.

just a girl with daddy issues and a formula 1 obsession

[carlosainzgf]

REVENGE

thanos x fem!reader (smut)

warnings: kind of noncon so read at your own risk

you were minding your own business, sitting at your bunk, eating the shitty meal you were given when you heard some yelling.

you turned your head to where the noises were coming from only to see your brother myung gi, who you didn’t even know was here until now, getting beaten up. instinctively, you storm over to stop them.

"not thinking of interfering, are you?"

the purple haired man asked as he tilted his head, his eyes widened sadistically.

you threw a punch in his face without even considering for a second, landing right on his nose, making him loose his balance and stumble back.

in an instant, he lunged at you. he gritted his teeth as blood ran down his nose, his eyes filled with a deadly rage. grabbing you by the collar and pinning you to the wall. "you think you can just hit me like that? huh!? you've got a lot of guts for someone so small." he spat, eyes narrowed as he glared at you.

some other players had turned their attention to the sight of the commotion, some had ceased their betting and others watched with intrigue and anticipation as they witnessed what would unfold.

player 001 stepped in, putting a swift end to the conflict before thanos could hurt you. he took it upon himself to discipline thanos and his friend by delivering a thorough beating, leaving both of them bruised and battered.

thanos stayed put on the ground, coughing and panting from exhaustion, his nose still stinging from your punch and the beating he just received.

“you’re gonna pay for this, you bitch!” he yelled after you between coughs when you and your brother headed to the bathroom to clean up.

he still had enough spunk left in him to send a threat your way even after his beating.

he was determined to get revenge.

after cleaning the blood of your brothers face and a small skirmish between the two of you for joining this game you heard that lights were out in 5 minutes so you head back to the dorm.

you could feel thanos’ eyes on you as you got ready for bed.

as the minutes ticked by, the lights slowly dimmed, signaling that it could only mean one thing - it was time to sleep. the dorm fell quiet, dimly lit by the faint glow of the piggy bank.

players were trying to find some level of rest, laying down on their beds with blankets or just simply sitting on their beds.

thanos' eyes stayed on you, watching you as you got into bed, his resentment still burning bright. he was waiting for a moment to catch you off guard and get his revenge.

after laying down with your eyes open, which felt like hours, you decided to go to the bathroom. to wash your face or just to get out of the dorm full of people to get your mind together. you didn’t really know.

you looked over to your brother to see him sound asleep before heading to the door. after convincing the guard you headed to the bathroom, not realizing thanos who left the dorm right after you.

you only took notice of him when the door to the ladies bathroom was kicked open. you, startled, look back to see who it is.

fuck.

“i told you you’d pay for what you did. now…how should i make you pay?” he talked like he was talking to himself.

“i could kill you. easily. but…it would be a shame if something happened to such a beautiful girl like you.”

your words were caught at your throat, not daring to come out.

“maybe i should teach you a lesson, huh?”

that’s how you ended up with your legs wrapped around his waist, his hands gripping tightly at the flesh of your ass as he made you move on his dick, like a little sex toy. his own little fleshlight.

you didn’t know if you hated him for fucking you or yourself for liking it.

he held you up on the air as he thrusted himself into you like you were light as a feather. hands repeatedly landing on your ass, leaving big red hand marks on the surface, making you moan and yelp at the same time.

“fuck! you like this don’t you? you filthy little slut.”

you held onto his shoulders as his pace got faster and he fucked you harder. a knot growing in you, making you disgusted at yourself for liking this but too cock drunk out to care. your eyes closed, too lost in pleasure.

his hand moved from your ass to your stretched out pussy. you didn’t notice it until he pinched your clit, hard, making your eyes shot open with a little scream.

“you look at me when i fuck you.” he ordered. you could only nod.

“tell me who makes you feel this good, bitch. tell me!”

“you! you a-are thanos! fuck-fucking me so good!” you could barely form a sentence at your state.

“yeah i am! come on my cock, baby. make a big fucking mess.” that’s all it took. you fell apart. your walls spasming around him, brain foggy, nails digging at his back, head thrown back, yells and moans spilling from your lips as you came undone.

just when you were about to come down from your high thanos hit your sensitive and twitching clit repeatedly. the pain and pleasure of the act, and how sensitive your body was right after cumming you couldn’t stop yourself from gushing around his dick. your juices covered his lower stomach, his thighs, your thighs as well, and his dick.

that’s when he lost it. he came, hard, when he felt the warm wetness on himself. he held your face, harshly, making you look at him.

“if you even try to do anything to me ever again…you pussy won’t be the only thing i ruin.”

then he kissed you so sweetly. almost sweet enough to make you forget that he threatened to kill you and then fucked you dumb.

[alcottsangel]

Girl of the Week {Steve Harrington x fem!reader}

Summary: Steve's sex life sucks. He's not exactly sure why he doesn't want to fuck the girls he dates anymore, but it's certainly becoming a problem. When you listen to him complain yet again during your shared shift at Family Video you decide to make an offer. Do you wanna fuck?

Warnings: Smut. protected P in V sex, oral male receiving, dirty talk, reader is riding and then blowing Steve, porn with some plot

Word count: 7385

The fluorescent lights in Family Video had a way of making everything look like it had been left out too long—skin a little pale, carpet a little grayer, the neon "NEW RELEASES" sign a little desperate.

Steve was leaning on the counter like he'd been born there, forearms spread, chin tipped down at the stack of returns you were sorting. His hair was doing that thing where it tried to look effortless and failed—too perfect, too Steve. He'd been "alphabetizing" for ten minutes, which in Steve language meant touching the same three boxes and sighing.

You, meanwhile, had taken over the returns with the kind of confidence usually reserved for people defusing bombs. You flicked tapes into piles—action, romance, horror—with a rhythm that made it look easy.

Steve watched you sort like it was a magic trick. He lifted a box from the "Action" pile.

"Road House," he read, nodding like it was a sacred text. "This one's been checked out... what, eight times in the last month?"

You didn't look up. "Ten."

Steve blinked. "Ten?"

"Ten," you repeated, then finally glanced at him, eyes bright with smug certainty. "And do you wanna know who's been renting it?"

Steve's mouth opened, the question already written all over his face.

You held up one finger. "Mrs. Wheeler."

Steve made a noise halfway between a laugh and a cough. "No."

Your grin was wicked. "Yes. She returns it exactly on time, too. Like a little angel with questionable taste."

Steve leaned closer, lowering his voice as if the tapes could hear them. "Mrs. Wheeler? Nancy and Mikes's mom Mrs. Wheeler?"

You slid another tape into place. "She's more than just a mom, Stevie."

Steve stared at the box like it had betrayed him personally. "I'm... I'm processing this."

"You'll live."

"Will I?"

Your shoulders shook with quiet laughter. You flicked his hand away when he tried to poke the barcode sticker like that would provide answers. "Don't touch. You'll get your Steve germs all over Patrick Swayze."

"My germs?" Steve repeated, offended. "Your germs are the ones that somehow end up on every surface in this place. How is your lipstick on the stapler?"

Your eyes went wide with fake innocence. "Excuse you, babe. That is gloss. And I don't know. It's a mystery. Like the Bermuda Triangle. Like where socks go. Like why you refuse to use the restroom keychain like a normal person."

He glanced toward the giant plastic key fob shaped like a VHS tape. "Because it's embarrassing."

Steve tapped his fingers against the counter, the restlessness creeping back in. He stared out the front windows at the empty parking lot like he was waiting for something to happen.

You watched him from the corner of your eye. You knew his moods the way you knew the order of the aisles: you didn't need a map. Steve in a quiet store was like a dog with too much energy and nowhere to run—he started chewing on problems.

And Steve had that look now. The one that said, I'm about to say something, and I'm going to pretend it's a joke but it's not.

He sighed dramatically, like an actress on a soap opera. "Okay, I have an issue."

You didn't hesitate. "Is it about your hair? Because you look great. Is it about your dad? Because he sucks. Is it about the fact that you still don't know how to work the coffee machine in the break room? Because that's not an issue, that's a tragedy."

Steve huffed. "Not that."

You tilted your head. "Is it about the—"

"No."

"—girls of the week?"

Steve's face pinched like he'd been poked in the ribs. "Okay. Yes."

Your hands didn't stop moving, but your heart did that stupid little thing it always did when Steve said anything remotely connected to girls. You shoved the feeling down so fast it didn't even have time to show on your face.

"Ah," you said, breezy. "Which one? The blonde who chewed gum like it owed her money, or the brunette who laughed like a cartoon character, or the redhead who called you 'Steven' like you were her son?"

Steve groaned, dropping his forehead onto the counter. "Don't."

You smiled with your mouth only. "Don't what?"

"Don't say it like that."

"Like what?" You asked, innocence so fake it should've been illegal.

Steve lifted his head, squinting at you. "Like you're reading my sins off a list."

Your eyes glittered. "Oh, babe, please. If I were reading your sins off a list, we'd be here all night."

Steve made a sound of pure offense. "Excuse you."

"You heard me."

Steve leaned back, crossing his arms. "Okay, I'm serious."

Your smile softened—just a degree. "Okay. Talk."

Steve stared at the ceiling, searching for words like they were hiding in the acoustic tiles. "I just... I don't know. It's... it's been weird."

You lifted a tape, checked the label, slid it into the right stack. "Weird how?"

Steve's jaw worked. "Like... I'll go out with a girl, right? And she's... fine. She's pretty. She laughs. We have dinner, or we go to the movies, or whatever. And then there's that part where it's supposed to go somewhere, and it's like..."

He gestured vaguely in front of him, hands flopping around like fish. "I don't know. I'm supposed to want to—"

Your eyebrows lifted. "Bone?"

Steve looked at you like you had slapped him with the word. "Oh my god."

You shrugged. "Is fuck better?"

Steve's ears went a little pink, because Steve Harrington could fight monsters and still be betrayed by his own face. "You— you know what I mean."

You leaned your hip against the counter, watching him with an expression that said you were listening, but also that you would absolutely make fun of him if he tried to get dramatic.

Steve exhaled hard. "It's just... boring."

You blinked once. "Boring."

Steve nodded, frustrated. "Boring."

You set the tape down carefully. "Steve Harrington," you said slowly, like you were addressing a very fragile animal, "are you telling me your tragic problem is that casual sex is not entertaining you enough?"

Steve dragged a hand down his face. "Don't make it sound like that."

Your eyes narrowed. "Like what? Like you're a romance novel villain?"

"I'm not a villain," Steve argued.

"You're being a little bit of a villain," You teased, but your voice stayed gentle. "Continue."

Steve stared at the counter, picking at a piece of tape residue near the register. "It's not that they're... bad. It's not, like, a skill thing."

Your mouth twitched. "Oh, good. I'm glad to hear Hawkins has competent fucking."

Steve shot you a look. "Stop."

"What? You're the one who brought it up."

Steve sighed. "It's just... I don't know. I'll be there, and it's like my brain is somewhere else. Like I'm doing the motions because that's what I always do, and then I'm just... waiting for it to be over."

Your joking expression faltered for half a second before you slapped it back into place. "Wow," you said. "That is the saddest thing I've ever heard."

Steve stared at you. "It's not sad."

"That's sad," You insisted, then held up a finger. "Also, that is— I mean— wow for the girl."

Steve winced. "Okay, see, that's what I mean. That's the problem. I don't want to be an asshole. I don't want to be... like Tommy."

Your face turned instantly serious at the name. "Okay. No. You're not like Tommy."

Steve's eyes flicked up to yours, searching. "You sure?"

You didn't hesitate. "Steve, Tommy treats girls like trophies. You treat them like people. You hold doors. You ask questions. You remember stuff."

Steve's shoulders loosened a fraction, like he'd been holding himself tight. He muttered, almost embarrassed, "I mean, I try."

Your voice softened, honest. "You do."

For a beat, the store hummed around the two of you. The quiet had weight now, like you had stepped into a pocket of something real.

Then your sarcasm returned like a protective shield. You leaned forward, lowering your voice theatrically. "So what's the deal, then? Are you developing... morals?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

You smiled. "Are you dying?"

Steve threw a balled-up receipt at you. It bounced off your shoulder. You gasped like you'd been shot and clutched your chest.

"Violence," you whispered. "In my workplace."

Steve stared at you, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth again, but it didn't reach his eyes fully. "I'm serious."

You nodded, sobering. "Okay. Okay. Serious."

Steve took a breath. He looked out the window again, like the answer might be parked out there.

"I don't know why it's like this," he said. "It just... used to be easy. I used to be able to— you know—" He made a vague motion again, helpless. "And now it's like... I'm not even excited. And it's like the girls always expect more than I can actually give them."

Your throat tightened, quick and sharp. You kept your face smooth. "Maybe you're tired."

Steve snorted. "Of sex?"

You pointed at him. "Of everything. You work all the time. You're, like, everybody's... whatever you are now."

"Babysitter?" Steve offered.

"Single mom," You corrected immediately.

Steve's laugh came out surprised. "Single mom?"

You nodded solemnly. "You have, like, six children. Dustin alone is two."

Steve's eyes warmed at that, fond in spite of himself. "Dustin's not my kid."

You leaned in. "Steve, Dustin looks at you like you hung the stars."

Steve's mouth opened, then closed. He looked down, scratching the back of his neck like he didn't know what to do with that information.

You kept going, because you could feel the conversation drifting into a place where your own heart might betray you. Better to keep it moving. Better to keep it funny.

"So maybe," you said, "you're just... burnt out. You're like a car that's been idling too long. Or like— like a microwave that's been running empty."

Steve frowned. "That makes no sense."

"It makes perfect sense," You insisted. "Your brain is like, 'Steve, please stop trying to be a sexy king and put less effort into sex.'"

Steve stared at her, then huffed. "Less effort?"

Your eyes flicked over him. His posture was a little slumped. There were faint shadows under his eyes he tried to pretend weren't there. He'd been running on cigarettes and responsibility and whatever caffeine he could find for months.

"I don't mean treat girls like shit. I mean have sex with someone who knows it's just sex and nothing more," you said, gentler.

Steve's gaze snagged on your face, like he'd almost forgotten you could be gentle. "You sound like a shrink."

Your mouth went soft. "I sound like someone who's around you all the time and therefore has to suffer when you're cranky."

Steve gave you a look. "I'm not cranky."

Your eyebrows arched. "You just described your sex life as 'boring' like you're reviewing a movie."

Steve's lips twitched, then he broke, laughing quietly. "Okay, fine. Maybe I'm a little cranky."

Your smile returned. "There we go."

Steve leaned forward again, closer, elbows on the counter. "But it's not just that," he admitted. "It's like— I go out with them, and I keep thinking... I keep thinking about—"

Your heart jumped. your fingers tightened on the edge of a VHS case. You kept your tone light, even as your pulse started acting stupid.

"About what?" you prompted.

Steve's eyes flicked to your mouth, then away, like his brain had tripped over something. He cleared his throat, suddenly fascinated by the cash register buttons.

"I don't know," he said, too quickly. "Like... I keep thinking about... other stuff."

Your voice came out steady by force of will. "Other stuff like what, babe?"

Steve's mouth tightened. He shrugged, failing at casual. "Like... conversations. Like... laughing. Like... being... comfortable."

Your heart did something stupid, something that felt like it was betraying you. You forced out a soft laugh, something easy, something safe.

Steve threw his hands up. "Come on, don't laugh."

"I'm helping," you insisted, coughing down your laughter.

Steve stared at you, and the fondness came back like it couldn't help itself. "You're mocking me."

"Yes," You agreed immediately. "But lovingly."

Steve shook his head, laughing again, then sobered, eyes dropping to your hands. "It's just... I don't know. I don't want to keep doing this. I don't want to keep going out with girls and feeling like I'm... pretending."

Your smile faded. You looked at him fully now, no teasing, no armor.

"That's... actually fair," you said quietly.

Steve's shoulders eased a little, like your approval mattered more than he wanted to admit. "Yeah?"

You nodded. "Yeah. And you're not broken. You're just... you."

Steve's eyes searched yours, and for a second, he looked younger—less like the guy who carried kids out of fires and more like the boy who'd shown up at your house in 1978 with scraped knees and a lopsided grin, already belonging at your side.

The quiet stretched again, heavy and warm and dangerous.

You saved both of you by grabbing a tape off the counter and slapping it into his hands. "Here," you declared. "Go put this back. Do some labor. You need manual work to distract you from your emotional awakening."

Steve stared at the tape. "Gremlins."

Your face was innocent. "What? It's a good movie."

Steve looked at you like he could see through you, then he shook his head, laughing under his breath as he walked away.

"You're the worst," he called over his shoulder.

"I'm the best," You corrected loudly, already sorting again. "And don't you forget it!"

Steve rolled his eyes and disappeared into the shelves.

You fell back into work—counting the till, stacking returns, straightening a display that didn't need straightening. Steve kept brushing against you as you moved in the small space behind the counter, shoulders and elbows and hands bumping like punctuation. You kept talking—about Carol's dead eyes, about Mrs. Wheeler's secret life, about Tina's new perm that looked like a helmet—until Steve's laugh returned fully, bright and easy.

When the clock finally crawled toward closing, Steve slapped the time card machine with the kind of relief reserved for escaping prison.

"All right," he announced, stretching his arms over his head. "Freedom."

You grabbed your purse, slinging it over your shoulder. "Freedom tastes like stale popcorn and carpet cleaner."

Steve reached out automatically, hooking two fingers through your belt loop as you started to drift toward the door without looking. "Uh-uh," he murmured. "Watch it, sweetheart. You're gonna walk straight into the display."

You sighed dramatically but let him steer you. "You're obsessed with controlling my movements."

Steve tugged you once more, gentle. "You're obsessed with being a human disaster."

You clocked out—Steve first, then you—and the machine stamped your cards with a loud, satisfying clunk.

Steve grabbed his keys off the hook, jingling them. "Come on," he said, already turning toward the door. "Let's go before I remember I have responsibilities."

You followed, the night waiting outside the glass like a held breath—right as you pushed the door open and stepped out, heading toward Steve's car. The air was crisp and quiet around Family Video, the parking lot glowing under the muted spill of amber lights as twilight settled in.

You and Steve stepped out through the front door, side by side as always, the heavy glass door thudding shut behind you. You tugged your jacket tighter around your shoulders and glanced up at him, hair catching in the breeze.

"You got plans tonight?" you asked, casually.

He pulled his keys from his coat pocket, spinning them around his finger. "Not really. No girl of the week. Might watch something trashy and eat eggos. Something that'll rot my brain just enough."

"Excellent goal," you nodded. "Sounds productive."

He gave you a glance. "You?"

You hesitated just a beat, then shook your head. "Nope."

You reached his car — that perfect BMW he pretended not to be precious about — and stood for a moment in the stillness.

There was a quiet between you, not uncomfortable, just full of possibility.

Then you turned toward him, leaned a shoulder lightly against his car door, and looked at him fully. Your expression was unreadable at first — then softened into something cool, but direct.

"Do you wanna fuck?"

It wasn't flirty. Wasn't teasing. You said it the same way you might've asked do you want to get coffee, or should we order Enzo's again.

And that was what made Steve blink — more startled by the delivery than the question itself. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

You raised an eyebrow. "You okay?"

"I just—" He gave a short breath of a laugh, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. "Wasn't expecting that. Not like that."

