought about it too hard, I guess. I chalked it up to her being kinda uptight and just moved on, but now it makes way more sense. I suck. Of course, she hated it." He offers a dry, humorless sound you suppose is his attempt at a laugh.

"Did she ever, like…tell you what you were doing wrong?" you ask softly.

"Yeah…well, no, not exactly. I don't know. She'd usually just sit up and tell me she wanted to do something else, and when I asked what was up, she would just dance around the question, and we'd do something else and…I stopped trying after that. I should've asked questions."

"Well, you can ask them now. If you'd like."

Steve finally lifts his gaze to meet yours, and his eyes are markedly brighter than before. "If it's not too astoundingly lame…yeah, that'd be great. What exactly hurt about it? Was I too rough?"

"Partially that, and partially how rigid your tongue was," you giggle. "It feels much better if you loosen up. Think more like licking a lollipop than Vlad the Impaler."

Steve laughs sincerely at that one, and his head tilts forward to rest on your shoulder. "Vlad the Impaler, huh? That's pretty bad."

"It is, but it's nothing you can't improve on. I'll even let you practice if you want." Steve sits straight, his once crestfallen expression replaced with wide, hopeful eyes and a hint of a genuine smile on his lips.

"Seriously?"

"Mm-hm. I'll guide you through it, like, uh...like a pussy-eating professor."

Steve snorts and kisses you briefly. His hands move to your hips in twitchy anticipation, unsure whether or not he should settle on your bare flesh or the hem of your skirt. It's almost like he suddenly doesn't know where to start. You decide for him; you lay your hands over his and guide them toward your body, bringing them up beneath your skirt and settling them on the bare skin of your hips.

"Give me a reason to tangle my fingers in that famous hair, pretty boy."

Without warning, you're pulled forward hard enough to fall unceremoniously onto your back, nearly thumping your head against the door handle. Steve almost concusses you in his excitement, but you can't bring yourself to care once you feel his breath washing over your exposed slit in warm, quick puffs. You sigh contentedly and thread your fingers through the hair at his temples.

"Loosen up, right?" he hums, and you make an affirmative noise high in your throat when you remember he can't see you nod.

"Start at the bottom," you say quickly, "and work your way up. Don't go straight for the clit, just-"

The sensation of Steve's hot, wet tongue licking a flat stripe up your cunt, slowly and carefully, makes your brain short-circuit. The instructions fizzle and die on your tongue, and you forget why you were speaking for a moment.

"Like that?"

"Huh? Yeah…yeah, like that. You don't have to just lick, either. You can like, um…suck on certain areas, like the lips and the - fucking shit -"

Steve is, apparently, a fast and very ambitious learner - before you can finish a complete sentence, he's applying your advice fucking beautifully. He licks another long, languid stripe up your pussy and sucks gently on your labia, tugging lightly with closed lips. Shifting his face upward, his nose grazes your clit, eliciting an unexpected moan. One hand flies above your head, fumbling for the handle on the car's roof for purchase, and you keep the other firmly planted in his hair.

"Still good?" His voice has an edge, much cockier now than it was just a few moments ago. He's so entertained by your reactions, and you don't know if it makes you mad, turns you on, or both. You decide that's not important because his mouth isn't on you anymore, and you can't stand for that.

"Fucking fantastic."

"Any more lessons to teach me?" he asks smugly. His hands are splayed across your inner thighs, spreading you open just slightly, and his thumbs are massaging your outer lips as he talks. His tone ignites something defiant within you. You push yourself up on your elbows and stare down at him evenly, meeting his eyes. His rediscovered confidence is undoubtedly hot, so hot you can feel your arousal starting to leak onto the upholstery beneath your ass, but it's in your nature to want to challenge him a little bit.

"Here's one," you rasp. You fist a hand into Steve's hair, gripping it tightly by the roots, and shove his face deeper into your cunt. You toss both legs over his shoulders and lock them at the ankles.

"Give that mouth something useful to do other than fuckin' talk."

You swear to everything holy, you hear Steve Harrington growl.

He dives into your pussy with renewed fervor, fingers still keeping you opened up for him, and laps at the rivulet of slick drooling out of your hole. Once the taste hits his tongue, he moans into you and pushes his face so deep you can feel the light stubble on his cheeks grazing your sensitive folds.

Your back arches, lifting you almost entirely off the seats, and you bite your lip to stifle the noises threatening to burst from your throat. It's not to spare whatever stranger may or may not be lurking in the bordering forest but because your moans sound downright embarrassing. His tongue burns a wet trail from your weeping hole to your clit, where it laps experimentally at the swollen bud.