"Well," You said, tucking your hair behind one ear, "it's not like it hasn't crossed your mind. And it would totally fix your problem of a boring sex life and girls that expect more than you want to offer."

That, he didn't deny.

You smiled slightly, a little crooked. "Didn't say it has to mean anything."

He looked at you for a long moment. You weren't playing him. You weren't bluffing. You were calm, composed, your eyes steady, a little amused. The air between you charged with something that had been simmering for far too long.

He took a breath. "Do you want it to mean something?"

You paused. Then shrugged, softly. "I think it already does."

That did something to him — quieted the part of his brain that always overanalyzed, made excuses, avoided being too vulnerable with you. He stepped a little closer.

"Your place or mine?"

You smiled again, slower this time, and pushed off from the car. "Yours. You're parents are never home anyways."

He followed you toward his car without another word.

The door to Steve's empty, too big house had barely clicked shut before it happened.

Steve had barely taken a step inside when you turned, backed him against the wall, and kissed him like you'd been thinking about it for months — which you had.

He responded instantly, hands moving to your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your body pressed against his, warm and electric, and your fingers threaded up into his hair, tugging lightly as his mouth opened under yours.

The kiss was deep, familiar and new at once — like you had already done this a thousand times in dreams neither of you ever talked about.

"God," he murmured against your mouth between kisses, his voice rough. "You make this impossible."

"Good," you breathed, pulling him closer, your voice low and serious. "Stop overthinking."

He let out a breath of something like a laugh, but it was lost as you kissed him again, harder this time. His hands slid up under the soft fabric of your sweater, palms smoothing along your sides, and you made a sound — soft, caught between surprise and approval — that made his brain short-circuit.

You stepped backward without breaking the kiss, guiding him toward the living room, your fingers pulling at his shirt with surprising patience for someone pressed up against a man you'd just asked, point-blank, if he wanted to fuck you.

He pulled away for a second, just long enough to take you in. Your flushed cheeks, swollen lips, that necklace Robin got you for your last birthday resting against your collarbone — the same one he always noticed, always looked at when he wasn't supposed to.

"You sure?" he asked, voice lower now, softer but still careful.

You looked up at him, your eyes dark in the dim light of his house. "I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't."

That was it. That undid him completely.

He kissed you again, and you pulled him down with you onto the couch — and this time, neither of you hesitated.

The kiss slowed just enough for breath — lips parted, hands still tangled in each other's clothes, hearts beating fast but steady. You were beneath him now, half-reclined on the couch, jacket somewhere on the floor.

Steve's hand was on your hip, thumb tracing the edge of your skin under your sweater, his forehead pressed lightly against yours. The air was heavy with heat and the quiet weight of years of wanting.

You looked up at him, lips still kiss-dazed, voice smooth but just serious enough.

"Do you have a condom?"

It grounded Steve instantly — not in a bad way, but in a real way. Like this was happening, right now, and they were still them — not lost in the haze of adrenaline or nerves.

Steve blinked once, exhaled, then offered a breathless, slightly sheepish smile. "Yeah," he said, nodding, brushing a strand of your hair off your face. "Wallet. Jacket. I think."

"Good," you said, soft and certain, tugging him back toward you by the collar of his shirt. "Because I'm not going to Melvald's right now."

Steve reached over the couch, blindly fishing his jacket off the armrest while you trailed your fingers up his spine, sending a shiver through him that had absolutely nothing to do with the chill air.

He fumbled with his wallet, flipped it open, and pulled out the condom with a victorious little smirk.

"Prepared," he said.

"Cocky," you murmured, plucking it from his fingers and tossing it lightly onto the cushion besides you, then tugging him back down by the front of his shirt. "How often do you use that line?"

"Not often enough," he murmured against your neck, kissing the spot just below your ear, which drew a quiet, involuntary gasp from you.

Your hands wandered again — fingers brushing his belt, teasing along the line of his stomach, where his happy trail led into his pants. "Mm. Shame."

He groaned low in his throat. "You're dangerous."

"I know," you said sweetly, tracing the edge of his jaw with one nail. "But you like it."

"I really do."

Your mouths met again — hot, messy now, like restraint was something you'd both decided to stop pretending about. Steve kissed you like he was finally giving in to something he'd been trying to resist forever, and your hands were definitely not staying where they started.

His fingers slipped beneath the hem of your sweater again, exploring slowly, reverently. "You're beautiful," he murmured — like it slipped out before he could catch it.

You smiled against his mouth, breathless, amused. "You're not allowed to be sweet and good at this. Pick one."

"Not a chance."

Your hand slid lower, fingers brushing him through his jeans, and he exhaled sharply against her neck. "Sweetheart—"

"Yes, Stevie?"

He looked down at you, flushed and laughing, and something about the way you said his name like that — so calm, so in control even now — made his heart do something weird in his chest.

He leaned in closer, lips hovering just above yours. "If we keep talking," he murmured, "I'm going to forget what we're doing."

You grinned, wicked and knowing. "Wouldn't want that now, would we?"

Clothes came off in pieces, slow but inevitable — buttons undone by half-distracted fingers, shoes kicked off with lazy precision, his shirt tossed somewhere near a bookshelf that his parents never even touched. His living room was warm, dimly lit, the air thick with heat and tension and years of not-touching finally combusting into now.

Steve leaned over you, fingers ghosting along your ribs as you straddled him on the couch, lips swollen from kissing, hair a wild halo around your face. You looked like you were winning something, and maybe you were.

"You know," you said, breath catching as he slid his hands lower, "this is easily the most productive Friday night I've had in months."

"Beats Family Video and DnD," he murmured, dragging his mouth along the curve of your collarbone.

"Mmm... barely," you teased, tugging his hair just enough to make him growl softly against your skin.

"Then we better make it beat that," he said lowly, his voice rough, right before he kissed you again — messy, deep, greedy.

"God, you're such an overachiever," you gasped, biting down on his lip just enough to make his hips jerk against yours.

"Says the woman currently grinding on me like she's trying to win an award," he muttered, one hand gripping your thigh, the other tangling in your hair.

You laughed, breathless. "What would the award be? Best Professional Boundary Violation?"

"I think we've already won."

Your hips shifted, teasing, and his head fell back with a sharp inhale. "You're evil."

"And yet, here you are," you whispered into his ear, warm breath sending shivers down his spine, "begging me very nicely."

He groaned. "Babe."

"Yes, Steve?" you purred, completely smug.

He kissed you so hard you forgot the joke you were about to make, hands all over each other now, heat rising again fast. Between kisses, you managed, "This is definitely gonna ruin everything."

"Completely."

"You okay with that?"

He pressed his forehead to yours, breathless, eyes dark and clear. "I've been okay with that for months."

Your smile turned real, softer, before you kissed him again, slower this time.

"Good," you whispered. "Then shut up and fuck me."

You were on top of him now, the condom finally getting used, knees braced on either side of his hips, hair falling over your shoulders, your necklace resting just above the swell of her chest. You sank down onto him slowley, breath catching at the sheer size of his cock but unwilling to guve him any hesitation. You rolled your hips once — slow, deliberate — and Steve's mouth dropped open, a hoarse sound escaping from the back of his throat.

"Fuck—."

You tilted your head. "That was a sentence?"

"Give me a second."

"Take your time," you murmured, rocking your hips again, watching the way he lost his rhythm beneath you. "I'm not in a rush."

He groaned, eyes fluttering shut for a beat. "You're smug."

"Very."

You leaned forward slightly, palms on his chest, riding him in slow, confident rolls like you knew exactly what you were doing to him — because you did.

"You always this bossy?" he managed, voice rough.

"Only when I've had good day at work where no costumers decided to complain about John Hughes movies," you said, leaning in to kiss him again, slow and teasing. "Lucky you. Fuck, Steve."

"You feel so fucking good," Steve muttered, gripping your hip, guiding you into each motion. "Been thinking about this for so long."

"Yeah?" you panted, kissing the corner of his mouth, dizzy with it. "What part?"

He thrust up harder — slow and brutal — and you cried out, eyes flying open. His mouth pressed to your ear again.

"The part where I'm deep inside you, and you're so wet, and you keep moaning my name like I'm the only thing you can think about."

His hands slid up your thighs, gripping your hips like he was trying to slow you down — not because he wanted to stop, but because he was seconds from unraveling.

"Jesus, you're good at this."

"Good?" you echoed, mock offended. "I asked you if you wanted to fuck. I'm on top. You're not getting just good, Steve."

He laughed, breathless, then sucked in a sharp breath when you ground down just right. "Okay, okay—exceptional. Breathtaking. Dangerous."

"That's better," you whispered against his ear.

He kissed you again — desperate now, all tongue and teeth and too much — and your rhythm stuttered just a little. You gasped into his mouth, and he smiled into it.

"Gotcha," he whispered.

You pulled back just enough to look at him — flushed, wild, golden in the low light.

Then you rocked your hips again, harder this time, just once.

And Steve's head hit the back of the couch with a dull thud, a curse falling from his lips.

You grinned down at him, slow and triumphant. "No," you said. "I got you."

You kept your pace steady, deliberate — hips rolling in slow, controlled waves that left Steve half-wrecked beneath you, breathing hard, his hands clenched around your thighs like they were the only things tethering him to reality.

"You always look at me like that," you murmured, voice low, teasing, your fingers trailing lightly down his hairy chest.

"Like what?" Steve asked, his voice rough, barely there.

"Like you want me," you whispered, leaning down to brush your lips just barely over his. "But you think you shouldn't."

"I know I shouldn't," he murmured, his hands moving up to your waist, tightening. "Doesn't stop me apparently."

Your lips curled. "Smart man."

"You've got no idea how long I've wanted this," he muttered, like the words were dragged out of him. "You. Just like this."

You hummed in approval, nails raking lightly over his chest. "Yeah?"

Steve's hands were all over you now — sliding from your hips to your waist, thumbs brushing under your breasts, up your sides, into your hair. Like he couldn't decide what he wanted to touch most. Like touching was the only thing keeping him grounded.

"Yeah. You're going to destroy me," he said hoarsely, head tipped back against the rug.

He thrusted up slightly — barely enough to shift your pace, but enough to make you gasp, your hands tightening on his chest.

"I can blow you later," you whispered in his ear, lips ghosting over the shell of it. "If you're good."

His hips jolted up beneath you. "Fuck."

You laughed, soft and wicked, and sat back up, dragging your nails down his chest. "So far, I have excellent reviews."

"You can't just say shit like that."

"Why not?" you murmured, arching you back slightly, your rhythm slow but merciless. "Would it help if I told you I'm very thorough?"

"Sweetheart," he groaned, his head falling back, breath sharp. "I'm begging you."

You tilted your head, pretending to consider. "I mean... only if you ask nicely."

"I will get on my knees after this."

You grinned. "Mmm, tempting. Ever jerk off thinking about me?" you asked casually, like you were asking if he liked your necklace.

He groaned, sharp and involuntary. "You're kidding. I almost sprained something after that one time you licked ice cream off your finger back at Scoops."

You threw her head back, laughing. "That? That did it?"

"Everything did it," he said, pushing his hips up just enough to draw a gasp from your lips. "The way you talk. Walk. The fact you moan when you drink coffee too hot."

You bit your lip again, smiling like you were proud of yourself. "That wasn't a moan. That was a burn."

"Sure," he muttered. "Whatever helps you sleep."

Your rhythm was breaking a little now — just slightly — breath catching as you moved, your own pleasure starting to trip over your teasing.

Steve caught it and grinned up at you, despite being on the brink of combustion. "You're slipping."

You glared down at him, sweat-damp hair falling over your cheek. "Am not."

"Oh, you're slipping," he whispered, smug. "Your pace is getting messy."

"That's your fault," you gasped, rolling your hips deeper just to shut him up.

It didn't work.

"I should return the favor," he muttered, hand sliding between you, fingers finding your clit with a practiced kind of reverence.

You inhaled sharply, your rhythm faltering again. You looked down at him, eyes wide, lips parted.

"Oh, you like that," Steve said, catching it.

"Shut up," you whispered, cheeks flushed, but smiling anyway.

"Jesus, look at you," Steve groaned, fucking up into you harder. "So fucking hot like this, baby. You're so wet, you hear that?" he growled, pressing his forehead to yours as your bodies slapped together, messy and loud. "Fucking soaked for me."

"Steve—fuck," you whimpered, body clenching around him.

"You feel unreal," he kept going, his voice low, reverent, like it hurt to say but he needed to. "Like you were made for me to fuck you like this."

Your back arched sharply, another moan tearing from your throat.

"You ride me like a fucking dream," he groaned. "You love being fucked like this, don't you?"

"I love it," you cried, clinging to him like you were holding on for your life. "You feel so fucking good—"

"You're so tight," he panted, still dragging his hand down between you, fingers relentlessly on your clit. "So perfect around me. You were meant for this."

You whined — high and broken and needy — your head thrown back, jaw slack, completely wrecked on top of him.

"God, you're beautiful," Steve groaned, biting the curve of your shoulder. "The sounds you make — fuck, I could live in you. I could come just listening to you fall apart."

"Don't," you whimpered, barely coherent. "Not yet—please, Stevie—please—"

"I won't," he promised, jaw clenched, sweat dripping from his temple. "I'm gonna fuck you 'til you come, and then I'll fill you up like you fucking deserve."

Your moan was nothing short of pornographic.

He felt you clench around him, tight and fluttering, and his whole body lit up in response.

"Babe—" he gasped, hands sliding up to steady you, not to push you — just to hold you as you fell.

You nodded, frantic now, chasing it. "I know—fuck, Steve—I know—"

Your head dropped forward against his shoulder, your hair brushing his cheek, and then—

You came.

It hit you like a wave, slow but overwhelming, shuddering through your body in waves that stole your breath. You buried your face in his neck, panting, hips still moving, slower now, drawn-out and shaky.

"God," you gasped, voice wrecked. "Fuck. Fuck. Steve, shit."

Steve held you, breath shaking, trying not to lose it himself as you trembled against him. You were still wrapped around him, pulsing with the aftershocks, and he was right there—he could feel his own release pressing at the edge of his spine like a live wire.

But then you pulled back, just enough to look at him, your face still flushed and blissed-out, and smirked.

"Don't."

Steve blinked, stunned. "What?"

You leaned in, brushing your nose against his, still panting. "Don't come."

He stared at you, absolutely wrecked. "Sweetheart—"

You kissed him, slow and deep, your hips giving one last lazy grind before you stilled completely. "My offer still stands," you whispered, lips brushing his. "Let me suck you off."

His entire body tensed. "You can't just say that while I'm still inside you."

You smiled again, pleased and mean in the way only you could pull off. "I can do whatever I want. I just came so hard I forgot my last name."

He groaned, eyes fluttering shut. "You're cruel."

"I'm generous," you whispered, slipping off of him slowly, carefully, and it was both heaven and hell. "And you said you'd beg nicely, remember?"

Steve lay there, completely undone, staring up at her like she was a divine punishment.

You crouched beside him, running a teasing hand along his thigh, watching him breathe like you were measuring the damage.

"You look unwell," you teased sweetly, fingers trailing up his stomach.

Steve groaned. "You're not funny."

"I'm so funny," you said, brushing a kiss against his hip, then another, lower. "And I'm about to be so nice to you."

He looked down at you, eyes glazed and slightly disbelieving. "You're really doing this."

You settled between his legs, knees brushing the soft rug, and leaned forward, pressing a kiss just above the band of the condom.

Steve exhaled hard through his nose, staring at the ceiling. "I'm gonna die."

"You are," you agreed calmly, and then, with delicate fingers, you slid the condom off him, slow and careful. You tied it off one-handed and tossed it into the waste bin behind you like it was second nature.

You wrapped a hand around him and looked up. "Still with me?"

"Barely."

You smiled — not just filthy, but warm. Almost tender.

"You're lucky," you said, brushing your thumb along the head of him, watching him twitch under your touch. "I only do this for people I like."

He raised an eyebrow, breath hitching. "Like, or like-like?"

You gave a soft laugh, stroking him slowly. "Don't push your luck, Stevie."

"Can't help it," he rasped. "Still recovering from the part where you rode me like you were collecting souls."

Steve watched you through heavy-lidded eyes, completely undone and somehow still managing to look fond. "You're such a menace."

"I'm your menace," you said quietly — barely a whisper — right before your mouth closed over him.

And that was the end of coherent thought.

You were all warmth and silk and intent as your mouth closed over him, slow and unhurried at first — like you were savoring him, like you wanted to prove something. Steve's head dropped back with a raw, involuntary sound, his hips twitching just slightly, and his hands flexed at his sides, like he didn't know what to do with himself.

Tongue swirling, lips tight, the glide of your mouth wet and perfect as you sank down inch by inch, humming softly like you enjoyed every second. Which, judging by the smug glint in your eye when you glanced up at him, you did.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned, hand shooting out instinctively to your shoulder. "Jesus—"

You pulled off slowly with a wet pop, eyes bright, lips swollen. "Told you I had great reviews."

He stared at you, absolutely wrecked. "They undersold it."

You grinned, biting your lip. "You can be rough, you know. I can take it."

Steve blinked, still struggling to form words while you licked a stripe up the underside of him like you hadn't just said something that detonated all his higher brain function.

Your voice dropped lower. "Hand in my hair. I want it."

He didn't need to be told twice.

One hand slid into your hair — soft, slightly damp from sweat — and you let out the quietest pleased noise as you sank down on him again, deeper this time. His fingers curled automatically, anchoring you. Your mouth was incredible — hot and tight and so precise, like you knew what each flick of your tongue would do, how each slow bob would fray him a little more.

"God—" His voice was wrecked, nothing left of his usual polish. "You're so—fuck, you're so good at this."

You moaned softly in response, and the vibration made his hips buck up without warning.

Then you pulled off again, slowly, your lips dragging in a way that made his thighs twitch. You stroked him lazily with one hand, your spit shining on his skin.

"You want me to swallow?" you asked, voice low and raspy, breath hot against him.

Steve's brain short-circuited.

He looked down at you, flushed and wild and smiling like you owned him — which, at this point, you basically did — and let out the weakest, most honest sound of his entire life.

"Please."

You smiled, slow and sharp, and went right back down without a word. And then you picked up the pace — not rushed, but purposeful — determined in that effortless, focused way. Like you weren't just giving a blowjob. You were performing art.

Steve's hand stayed in your hair, not yanking but anchoring, his fingers curling deeper every time you took him in farther, deeper, every time your throat flexed around him and made his eyes roll back. His breath was ragged now, completely broken into shivering gasps. His other hand was clenched in the couch cushion, and his voice—normally so smooth, so composed—was gone.

"Babe—fuck, I'm—" He barely got the warning out, voice cracking.

You didn't stop. Didn't pull back. Didn't slow down. You looked up at him from under your lashes as your lips slid all the way down to the base, which was a struggle considering his size, took a deep breath through your nose, and swallowed him down like it was nothing.

And that was it.

His whole body jerked, thighs tightening, his back arching off the couch as he fell apart in your mouth — sharp, helpless gasps leaving him as you swallowed his cum around him, keeping him there, taking every second of it like you had meant to destroy him from the start.

Steve couldn't speak. Couldn't move. Just lay there, stunned and twitching, as you finally pulled off him with a soft, wet sound, licking your lips as you wiped the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand.

You looked up at him — flushed cheeks, swollen lips, messy hair — and gave him a satisfied little smile.

"Told you I had great reviews."

Steve struggled to catch his breath, still looking at you. "Come here." He muttered, voice rough. You climbed back onto the couch beside him and his arm immediately came around you.

You looked like you'd been through hell.

You looked perfect.

Steve lay beside you, arm draped loosely around you, tracing slow, absentminded circles on your hip. His chest was still rising and falling in deep, steady breaths.

"You okay?"

You gave a soft, blissed-out hum, eyes closed. "You ask that now?"

"I figured you might've blacked out at one point, because I sure have."

"I did."

He smiled, eyes on the ceiling. "Noted."

A beat.

You rolled your face toward him just enough to squint at him. "You're smug."

"I earned smug. I just fucked my best friend like I have been wanting to for months."

You laughed — truly laughed — and the sound was warm and rough and real. You stretched your leg out and immediately winced. "Jesus Christ, I'm sore."

Steve turned to look at you, brow raised. "Complaining?"

"Gloating?"

He smirked. "You loved it."

You rolled her eyes, smiling. "I did love it."

He leaned in, brushed a kiss against your shoulder. "You were kind of made for it."

You hummed, your voice going soft. "You know the way you talk to me... when we're like that?"

"Filthy?"

"No," you said, then grinned. "Yes. But also..." You shifted onto your side to face him. "You make it feel like it's more than just fucking."

Steve's smile faltered — not gone, just softened, quieted by something that felt more like truth.

"It is more," he said.

You stared at each other a moment.

There was so much you weren't saying. So much that hadn't been said. And yet it was all there, hanging between you like smoke — the wanting, the years of tension, the best-friend closeness that had already become so much more.

Neither of you said I love you.

Not yet.

But you reached out and ran your fingers through his messy, damp hair, and Steve leaned into your hand like it was instinct.

"You're gonna make going to work hell," you murmured.

"You started it," he said.

"I'm not sorry."

"You better not be." He paused, eyes flicking over your face — ruined and glowing and still somehow smug. "Also. We're not done."

You laughed again, low and wrecked. "Steve—my legs—"

"I can give you ten minutes."

"Ten?" you groaned, flopping onto your back again. "You're insatiable."

He leaned over you, kissed the side of your mouth with a lazy grin. "I'm so not done."

You sighed dramatically, smiling up at him like a girl completely in over her head and not remotely mad about it. "You're lucky you're cute."

"Correction," Steve murmured, sliding a hand over your stomach. "I'm lucky you're mine."

You blinked.

And didn't say anything.

You didn't have to.

The way you reached for him said it all.

You lay there like that — tangled and sticky and sore, the air still thick with everything you hadn't said — and didn't move for a long, long time.

Because after that?

The "I love you" had bled through the cracks already.

Comments and reblogs would be appreciated, I kinda disappeared for over three years and would really like to rebuild my community here lmao. Also thank you for reading and if you got something to say, my asks are always open!

[lacyrry]

modern bsf!steve who adores his shy loving bsf but one day he accidentally sends you his nudes and sexts you and you get turned on by it and end up sending back!

here u go babes enjoyy!

#nudes

modernday!bsf!steve harrington x reader

18+ MDNI SMUT

you’re sprawled on your couch in nothing but an oversized hoodie and panties, the tv flickering some show you’re not even watching. your phone buzzes on the coffee table and you reach for it lazily, expecting another dumb meme from steve or maybe a complaint about his shift at family video. he’s been your best friend since you were both awkward freshmen, the kind of friendship that feels like breathing—easy, constant, the kind where he knows your coffee order better than you do and you know exactly how he likes his eggs.

the text pops up and your thumb freezes mid-swipe.

it’s a photo.

steve’s hand wrapped around his cock, thick and flushed dark at the tip, veins standing out like he’s been stroking himself for a while. the angle is low, like he took it sitting on the edge of his bed, sweatpants shoved down just enough. the caption underneath is filthy:

> fuck i’m so hard thinking about u bent over for me baby..need to bury myself in that tight little pussy rn

your breath catches so hard it hurts. heat slams between your legs like a freight train. you stare, mouth dry, thighs pressing together without thinking. steve. your steve. the one who calls you “sweetheart” in that soft voice when you’re anxious, who brings you soup when you’re sick, who’s seen you cry over dumb movies and still looks at you like you hung the moon.

and he just sent you his dick.

your fingers are shaking when you type back.

> steve??

three dots appear instantly, then vanish. appear again. then:

> oh my god

> shit shit shit i’m so sorry that was meant for someone else

you bite your lip, staring at the photo again. you shouldn’t. you really shouldn’t. but you zoom in anyway, trace the way his thumb is pressed against the underside, the way the head is glistening. your clit throbs. you’ve thought about him like this—god, you’ve thought about him like this so many times you’ve lost count—but you never let yourself believe he might feel the same. he’s steve harrington. he could have anyone. he flirts with everyone. but he always comes back to you.

you swallow hard and type before you can chicken out.

> don’t be sorry

> it's.. nice

the dots again. longer this time.

> you’re not freaked out?

> no

> you’re turned on aren’t you

you squirm on the couch, the hoodie riding up your thighs. your panties are already damp. you can feel it.

> maybe.

> jesus christ..

your heart is hammering so loud you can hear it in your ears. you’ve never been bold. never. but something about seeing him like that—raw, desperate, for someone—snaps the last thread of your shyness.

you peel the hoodie off, toss it aside. your nipples are tight, aching. you cup one breast, pinch the nipple until it stings, then snap a photo. just your tits, soft and full, your thumb brushing over one peak. you send it without caption.

his response is immediate.

> fuck

> you’re perfect

another photo comes through. this time he’s fully naked, standing in front of his mirror, cock jutting out heavy and leaking. his abs are clenched, one hand fisted at the base like he’s trying not to stroke. look what you do to me, the text says.

you moan out loud, actually moan, and your hand slides down into your panties before you can stop it. you’re soaked. two fingers circle your clit and you snap another picture—your hand inside your underwear, the wet spot obvious on the cotton.

> steve i’m wet

> show me

you pull your panties to the side and take a video this time. short, shaky, just your fingers dipping into your pussy, the slick sounds obscene even through the phone. you hit send and immediately regret how forward it is, but then his reply comes and it’s a voice note.

his voice is wrecked. low, rough, the way it gets when he’s been yelling at the kids all day but softer, filthier. “baby, holy shit. listen to how wet you are for me. i’m gonna lose my mind. i’m coming over. right now. don’t you dare stop touching yourself until i get there.”

you whimper, fingers speeding up. “okay,” you whisper to the empty room. “okay, steve.”

ten minutes later there’s a knock on your door so hard it rattles the frame. you’re still in just your panties, skin flushed, hair a mess. you open the door and he’s there, chest heaving like he ran the whole way, hair wild from the wind, eyes black with want.

“hi,” you breathe.

he doesn’t say anything. he just steps inside, kicks the door shut, and crowds you back against the wall. his mouth crashes into yours—hot, messy, perfect. he tastes like the cherry slushie he probably had on the way over. his hands are everywhere, sliding up your bare back, cupping your ass, lifting you so your legs wrap around his waist.

“been driving myself crazy thinking about you,” he mutters against your lips. “every time you wear those little shorts. every time you laugh at my dumb jokes. fuck, i’ve wanted you for so long.”

you whine into his mouth, grinding down on the hard line of his cock through his jeans. he groans, deep and guttural, and carries you straight to your bedroom like you weigh nothing.

he lays you down on the bed gently, almost reverently, even though his hands are shaking. then he pulls back just enough to yank his shirt off, and god, the sight of him—broad shoulders, that little trail of hair disappearing into his waistband—makes your mouth water.

“take these off,” he says, tugging at your panties. you lift your hips and he peels them down your legs, groaning when he sees how soaked they are. he brings them to his face and inhales, eyes fluttering shut. “smell so fucking good, baby. always knew you would.”

you’re blushing so hard your ears burn, but you spread your legs anyway, shy and bold at the same time. he drops to his knees at the edge of the bed and just stares for a second, like he’s memorizing you.

“pretty,” he whispers. “so pretty and pink and wet for me.”

then his mouth is on you.

he doesn’t tease. he licks a broad stripe up your center, groaning at the taste, and then he’s devouring you. tongue fucking into you, nose bumping your clit, two thick fingers sliding in easy because you’re dripping. you cry out, back arching, hands flying to his hair.

“steve—oh my god—”

he hums against you, the vibration making your toes curl. he sucks your clit into his mouth and flicks it with his tongue and you’re already close, embarrassingly close, after just the sexting and the kiss. he feels it, curls his fingers just right, and you come with a broken sob, thighs clamping around his head.

he doesn’t stop. he keeps licking you through it, gentler now, until you’re twitching and oversensitive and begging.

“too much—steve—please—”

he pulls back, lips shiny, chin wet, and grins that cocky little grin that makes your heart flip even when you’re boneless. “one more, sweetheart. give me one more.”

he adds a third finger this time, stretching you, and latches onto your clit again. you come harder the second time, vision whiting out, a gush of wetness that makes him moan like he’s the one getting off.

when he finally crawls up your body you’re a mess—sweaty, trembling, thighs slick. he kisses you slow and deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, and you can feel how hard he is against your hip.

“need you,” you whisper, reaching down to palm him through his jeans. he hisses, hips jerking.

“yeah? want my cock, baby?”

“please.”

he stands up just long enough to shove his jeans and boxers down. his dick springs free, even bigger in person, flushed and leaking steadily. he strokes himself once, twice, eyes locked on yours.

“condom?” he asks, voice hoarse.

you shake your head. “pill. and i’m clean. want to feel you.”

his eyes go molten. “fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

he climbs back over you, notches the head of his cock at your entrance, and pushes in slow. the stretch is perfect—burning just enough to make you gasp, then melting into pure pleasure as he bottoms out. he stays there, buried to the hilt, forehead pressed to yours.

“so tight,” he breathes. “so fucking warm and tight and perfect. made for me.”

you wrap your legs around his waist and roll your hips and he loses it. he starts thrusting—deep, steady strokes that punch the air out of your lungs. the headboard slams against the wall in rhythm. you claw at his back, nails digging in, and he loves it, growls into your neck.

“harder,” you beg. “steve, please—harder—”

he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, folds you in half, and fucks you like he’s trying to ruin you for anyone else. the angle hits that spot inside you over and over and you’re sobbing, coming again, clenching around him so tight he curses.

“that’s it, baby, milk my cock—fuck—gonna fill you up—”

you come so hard you see stars. he follows right after, burying himself deep and pulsing, hot spurts of cum flooding you. he keeps rocking through it, drawing it out, until you’re both shaking.

he collapses half on top of you, face in your neck, breathing hard. you card your fingers through his damp hair, pressing soft kisses to his temple.

after a minute he lifts his head, eyes soft and dazed and so full of something that makes your chest ache.

“i love you,” he says quietly. “not just like this. i’ve loved you for years. i was just too chickenshit to say it.”

you smile, watery and huge. “i love you too, dummy.”

he laughs, soft and relieved, and kisses you slow and sweet. then he rolls you both so you’re on top, still connected, and starts rocking up into you again, lazy and deep.

“round two?” he murmurs against your lips.

you grind down, feeling him thicken inside you again. “yeah. round two.”

he takes his time this time.

his hands map every inch of you—cupping your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they’re tight peaks. he sits up so you’re in his lap, face to face, and kisses you like he’s got all night. you ride him slow, rolling your hips in circles, feeling every ridge and vein.

“look at you,” he whispers, eyes half-lidded. “so beautiful taking my cock. my good girl.”

the praise makes you clench around him. he groans, hands sliding down to grip your ass, helping you move. you lean back, bracing on his thighs, and he watches where you’re joined—his cock disappearing into your soaked pussy, the mess of both your cum glistening on his skin.

“fuck, that’s hot,” he says. “gonna make you come just like this. want to feel you squeeze me again.”

you do. it builds slow and deep this time, a rolling wave that crashes over you while he holds you close, murmuring filth and sweetness in equal measure. “come on, baby, let go—i’ve got you—love you so much—”

you shatter around him, crying out his name, and he follows with a broken moan, filling you again.

after that he pulls out gently, even though you whine at the loss, and disappears into the bathroom. he comes back with a warm washcloth, cleans you up with careful strokes, then crawls back into bed and pulls you against his chest.

you’re both quiet for a while, just breathing together. his fingers trace patterns on your bare back.

“so,” he says eventually, voice sleepy and smug. “accidentally sending nudes. ten out of ten. would recommend.”

you laugh into his skin. “you’re an idiot.”

“your idiot,” he corrects, pressing a kiss to your hair. “forever, if you’ll have me.”

you tilt your head up to look at him. his eyes are soft, vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen. you kiss him slow and deep.

“forever sounds good,” you whisper.

he smiles against your mouth, then rolls you under him again, already half-hard.

“good,” he says. “because i’m nowhere near done with you tonight.”

and he isn’t.

the third time is slower, almost lazy. he spoons you from behind, one arm banded around your waist, the other hand between your legs playing with your clit while he fucks you in shallow thrusts. you come with a quiet gasp, clenching around him, and he follows with a low groan, burying his face in your neck.

after that you both need water and maybe a snack, so you end up in the kitchen at 2 a.m., you in his t-shirt, him in just boxers, feeding each other leftover pizza and making out against the counter until he’s hard again and bending you over the table.

this time he eats you out from behind first, tongue and fingers until you’re shaking, then fucks you deep and rough, one hand fisted in your hair, the other rubbing your clit. you come so hard you squirt a little, soaking his thighs, and he loses his mind—pounding into you until he spills inside you with a shout.

you lose count after that.

[thecreelhouse]

tomorrow

Paring: Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: the two of you are a little too bold, a bit too stupid, and insanely horny when you’re intoxicated. // MDNI

WC: 4.7k

Includes: friends to lovers (kinda?). poor robin has to put up with Steve and reader’s nonsense. smut, with little to no plot. drunk!steve, high!reader. mutual masturbation, dirty talk, cumplay, praise, panty sniffing. no description of reader’s appearance, aside from having breasts and a vagina. gender neutral pronouns. takes place post s5.

A/N: yeah, I know, this isn’t any of the WIPs I’ve been working on, sorry! I actually started this in August, for @stevenose’s writing challenge, and never finished it in time (obviously), but their high!steve fics inspired me to pick this back up, so everybody say thank u han 🙂‍↕️ (also pls go read their fics if you haven’t yet!!!) anyway, lazily edited, sorry for any errors lol. hope y’all enjoy <3 (divider from @/diviniyae)

Not too long after Hawkins begins to find permanent normalcy, Robin finally gets her license.

At last, she passed her test— third time really is the charm— and that little coveted plastic card of verification is earned.

Turns out, coming within an inch of the world's potential end is a solid motivator to achieve your goals, and now, Robin Buckley is officially street legal.

At first, Robin loves the freedom; a license to drive is liberty to control the music, to roll the windows down as much as she'd like, to use as little or as much heat as she needs— because lord knows she wants to crawl out of her skin when she's overheated with layers on and—

That's not the point.

Point is, that freedom achingly feels a lot like babysitting right now.

Christ, Robin thinks, watching Steve check the glove box for the fifth time; maybe now a pack of gum will magically appear. He frowns when- shocker- there's no gum. Is this how Steve feels driving the kids around?

"No, no…" Steve slurs, now reaching behind the passenger seat, blindly grabbing for you. Any part of you. Because he's way too drunk right now.

And you're way too fucking high.

And Robin- bless her heart- the angel that she is with a fresh license, is now regretting her once eager volunteering of being tonight's DD.

"They're stayin' with me, s'too hard driving high."

"You also shouldn't drive while high, Steve." Robin side eyes him, only for a moment, still too terrified to take her eyes off the road for more than a second. "That's just as dangerous."

"Well, yeah, s'what I said," he giggles, making grabby hands behind the seat at you. You swat them away with a snort, and he gasps. "Breakin' my heart over here."

Robin grumbles something under her breath, but neither of you catch it. Not fully. Something about 'just hook up already'. Or maybe you're just wanting to hear that, wishing someone else would validate how you act around one another.

It's been nothing but flirting and teasing and inside jokes with an edge only you two balance on, nothing but this for at least a year. Maybe more. You're not sure when this started.

Honestly, it feels like you're always looking for him in every room, watching his face light up when you find one another. He's always quick to share a blanket with you during movie nights, always lets it slide when you steal fries off his plate at the diner, always waits for you to get inside when he drops you off before driving away, always calls when he's home safe and expects you to do the same— you do.

You always answer the phone on the second ring late at night; he's the only one who calls you at ungodly hours after nightmares, or nights he can't fall asleep. You're always asking if he drank enough water or ate when his headaches persist, offering to get whatever he needs. You're always supportive even during his hardest days— he returns that support for you, too.

Always there for one another. Always.

The car jerks to a stop, gravity shoving you into the back of the passenger seat with an 'oof!'

Robin looks back over her seat once the car's parked, scolding, "What'd I say about the seatbelts?!" 

"… To wear 'em," you giggle through a groan, peeling your face off the seat. 

"Okay, just-" Exasperated, she shoos you both away with a wave of her hand. "Get out of my car, weirdos. And drink water. A lot, and maybe—"

"Okay-yyyyy, mom," Steve whines like a child as he stumbles out first, opening the door for you next. "M'buying you a shot next time. You need it."

"'Kay, next time, you're driving— and only drinking water," she retorts while you close the door behind you. "And you," she points at you through the open window. "You need to cool it with the weed."

"Oh my god, you really are like a mom tonight," you snicker. 

Robin rolls her eyes, flipping you both off as you head to the front door. 

While Steve fumbles with the keys, you rest your head on his shoulder, giggling while he mocks Robin in a voice that sounds nothing like her.

"Don't forget to use protection!" She hollers out the window before driving off.

You gasp, albeit a bit delayed, while Steve glances up at you once the door's unlocked, brows scrunched together. "Protection? For what?"

"Oh…" the laughing is back as you both flounder inside, "oh, you're so gone if that went over your head." 

You'd hoped satisfying the craving of your munchies would be enough to begin sobering you up, but no. Steve is still pretty drunk, too, despite the ungodly amount of pretzels he's inhaled.

"Seriously, what was the joke?" He huffs, one hand on his hip, sassiness surfacing when you giggle. "I don't get it!"

"Dude," you rest your head on the kitchen counter, slumped on the tall stool with your hand lingering in the bag— second one, now— of pretzels. "You can't be serious."

"Protection for what?" He sips from a glass of water before adding in panic, "Do I need my bat?"

"Not that kind of bat," you mutter, snickering into your arm. 

"Demo-bats?"

You sit up, waving your arms while your head shakes frantically; this is taking a weird turn. "No, not th— that's not what I meant!"

"Or regular bats? Those can be scary too if they have rabies. Robin told me about rabies when I got bit by the demo-bats, and that shit's no joke." Steve's just wandering further and further from the punchline. His hands wave around dramatically as he speaks. "And, look, I know they have those cute, tiny faces, but anything can be cute and still be rabid—"

"Steve!"

He blinks. "Huh?"

"It was about sex!" Embarrassment burns hot under your skin as you shout, arms wide open in disbelief he got this lost and is this hung up on understanding the passive comment. "Protection! Condoms! Hello?"