You twist and shudder beneath him, your body operating without input from your brain, but the feeling of Steve's hands slamming your hips down into the seats snaps you back to attention. You lift your head from its position against the car door, struggling to focus your eyes. Steve has laid himself as flat as he can across what little space remains in the backseat. His arms coil tight around your thighs, which keep both legs hanging limply over his shoulders. He stares up at you through his thick lashes, eyes gleaming hungrily, while he licks and sucks your pussy like it's the last meal he'll ever eat. His ordinarily perfect hair is trashed, sticking to his damp forehead in dark clumps.

You gnaw on your bottom lip stubbornly, clinging to what little rebellion still smolders inside you. Steve laughs; the vibrations feel like heaven against you, and you fling your head back down.

It isn't until his mouth has formed a near-vacuum seal around your clit that you unabashedly squeal into the humid air, unable to contain yourself anymore, pleasure wracking your body in unrelenting waves. Steve doesn't let up, swirling his tongue while he sucks, somehow keeping you glued to the seats without much apparent effort. You knew he was strong; he was an athlete the entire time you were in high school, but you didn't imagine his slender frame belied this much strength. The ease with which he's made you almost immobile is unexpected and very, very sexy.

"S-Steve, Steve - fuck - okay, God, you're getting me close already," you wheeze, voice straining high and desperate in your throat. You don't usually get close this fast unless you're alone and rubbing out a quick orgasm before bed or out of boredom. Still, the combination of his greedy suckling and licking, the sheer amount of enthusiasm he's displaying toward pleasuring you, and the fact that this long-held fantasy is coming to life right before you are making you hurtle toward the edge.

You inhale sharply, your body tenses, you're so, so close, you're about to cum -

Steve pulls off you, his lips making a wet, obscene pop before they curl into a fiendish grin. You whine, and he chuckles at you, rubbing your thigh apologetically. "You taste so fucking good," he says breathlessly.

"Why'd you stop?" you whimper. "And…thank you?"

"I'm having too much fun and didn't want you to cum yet," he says simply. "Plus, I wanted to ask something."

"Go for it."

You can't see them, but you can feel Steve's fingers on your pussy; his thumb makes a few small, tight circles around your clit before two more digits glide down the length of your folds and stop right at the entrance of your hole. They nudge around the rim as he speaks.

"Do you like getting fingered at the same time?" he asks, hopeful. "I know I'm at least good at that."

"Yes, please, do that," you beg, hardly letting him finish the sentence. You pause as the last part of Steve's sentence registers in your lust-addled brain. I know I'm at least good at that.

The corners of your mouth tug downward into a frown. Just as Steve ducks his head down again, you cup the sides of his jaw in both hands. He looks up at you, and the way his eyes flash nervously in the darkness doesn't escape you.

"By the way," you murmur, rubbing your thumbs into the stubbly flesh of his cheeks. "You've proven to be very…very good at…yanno, all this. Not just fingering."

"Yeah?" The hope in his voice is so genuine and sweet you could cry.

"Yeah. You just needed a little guidance, that's all."

He turns his head and kisses your palm, tracing circles into the back of your hand with his own before pulling it away and lacing your fingers together. Your interlocked hands rest next to your bare hip, and he presses a chaste kiss to your inner thigh. "Want me to get back to the, uh…fun part?"

You giggle. "I'm having a ton of fun, personally, but if you mean the eating my pussy part…yes, please."

"Gotcha."

Steve wastes no time reclaiming your swollen clit in his mouth, but he's decidedly gentler as he trails his two middle fingers around the rim of your hole. You can't tell if he's teasing you or testing the waters as he dips the tips inside you a few times, never edging past the first knuckles before pulling them back out again.

If he keeps this up, you’re going to go batshit insane. You're milliseconds away from telling him so before he swipes his fingers through the slick puddling beneath your pussy, and plunges them inside you up to the last knuckle.

"Oh my fucking God," you moan, writhing as much as possible while trapped between Steve's body and the car. His fingers curl, brushing against a spot that makes sparks fly behind your closed eyes, and he rubs against it purposefully once your voice pitches up and your breathing quickens even more. Both hands tangle in his disheveled hair, and you're torn on whether to push him away with how overwhelming the pleasure is becoming or pull him closer so he never stops. You settle on knotting your fingers at the roots and holding on for dear life.

Steve's fingers make lewd wet sounds as they pump in and out of your hole, and his free hand rests on the soft mound of skin above your clit. He pulls back just slightly, a stringy line of saliva connecting his tongue to your body, and his index finger stretches your skin up enough that the hood of your clit shifts backward. He chuckles.

"You should see how much of a mess your pussy is," he says. His tongue darts out to lick the slick shining on his lips. "It's so cute."

"Cute?" You don't know if that would've been the word you'd have picked to describe yourself right now, nor had anyone ever done so before. Despite the flush rising high on your cheekbones, you pretend to be more offended by it than you really are.

"Adorable," Steve coos, a smug smile sprawling across his handsome face. "And the noises you're making are even cuter. Have you been saving those just for me?"