Steve plants his hand onto the countertop, leaning with his arm supporting him up. His fingers drum on the surface, gulping. Red in the face, he attempts to laugh it off, "Ye- yeah. I knew that."

You tilt your head with a deadpan stare.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Steve, where the hell do your brain cells go when you're drunk?" You don't bother hiding your amused smirk. His jaw drops with a scoff.

"Oh, like you're all brains when you're high."

There's no malice in the banter, there never is.

It's a comfortable teasing you've fallen into before the Upside Down was destroyed, to blow off steam. One time too many it came close to some dangerous flirting, but never anything more.

There was always an unspoken line, never to be crossed.

"Didn't say I was, Harrington." 

You stride over to the sink, filling your glass with more water when his arms slink around your waist from behind.

"You're so clingy when you're drunk," you tease, grinning over your shoulder. He shrugs, resting his forehead against your shoulder.

Steve turns his head, breath tickling your neck, taunting you. "As soon as we hit the couch, you're gonna be just as clingy, like always."

You set your full water glass aside, wordlessly holding your hand up for his. He doesn't move, embrace tightening.

"Steve, c'mon. You know Robin's right about the damn water." He grumbles and gripes under his breath, releasing you only in one arm to reach back to the island counter for his empty glass. You softly thank him when he hands it over.

"Just wanna hug you all the time," he slurs, pressing up against you. He probably has no fucking idea you can feel his bulge, half-hardened against your backside. 

You bite back a moan, filling his glass with a shaky grip.

"Yeah," you force out a laugh, praying it's convincing enough. "Only when you're drunk."

"No, not only then," he pouts slightly, carefully taking the glass from you. "Thanks, angel."

Steve backs off, swallowing down gulp after gulp of water, while you watch his Adam's apple bob, mesmerized. He misses how your shoulders tense, while tucking your lip between your teeth.

Angel.

Along with the need touches, he only calls you the sweet names when he's intoxicated, too.

Steve finishes off the water with a satisfied gasp, gently pushing past you to fill his glass again. He smirks, eyes fixated on the faucet. "Why'd Robin make that comment anyway?"

He's got to be playing you; he's smarter than this.

In fact, you want to call out his feigned, coy, perplexed demeanor.

Instead, the challenge dies in your throat while your mouth runs dry.

"Whatever," you grumble, heading out of the kitchen. "Are we watching a movie or not?"

The two of you don't make it to the couch.

No, you drop to the floor, to which Steve stumbles into a heap next to you. At least you're in front of the television; perfect access to load a tape into the VCR from here.

Steve does just that, and the two of you fall into waves of comfortable silence, drifting off to allow mindless conversation to trickle in.

This is normal. This is what the two of you usually do on intoxicated nights like these; a movie droning on in the background while the two of you lazily chatter away.

Whatever film is playing offers another generic sex scene, blaring through the TV's speakers. You have no fucking clue what Steve picked out; it's a film from his 'borrowed' stash, never returned even after quitting Family Video. 

And, really, it's not like you care; how can you care about anything else while watching a silhouetted version of a couple together, with one going down on the other among the shadows.

No, your train of thought is heading off the rails without a conductor; you wonder what Steve tastes like, then wonder if he'd like the taste of you. Intoxicated and void of a filter, you question—

"You ever taste yourself before?"

Steve immediately spits out his water onto the coffee table.

"Sorry, what?"

Unfazed by your lack of a filter, you shrug, still lying on the floor. "Like, when you get off. You ever—"

His face contorts into disgust, "What? No. Ew, no."

Even through the haze of your high, you're intrigued by his reaction. The smirk on your face screams trouble. "No? Never? Not even once?"

"Wh- why would I want to?" Nervously, he's darting his eyes all about, landing anywhere but your own stare. The living room's baseboard moulding, in all its beige, dull glory, sure looks fascinating right now. "Isn't that… that's gross."

"Says who?"

"Says me!" He's easily flustered, and you refuse to let this go. Leaning back, palms flat on the floor, he scoffs with immense judgment, "Seriously, what on earth would make me want to do that?"

"Curiosity? The heat of the moment? Oh, dude, c'mon." You shift toward him, snorting as he goes rigid. "I've done it."

"I… I am learning way too much than I can handle right now," he quickly murmurs, running a hand down his face. Yet that sold the conversation for him. "… Why?"

"'Cause it's hot," you wickedly smirk. He doesn't notice your legs spreading, knees bent, presenting a clear view before him. 

"Well you—" The accusation leaves his lips before he can think twice, "You're just lying."

Silently, you pop the button of your jeans open, hand slinking underneath the denim. His heart drops while his stomach flips and oh, he thinks, this is not happening right now. 

"Wh- what are you doing?"

Is this seriously happening right now?

"Proving m'not a liar."

Yep, this is definitely happening, right fucking now.

"You don't have to do th—" Steve stops, breath caught in his throat. His eyes drop to your hand, picking up the sound of your finger running through your slick folds, and the airy whimper you release. 

He gulps as your hand retreats, refusing to blink when the slick on your finger glistens in the low light. Without a second thought, it slips past your lips. 

His jeans are way too goddamn tight. Agonizingly so.

Sucking slowly on the digit, your gaze, tinted red and hooded with lust, finds his, fixated on your every move. When your hand pulls away, a string of spit glistens in the low light, still chained to your pouty lips.

"Still gross?" Your tongue darts out, sweeping across your lips after feigning innocence.

Steve forces his head to shake no slowly, stare tunneling in only on you.

"What's got ya' so quiet, then?"

He shrugs, eyes drifting around the room, taking in everything but you. "I… I'm jus' thinkin'."

"Uh-huh," you coo, crawling toward him. You hover over his bent legs, sitting back on your heels while your hands slide up over the tight denim on his legs. When they reach his knees, you sweep your thumbs back and forth while a devilish smirk curls along your lips. "About what?"

Steve opens his mouth, plans on responding, somehow, with some words, maybe, but all that spills out is a whimper as you part his legs gently.

"What you t- taste like," he timidly answers, face flushing red— still tinted from drinking earlier. 

"You really wanna find out?" 

Steve nods, nods so frantically, you're ready for his neck to break.

"Okay." The carefree response has him springing up off his elbows, hands on yours, ready to pounce. Teasingly, you hum, "Hm… tomorrow."

That hopeful, eager expression on his face crumbles at once.

"Tomorrow?!"

"Neither of us are sober enough for this, Stevie." He throws his head back with the most exaggerated groan he's ever pulled. "I know, I hate being responsible too, but…"

Steve lifts his head, hope restored in his dopey, drunk daze. "But?"

Heat floods through you as all self-doubt floats away, lust taking over. "Okay, so… hear me out on this…"

This crush, this endless teasing and dancing around feelings, could come to an end tonight.

If only the two of you were fucking sober.

You're fine with it while high. Steve's fine with fucking around while drunk. But you both know for a first time, between two friends, that maybe this should be handled with care.

Sure, it'd be easier to shake the nerves while under the influence, but… you like Steve too much to not care, to not get it right— and vice versa.

That's how the two of you end up back to back on his living room floor, pants pushed down enough to toy with yourselves— all under a set of rules, of course.

Those rules are simple enough:

1. No peeking. 2. No touching one another (aside from the position you're already in.) 3. Absolutely no kissing.

There's not much harm in getting yourselves off in the same room, right? You're not watching one another. Not touching. Nothing with crossed wires of intimacy and feelings.

… but, you're listening. 

You can feel his back tense up with every quick schlick-schilck-schlick of his cock in his fist, stroking it wildly as you grow more vocal. 

Your whines, whimpers, little whispers under your breath, it's all enough of a praise to keep Steve going, to release his own symphony of sinful melodies.

"If y'still wanna— fuck— w- wanna fuck around tomorrow, we can."

"Only if we're—" you gasp while your finger dips between your folds, tracing around your throbbing clit; you throw your head back against his own, jolting from the sudden pressure, all thanks to your own clumsy hand. "Sorry, sorry— shit, m'sorry."

"If we're sober, ye- yeah, I know," he huffs, already over the rules and your responsibility. 

He gets it. He respects it. But god dammit, does he hate waiting like this. 

"It's good we're not fuckin' around," you pant while you arch into your own touch, glancing at him over your shoulder; a rule quickly broken, but he doesn't seem to notice. "I'd make a fuckin' mess outta you, Steve."

A moan thunders lowly out of Steve, strong enough to roll into you. Everything's bliss when you're stoned like this; even just the faintest brush of his body against yours would send you spiraling.

But it's not faint. It's not subtle. Because when he moans, he's digging his heels into the plush carpet, shoving his back against yours.

"Needa'…" he trails off, and it's quiet. He's still. You're ready to turn around and ask what's wrong, but then you hear the obscene way he spits, probably against his palm; it paralyzes you.

Even just the faintest sounds, hints and suggestions of sin, are enough to drive you to the brink of insanity.

Sure enough, the unmistakable sound of his slick palm stroking along his shaft echoes throughout the room.

"Fuck—" he gasps, head falling back onto your shoulder. In your peripheral view, you catch his dazed stare as he licks his lips. "Needa' touch you…"

You try to be the voice of reason. "To- tomorrow."

Steve whines, desperate and pouty.

You hope he's like this when he's sober, too.

"No, c'mon, I-" he gasps while bucking up into his fist. "I can be good."

Steve's shoulder blades dig into yours as he arches, lifting off the floor, just by an inch, and only for a second. It feels something like flying—wrapped up in desire and desperation, writhing over the possibilities of pleasure with you— or, it's as close to flying as humanly possible.

He collapses against the floor, against your back, with a grunt, and a bonus string of apologies. 

Your finger curls within your walls, heel of your palm nudging against your puffy clit, breathing out, "… Steve."

He's not sure if it's a prayer or a warning, but he's addicted to the way his name tumbles off your lips already.

"How many fingers you got?"

"O- one."

"Oh, sweetheart," he chuckles darkly. "You're gonna need more than that."

When Steve lifts his head, you loll yours back next. He's so fucked out from the sloppy dirty talk and his wavering thrusts into his fist. His cheeks are red, tint dusting over the bridge of his nose like it always does when he's drunk; the blush brings out the green in his hazel irises.

He's not only inebriated from a foolish count of shots, but drunk over a pussy he hasn't seen, touched, or tasted yet.

"H- hey, we're breaking a—"

"I don't give a fuck," he rasps out, licking his lips at the sight of your own. "You broke it fi- first."

Heat floods through your face, though you try to play off getting caught with a shrug. There's no room to apologize when Steve's already babbling about something else.

"S'pretty," he slurs, laced only with sincerity. "Can't wait t'fuckin' ruin you."

"N- not if I ruin you first."

Steve Harrington may have grown out of his old ways, but he still loves a good challenge.

"Guess we'd have to do some—" He murmurs a thread of expletives under his breath, eyes screwing shut as his strokes pick up. "S- something at the same time. Make it fair."

"Like wh- what?"

He shrugs against you, "I 'unno, get each other off at the same time. Maybe… sixty-nine. Grind against each other— whatever it takes you make you come." Almost arrogantly, he adds, "Make ya' squirt, too."

He says it so casually, that alone makes you squirm, sends your hips rolling against your palm, clit begging for friction.

"Steve, I- I've never squirted before."

"Oh, trust me," he grunts, back shoving against yours again. "You will."

"Fuck," you cry out, grinding onto your hand, feeling so empty with only one finger. "How?"

"M'gonna keep that pretty mouth full while you ride my face," he grins lazily, lips shaping into an o as he shudders out shallow breaths. "Suck your clit, stretch you out on my fingers, my tongue—"

Sharply, you gasp, spine curling while you tilt over his shoulder, just a little. Your own fingers aren't enough for the vision he's planting in your mind.

"I'll keep doing it 'til I find what makes you squirt."

The sheer thought of coming onto his tongue is dizzying, but soaking his face? Jesus Christ.

"And I always find what m'lookin' for."

Your hips shudder, clenching around your finger while biting back a moan.

You're not sure if he's just being a cocky son of a bitch, or if he actually means this, but if it leads to his mouth on your cunt come morning, so be it.

"Wanna choke on you," you mumble, ring finger sliding through your slit alongside your middle finger. You gather slick along your fingertips, tilting your head back just enough to give Steve a show. "Would you fuck my face, Stevie?"

His jaw drops, speechless, strokes slowing as you bring your fingers to your lips, kitten licking the gloss from the tips. The sight, the smell, it's all so fucking intoxicating— maybe more than the shots he took tonight.

Steve leans close, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breath fervently hot as it fans across your lips. His tongue darts out, and if he moves even a centimeter closer, he could lick the arousal dripping off your lips. 

Some way, somehow, Steve finds restraint.

"T'morrow," he whispers, more to himself than you.

He's so close. So goddamn close. He could kiss you, slot his plush lips against yours, move together with chaotic synchronicity. Dripping spit and your essence and, hell, he could even lick the precum off his hand and slip that into the filthy matrimony of your mouths.

But he won't. He respects you, respects what the two of you have already. He refuses to fuck it up.

You nod, but not without nudging your nose against his. "Mhm, y- yeah."

And you're so lost in the moment, lost in him, you don't even realize what he's doing as he leans away.

"Wh— Steve, why'd you—"

You catch it quickly enough; precum dripping down his hand, lapping it up onto his tongue as his stare burrows into your own.

"Fuck. Fuck," he whimpers, licking his lips. "S'gross but… but it's—"

"Hot. Not gross." Steve's hips twitch at the validation. "I told you." 

"Ye- yeah, whatever, you're right," he tries to deadpan, but the quiver in his voice exposes just how much it affects him.

Turning away, you smirk, still giving yourself room to steal glances of Steve comfortably.

Rule one is long fucking gone.

"Shit," you hiss out, sliding another finger into yourself. "T- two enough?"

Again, Steve chuckles lowly. "Just two? There's no way I'm gonna fit."

He expects you to whine, to beg and try to prove you can handle it, handle him.

He doesn't expect you to challenge that, either.

"Make me take it," you demand, voice shattering as your toes curl. "Stretch me out, nice n' slow."

"Baby…" He sounds devastated right now. "I- I can't do that to you."

"Sure y'can," you thrust your fingers a little harder, wrist cramping from the bent angle. You power through it, too close to bliss to give up now. "You— mnph— you'd take care of me, yeah?"

Steve spits again, shuddering while his strokes pick up; the things he'd do to watch you get off are nothing short of unholy. 

"F'course I would," though strained, he manages to respond. "I'd g- go slow. Get y'real wet f'me." Panting in rhythm with his strokes, he adds, "Bet you were soaked before we started this, though."

Through a gasp, you confess, "Almost whenever we're together."

Steve draws out a whine, one that pairs well with his desperate, sloppy strokes.

Somewhere along the way, god knows when, his left hand found your right one, draping over it, pressed against the floor. You only notice when he squeezes it while shuddering out "H- hah— fuck—" 

Rule two: eliminated.

Except you snatch your hand back, and he apologizes, genuinely, but it's not his main concern right now.

Your back rubs up against his as you shift around, with little grunts and incoherent phrases whispered under your breath.

"Wh- what're you doin—"

Steve feels your hand return to his, but you're holding something.

… Fabric?

"You can keep 'em," you giggle, patiently waiting for it to register in his drunk mind.

There's a sticky, damp spot he runs his thumb over, realizing immediately you just gave him a pair of panties. Freshly torn off your body and damp from how wet you've been all night.

"Wh— holy shit." He grabs the fabric like he's claiming treasure, frantic and greedy as he holds them up, admiring the darker patch of fibers. "Oh my fucking god, oh my g—"

It happens so fast, too fast for him to both warn you and indulge himself, so he shoves the fabric against his face, inhaling deeply through an orgasm.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," he whimpers, muffled by your panties held tightly to his nose. 

His toes curl and eyes roll back, arching against you one final time, and crying out while losing composure over his strokes. Thick, white ropes spurt out, spilling across his fist, himself, his clothes, the carpet, and— who fucking cares about the goddamn carpet?

All the while, from where you sit, you miss out on the delicious vision of Steve, mouthing at your panties, tongue lazily flitting and rolling onto the damp spot; the fabric darkens, and his hunger for you only grows.

You hear him chant out your name into the fabric, and that alone is the final thing to light your fuse.

Nearly mirroring his high, your back curves as your hand struggles to stay in place, tightening around your own fingers and grinding against the heel of your palm. You dig your feet into the carpet, slumping into Steve as you push back; he holds steady to hold you upward, panting through his own comedown and aftershocks.

His hand finds your free one when you babble his name, over and over within breathy sobs, "Steve, Steve, Steve". You're too far gone to hear him murmur encouraging praise, "m'right here, y'can let go" and "so good, you're so good for me, angel."

It's never hit you this hard before, not while only touching yourself. Your vision whites out for a moment, ears ringing as your hips tremble, legs tensing while riding out the peak of your high.

And as quickly as it hits, it's over.

Hanging above your heads is the smell that's not quite of sex, but close. Echoing against the walls are your sounds and Steve's of satisfied exhaustion. His heartbeat is rapid enough to feel through his back into your own; you wonder if he can feel yours, too.

Your body twitches and jolts with aftershocks, laughing dazedly while reality sets in. You think the truth is enough to sober you up, but you've got one final request, only boosted by the haziness lingering in your body.

"Steve," you pant out, hand pulling away from his and gripping your chest as you catch your breath.

"Yeah?" He sounds equally as spent.

"M'gonna do something real fuckin' stupid," you huff out, slipping your fingers out to swap them with your other hand. You turn, just enough to offer your soaked hand to his lips. You don't touch him, waiting patiently for permission while sloppily fucking yourself. "Only if y- you want."

When he freezes, like a deer caught in the headlights, you feel the rejection flood in.

That was stupid, of course he wouldn't want to—

Steve pulls you back from spiraling, cradling your face with his thumb hovering over your lips. There's a pearlescent drop on his calloused pad, begging not to be wasted. 

You flit your tongue out, lapping slowly along his thumb, guiding it in between your lips with a whimper. Even if salty and a little bitter, the satisfaction of tasting him is sweet.

As you suck softly on his thumb, Steve licks your fingers, eyes rolling back, swallowing your taste with a groan. Greedily, he parts his lips, not only sucking them, but lazily bobbing his head along your digits, too. 

You pop off of his thumb, warning, "Tomorrow…" before the two of you become too carried away. You can't help fixating on his lips, still wrapped around your fingers. Absentmindedly, he nods, but drool slips from the corners of his lips.

"Tm'rw," he mumbles, pulling away and whining as a string of spit follows him.

Rule three: left intact.

… for now.

[barnesonfilm]

never have i ever

★ summary: you and steve never talked about the summer of 1985, but a drunken game forces you both to relieve it in graphic detail

★ pairing: steve harrington x reader

★ warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, alcohol usage, protected sex, p in v, porn with little plot, overstimulation, squirting, loss of virginity, size kink, big dick steve harrington

★ word count: 7.7k

★ notes: this is one of those im not sure i like but :P

Never Have I Ever was a stupid game childish, immature game, and it was only ever suggested because Robin loved to be nosey. That, and the kids had been buzzing with excitement to play drinking games with the ‘grown-ups’, finally. It had become a long-running joke: the moment the last of them turned twenty-one, they’d officially earn a seat at the table. 