You're speechless. You can't deny it, but you sure as hell aren't going to confirm it for him, either. His head will get so big you worry it'll fill the car's cab until you're both suffocated by the sheer mass of it. You sit up as much as you can against the car door, tugging the hand still woven with yours and smiling audaciously at him. You cross pinched fingers in front of your lips in a zipping motion, twisting them at the corner and flicking your wrist over your shoulder. My lips are sealed.

Steve scoffs. "Oh? We'll see how long that lasts, pretty girl."

Steve thrusts his fingers deep inside you again, fluttering them against your g-spot, then spits on your exposed clit. He dips his head and licks up the saliva trickling down your slit in one slow, hot strip, eyes never leaving your face.

You press your lips together tight, screwing your eyes shut and exhaling hard through your nose. Your legs are trembling, you're gripping his hand so tightly you're surprised he isn't complaining of bruised bones yet, and your chest is heaving with the effort of staying silent, but you're winning.

Or, at least, you think you're winning.

That is until he stuffs his fingers so deep inside you that it causes his hand to curl upward, almost cupping your cunt in his palm and grinding the heel of his hand into your tender clit. You can't help but gasp as he outright abuses your g-spot, rubbing circles against it with such pressure that even if you wanted to make noise, you can’t - the pleasure radiating from your core has snatched your voice away. You can't even draw in a satisfying breath and only manage a few sparse, shallow gasps.

"You done acting like you're not gonna give me what I want?" Steve asks, voice dripping with sweet condescension. You sob. It takes a stammering, whimpering, tear-filled moment before you gather enough oxygen to reply.

"U-Uh-huh, I'm - shit - I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please, Steve…."

"Atta girl." Though his fingers don't relent in the brutal pace they've set, he does bend his hand down enough so he can lap at your clit again. Tears eke out of the corners of your eyes and drip slowly into your hairline, and when you find your voice again, it bursts out of you in a broken scream.

It takes thirty seconds of consistent attention before he's got you close again, and you warn him of that fact by whining and tugging on his hair.

"You gonna cum for me?" he huffs, breath washing over your sensitive skin.

"Y-Yes, yes, yes, fuck - oh fuck me, Steve -!"

"Soon, baby," he hums.

Your orgasm crashes into you full force, and your throat burns with the force of your wailing as you arch off the backseat; you guarantee you're pulling some of Steve's hair out with how tight your grip is, but he is decidedly unfazed. He milks this moment for all its worth, never stopping or slowing in his ministrations.

Tears flow down your cheeks freely, soaking into the neck of your shirt and wetting the hair you'd spent so much time on. The pleasure crescendos into something too intense to handle quickly. You choke out a few half-assed pleas, your brain melting out of your ears at this point, far beyond being capable of intelligible sentences, and Steve ignores you.

Clearly, you don't decide when Steve Harrington is done - he does.

Your orgasm seems to go on for days, months even, and just as the pain begins to nip at the edges of your earth-shattering pleasure, as you almost snap your legs shut and beg Steve to please just give you a small break, you feel it.

Your second orgasm. Building, apparently in secret, riding the tails of your first one and sneaking up on you to the point you don't notice you're going to cum until your cunt spasms around Steve's fingers again.

"C-C-Cumming, cumming again, fuck, oh God, fuck, I can't - Steve, I can't-"

"Yes, you can," Steve assures, fingers working impossibly faster. You're astonished he doesn't have the mother of all hand cramps right now. Perhaps he does, and he just doesn't care. You don't think you care, either. "You can cum for me again, Y/N. Come on. Cum on my fingers, pretty girl."

This time, you don't even have the strength to scream. You weep and sag against the car door, body tremoring and barely managing a few pathetic pleas between hiccuping breaths.

You're drenched in sweat, and you're sure your makeup is fucked because of it. That and the tears, of course. You must look utterly trashed, but when Steve finally pulls off your poor, sore pussy with a pop, he looks at you like you're the single most beautiful creature on the planet.

He goes to wipe his lips with the back of one hand, and you notice slick shimmering down his chin and even splattered onto his neck. It's only then you feel the absolute lake of cum that’s accumulated beneath your ass, and your entire body burns bright red with embarrassment. He raises himself up on his palms, his arms boxing you in tightly.

"You are so gorgeous," he says, cupping your cheek in the hand that isn't glistening with your cum. You laugh shakily and lean into his touch.

"Sorry… 'bout your seats," you offer weakly, and he shakes his head. "You can ruin my upholstery anytime."

Steve leans down, dark eyes scanning your face, and smiles. It's a sweet, lopsided expression, nowhere near the self-satisfied, almost sadistic grin from earlier. They both quicken your pulse, but this one assures you you can at least take this moment to recover from possibly the best orgasm of your life.

First and second-best orgasms. Wow.

He kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his lips. He slots his leg between yours, narrowly avoiding the puddle you've made, and cradles your head as if he's the only thing keeping it from flopping sideways. Frankly, he is. When he pulls away, he kisses your forehead before leaning his own against it.

"You okay?" he asks. You nod, sighing and swallowing despite your parched mouth. Your hands rest atop your chest, curled up into each other meekly as you try to regain any semblance of strength in your extremities. You bump your lips into him again briefly.

"You're a remarkably fast learner, Steve Harrington," you mumble, voice hoarse. He chuckles.

"It's easy when I have such an incredible teacher.”

It takes a few minutes to clean you - and the car - up. Steve digs around in his glove box for some old fast food napkins and gingerly sops as much of your cum out of his seats as he can while you lay on your side, curled up and heavy-lidded as the adrenaline slowly dribbles out of your system. He dabs the sweat from your brow, following the rough, cheap napkin with gentle kisses to soothe your flushed skin. Afterward, he bunches the napkins and shoves them in his passenger side door before rejoining you in the backseat.

He hoists you up onto his lap and guides your head onto his shoulder, allowing you to nuzzle your face into his neck and inhale his scent as he rubs your back.

"Any more pointers?" he asks just before you've dozed off. You smile and shake your head.

"None whatsoever. You've exceeded my greatest expectations, dear pupil." He laughs and thumps your back appreciatively. It's not until you're readjusting slightly to get more comfortable that you realize something - Steve is still hard. Achingly so, it would seem, as you can feel the rigid denim stretched over his bulge so tightly you're surprised the zipper hasn't popped clean off. Heat stirs in your belly, and you make a soft, serene noise in your throat as you grind your bare pussy into his lap.

His hips stutter upward just enough for you to bounce slightly, and you giggle into the crook of his neck. "We still haven't taken care of you yet." "We don't have to if you're too tired," he assures you, voice little more than a deep hum against the shell of your ear. "I'm happy just makin' you feel good."

You consider it. You know you'll be sore tomorrow, regardless of if you choose to have more of Steve Harrington stuffed inside you, and your clit is throbbing and achy to the touch. You could fall asleep on his chest right now; he could keep you in this beautiful, dreamlike space for the rest of time if he wanted to. But there's a part of you, a part much, much louder than the part complaining about your sore slit or exhausted body, that is dying to know what Steve's dick looks like.

You leave a trail of kisses up from the hollow of his neck to the curve of his jaw and blink at him happily. Once your faces are close enough that his eyelashes are nearly tickling your cheekbones, you snake one hand between your bodies and trail a finger over the cold metal teeth of his zipper.

"Just 'cause my cunt is sore doesn't mean I'm totally out of commission," you purr. "And since you did so well with your mouth on me… don't you think it's fair I return the favor?"

You feel, rather than hear, the low moan that rumbles through Steve’s chest at the insinuation. You hook your nail through the eye of his zipper and give an experimental tug.

"Can I suck your cock, Steve?"

His lips are on yours almost before the question rolls off your tongue. His fingers tangle in your hair, keeping you still as his tongue explores inside your mouth. Steve's natural taste mixes with the taste of your slick in an intoxicating way, but just before your head starts spinning, he breaks the kiss enough to breathe, "You're gonna have to move, baby."

Of all the lewd, downright filthy things Steve Harrington has done and said tonight, the way he slurs the word "baby" against your swollen lips is the thing that makes you blush the hottest.

He reaches behind you and opens the car door, and you both shiver slightly as the cold air rushes in from the forest and cools your sweat-soaked skin. He pats your thigh and juts his chin forward, so you awkwardly clamber out of the BMW despite your wobbling legs. You lean one hand on the car's roof while Steve scoots to sit on the edge of the backseat and swings his legs onto the ground.

He brushes past you as he emerges from the car, planting a quick kiss on the top of your head before he pops the trunk and struggles with something inside for a moment. With a victorious smile, Steve waves the same raggedy blue towel that had been wrapped around "Lucille" before assuming his spot in the backseat again. He folds it in half once and lays it out between his spread legs atop the mud and sparse grass you're standing on.

"So you don't get your legs all dirty," he explains, observing your mildly confused expression.

"My legs?"

"It'd be killer on your back, sucking my dick while you're bent at the waist, wouldn't it?" Steve laughs, undoing his belt with deft fingers while he watches the realization dawn on you. "The least I can do is make you more comfortable and keep the mud and crap off your legs, right?"

“Yeah…totally…”

Words escape you as you watch the metal of Steve's belt buckle glitter in the moonlight while he slips the leather out of the loop. His shirt is riding up just far enough onto his stomach that you can see a dark thatch of hair leading upward from the hem of his jeans, and at that moment, you are determined to follow Steve's happy trail with your tongue at some point. As he pops the button on his pants, you release your grip on the car and collapse to your knees. You grab his hands and pull them out of the way, splaying your fingers across his thighs and squeezing.