Now, you were all regretting it. Bottles littered your best friend’s floor, the Harrington house becoming the home base for the hangouts when everyone was in town. Four shots in, and the kids were absolutely fucking with you all. Nancy was practically sloshed, and Mike was making sure he targeted her directly. Dustin was basically force-feeding the shots down Steve’s throat while the rest of them laughed in your faces. It was mostly mundane jabs, who got dumped, and embarrassing stories coming to light. It didn’t get nasty until Lucas was quiet for a minute, an evil smirk on his face. 

“My turn,” He yelled, everyone, preparing yet another shot. “Never have I ever had a one-night stand.” 

“I don’t think you guys are playing this game fairly by targeting us.” You grumbled, all of the older kids slamming the shots back. You winced as the tequila burned your throat, watching Steve gag around the lime slice.

“To think, we finally let you drink with us, and this is how it is.” He grumbled, his shoulder brushing yours. Steve Harrington had been your best friend since middle school. One of the few surviving friends of his ‘King Steve’ era at Hawkins High. You survived long-distance friendship and the turmoils of life. Now here you were, sitting in his living room during the summer. Just like you were a teenager again. 

“There were no rules about what we could say. You should’ve clarified.” Mike snorted, sticking his tongue out at his sister. 

All she did was snarl back, “Okay. Never have I ever been caught hiding porn magazines under my bed.” 

That got a howl of laughter to echo around the room, the boy hesitantly chugging back the shot. The two siblings now in a stand-off of emotional warfare. 

“Never have I ever slept with Jonathan Byers.” Mike bit back. 

“Whoa!” Her ex-boyfriend and current situationship yelled, not sure why he got dragged into this. 

Another drink. “Never have I ever been a virgin at 19.” She bit back. 

“I told you that in confidence!” He cried out, not even taking the full shot. Too busy trying not to throw it up on Steve’s rug. 

“Never have I ever slept with Steve Harrington.” Mike howled.

“Oh my god, you are so ridiculous,” Nancy yelled, not even bothering to fill the glass. Content on taking a swig directly from the bottle. 

Maybe if the alcohol wasn’t already pumping in your veins, you wouldn’t have done it on instinct, but you tilted your own head back. Another shot going down, leaving a burning feeling in your chest, hand rubbing your clavicle to ease the ache. And maybe you could’ve gotten away with it, had everyone not been staring at Steve, awaiting his protests for Mike’s comment. 

“Wait,” Dustin shifted in his seat, now all eyes on you. “Did you just take a shot, Y/n?”

Steve was oblivious, still side-eyeing Mike for his unnecessary jabs at his sister. 

You froze, fingers still gripping the empty shot glass. Eyes wide as jaws began to fall to the floor, Robin covering her face with her hands. 

“Uh..” You choked out, “Yeah.” 

A chorus of yells broke out, Steve’s body tensing beside yours. 

“Oh my god.” Max cackled, her and Lucas falling into each other. 

“Dude, I told you so!” Lucas said back. 

“I knew you guys had been friends for too long not to have done something,” Dustin yelled, punching Will in the arms out of excitement. Ignoring his whines. 

“Jesus Christ, don’t say that,” Will begged, reading the room unlike his tispy friend. 

“This is insane.” Robin’s hands were gliding down her face, as her world had shifted on its axis. Unaware of how she didn’t know this had happened between her two best friends. It wasn’t something you and Steve talked about often, or really ever. 

“Wait, really?” Nancy’s eyes were wide, shooting daggers at the two of you. 

Suddenly, the room was too crowded, your shirt clinging uncomfortably to your skin. All eyes were now on you, and you were looking everywhere but at Steve. 

“Wait, when did this happen?” Jonathan asked, “Are you guys like, together now?” 

Too quickly, the two of you began denying it, scoffing out in unison no’s. The silence was deafening after, scoffs of disbelief and looks of confusion. 

You let Steve speak, unable to form any coherent thoughts. “It was a long time ago.” He had settled on, hoping that was going to ease the nosiness. Which, of course, it did not. 

“You told me you never had feelings for Steve,” Nancy said, an accusatory glance shot your way. 

“And I never did. It was purely physical.” You rambled, “It was way after you guys got together, swear. God, Steve and I are just friends.” 

“Just friends normally don’t have sex.” Robin pointed out, “I mean, we’ve never had sex.” 

“Robin, did you wanna have sex with me?” You scoffed, her face turning into one of disgust. 

“Wait, so this happened the summer after you graduated?” Max pointed out, doing calculations in her head. 

Steve’s heart was pounding out of his chest, his eyes glancing at your frame every few seconds. Watching your eyes dart anywhere but his. He was silently pleading for you to look at him, just one glance. 

“Yup.” You smiled awkwardly, avoiding his gaze like the plague. “Now who’s next?” Doing your best to push the game forward, or end it entirely. 

“Yeah, never have I ever had sex with Y/n.” Lucas laughed, making Max push him backwards off the couch. 

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Steve winced, not even bothering to take another drink. Everyone was well past their limit anyway to continue drinking like fish. “You guys are cut off.” 

“No, please-” 

Steve tried to wrestle the bottles out of Dustin’s hands. The two of them ended up in a heap on the floor, playful giggles erasing the awkwardness air out of the room. 

“Jesus Christ.” You sighed, about to get up and run to the bathroom, before three sets of hands were on your shoulders. All but dragging you into the garage under the guise of smoking a cigarette. Mind you, none of you smoked. Jonathan simply handed Nancy the pack. His eyes are all-knowing. 

“Was wondering when the interrogation would start.” Your mouth watered at the pack in Nancy’s hand, demanding to bum one off of her. 

“Only if you answer our questions.” She smirked, waving the pack above your head like a dog with a bone. 

“You each get one question. Maybe two if you guys are nice.” You sighed, snatching the pack from her quickly. They were kind enough to at least give you time to light the cigarette before the questions started. They all spoke over each other, your head aching at the volume. 

“One at a time, please.” You whined, opening the garage door to feel the summer night air hit your flushed skin. 

“Me first,” Robin demanded, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Of course, that would bother her the most. “Honestly,” You sighed, “It happened once, and we never talked about it again. Truly. It would’ve been weird to bring it up.” 

Max raised her hand like she was in school, waiting for you to point at her. “Was it a spur-of-the-moment thing? Or was there a love confession? Were you drunk?” 

“Yes, no, and no. Tipsy off champagne, sure. I was a virgin, made a joke about going to college one, and Steve said ‘What if you weren’t?’ It seemed batshit to me, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. I could just get it over with with someone I trusted.”

The girl's eyes were wide, staring at you like you had three heads. 

“And there were no feelings? Like at all?” Nancy asked slowly, like she was scared of startling a wild animal. “Because I mean, for years, everyone thought you two would end up together. I mean, even I did. S’why I was so jealous of you.” 

You shook your head, flicking the cigarette on the ground. “Nope. I mean, it was intimate, yeah, but no love confessions. Just casual sex between friends.” 

“Casual. Right.” Robin nodded, clearly not believing the words coming from your mouth.

“Was it good?” Max asked, making Nancy push her shoulder playfully. “Guess I could ask you too, huh?” Max hissed back, the two of them joking around.  

“It was good.” You sighed, “Probably the best sex I’ve ever had.” You admitted, “Just hasn’t been the same with anyone else.” 

Nancy furrowed her brows, “He’s good. I get that, but hasn’t it been the same?” 

“Y’know, men are just.” You waved your hand around. “They can do all the right things, but it’s not like they’re my best friend, so they don’t know me like Steve does, I guess.” 

“What about that guy you dated for like two years?” Max asked. 

“Sex was fine, just nothing special.” You shrugged. That’s what you told yourself anyway. It’s the only thing you’d let yourself believe. The thoughts resurfacing made your skin crawl. 

They all made a noise, staring amongst each other like they were in on an inside joke you weren’t privy to. You tuned them out, letting the cigarette burn up in your hand, thinking back to graduation night all those years ago.

Graduating from High School didn’t feel as monumental as you thought it was supposed to. There were no grand proposals of love in your cap and gown, no dramatic football field walk-offs, no long monologues about societal expectations. It was a diploma in your hand, too many photos, and dry snack plates littered about. It didn’t feel like much of anything. 

For Steve, it was worse; his parents didn’t even bother attending. Content on spending the start of their summer at their beach house. Calling it a punishment for Steve not getting early admission anywhere, like his father wanted. It was cruel. He acted like it didn’t bother him, but with years of friendship under your belt, you knew his tells. He was tugging the roots of his hair anxiously, the hairspray falling before the night was halfway through. Every time your parents spoke about how proud they were of you, there was a faraway look in his eyes. 

Even when your own parents took him in their arms, a son they never had. He appreciated it, but you knew it wasn’t what he wanted. To be discarded and disregarded by his own parents cut him deeper than he’d ever show. 

That’s why, after all your family retired for the night, you were sneaking into the Harrington household. Not even bothering to sneak in through the window, you opened the front door slowly. The house was dark, still. The only light was emitting from upstairs, where Steve was. You hollered out his name a few times before padding up the stairs. As soon as you spotted him, your heart fell, graduation gown lazily thrown against his chair. He sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands. 

You cleared your throat before speaking, “Hello, graduating class of 1985.” 

He didn’t even jump, just wiped his eyes and turned towards you. You held up the stolen bottle of champagne, a bag of food in your other hand. 

“Did you think I was gonna let you celebrate your first night as a free man in this big house all by yourself?” You smirked. 

His eyes lit up in a way only you could make them. His shoulders were trembling from the laugh he was trying not to let escape. “Did you break into my house?” 

“Door was unlocked.” You shrugged, walking into his room as if it were your own. Which, at this point, it might as well have been. “Got your favorite and dessert. Figured we’d put on a record and talk about how terrible Tammy’s song was. And principal Higgin’s speeches.” 

Steve just watched you glide around his room, entering his orbit like you always had. Rambling on as you set the food out, forcing him to pick a record from his crate. 

Once the music was playing, you both ate, rambling on and on about tonight's events. It was an hour later, and you were taking turns destroying the personal-sized cake you picked up from the supermarket. Forks in hand, bitching about the upcoming Summer break. 

You’d be pulling extra hours at the diner, saving up for Fall tuition. While Steve was ranting about his father letting him know he was effectively cut off financially. And how he was really worried about how it would impact his dating life, because of course he would be.

“My summer is gonna be spent at some dead-end minimum wage job before my dad allows me to get an actual job with him,” Steve rambled, “While all the hot girls are going to college. They’re gonna see all these educated hipster dudes and come back to Hawkins and not even spare me another glance.” 

“At least you’re not going into college a virgin.” You shrugged, placing the icing-covered fork down. “I’m never getting laid ever at this rate. It could always be worse.” 

Steve’s body stilled, brows furrowed at you. “What do you mean? Are you saying you never?” 

“Thought you knew that.” You hummed, kicking your feet lazily behind you. Your head still propped up by your hand. 

“But you and Tyler? Not even once? I mean, you guys dated for almost a year.” Steve was aghast, unable to comprehend a teenage boy, not wanting to go all the way. 

“We did like hand stuff, but yeah, never.” You admitted. It wasn’t something you were particularly embarrassed about, but it worried you. Most of the time, people in college had already had sex; you couldn’t imagine many people would want anything to do with an almost 19-year-old virgin. 

Steve made a noise of shock, sitting back on his hands. His mind is running a thousand miles a minute; any longer and smoke would be steaming out of his ears. 

“God, what a loser,” he laughed, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“He just didn’t seem into it, I guess? He probably just didn’t like me very much.” 

“Hey,” Steve frowned, “It’s his loss. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” 

You sighed, “Just gotta find some college boy that doesn’t mind screwing virgins.” You laughed, ready to swing your body off the bed to flip to vinyl over. 

Steve stopped you, his hand steady on your arm. He wasn’t sure what he was about to offer you, whether it was the cheap champagne or the loneliness in his gut. 

“What if you weren’t a virgin, though?” He asked gently, his eyes heavy on yours. 

“What?” You laughed, sitting upright to look at him. 

“Just, what if I... you know?” He stumbled on, tripping over his own words. 

You were lost, unsure of what he was asking. “No offense, but I don’t trust you as a wingman-” 

“No, that’s not what I mean.” He grumbled, cursing himself under his breath. “You know I love you, right? You’re my best friend in the whole world. Nothing would change that.” 

“I know, Stevie. I love you too.” You smiled, covering your hand with his. 

“And I don’t have any romantic feelings for you, not in that way.” He admitted, watching your face intently for your reaction.

“And I don’t for you…” You said, unsure where he was leading with this. 

“But I do have eyes, and you’re very attractive.” 

“Thank you?” You spoke, still confused as you watched him pick out each word carefully. 

“And I’d hate for you to lose your virginity to someone who doesn’t care about you. I know teenage boys, they’re pigs.” He rambled, “It should be special. With someone who cares about you and your pleasure. Someone who makes you feel safe.” 

You nodded, urging him to continue. “So, what I’m trying to say or offer is that I could take your virginity.” 

The words cut through the air like a record scratch, your eyebrows furrowing. 

You knew Steve had a reputation to be upheld at school. The Playboy, the man-whore of Hawkins, as you called him. He was very experienced in that department; you had overheard the rumors. The girls' bathroom whispers about him. But you never thought of him in that way; he was always just Steve. Your Steve. A weird feeling sat in your gut the more you thought about it. 

You looked deep into his warm eyes. He was attractive; that much was obvious to everyone with eyes. He cared about you more than anyone ever had before. He knew you like the back of his hand. There was never a time when someone else came before you. You were two peas in a pod. Everyone knew that wherever you were, Steve was right behind. 

Because he was your Steve, you knew he’d respect you. He’d never cross any lines; he’d be the perfect gentleman. And that’s when the ache started, the gentle throb between your legs. Craving the physical touch of another. 

You don’t know how long you sat there in thought before speaking. Asking him one more time just to make sure you heard him correctly. 

“You’re offering to have sex with me? Just to clarify?” 

He nodded, “As a friend.” 

It sounded silly the moment it left his lips, a smile appearing on your lips. Just one smile and all of his anxiety disappeared. 

“You want us to have sex as friends?” You giggled, “Wait, I don’t want it to ruin what we have.” You paused, grabbing his hand tighter in yours. 

“No, no.” He said quickly, “We don’t have to. I just want you to have that experience with someone who loves you. Nothing’s gonna change between us. I don’t have feelings for you, you don’t have feelings for me. Purely casual. No kissing, no romance. Think of it as an introduction to sex.”

“What’s in it for you?” You couldn’t help but ask. 

A lazy smirk fell on his face, “Well, like I said. Saving you from a horrible first time. It’s simply a bonus that I get to have sex with a pretty girl.”

“You’re so ridiculous, Steve Harrington.” You laughed, his thumb rubbing, smoothing circles into your hand. 

“We don’t have to. We can forget I ever even said anything, and I’ll blame the stolen champagne.” 

“No, I think I want it to be you.” You admitted. 

Your Steve. The boy who took the training wheels off your bike for you. Then kissed your bloodied knees when you crashed into the asphalt. The same boy who taught you how to drive stick, letting you get curb rash all over the Beamer's brand-new tires. The two of you had been through hell and back together; nothing would ruin your friendship. You knew it deep in your heart. There was no life you’d live without Steve.

You both took a moment, letting the words settle between you. His hands were jittery against yours, in anxiety or anticipation, you weren’t sure. Your stomach was in knots, excitement and fear rising in your chest. 

“Do you wanna do it now?” 

“So should we?” You both spoke at the same time, giggling.

Untangling his hands from yours, you moved the half-eaten cake to the desk. Clearing off his bed. He closed his curtains for privacy, flipping over the vinyl once more. You crawled into his bed, settling underneath his covers. You had been in his bed hundreds of times, but now your palms were sweaty. Heart nearly beating out of your chest. 

“One rule,” Steve said, still standing at the edge of the bed. His eyes were dark as he watched you. “We communicate the whole time. I’ll talk you through everything. You tell me what you like, what you don’t like. We stop at any time.” 

Your teeth bit down on your lower lip, nodding at him. 

“Gotta say it, pretty girl.” He urged, your stomach turning with desire. 

“Y-yes.” You said, “I promise.” 

He smiled, slipping his socks off. Giving you time to undress. You lifted your hips, shimmying your pants off underneath the blankets. You weren’t sure why you felt the need to hide, but you blushed when he tugged his own pants down. You had seen him shirtless hundreds of times, but here he stood clad in nothing but his underwear. He looked godlike, his hair messy against his forehead. 

“Should I take my shirt off?” You asked breathily, fingers fumbling with the hem. 

He nodded a little too quickly, a blush forming on his cheeks. “You can leave your bra on. Whatever you feel comfortable with.” 

The shirt was off in seconds, a simple, plain black thing. Having sex with your best friend wasn’t on the agenda for the night, or maybe you would have put on something cuter. But to Steve, it didn’t matter; his jaw ticked anyway. Watching intently as the flesh bounced when you lay back on the bed. He was just a man at the end of the day. 

He joined you underneath the covers, leaning on his elbow to take a look at you. “You feeling okay?” He noted your breathing was heavier, limbs moving nervously. 

“Nervous, but good nervous.” You smiled, his face moving close to yours. 

“S’okay if I touch you?” He asked sweetly. 

You went to nod but stopped yourself, shuffling under the blanket once again to slip your underwear off. Palming up the fabric in your hand and hiding it beneath your discarded pants. 

Steve couldn’t help but laugh, making you glare back at him. “We’re literally about to have sex, but you don’t want me seeing your underwear?” 

“Be nice to me.” You playfully frowned, falling back into position. “Okay. You can touch me now.” 

He pressed his lips down to your forehead gently, letting his hand move underneath the blankets to rest on your stomach. You almost flinched at the warmth of his hands, willing your body to calm down. He took his time, slowly dragging his palm around your naval until it slid further down. You didn’t know where to look, eyes darting all over the room. 

“Spread your legs for me,” Steve demanded softly, his voice deeper than you’d ever heard it before. The words went straight to your core, nearly gasping at the lust in them. It hadn't occurred to you until now that you’d both be sharing your most intimate parts. You would see him fall apart in pleasure just as much as he would you. 

You obliged, your legs parting open for him. His hand traveled through your pubic bone, fingertips teasing the hair down there. Your hips jumped up when his middle and ring fingers pressed softly against your clit, with little resistance. You were wet, and now he knew it as he rubbed an experimental circle into the swollen bud. 

“This okay?” He panted, breath hot against your neck. You were so lost in the moment, you didn’t realize his head was nuzzling closer. 

“Yeah,” You sighed, “Y-you can add a little more pressure.” 

Oh, was he good at following directions. His fingers pressed down harder, continuing his small strokes. He watched you intently, listening to your body’s cues on where exactly to press down harder, and didn’t stop until he found the right rhythm. He knew he did when you let out a small moan, then clamped your mouth shut. Your body flushes in embarrassment. The last thing he wanted was for you to silence yourself, to worry about being quiet instead of focusing on the sensation. 

“You don’t have to be quiet,” He whispered, “I want you to focus on feeling good. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.” 

“J-jesus.” You stuttered, your body going hot. Every time he spoke, you could feel yourself getting wetter, craving more of him. 

But you listened, letting the pathetic moans slip through your lips. He could feel your hips tilting upward, rocking against his hand for more. So more he gave, letting his fingers speed up their movements. 

“O-oh, Steve. Right there.” You sighed, one of your hands grabbing his wrist tightly. “Please don’t stop.” 

“M’not. Just relax. Just feel it.” He cooed, ignoring his cock twitching in his boxers. He couldn’t believe this was happening, your cunt spasming around his fingers as he drew you closer to the edge. Your chest heaved, tits bouncing out the top of your bra with each gasp that left your plump lips. He found himself staring at them, wondering what they’d feel like pressed against his. 

His hips shifted towards your leg, his bulge brushing against you. Doing everything in his power not to hump you like a dog in heat. You felt it anyway, your eyes shooting over to his. 

“You’re hard.” You spoke it like a fact, your voice breathy. 

“Yeah?” He laughed, pressing a little harder into you. “Got a pretty girl moaning my name and cumming around my fingers. Course imma be hard.” 

“God.” You moaned loudly, eyes falling back shut. 

He worked you through your orgasm gently, slowing but not stopping his movements. He waited until your moans had ceased and your breathing evened out before he let his fingers glide further down. 

“I’m gonna put my fingers in now. That okay?” He asked, feeling the opening of your entrance mouth against his fingers greedily. 

“Y-yeah.” You sighed dreamily, and one of your hands had gone behind his head. Fingers laced in his brown locks, his head hovering just above your chest. Resisting the urge to lean down and bite the supple flesh. 

He slid one finger in at a time, letting your body adjust to one before two were slipping deep into your cunt. You were soaked with your previous release and your ongoing arousal. He could feel you dripping down his hand; he was so hard he thought he was going to pass out. 

He pulled his fingers out slowly, before pushing them back in with a wet squelch. The sound would have embarrassed you if not for how deeply they were prodding inside you. His fingertips are brushing a spot inside of you that no one has ever had before. It had you grasping onto him like a lifeline, body tensing. 

“Hey, you okay?” He panted, stilling his movements. 

You nodded, moving your hips down. Trying to fuck yourself on his fingers since he stopped. “F-feels weird. In a good way. Overwhelming. Never felt that before.” 

A deep smirk appeared on his lips, curling his fingers ever so gently to the right. He knew he hit the spot again with you jumped. He let his fingers push in deeper, prodding the spot with each thrust. “Is that it?” 

“Yes.” You cried, head thrown back into the pillows. “Fuck, that’s so good.” 

“S’your sweet spot. It’s gonna feel so good when I’m inside you, honey.” He mumbled, his thumb coming up to rub your clit gently. 

His words made you cum without warning; the sheer mention of his cock being inside you had you cumming around his fingers again. You couldn’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed as he walked you through it, the kindest, filthiest words leaving his lips. 

“There we go, look so good cumming for me. It’s okay, just take it. There you go.” 

Your legs slammed shut around his rest, thighs shaking around him. He took the hint and gently removed his fingers, leaning over to wipe them off on his discarded shirt. You were out of breath, watching his back muscles ripple with his movements. 

“How was that?” He grinned, acting as if he didn’t just give you the two best orgasms of your life. 

“No wonder half of Hawkin’s is throwing themselves at your feet.” You teased him, rubbing your face with your hand. “Jesus, I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard.” 

Pride oozed off of him as he leaned forward, ready to crawl on top of you. You stopped him with a hand to his chest, letting your fingers glide through the soft patch of hair. “Will you let me..?” 

“Oh, well, I was gonna-” 

“Just a little, if t-that’s okay with you. Think it’s only fair.” You smiled, omitting the fact that you so desperately wanted to feel him at least once in your hands. Who was Steve to deprive his pretty best friend of anything? 

He pushed his boxers down off his legs quickly, his cock slapping his pubic bone with a snap. The covers had long been pushed down beneath your knees; no point in hiding from each other at this point. All shame and embarrassment had long been out the window. You had to stifle the gasp once your eyes fell between his legs. He was huge, in a way that felt anatomically impossible. His thick bulbous tip was the prettiest shade of pink, his length long, complete with a thick vein that ran underneath. 

“Steve.” You paled, mouth agape at him. 

He must have been used to this reaction as your hand reached out, wrapping around his length. Your fingers barely fit around it. He had to bite his lip to avoid moaning just from the simple grab. He twitched heavily in your hand. 

“I heard the rumors, but this is insane. That’s not gonna fit inside me.” You gawked, stroking him slowly. 

Between your hand and the words leaving your mouth, he was doing all he could to not ruin this entire idea of his by blowing his load early. 

“I’ll make it fit, pretty girl, don’t worry.” He spoke through clenched teeth, whining when you brought your other hand up. Fitting more of him in your hands. He pulled away slowly, ignoring your whines of protest. “Don’t wanna be a ten pump chump for your first time.” 

You giggled at this, letting him slot himself in between your legs. He leaned over you to fumble around in his bedside drawer, pulling out a stack of condoms. You watched him open the foil with his teeth and expertly roll the latex over himself with ease. You tried not to think of just how many girls have seen him do this, ignoring the weird ache it brought in your chest. 

All of that left the moment he leaned back down, his hand bracing himself next to your head. The other holding his heavy cock in his hand. You could feel the tip brushing against your entrance ever so slightly. 

“Are you ready? Still okay with this?” He asked again, staring deep into your eyes for confirmation. 

You had made your mind up already, spreading your legs wider for him. “Yes, please.” 

He leaned down, dropping another kiss to your forehead before he lined himself up, letting his tip push past your drenched folds. He held you close to him, whispering words of encouragement as he settled inside of you. The stretch hurt, a deep ache that hurt in a good way. Your head was heavy, eyes rolled to the back of your head. Your hands were pressing deep red marks into his shoulder blade, but he didn’t care. Not while your tight cunt was barely making room for him to push in. 

“Gotta relax, baby.” Steve cooed, not even a quarter of the way in. Your heart thumped widely at the nickname, letting his slip of tongue go unnoticed by him. 

“Stevie, y’so big.” You cried, still urging him to continue. He pushed deeper, his hand rubbing small circles on your hip bone. Doing his best to relax you, so you’d open up wide for him. Your cunt took him in slowly, fluttering and squeezing with each inch he slowly dragged in. By the time his hips hit yours, tears were pouring down your cheeks. The stretch was too much; it felt like he was splitting you apart. 

“I’m sorry, so sorry. It’s in now, baby. It’s okay, shhh. Do you wanna stop?” He whispered, smoothing down your hair, keeping you as close as possible to him. 

“N-no, please don’t.” You sobbed, “Just need a minute.” 

“I’ll give you all the time in the world.” He smiled, pressing small kisses into your neck. He meant it; you were warm and wet around him. So tight he had to breathe through his nose and think of anything else to calm him down. 

It took a few minutes of feeling his lips on your skin, his hands roaming respectfully. One of his hands settled on your thigh, nearly gripping your ass in his hands as he held you close. The dull ache had faded, your body stretching to his size as if you were made for him. You could feel your cunt drenching around him again, the ache of needing more settling deep in your bones. 

“Steve.” You breathed out, nearly startling him. 

He looked down at you with his brown doe eyes, ready to give you anything you wanted. Because he always would. He’d never say no to you. Not his Y/n. 

“How’s it feel?” He asked. 

“Good. Really full.” You whispered, “You can move now.” 

“Just tell me if it’s too much, okay?” He didn’t move until you nodded, slowly dragging his cock out of you a few inches before pushing back in. 

You gasped loudly, encouraging him to keep going as he did it again. And again. Slicking up your entrance enough to gain traction, allowing him to slowly slip all the way out, and then your cunt suckling him back in.

“Oh my god.” You cried out, your head deep in the crook of his neck as you clung onto him for dear life. 

His movements were careful and deep, pounding into that sweet spot he found earlier with each thrust. He was surely ruining you for all men to come, as he found a rhythm that worked for both of you. His hips slapping against yours, the lewd sounds of his wet balls slapping against your ass. 

“You feel amazing, honey,” He grunted, making sure you knew this was good for him too, “So tight and wet.”

“Oh, Steve. I-I think I’m gonna cum. I feel like-” Your moans were cut off by his hands grabbing your ass, lifting your leg higher. He shifted even deeper inside of you like this, his tip slamming into your spot with each jolt. 

“You’re gonna cum for me.” He spoke like a fact, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. 

You melted, your body falling slack as you fell into your third orgasm of the night. “Yeah, yeah, I am.” 

It was hard to keep your eyes open as your body shook with pleasure, but it was worth it to see Steve’s face. His plump lips parted, his cheek flushed as his eyes were locked on where you were connected. Watching your release soak his cock. He was beautiful. 

Suddenly, all of the girls in the Hawkin’s bathroom made sense. Why they’d come to his door crying, begging for another chance. Why he walked around god-like all those years. Because with each snap of his hips into yours, Steve Harrington was fucking you into heaven. He was hitting spots inside of you that you’d never even heard of. Bringing you more orgasms in an hour than you had in your entire life. 

“That’s my gorgeous girl.” He preened, and doesn’t miss the way you clench around him after he says it. He’s chasing his own high, leaning back down to press his body against yours. His thick patch of hair rubs against your clit with each roll of his hips. Your entire body was sensitive; each touch had you crying out. 

No matter how much he wanted to cum, he decided he needed one more out of you. Dragging his hips even faster. If this were the first and last time this would ever happen, he’d make it last. He wanted to memorize each gasp that left your lips, the furrow of your brow when you were close. How you felt marking him as your own. 

“Stevie…” 

“Yes?” He panted, his eyes meeting your blissed-out ones. 

“Kiss me.” Your voice was strained, face scrunched up in pleasure. 

Kissing was crossing a line you hadn’t discussed; kissing made it something else. But Steve couldn’t say no to you, not while your lips were parted, begging to be kissed. Begging for him.

He didn’t hesitate to bring his lips down to yours in a crushing kiss. It wasn’t romantic; it was hot and desperate. Open mouth panting into open mouth as you both fell apart in unison. His balls were tightening as your legs shook around his waist. 

“You gonna cum for me? One more time?” He asked against your lips, your head shaking. 

“Yes, you can, baby. Can feel it. Just one more. You’ve done so well.” 

You were crying out against him; you were overstimulated in the best way. With each drag, you could feel the coil tightening, an unusual feeling appearing in your lower belly. 

“W-wait, Steve.” You panicked, pulling away from his kiss. “I feel like I have to-to you k-know” 

He ignored your panic, lifting your leg higher around his waist. “Do you trust me?” 

“With my life.” You nearly sobbed, the feeling only growing stronger. 

“Then shhhh, just relax. I got you.” He whispered, speeding his thrusts up. 

You could barely breathe, each thrust knocking the wind out of you as the pleasure swelled into something you didn’t have a name for. All it took was one more thrust, and the dam had burst, your cunt squirting around him. Your entire body is shaking in pleasure, unable to hear the pornographic wet sounds. It was music to Steve’s ears, his own body flinching in pleasure when he came undone. Spilling his seed into the condom, his hips stilling. 

“Oh my god, Y/n.” He moaned in awe, shakily looking down at the now ruined sheets. 

The room felt too hot, your body slick with sweat, rubbing against his own. You couldn’t look, keeping your eyes clamped shut. 

“That’s so gross.” You grumbled, “M’sorry.” 

“Sorry?” His jaw dropped, leaning down to cup your face in his hands. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Don’t ever apologize for your pleasure. Don’t let any of these little boys make you feel bad, or gross.” 

“Yes, Captain.” You giggled, a goofy smile on your face. His forehead was damp, his hair curling and sticking to his forehead. 

“Gonna pull out and clean you up, okay? Don’t move. It might sting a little.” He warned, pressing a barely there kiss to your lips before he moved. You hissed at the loss of contact, the ache coming back once he slipped out. You refused to look at the damp and bloodied sheets, simply letting him bring a cool washcloth to your legs, patting you clean. It was more intimate than the sex, letting him take care of you like this. 

He gave you a t-shirt of his to slip on and an old pair of boxers. You went to the bathroom while he changed the sheets. When you looked at yourself in the mirror, you hardly recognized the girl staring back at you. Your hair was a mess, cheeks flushed. Small love bites littered your neck from where Steve got carried away. The ache he left between your legs. Your Steve. 

When you walked out of the bathroom, he was sliding a movie into the VHS player, a goofy smile on his lips. “You don’t regret anything, do you?” 

You shook your head, “Not at all. Now grab that cake and pour me a glass. What movie did you put in?” You hobbled over to the bed; if Steve noticed your gait off he didn’t comment on it. Content to follow your orders, as the old TV crackled to life with ‘The Breakfast Club’. 

You were snuggled up in his bed, blankets pulled up to your chin, when he brought you a slice of the cake. Another red solo cup full of champagne. “For the newly no longer a virgin.” 

“Oh, shut up.” You grumbled, snatching the plate from him. He ended up stealing half of your piece, your forks battling as the movie droned on. The night continued as normal, no more touches. Everything was just as it was before, as if nothing had happened. So why was it over half a decade later that the memory still made your heart race? 

You avoided Steve for the rest of the night, content on blindly hoping that everyone would have forgotten it by now. But Steve was just as lost in the memory as you were, both of you zoning out, trying to forget the looks on each other's faces as you came. It wasn’t that you forgot about it over the years, more like you actively tried to. He was your friend; it was a simple act between two horny teenagers who cared for each other. Nothing more, nothing less. Right? 

You should’ve known you’d have to face him eventually, his hand grasping your shoulder gently. Guiding you into the hall outside his bedroom. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, his breath smelled of tequila and lime. A stark contrast to the champagne and cake from the last time his face was this close to yours. 

You stilled, shifting awkwardly on your feet. “Yeah, why?” 

“Just everything in there. I’m sorry that happened. They can be, well, you know.” He chuckled,  his hands still sitting comfortably on your shoulders. Your body leaned into his subconsciously. 

“I already got interrogated in the garage,” You admitted, “It was my fault anyway. Should’ve just lied and not done the shot.” 

Steve’s brows furrowed a bit at this, “Do you?” He cleared his throat, “Do you regret it?” 

You reeled back a little, shaking your head. “N-no. no.” 

“Oh, okay. Good.” He nodded, the air around the two of you growing awkward. It was never awkward with you and Steve. Immediately, you hated it; it felt like your skin was crawling. He felt it too. The nagging feeling inside his chest telling him to pull you close, to bring you back to him. The silence was heavy, covering you two like a blanket. It stayed until Steve opened his mouth, the next few words tilting the world on its axis. 

“I regret it.” 

It took the air from your lungs, nearly staggering back if his hands weren’t holding you steady. His fingers tightened their grip, scared you’d make a run for it before he could get all the words out. He must have seen the look of horror on your face, the shame filling your chest. 

“Not because of you,” he rushed, voice cracking immediately, like he’d been waiting to say this and now it was all coming out wrong. “Jesus, no-not because of you. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Then why?” Your voice was meek, almost unrecognizable. 

“Because it ruined me,” he said quietly, like admitting it out loud might finally split him open. “Not because it was wrong, but because it was right. Right in a way, I never even realized until years later, I regret it because I couldn’t stop remembering it. Because every time I looked at you after that, there was this gap. This space between what we were and what we could’ve been.”

“I didn’t know…” You whispered, “I didn’t even. I didn’t let myself think about it. I thought it just wasn’t in the cards for us. You were my Steve. Wasn’t gonna ruin that.”

“I love you,” he said, finally, like it was a confession and an apology and a surrender all at once. Like he couldn’t go another second without the words leaving his chest. “I loved you before I knew it had a name. And now I do, and I don’t know how to live with it without wrecking everything.”

“Are you sure this isn’t the tequila talking?” You asked, the world still spinning on its side, as he looked down at you as if you were his whole world. Which you were to him. 

“Yes, I mean it’s giving me courage, but everything I’m saying I mean. God, Y/n, I mean it.” He promised. The confession had you reeling. 

“Steve…” You whispered, “I love you, too.” 

“Yeah?” He smiled, his hands shaking. “Thank god, I was feeling a little nervous there.” 

The tension was broken at that, laughter filling the air once again. The language the two of you knew well. You didn’t know where to put your hands, what to say next. 

“It’s never been like this with us,” You said quietly, as if you said it too loud, it would jinx it. 

“I know,” comes the answer right away. “That’s what’s freaking me out.”

“I’m also freaking out.” You assured him, your eyes wide. Laughs erupt from your chests, leaning towards each other from it. Your hands came up, pressing gently against his chest. You and Steve were never overly touchy-feely as friends; boundaries were upheld. Upheld for so long, it's as if each of you knew once it started, you’d never want to stop. 

“I don’t know how to do this.” He admitted, his hands covering yours. You could feel his heart beating against your intertwined hands. Fast, loud, and just for you. 

“Me neither, but it feels right. Don’t you think?” You smiled up at him. 

He gave you that beautiful, toohy grin of his. “God, yeah, it does. Feels like there’s always been something missing.”

“All this time?” Your eyes softened, mourning the years lost. How could you miss something you never even knew you could have had? 

“All this time.” He beamed, “And I don’t know what’s next. All I know is that I’m never letting you go. Ever.” 

“That a promise, Harrington?” You teased, his body leaning closer into yours. 

“That’s a threat, actually.” He smirked, finally crashing his lips onto yours. 

And when he kissed you, it wasn’t rushed or desperate like it was before. It was warm, sure, and full of laughter, like finally coming home to something that had been waiting for you both all along. 

[harringtonshon]

i need to suck his dick so fucking bad.. it doesn’t make sense

[iluvemobitches]

Me waiting on y'all to make them stranger things fics

[samwxlsxon]

tomorrow | aged up!mike wheeler x reader

summary: You and Mike return to your house after a long day of horrible shit. Undisclosed feelings + Dr. Mike cleaning your injury make for an an even longer night.

word count: 11.6k (rip sorry)

warnings: CRAZY SEASON 5 SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT, slight canon deviance, cursing, mentions of blood, gore (brief), mean!mike (brief), mention of traumatic events, angst, fluff, sexual thoughts, grinding, pain (brief), smut, virgin!reader, virgin!mike, spitting, discussions of masturbation, protected p in v, fingering, oral (m receiving), two idiots being idiots, unresolved feelings, no use of y/n, reader described as having skin that flushes & hair long enough to frame face

a/n: all characters engaging in sexual acts are 18+! hi everyone! stranger things season 5 spoke to me biblically, so i decided to restart this blog and publish my first fic. as always, feedback is encouraged and my ask are open! please let me know what you think :) mike looks so fucking lickable this season bye

this was not beta read, so please ignore any grammatical or structural typos hehe

[banner credit @minslune]

masterlist

likes and reblogs make the world go round ♡

The water was pink with blood. Mike stared at the shower floor through blurry eyes, watching his mother’s blood mix with the grime of the day’s events, both silently running down the drain, melting with the suds of your sweet-smelling body wash. He hadn’t bothered to read the bottle, but it smelled like you. Vanilla, maybe.

He rested his head against the wall of the shower and closed his eyes. Your parent’s house was quiet, save for the sound of water running down his body, just as it had been for the last twenty minutes.

Maybe closing his eyes hadn’t been the best idea.

There, behind his eyes, lay the body of his mother with Nancy by her side, both covered in blood. Karen’s gashes were so deep, Mike could see portions of muscle unveiled by her torn skin. She was heaving, choking on her own blood. He had never been so scared. So helpless. 