"Let me," you say, eyes darting between his mostly undone jeans and his face. He chuckles at you, and you try to commit his crooked, sweet smile and warm brown eyes to memory. He's beyond handsome, drop-dead fucking gorgeous - and he's letting you suck his cock. You take a moment to thank whatever deity or greater cosmic force that's brought you to this exact moment in your life.

"Be my guest," Steve says, leaning back on his palms and staring down the bridge of his nose at you. You lean forward, using the grip on his legs to keep balance and capture the end of his zipper between your teeth. You drag it down agonizingly slowly while keeping complete eye contact with him. You can't look away from his amazed and steadfastly aroused face. Pants fully unzipped, you think you can make out that Steve is wearing dark red boxer briefs.

Very normal, all things considered, but you know in the back of your head that this particular shade of red will always make you horny now - Pavlov's dogs had their bell, and you drool at the sight of Steve Harrington's underwear.

Steve lifts his ass off the backseat just enough for you to tug his pants and boxers down to his knees. You could pull his cock out through his underwear, but no, you want to see all of him, every last inch. Fair is fair, right?

Steve is…fuck, he's big. Bigger than you ever even fantasized about.

His cock springs upright fully after you've freed it from his boxers, and with a hard swallow and a fluttery feeling in your gut, you realize it's big enough to touch his navel. It curves toward his belly, an angle so perfect it's impossible not to imagine how it'll feel inside you once you can handle it. The head is flushed a dark red and slick with precum, and you watch in reverence as a milky bead forms at the slit. It's all you can do to not surge forward immediately and lick it off. The hair covering the base of Steve's dick and balls is dark, nearly black, and unexpectedly curly compared to the other hair on his body.

You reach a tentative hand out and wrap it around his shaft. He's so thick your fingers barely touch once you've made a fist. Steve hisses at the feeling and drops his head back a little.

"You're…so fucking big," you say breathlessly. Steve laughs and cards a hand through your hair, brushing sweaty strands away from your forehead.

"You think you're gonna be able to handle it?" His voice drips with fake sympathy, so you nod your head despite being unsure. The head is so big you worry you won't be able to fit it in your mouth without your back teeth accidentally scraping it, let alone have it go down your throat. But the cocky, smug look he wears makes you want to suck his dick until he cries, just like you did.

You nudge his shirt further up his torso, noting how solid his abdominal muscles feel beneath your palm, and dip your head down to his happy trail. You lay soft kisses amongst the thick, coarse hair, and Steve subtly squirms.

"Ticklish?" you ask. He narrows his eyes.

"Don't even think about it."

You chuckle, sorely tempted.

You copy his actions from earlier and lick a long, hot stripe with your flattened tongue up the entire length of his cock, stopping only to swirl around the head and lap up his precum. The salty taste blooms across your tongue and your mouth embarrassingly floods with drool as you suck and lick more of the flavor into it. You inch carefully down his shaft, opening your jaw as wide as possible to avoid an encounter between his dick and your molars and twirl your tongue around the length in your mouth to make up for what you can't wholly swallow yet. One hand wraps around the base to make up the difference, stroking up and down slowly as you bob your head.

It's an interesting, intricate dance, trying to fit Steve Harrington's monster cock in your mouth without outright biting it. You persuade your gag reflex to let him go down your throat a bit more, your quick strokes getting slicker and slicker with the drool that pours freely down Steve's dick and wets his pubic hair. Breathing through your nose proves difficult when his massive cockhead obstructs the back of your throat entirely, but you manage well enough.

Steve is absolutely beside himself. He's moaning unabashedly, and it's like music to your ears. He's the first man you've ever been with who makes noises outside of oddly paced-out grunts or a random curse word here or there, and it's having more of an effect on you than you ever could have imagined. You press your thighs together as more slickness drips from your throbbing cunt, free to gush almost to your knees without the interference of your panties.

"Fuck, baby, fucking shit…fuck yeah, just like that… you're sucking my cock so good, you look so fucking hot right now, oh my God," Steve babbles, eyes fluttering and head lolled over to one side. He bucks his hips, probably involuntarily, and his cock bumps the back of your throat just hard enough that it makes you gag.

You cough and pull off him far enough to take a breath, your hand still firmly locked around his base and wet with spit. He laughs breathily and caresses your cheek as you pant.

“Sorry…sorry…I didn't mean to choke you. You're just… you're so good…."

"You can, uh…like, do that again if you want," you say shyly. Steve cocks an eyebrow.

"Do what?"

"That. What you just did. Again."

"You want me to gag you like that again?" It's said with genuine surprise, not judgment, and you smile sheepishly at him.

"Kinda, yeah…only if you're okay with it too, I just…I can handle it…."