The memory shifts to the echo of Nancy’s screams as he ran through the house in search of Holly and his father. Mike found his father in his room, unconscious and bleeding from the abdomen. Even if it weren’t for the current uninhabitability of his home, Mike would never sleep in his room again. He remembers the fear he felt, not at all comparable to the rush of fearful adrenaline upon an incoming attack, no. This fear ran deep. It pulled from the deepest parts of Mike’s soul and consumed his every thought. This fear was debilitating. The fear that his parents were going to die and he was too late.

A quiet knock on the bathroom door pulled him from his memories. A small mercy.

The door creaked open slightly, allowing for some of the room’s dense steam to escape. As he opened his eyes, your voice cut through the silence of the house, “Sorry, I’m not looking- I just found you some clothes. I’ll leave them here.” Hurriedly, you placed your older brother’s sweat set that he’d left before leaving for college on the bathroom counter. You turned on your heels quickly after, eyes downward, avoiding the silhouette of the boy visible through the fogged up shower door.

As you closed the door behind you, Mike mumbled a forgotten “thank you,” and all was quiet again.

Mike knew his time in the steamy bliss of the shower was coming to an end. The water was nowhere near as hot as it was when he first got in and his fingers were pruned. With a sigh, he washed away the rest of the soap and turned off the shower. He stood there for a while, staring at the droplets of water on the door, his body a couple steps behind what his brain was telling him to do. By the time he reached for the towel, his hair had stopped dripping and no longer was he warm from the scalding water.

He worried for his parents, and no amount of reassurance from the doctors at the hospital would make their condition an easier pill to swallow. In part he blamed himself, considering his knowledge of Vecna and the Upside Down preceded this attack tenfold. If only he had said something earlier- convinced them to get out of Hawkins. Maybe then his mother would have functioning vocal cords. Maybe then his sister would still be here. Maybe.

As he ran your towel through his hair, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the foggy mirror. For a second, he almost didn’t recognize himself. His face was hollow and his shoulders were a little wider. He was taller than he’d realized- older. Over the years, he’d spent so much time focused on saving the world, that somewhere between imminent death and science class he’d forgotten that he was no longer a boy.

There would be time to dwell on that later, he supposed. For now, he had to focus on finding Holly. He hung up the towel and dressed himself in the clothes you’d provided him. Your brother was a couple sizes larger than him, but fresh clothes free of his mother’s blood left little to complain about.

He didn’t expect to find you staring at the bathroom door as he stepped out. Awkwardly, he stopped and motioned towards the vacant room, “‘s all yours. Thank you.”

You nodded, getting up from the crisscrossed position on your bed. “I spoke to my parents. They shouldn’t be back until next week, so- um, yeah. Feel free to stay as long as you need. Nance called, too. Your mom’s doing okay. Your dad is still in a coma, though.”

He nodded slowly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“I’m sorry,” you continued. “I wish I could give you better news.” You wrapped your arms around your pajamas as you stood in front of him, a sad sort of frown marring your face.

He shrugged, hands in his pockets. “It’s okay. I’m trying not to dwell on it.” He gave you one last glance before heading towards the backpack thrown carelessly on the floor by your bed.

Rummaging through it, he spoke, “We have to streamline our focus. Nance and I were able to get in the room with Mom. Holly had this imaginary friend- Mr. Whatsit. Her teacher caught her talking to him before she went missing. We think Mr. Whatsit is Henry.” Satisfied, he pulled out his walkie-talkie, extending the antenna.

“Henry? As in Creel?” You leaned up against the bathroom doorway, clearly surprised by what you had just learned. Your memory was a little fuzzy at the moment, and you were quickly trying to understand what Henry Creel could possibly want with Holly. 

Mike nodded, pressing the side of the device. “Dustin, Lucas- it’s Mike. Do you copy?” He waited a beat. Nothing.

“Dustin! Lucas! It’s Mike. Do you copy?” He repeated. Nothing again. “Shit,” he sighed, tossing the walkie atop his bag, “they’re supposed to be up. This important, we have to-”

You pushed yourself off the frame, walking into the bathroom and turning the shower on. “Mike, it’s late. We’ve had one of the worst days of our lives,” you called. “Maybe it’s best if you just rest for a bit? The boys are probably exhausted, too. You can’t think right if you’re tired.”

And tired you were. Your bones ached. There was long scrape on your side, mystery bruises at their beginning stages on your extremities. Henry, however his involvement in Holly’s disappearance, could wait until the morning. You needed a hot shower and some hard drugs. Unfortunately, five hours of sleep would have to suffice.

You pulled on your face in the mirror, trying to bring it back to life, while Mike mumbled angrily from somewhere in your room. “This can’t wait,” he huffed your name, walking towards the bathroom, locking eyes with you in the mirror. “Holly is missing. My parents got hurt, and Vecna is not going to stop there- more people are going to find themselves in the middle of this shit and we have to do something to stop it. Like I told Nancy, I don't want any more regrets. I’m tired of sitting here and doing fucking nothing.”

“You’re not doing nothing, Mike. You’ve done everything you can for today. I agree that this is important, but Vecna, or Henry, or whoever-the-fuck will still be there tomorrow morning, and frankly, I don’t remember the last time we slept for more than thirty minute intervals. We’ll think better if we get some sleep.” Your eyes pleaded with him through the mirror.

He scoffed, running his hands through his hair. “Yeah, because it’s so easy for you to sleep right now and ignore everything. Your parents are away. Your brother is safe. Holly is still out there and we don’t know where the fuck she is. How could you even sleep right now knowing what’s at stake?”

He answered his own question. “Right. It’s so easy for you to detach yourself because you don’t have anything at stake.”

Well that was fucking rude. Anger swelled in your chest at his words. You whipped around to face him, digging your finger into his chest. “Fuck you, Michael Wheeler.”

After everything that you had sacrificed in helping the party, you were taken aback by Mike’s blatant disregard for your loyalty to the cause. Tears of frustration welled in your eyes as you annunciated your words with another harsh poke to his chest. “How dare you? I have been your best friend for seven years and with all the absolute shit I have endured because of you, I cannot believe you even have the fucking nerve. No one is forcing me to be here. Last I checked, Hawkins is my home, too. Will is my friend, Holly is like a sister to me, and I know that my level of pain is nowhere close to yours, but I’ve lost people too, Michael.

“So quit being such an ass. I have everything to lose. My home, my friends, everything. I know you want to find Holly and I know it seems like we’re getting nowhere, but you need to sleep. We’re no good to anyone if we get picked off by a Demo-thing because we’re fucking exhausted! Dustin and Lucas have also been working around the clock on this. Let them fucking sleep.” You shoved him out of the doorway and slammed the bathroom door shut.

You let out a shallow breath as you gripped the front of the counter. Your head hurt. You know he didn’t mean it, but Mike could be so mean sometimes. You also know that his outburst was likely a projection of his own feelings for himself unto you, but his words hurt nonetheless.

Mike let out a sigh from behind the door. He regretted the words the moment they came out of his mouth, but he was nothing if not stubborn, so he let them out anyway. The look on your face while he spoke had left him with this ugly pit of disgust for himself. He didn’t mean it. You were a vital party member, and Mike was a self-deprecating shithead who would have someone else feel the hurt rather than feel it himself.

After a moment of staring at his feet in front of the locked door, he finally spoke. “I’m sorry. I-,” a beat passed, “I didn’t mean that. I know why you’re doing this and that was horrible of me to say.”

You could barely hear him through the door and the running shower, but you chose to say nothing. 

“I’m scared,” he continued. “I’m so fucking scared of losing everyone. And today was the closest we’ve ever come to that. That’s why I can’t stop going. I feel like the longer we sit around with no answers, the closer we get to not being able to find Vecna and kill him. Not before something happens to one of us. I’m sorry.”

Mike was still angry with his idleness, but there was something about hurting you that made him feel infinitely worse than his worst bout of anger had ever made him feel. He didn’t understand this feeling of guilt that had washed over him. All the times he had said hurtful things to Lucas, Will, or Dustin, which were his closest friends, didn’t amount to even a quarter of the shame he felt in this moment. 

After a while of standing by the door with no response, Mike walked over to your bed and sat on the corner, staring at the bathroom door just as you had minutes prior. 

You showered silently. The pounding in your head was getting stronger, and the hot water was doing nothing to alleviate your condition. You felt so stupid. In your life you have been chased, threatened, and moments away from painful, excruciating deaths more times than you could count on one hand, but nothing had ever made you feel like breaking down the way you did now. 

You had always believed that if you and Mike were in it together, nothing could ever be as terrible as one day losing each other. The way you felt for him, as you often dislike to admit to yourself, was blurring the platonic expectations for your relationship. You were beginning to feel things for him, or maybe you had been for a while; and these feelings made his comments hurt like a motherfucker. 

You thought about him often, secretly, in the quiet of your room when it was hard to sleep. You imagined going out to the movies- not as friends. You imagined him holding your hand as you walked around town. You imagined his arm around you when you all hung out with your friends, quietly reminding you of his presence. You imagined what a kiss on your forehead would feel like after a day like today. You imagined sleeping next to him, feeling his arms enclosing around you to keep the nightmares at bay. You thought worse things, too. Thoughts of his lips on yours,  then on your neck. You thought of yourself in his lap, grinding against him while his hands gripped your waist and the underside of your thigh, inching dangerously close to your ass. 

You imagined what he would feel inside you, foreheads touching as he rocked his cock into your aching cunt.

Except, you didn’t really know what that felt like at all. You knew about sex, obviously, but with yearly near death experiences came little time for romantic encounters. You didn’t know what sex actually felt like, but you knew that you wanted it. The raunchy romance novels that you liked to read explained it well enough, and the influx of hormones as you neared your 20’s made you crave it. You craved it with Mike.

So yes, Mike’s grip on your emotions had long surpassed the point of platonic affection, but you were never going to tell him. The dynamic between the party was delicate, as you were sure Eleven felt some way about him, as well. Never would you do anything to jeopardize your friendship. You’d rather have him as a friend than to not have him at all, and scaring him away with your pining was sure to do just that. 

By the time you turned the shower off, you had come to terms with Mike’s outburst, some of your hurt minimized by the feelings, which urged you to forgive him. 

You stepped out, eyeing Mike’s bloody clothes thrown haphazardly on your bathroom floor. You avoided stepping on them as you made your way over to the mirror, wiping away the dew. The shower had helped a little. The shower didn’t remove your internal impurities, such as the dark circles of exhaustion under your eyes, but no longer were you covered in Karen’s blood.

Unwrapping yourself from the towel, you reached in your medicine cabinet for some disinfectant and bandages. The scrape wasn’t deep, but it was long. It stretched from the side of your right hip to the bottom of your right breast. It would make you feel better if you had gotten it while doing something meaningful, but instead you had tripped over the gate in Mike’s kitchen, falling straight into the Upside Down. Your presence seemed to have stalled the gates closure for a brief moment, but long enough to allow Eleven to slip in, chasing the sound of Holly’s cries.

You shook your head at the sting of the alcohol on your side, gingerly dabbing a cotton ball along the length of the scrape. You decided to forgo bandages all together, not wanting to waste them.

It hurt to move. You could feel the cuts stretching as you turned your body. Somehow, you managed to throw on your pajamas without causing yourself too much pain, but you knew you wouldn’t be sleeping on your side for at least a couple days. After popping some ibuprofen, you rubbed the towel through your wet hair, wincing at your moving torso. Satisfied with the reduction in moisture, you threw the towel on the floor and opened the door.

Mike looked up from position on your bed as soon as he heard the door open, the notebook he was looking through long forgotten and tossed to the side. He shifted to face you, hands at his sides, waiting for you to say something. As he stared at you in the doorway, he realized that he rarely got to see you like this. Your hair was wet and slightly messy, a stark contrast from its usual up-kept appearance. The shirt you were wearing was large enough to fall down your shoulder, and drops of water from your hair raced down the exposed collarbone, soaking themselves into the shirt’s collar. Your cheeks were flushed from the heat of the shower, and your eyes bored into his expectantly, full of emotion.

Mike would be a fool to deny that you were beautiful, but usually, you had a wall around yourself. It was rare that he got to see you so carefree and vulnerable. Now, you looked as if you had been rubbed clean, the rawness of your appearance striking him and engraving itself into his memory.

“I’m scared, too, y’know. Really scared,” you whispered from the doorway, pulling him away from his thoughts. “I’m sorry if it seems like I’m not taking this as seriously as I should. It’s just that we’ve been doing this for months. I know we’re closer than ever to ending this, but we’re not super soldiers. We can’t just constantly run on empty and expect not to shut down. I’m exhausted Mike, and I think one night where we don’t have to think about the end of the world would help.”

You sat down next to him, legs dangling off the side of the bed. You placed your hands on the mattress, and turned your neck to look at Mike while you spoke. He was so close now, your shoulders grazing.

He shook his head when you sat down. “You don’t need to apologize. I was an ass. I’m sorry. You’re an amazing asset to the party, and I-we, don’t know where we would be without you.”

You smiled, looking down at your hand next to his, noticing how his pinky had made its way between your pinky and ring fingers. “Thank you. And you’re an amazing leader, Mike. I feel like we don’t tell you that enough. But even the strongest leaders know when to rest.” You didn’t know if it was the exhaustion or the warmth of his body, or maybe both, but you gently laid your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes and savoring the moment.

Mike turned his head to look at you, eyes closed and blissful. You looked beautiful, he thought once more. Maybe he thinks it often. He hummed in agreement, slouching to allow your head a more comfortable place to rest. He could feel his heart speed up, not used to having a girl so close. He silently vowed not to move until you did. You could lay upon his shoulder as long as you’d like. He would savor this, too.

You both stayed like that for what felt like forever, when in reality it was only a couple of minutes. In your sleepy state, time was simultaneously blending together and pulling apart. Slowly, you lifted your head from his shoulders, realizing then that his head was lying on top of yours, too.

“I think I’m gonna head to bed,” you let out a small yawn. “Carson should have extra blankets in his room. Let me know if you want me to bring you anything else.” You gave him a sleepy smile, expecting him to sleep in your brother’s room.

Mike got up from your bed, running his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, okay. Um- yeah, I’ll sleep there.”

He sounded off. You cocked your head to the side, curious as to his hesitation to sleep in the other room.

“Well,” he started, voice wavering. “You know what, forget it. It’s okay. Goodnight,” he said, mumbling your name.

Oh.

Oh.

He didn’t want to sleep alone.

Understanding rushed through your face, “Oh God, no please, sleep here! I’m so sorry Mike, that was so stupid. I didn’t reali-”

“No! No, it’s okay. It’s just been a long day, I just- I don’t know. After what happen- don’t worry. I’ll see you in the morning.” He turned to leave.

You silently chastised yourself. Hours earlier, Mike had bore witness to the brutal assault on his parents. He found his father bleeding out in his own room. You wouldn’t want to sleep alone either.

You bounced up from the bed, wincing at your side, and grabbed his hand before he could leave. Mike turned around, quickly glancing down at your intertwined fingers and then back up to you.

“No Mike, I’m serious. Sleep here. There’s plenty of room.” You urged, pulling him back towards the bed.

Either he had no fight left to give, or he realized that he really was too unnerved to sleep alone tonight. He nodded and allowed you to pull him with you.

You began to make room on the bed, throwing your decorative pillows and stuffed animals onto the floor. Mike stood and watched as you reached for a black stuffed cat at the opposite end of your bed, but mid-reach you stopped, dropping your hand down to brace yourself on the mattress.

“Ow, shit.” You grumbled. You weren’t used to having to control your movements, and your reach had pulled on the scrape, causing it to light up in blinding pain.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Mike rounded the corner to meet you on your side of the bed. He looked you over, searching for the source of the pain.

You nodded, slowly and stiffly flipping yourself over to face him. “Yeah, I just got this scrape on my side. It hurts like a bitch when I move it sometimes.” You let out an awkward laugh.

“Let me see it, maybe it opened.” He demanded.

You shook your head, “No, don’t worry. It’s okay. It’s just a scrape. It’s not deep or anything. It’ll be better in a couple days.”

Mike stared at you with firmness. “Let me see it,” he pressed. “I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

Rolling your eyes with a sigh, you pulled up the side of your shirt to show him the scrape. You stopped midway, realizing that you never put on bottoms over your black panties.

Play it cool, you thought. You pulled the shirt up the rest of the way, showing Mike the remainder of the injury. Luckily, he didn’t notice your lack of inferior modesty, because as soon as he looked at the scrape his eyes shot open in alarm.

“What the fuck? That is not a scrape,” he rushed towards your bathroom, bringing back the bandages and wound supplies you had left there from your shower.

“I’m fine, Mike, really!” You reasoned. He gave you a look of exasperation, signaling you to hold your shirt higher.

He began to unwrap a long, cloth bandage, placing it next to the disinfectant. “You’re actively bleeding and I can see into the hole. Now shut up and let me do this.”

It was entirely possible that you had downplayed the extent of your injury to yourself. In actuality, it was much more than a scrape. There was a wound in the center, about a couple centimeters deep, where a branch had managed to wiggle its way into the soft flesh of your side. The rest of it was very much scrape-like, but that stupid hole was causing you serious amounts of pain.

Mike kneeled down by the side of your bed, now eye-level with your injury. He had, in-fact, noticed that you were not wearing any pants, and he hoped you couldn’t gather as much by the way his hands shook while pouring some rubbing alcohol onto a gauze.

You obviously didn’t do a good job of anything when it came to proper wound care, as the rubbing alcohol burned much stronger than it had a little bit ago. You clearly hadn’t cleaned it correctly. You hissed as Mike continued to dab it. “Sorry, I’m almost done.” He looked up at you through his long eyelashes.

You nodded, blinking back sharp tears of pain that prickled in your eyes. “Almost done.” He mumbled again. His free hand was on your waist, moving his thumb in soothing circles while he worked.

When he finished the sterile assault on your injury, he tossed the dirty gauze in a pile of other used up pieces. There had been a lot more blood than you’d realized.

Delicately, Mike placed the cloth bandage over the worst of the wound, securing it in place with medical tape. It tickled when he touched you, but his cool fingers felt nice against your inflamed skin.

You watched him work, noting how his brows scrunched together with focus. He was so pretty. He had grown-up well, filling in all the awkward spots from his youth. His hair was fluffy and framed his face nicely. His cheekbones had hollowed out, reinforcing the masculine structure of his face. But his hands, oh his hands. His fingers were long, deliciously so, but yet his hands were nimble. You’d watch him over the years, painting tiny figurines for various D&D campaigns. His hands were so careful, and with that same care he worked on you, delicately ensuring the gauze was stuck properly to the most important parts.

“There,” he mused. “Done. You’ll be more careful, yeah?” He chided lightly. You nodded, offering him a quiet ‘thank you’ as he rose to his feet. You let your shirt fall back down, covering yourself under his watchful eye.

The gauze felt nice over the wound. You gave your torso an experimental twist and- ouch, still hurt. Mike was thorough, but he wasn’t a miracle worker. It would take a couple days before it was healed to the point of painlessness.

“Try not to move so much.” He said softly.

You breathed a laugh out of your nose. “Funny. I’ll just ask the monsters very nicely to stop chasing us. That should hold them off.” You looked up at him with a small smile.

“Any other injuries for Dr. Mike?” He joked. Your laugh was music to his ears.