He considers it, absently twirling a few strands of your hair around his fingers as he mulls your request over. Then, both hands slide to the back of your head and gather your hair into one large, tight handful that makes you sit up straighter. Cold air gusts against your freshly exposed skin, and you shiver as Steve leans forward and kisses your forehead. He uses his other hand to pull his jacket tighter around your body, tucking the collar against your throat.

"If you can handle it," he says, and with one smooth push, he's shoved you back down on his cock. The head bumps the back of your throat hard, and though your entire body jerks forward as you gag, Steve doesn't relent. He seems as determined as you were to fit the daunting length of his dick down your throat, and the fact you practically begged him to facefuck you appears to have dissolved any lingering inhibitions he may have had. He keeps one hand securely fisted in your hair, and the other moves to feel where his length is bulging through your throat. He hums lowly and strokes his fingers over your taut flesh.

"You can take more than that, can't you?"

You haven't even begun to respond before he thrusts his hips forward, forcing his way past your uvula, and you can only gag and shudder as your nose gets buried in the thick curls at the base of his cock. He guides you back by your hair only far enough that his head isn't bullying into your airway anymore, then pushes you back down - he does this over and over, hardly letting you have a moment to breathe while he chases his pleasure. You moan as you realize you've essentially become a means to an end, a method of reaching an orgasm, a warm, wet hole for Steve to fuck his cock into, and your fingers sneak down between your thighs to rub your aching clit.

Though you try to be discreet, you're soaked, and you can't do a thing to hide the obscene squelching sounds your pussy makes as you grind into your hand. Steve, with sweaty hair plastered to his forehead and drunk on lust, laughs.

"You're so fuckin' cute. You like bein' my cocksleeve that much, pretty girl?" You attempt a nod and a noise that leans toward acquiescence, and it's good enough.

Steve sets a rigorous pace, bringing you down far enough to kiss his pelvis every time, moaning a little louder when the muscles of your throat contract around his thick shaft as you gag. You are, admittedly, worried you'll puke at some point, and the thought of having arguably the best sexual experience of your life ruined by you blowing chunks all over Steve Harrington's penis does, unfortunately, cross your mind. But before you can dwell too long on it - and before the building nausea becomes too much for you to handle - Steve pulls you off his cock.

Your lips pop wetly as they leave his shaft, and you gasp shakily, the sudden influx of oxygen almost dizzying. Drool drips freely from your aching jaw and the thick strand of saliva that connects your mouth to the head of his dick glints in the moonlight overhead. Your fingers never stop working your clit, though your orgasm ebbs away after your throat ceases to be utterly abused.

"Why'd you stop?" you rasp.

"Was gonna cum too soon," he chuckles. You whine and surge forward, but you're stopped by the firm hand still ensnared in your hair. You crave the taste of Steve's cum on your tongue so intensely, and the fact he isn't letting you have it right away fills you with tantrum-level frustration.

"What, you want it?"

"Yes, Jesus Christ, please."

"Aww. You can beg much better than that." His fingers curl, tugging your hair at the root and jostling you back and forth a little.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes as he starts dragging you further away from his shining, dark-red cock. Drool and precum ooze from the tip and you can see it twitching every few seconds, and though your throat feels raw and sore, your jaw aches, and your legs are alight with pins and needles, you need it back in your mouth. You could kneel here all night, and you would swear you were in heaven. The brazen fire in your belly has been snuffed, replaced with the most thrilling need you've ever experienced, so you can't think of anything snarky to say in response. Instead, you do as Steve says, and you fucking beg.

"Please, please give it back, Steve."

"Give what back, baby?" he purrs.

"Your cock."

"What about my cock?"

"Please give me back your cock, Steve. Pretty please, I need it."

He clicks his tongue at you, giving your head a little shake again while your eyes are helplessly fixed on his glistening shaft. "Hmm, I still don't believe you."

A broken sob falls from your mouth before you can help it, and you paw helplessly at his thighs. "Please, please, please, fuck my face, Steve, please. I need it so badly. Please give it to me. I'll do anything, just please...."

He smiles and coos at you, bending down slightly to kiss your forehead softly. "You sound so pretty and pathetic for me, baby," he hums.

Your mouth is full again in a flash, and this time, it's evident that Steve has surpassed any pretense of being gentle with you. That clumsy, nervous boy from earlier has melted away, leaving this commanding, exceedingly bold, and surprisingly dominant man in his wake. His voice has lowered to just above a growl, rough with lust. The way he's reclining back and fucking your mouth like he's pumping into his fist, the way he teases and mocks you and eggs you on - it's fucking intoxicating. You can't get enough. You want him to go further; you want more, more, more.

"Fuck, fuck, 'm cumming, I'm fucking cumming, fuck Y/N," Steve gasps, placing both hands on the sides of your head and driving his cock down your battered throat. The heat of your impending orgasm begins to pool between your hips, and you rub your clit furiously as you gaze up at Steve, trails of mascara-riddled tears tracked down your spit-wet cheeks.

The exact moment his cock pulses and the first hot, thick rope of cum shoots down your throat, you push yourself over the edge of your third orgasm of the night.

You moan as much as you can around his dick, body spasming uncontrollably, and the vibrations from your noises make him grip the seats beneath him so hard you think he’ll shred the upholstery. You try to swallow as best you can, and Steve does mercifully pull out just enough that the head of his cock rests against the middle of your tongue, allowing you room to breathe. His cum is salty and heady, and you're immediately addicted to it, and you hollow your cheeks to greedily suck more of it into your mouth. He looks at you with worshipful adoration, like you are the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Your hand drops from your overstimulated clit as your orgasm abates, and you use it to hold onto Steve's thigh for balance. You distantly feel embarrassed about smearing slick on his jeans.

When Steve pulls his spent cock from your mouth and releases your bunched-up hair, you fall forward unceremoniously into his lap. You pant raggedly into the fabric clustered around his upper legs, trembling like you've been tossed in the snow. He praises you under his breath, almost like he's not entirely cognizant of what he's saying.

"You did such a good job, God, that was amazing…you did so well, baby…fuck…."

You smile dreamily, glowing under his praise. He pets your hair absentmindedly, and after a while, he gingerly guides you back so you're sitting on your haunches, the rough terrycloth of the towel digging into your knees. He looks beautiful in the bluish light of the evening, hair mussed and sticking out at odd angles, cheeks still dusted a light pink, lips swollen and red and wet with his spit. Steve cradles your face in his hands and rubs at the greyish tear tracks streaking your cheeks, almost embarrassed of their presence.

"Are you okay?"

You nod sluggishly, nuzzling your cheek into Steve's surprisingly rough palm. He smooths the frazzled hair he'd been tugging on so enthusiastically back away from your damp forehead, fluffing it apologetically once he realizes the style you'd sought to achieve is thoroughly ruined. You're sure you look destroyed, to be fair - most of your lipstick is smeared messily on the lower half of Steve's softening cock, so you imagine the rest of it is smudged down your chin and across your cheeks. When you wipe the back of your hand beneath your jaw to catch a few stray tears, your skin is stained blackish from the mascara-laden liquid. Definitely not Harrington-proof, you note amusedly.

"Lemme help you up," Steve says, scooting forward off the backseat and bending toward you. One arm snakes around your waist and tightens against the small of your back; the other hand knits itself against your right hand, and when Steve pulls you to your feet, you're pressed flush against his chest, bodies entwined like partners gliding across a dance floor. Despite everything that's happened in the last hour, you still giggle nervously at the lack of distance between your face and Steve's. He smiles sweetly, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

The hand clasped in Steve's twitches toward your lips reflexively. Your mouth still tastes like his cum, and while you certainly don't mind, you aren't sure if he will. He notices your hesitance, and after a moment, the reason seems to click for him. His smile grows imperceptibly.

Steve takes your face in both hands and kisses you deeply, licking your bottom lip before sliding his tongue against yours. Your already weakened knees wobble, threatening to let you drop like a ton of bricks right back to the rumpled towel beneath your feet. The tangy taste of your cunt still lingers on his tongue and mixes with the salty flavor coating your mouth; it's addictive, and for a moment, it tricks you into thinking you could go just one more round. The way your clit throbs painfully at the mere insinuation, however, quickly dispels that idea.

Steve presses a final, sweet kiss to the tip of your nose after he pulls away from your lips, and the way his eyes sparkle at you in the moonlight dashed across his face makes your stomach flip excitedly, a sensation you're almost embarrassed to feel. It seems too innocent, too chaste after everything you've done tonight, but your cheeks flush hotly regardless.

"You…are something else," Steve says quietly, affectionately rubbing his thumb over your cheek.

"You're one to talk."

You turn your head toward his palm, kissing his warm skin. The yellow-green light of his watch glows out of the corner of your eye, and when he twists his wrist a bit to the side, you catch a glimpse of the numbers.

No. No, that can't be right.

Steve makes a discordant sound as you yank his arm back toward your face, pushing his sleeve up to his elbow. You must've read the time wrong; it can't be that late.

But there it is, clear as day, in blocky electric numbers. Your curfew, which you've never broken, passed almost half an hour ago.

Your heart plummets down through your stomach, and you swear you hear it plop into the dirt at your feet.

"I'm so dead," you murmur, and Steve cocks his head quizzically.

"What?"

"I'm dead!"

You scramble toward the rearview mirror and tug it upward. You look absolutely wrecked. How will you explain why ninety percent of your makeup is gone? Why your hair looks like you've just gone through a tornado? Steve huffs out a confused laugh.

"Am I…missing something?" he asks, leaning casually against the side of the car. You tug the collar of your shirt up and scrub at your mouth - it makes your lipstick look worse and stains the inside of one of your favorite tops. Shit. You frenziedly try to work the buttons on Steve’s jacket closed, desperately tugging the collar up in an attempt to conceal the rapidly deepening red blotches he’s sucked into your skin. They’ll bruise by tomorrow, and if you weren’t in a blind panic, the thought would turn you on. Admittedly, it still does.

"I'm so, so late. My mom is gonna kill me," you say frantically. Maybe it'll be dark enough that no one will notice your lipstick…but they'll definitely see the black trenches carved into your cheeks. Shit.

You turn to the side, trying to tame your hair into a halfway decent shape. It doesn’t work, and you exhale roughly through your nose; the scrunchie you always wear around your wrist is snatched off, and you twist your hair into possibly the sloppiest, worst bun you’ve ever created, but it’ll have to do. Every single aspect of your appearance is like a bright red, flaring neon sign blinking above your head, ready to announce I HAD HOT SEX, AND THAT’S WHY I’M SO INCREDIBLY LATE.

You know it shouldn't matter; she doesn’t have much recourse since you're an adult, but fear still pangs in your gut so hard it makes you nauseous. You can picture it now, tiptoeing into the living room just to have the lamp in the living room flicker to life, your enraged and concerned mother silhouetted in the dim yellow light. You're sure you'll be able to see the steam rolling off her body in waves from where you'll be standing at the landing of the stairs. You'll be lucky if she lets you leave for the supermarket after this, let alone on another date.

"Shit, is it really that late?" Steve asks, and how his voice pitches up in genuine confusion only aids your panic. He bounds to the driver's side of the car, almost tripping over his feet as he fumbles the keys from his pocket and slams them into the ignition. Your butt barely touches the passenger side seat before the engine roars to life, and Steve slams on the gas.

Apologies tumble freely from his mouth as you clumsily clip your seatbelt into place, and you assure him it's alright as best you can while licking your fingers and scouring the mascara stripes off your cheeks. It doesn't work and tastes weird, but it's all you've got.

~~~

When Steve screeches up your driveway, you are an hour past curfew, and that’s only by the grace of God and Steve’s disregard for speed limits.

You sling your purse strap over one shoulder and almost kick the passenger side door off its hinges as you get out of the car, but just before you're about to bolt up your driveway, you pause.

It wouldn't kill you to be just a little later, right?

You whip back around, and Steve stares up at you, a little breathless, flushed, and still so beautiful. You grip the edge of the window and bend down, poking your head inside the car.

"I had an amazing time," you say, and you wish Steve wouldn't smile at you the way he does because it makes you want to say, "Fuck it," and hop back in the car. But he does, and you don't, and he nods.

"You wanna do it again sometime? I mean, not, not it, like a date - well, we can do it again if you want to. I'm just saying we don't have to…."

He sighs, and you pretend not to notice the flexing and unflexing of his hands on the steering wheel. It's endlessly endearing how nervous he is when he isn't jamming his cock down your throat or eating you out like a starving man. Something in your mind wants to see how flustered you can make him, but you silence it.

"Such a way with words," you tease, and you cup his cheek in your hand. You kiss him tenderly, hoping it encapsulates everything you want to say but don't have time for right now. Fingers slide up the nape of your neck and ensnare themselves in your hair, keeping your lips locked for a few moments longer. Your mouth is swollen and chapped, but you'd kiss him all night if he'd let you. Maybe one day he will.

"I'd love to do this again, by the way," you hum against the corner of his mouth. "Assuming I live past tonight, that is."

"Looking forward to it, Y/N. Oh, and, by the way…."

He grips your hair, not too hard, but just enough to where you stiffen and let out a soft moan. He peppers kisses along your cheek, to your temple, to the shell of your ear.

"I'm keeping your panties. Maybe next time I'll shove 'em in your mouth if you try to play the quiet game again with me."

He releases his grip on your hair, and his hand purposefully slides along the curve of your jaw until it reaches your chin. He pinches it between thumb and forefinger and kisses the bewildered, now painfully aroused look off your face before leaning back, giving you a wink, and revving the car's engine.

"See you soon, baby," he calls. His car crunches back down your driveway, and you're left standing there, brain short-circuiting and threatening to melt out of your ears, hyperaware of the cold night air nudging against your bare pussy under your skirt. You press your thighs together and jam fabric between them self-consciously, hoping against hope that you won't flash your poor, unsuspecting mother, who is undoubtedly waiting for you to chew you out.

You turn unsteadily, gazing up at your house. The living room light is already on, and you can see a lithe shadow flitting anxiously from within the windows. You're going to get an earful.

It was so. Fucking. Worth it.

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