You continued the bit, “Well, Dr. Mike, I have a brutal stab wound right here. Do you think you could make it better?” You pointed to the small cut on your cheek, no bigger than a scratch. An actual scratch.

To your surprise, he leaned forward to get a better look, his face just mere inches from yours.

“Oh wow, that’s killer. My diagnosis says,” he waited a moment, locking his eyes with you before whispering dramatically, “terminal.”

You faked a gasp, a small giggle leaving your throat shortly after. He smiled, but didn’t say anything, his face still so, so close.

The joke dissolved as quickly as it had started, replaced by a palpable tension in the air. It all happened so fast. Mike didn’t move. You didn’t move. You both stayed there, faces almost touching, waiting for something to happen. His eyes left yours so briefly that you would’ve doubted yourself if you hadn’t been paying such diligent attention. He had looked at your lips.

You had never been this close to him, or to anyone for that matter, but it made butterflies swarm in your stomach. Your heart pounded expectantly. Mike was stuck, unable to pull himself away from your gaze. His back hurt from leaning forward, but he had never been so transfixed.

The room was hotter, the tension impossibly thicker. Somehow, your legs had ended up between his, his long body caging you in. Both brains were buzzing, unsure and apprehensive. Finally, your whisper broke through the heavy silence.

“What are we doing, Mike?”

He started back at you, matching your whisper. “Anything we want.” You both were still staring, still waiting.

“And what is it we want?” Another whisper from you.

Mike was unsure as to where his confidence was stemming from. Mentally, he felt like a calf learning to walk. He had no idea what to do, or where to touch, or what to say. He had no idea how to move forward. But his actions were a different story. He didn’t think about what he was saying, he just said what felt right. For now, it seemed like he was saying the right things.

He brought his hand up to cradle your face, hesitantly. Your eyes widened just a touch. “Is this okay? Is this what you want?” He asked. You nodded slowly into his palm. 

And then he kissed you. Mike Wheeler actually kissed you. Your brain was swirling. You had no idea how you had even gotten here, but now Mike Wheeler was kissing you, and you had to manually tell yourself to start kissing him back. 

At first he had lightly placed his lips on yours, testing. That was fine, you could do that. Calm. Easy. However, nothing could have prepared you for when his lips started moving. You were reeling, unsure of how to even approach a kiss with any sort of sexual appeal. You panicked, pulling back. 

“I’m sorry- God, this is so embarrassing. I’ve just never had-I’ve never been,” your panic made you animated, talking quickly with shaky hands. “I’ve never done this before.” 

Mike had taken a step back, initially shocked by the perceived rejection. “If it makes you feel better, I haven’t either. I’m not necessarily a chick magnet.” He scratched the back of his head. 

Shocked at the revelation, all you could say was “oh.”

“How about we forget this ever happened and go to sleep, yeah? I’ll go to Carson’s room.” He turned to walk out of your room for the second time that night. 

“No, wait! I want to, it’s just,” you sighed. “I don’t want to mess anything up, okay? Like, I don’t  even know how to kiss correctly, let alone any of the other stuff.” You let out a dry laugh, wrapping your arms around yourself. It was true, you really did want to. Kissing Mike was a dream come true, but you didn’t know the first thing about any of it. By the grace of all that was evil, you seemed to have forgotten everything you’d learned from those damn romance novels the moment his lips touched yours. 

Mike’s heart skipped a beat about the possibility of continuing to kiss you. “We can take it slow. We’ll learn together, yeah?” 

Mike had never given you even the slightest inclination that this was something that could even be possible between the two of you. You were caught off guard by Mike’s desire to kiss you, searching within yourself the best way for move forward.

Ultimately, you conceded. “Okay, yeah,” you nodded, making some space for him on the bed.

When he was fully sat in front of you, knees touching yours, Mike stopped, hand caressing your face similarly to before. To your disappointment, he didn’t kiss you again.

“Hi.” you giggled, trying to fill the silence.

“Hi.” he repeated. Mike was stuck at a crossroads. Could it really be that you felt the same? He didn’t know exactly what would come of this and how you would play a part in his life once this was over. You were his best friend and you would always be, but he didn’t know if there was space for anything more when your lives revolved around saving the world, the risk of danger lurking in every corner. He did know, however, that he felt strongly for you.

He was thinking too much.

“I’m gonna kiss you again, okay?” He whispered.

You nodded, eyes fluttering closed as he moved his head closer, his warm lips breathing life into you once more.

At first no one moved, allowing your lips to accustom to the sensation of one another. Slyly, your tongue dipped out, lining his bottom lip and inviting yourself in- tempting him. He accepted the intrusion with eagerness.

Your mouths began to move slowly, softly exploring one another. There was still a lingering hesitation around your actions as you both tried to not overpower the other. It was nice. Slow and expirimental.

But soon you became restless. Poor Mike had one hand on your face and one on his own thigh, nervous to make any unreciprocated movements. With a surge of confidence, you grabbed his hand and placed it on your good side, your hands then rooting themselves on the back of his head.

You voiced your need through actions, kissing Mike with a touch more force. Your tongue played with his, occasionally sucking the tip into your mouth during a slow roll of your lips. His lips molded with yours perfectly, the tempo becoming increasingly feverish as you grew more comfortable with each other.

Your hands tangled in his hair, giving it an experimental tug- oh my God. He'd let out the most beautiful noise into your mouth, almost like a broken whimper, the sound going straight to your core. Mike deepened the kiss, moving his hand to the back of your head, gripping at your hairs, as well.

Mike was fervent. He needed you closer. He pulled at you by the waist, moving your body forward. As gracefully as you could without breaking the heated kiss, you uncrossed your legs and moved yourself onto his lap.

Oh, he was warm. His left hand migrated to rest on the curve of your thigh and ass, gently kneading the flesh below the start of your injury. His right hand splayed on the center of your back, holding you in place as you inadvertently rocked yourself against him.

You drank up his groans like water. His length was impossibly hard under you, hitting your clit deliciously with every roll of your hips.

"'S that good?" You broke the kiss briefly, worried that you may be putting too much pressure on his lower extremities.

He nodded vigorously. "Yeah, s'good, don't stop."

Ignited by his newfound praise, you kissed him again, frenzied. In the wildness, your teeth clunked together lightly, his hands gripping you harder. If he had any complaints, he didn't voice them.

Your hips were moving at a maddening pace atop him, chasing that building feeling in your core. Mike began to guide your hips, pushing and pulling you against him until the both of you fell into a broken rhythm. His grip tightened, catching on your scrape. The pain surfaced just as your clit rubbed on the head of his clothed cock, causing you to drop your head down onto his shoulder and grit a moan through your teeth.

Mike had never been so turned on. His hips shot up to meet yours, turning his head to look at you buried in his shoulder, letting out tight little breaths of pleasure. He held his breath as your hand trailed from the back of his neck, slowly making its way down, down, down to the waistband of your brother's sweatpants.

You lifted your head from his shoulder, looking at him. "Can I touch you?" you murmured, fingers toying with the strings at the front of his pants.

Mike looked at you as if you had hung the moon. His best friend, his beautiful, smart, brave, perfect best friend, was asking to touch his cock in the most selfish way. He would never expect you to, nor did he think it would get to this, but no- you wanted to. You looked at him through pretty lashes, damp hair framing your face as you coyly asked to touch him. He felt himself throb at the thought. Jesus, he was such a virgin.

"Sure, y-yeah, go ahead." He choked out, watching your hand leave the waistband of his pants to fully palm his clothed cock. He was hard under your hand, not very thick, but long. You ran your fingers over the light wet spot at his tip, causing Mike to hiss out a breathy, "fuck."

He watched you through a cloud of desire. You were taking your time with him, feeling his length through the pants, giving an experimental squeeze here and there, smiling lightly when you felt him twitch under you.

You honestly didn't know what you were doing. You did know, however, that you wanted to take your time feeling him, learning him, discovering what he liked. You gripped him through his pants again, mouth watering at the way his eyes closed and his breath hitched.

He had started to squirm again, hips rolling up to put more pressure between your hand and his cock. His needfulness had you deciding against anymore significant teasing, so you worked your fingers back up to his waistband, dipping your pointer finger inside to run against the seam.

"Can you take them off?" you asked, pulling your finger away, the band snapping back against his waist.

Mike could not believe what he was hearing.

"Only if that's okay," you added quickly after noticing his hesitation.

Instead of the rejection you assumed was forthcoming, he grabbed your face and kissed you softly, pushing your body off his. Once he had room, he stood by the edge of your bed, pulling his pants down to the floor.

As soon as they dropped, it's like you couldn't look at anything else. Mike's cock sprang free, all red and leaking. You were transfixed, mouth watering. It was so pretty, you thought, as you confirmed your prior theories. It was long and slender, and so perfectly Mike. You licked your lips, looking away to meet Mike's eyes.

"It's pretty," you said softly, waiting for him to sit down again.

Mike's faced flushed with pink, letting out a small laugh. "I've never thought to describe my dick as pretty, but I'm glad you think that." He bounced back on the bed, his light demeanor clearing some of the stuffiness from the room.

While he situated himself, you stood up, placing yourself at the side of the bed where he'd stood just moments before.

"Where are you go-" he started. Before he could finish, you pulled at his arm, guiding him to sit in front of you with his legs off the bed. Once he was where you wanted him, you dropped to your knees, hitting the fuzzy carpet on the floor.

"Hey, no it's okay. You don't have to- um," His eyes widened when he realized what you were plotting.

You gave him a small pout, lightly running your nails over his pale thighs. "Mike, I want to. If you don't we can stop now, but I promise I'm okay."

He felt stupid for folding so quickly, but when a pretty girl shows him she wants to suck his cock, he's not usually going to turn her down. He balled his hands at his sides, nodding to you.

You hummed with delight and inched your hands towards his cock. It was soft, almost velvet like. You took it in your hands, repeating the same experimental squeezes and touches from before.

It dawned on you then. You still had no fucking clue what you were doing. Gazing up at Mike from your position, you noticed him leaning back on his hands, patiently awaiting your next movements.

"Um," you started sheepishly. "I don’t- um, I don't really know what I'm doing at this point. Could you, maybe, guide me?"

Mike ran a hand through his hair. "Well your guess is as good as mine, seeing as I've never sucked dick before," he joked. You gave him a stern look and lightly slapped his thigh.

"No, dipshit, obviously not." You deadpanned. "I more so meant like, y’know, when you touch yourself. What feels good so maybe I can mimic it, I don't know. You do do that, right?"

You gave him an upward stroke, cock still painfully hard as you asked him about his masturbation habits. Why was that so hot to him? You, wanting to know what he did to himself late at night in the quiet of the dark.

"Y-yeah, yeah I do. To be fair, I'm already, like, forty percent there from before, so it really won't take much." He said, referencing your previous grinding. He needed to shut the fuck up. He talks too much when he's nervous.

You waited patiently for him to continue, sitting on your heels, one hand politely in your lap.

He cleared his throat and continued. "The tip is the most sensitive part, so don't squeeze it too tight. No teeth. Oh, and it has to be wet. One time I almost gave myself a fucking rug burn- uh, anyway, the wetter the better." He paused for a minute to think, ignoring his own stupid rambles. "Try to keep a consistent rhythm, and you can squeeze it tighter than you think you can."

You nodded, understanding. Bringing your face closer to his length, you let a glob of spit dribble from your mouth onto his tip. Using your left hand to spread it out, you began moving up and down in slow, firm strokes.

Mike threw his head back and choked out a moan. “Holy fucking sh-shit. Steve was right, it feels way better when you’re not the one doing it.”

You let out a giggle at his sudden wantonness.

Your tongue reached out to leave a tentative lick on his tip, and Mike swore he could’ve died right there and gone to heaven.

You relished in the salty taste, pairing your first lick with a long one from his base to his tip. Humming in approval, you took his tip into your warm mouth, swirling your tongue around it. Scared to take too much in at once, your hand pumped what was exposed.

Mike’s moans were music to your ears. You’d never realized how badly you needed to be praised, and his reaction fueled your enthusiasm. Lifting your head, you let another dollop of spit fall on his tip, but this time you dragged your lips up and down, spreading it with your mouth.

“Is it good like that?” You asked, looking up at him again.

“Fuck, yes. Oh,” he groaned. “You can go a bit faster, if y’want.” Mike sounded so broken, like he was lost in a world high above the clouds. You would be lying if it didn’t make you impossibly wet to have him crumbling under you like that.

Your thighs clenched as you sped your hand up, mentally preparing to take more of him. Your cunt throbbed, searching for relief wherever it could. Your mouth found his tip again, suckling sweetly. Slowly, your head starting bobbing, taking more of him into your mouth at every descend.

Once you were satisfied with the rhythm, making sure that your mouth was open wide enough to engulf most of him, you quickened your pace, stroking whatever you couldn't fit with your hand.

Mike's hands immediately tangled into your hair, a whimpered series of so good's falling from his perfect lips. He was hitting the back of your throat at this point, and you were trying to keep your gag reflex at bay for just a couple more seconds.

It happened accidentally, really. You had stopped bobbing your head at the base of his cock, feeling it nestled softly in the back of your throat. So much spit had trickled out of your mouth that you'd decided to try and swallow some of it back down. With Mike's cock down your throat.

Mike had never felt anything so amazing. The sensation traveled all the way down to the tip of his toes. Unknowingly, you had hit the golden buzzer. Your throat constricted around him like a vice, squeezing him dry. Pathetically, you'd barely had your mouth on him for five minutes and Mike was already seconds away from the most earth-shattering orgasm the Sweet Lord had ever graced upon him.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-" Mike's hands yanked you off of him roughly by your hair, breathing rapidly.

Your eyes widened in fear. "I am so sorry, did that hurt? Mike, I had no idea."

If Mike hadn't actively been trying to fight off the World's Most Premature Orgasm, he would focus on how downright fuckable you looked right now. Your lips were puffy and wet with spit, and your eyes were glossy with unshed tears from taking his cock so far down your throat. If he didn't die from embarrassment, he fully believed you would kill him.

"No, fuck sorry, it's just, it was getting too- holy fuck- and I didn't want to come too soon." He panted out, laying down on the mattress.

You slowly got up from the floor, sitting back on the bed, careful not to look as his reddening tip for fear of not being able to control yourself.

Why would he not want to come? Was that not the whole point of this? Back in senior year Sex Ed. you'd remembered Mr. Clarke mentioning something about men having a longer refractory period than women. Well, that wouldn't be an issue unless Mike wanted to have sex- oh.

Mike wanted to have sex.

You looked at him laying with his eyes closed on your bed, breath finally evening out, but still painfully hard.

"Mike," you called for him.

"Hmm," he mumbled in response. His brain was not functioning at the moment.

"Do you want to have sex with me?" You asked him nonchalantly. Desperately, you hoped he said yes. Sucking Mike off had been the hottest experience of your life. You could feel your wetness seeping through your panties and onto your thighs, coating the skin in your juices. If you didn't get fucked in the very foreseeable future, problems would be had.

"Yeah, totally." He mumbled lazily, not fully registering what he was saying. As soon as the words came out, his eyes shot open and his face turned to look at you, awaiting your reaction.

You nodded and got up from the bed, telling Mike to wait where he was. You had an idea.

Your sock-covered feet padded against the wooden floors of your house and across the hallway to your brother's room. "C'mon Carson, I know you have some," you mumbled to yourself, rummaging through his nightstand. Nothing. Shit.

You took yourself to his bathroom, checking the medicine cabinet and under the sink. Your prize was nowhere to be found.

Thinking of the last spot your gold could be, you dropped down to the floor and looked under his bed. Bingo. He had left behind a shoebox. The Forbidden Shoebox.

Reaching for it with an outstretched hand, you pulled the dusty shoebox from under his bed, awaiting to scavenge the treasures inside. Shoving aside cigarettes, a Playboy, and other various paraphernalia, you found what you were looking for- your holy grail in a tiny silver packet.

Jumping to your feet, you kicked the shoebox back under your brother's bed, heading back to your room with a self satisfied-smirk.

Mike was still laying on your bed, arms behind his head. His cock had softened a touch, but not by much, just enough to stop the intense throbbing he had felt after edging himself.

You threw the condom at him, hitting him square in the chest. Before he could react, you made your way onto the bed and swung your leg to sit once more in his lap, careful not to put all your weight completely on his erection.

Mike sat up, confused, grabbing the condom off his chest.

"You said we could do whatever we wanted, right? Well," You whispered, toying with the hem of his sweatshirt. "This is what I want."

The one thing you could not get out of your head was how casual this felt. Sure, you were nervous, even anxious at a point, but not because it was Mike you were doing this with. He'd never given you any reason to feel insecure, and you didn't feel a pressure to perform the way you thought your first time would require. But that was him. He made you feel comfortable, so care free. You were both figuring it out together, what you liked, what you didn't, and that's what made it all feel less daunting.

Mike looked at you with dark eyes, his cock twitching slightly at your words. He looked down to examine the condom in his hands, nodding. "Yeah, okay. Let's do it."

You kissed him, letting out a small hum of excitement. Your hands returned to the back of his neck as he deepened the kiss, his hands lightly playing with the waistband of your panties.

As he sucked your bottom lip between his teeth, you gently grabbed his right hand from its position on your waistband and brought it to cup your pussy. Mike nearly choked, feeling the wetness seeping through the fabric to cover his fingers. Now it was his turn to figure you out.

"Off." He mumbled into your lips, swiping his fingers up your clothed slit.

You slid off his lap, kicking your panties off your legs to land somewhere on the floor. Mike removed his sweatshirt and situated himself behind you, cold hands finding your waist as you removed your shirt.

"I want to make you feel good, too." He spoke into your hair, hands inching dangerously close to your bare pussy, rubbing the inside of your thighs. "Tell me how."

You sighed, leaning back against his chest. His hands felt so nice, but you couldn't stop staring at his fingers brushing your lips, not touching where you needed him most.

His hands traveled upwards towards your breasts, stopping just under the curve, hesitating, waiting for you to give him your approval.

"You can touch them," you whispered, tilting your head to look up at him. He had his bottom lip between his teeth, gaze transfixed on your pillowy breasts and pebbled nipples. Slowly, painfully so, Mike moved his hands up the rest of the way, encapsulating your tender breasts with his palms.

His kneads were soft at first, but once small, quiet mewls of pleasure began to leave your mouth, he gathered the courage to squeeze just a touch harder.

"So fucking hot." He spoke, more to himself than anything. Mike was in love with your tits, taking his time to play with them, lightly pinching your nipples as your eyes scrunched in pleasure.

Your poor neglected cunt ached. Once more you tried to squeeze your thighs together, briefly trapping some sort of pleasure between your legs. Mike was in his own world, kneading and groping your tits, his hard cock digging into the small of your back.

"Mike, please." You had enough of his teasing, your voice coming out as a half whine.

His hands stilled. "What's wrong? What do you need?" He spoke in your ear, making you shiver.

"Touch me." Another whine. You sounded bratty, but you were too far gone to care.

"I am touching you." He countered, resuming his assault on your breasts. Smartass.

Your head shook against his chest, your fingers digging into his arms, urging him down to your wet heat.

Truthfully, Mike was stalling. He didn't want to rush this. He may have almost come in five minutes but that didn't mean you had to. The sounds you made were addicting, and it made his brain fuzzy thinking about how you got like this for him.

"There?" He asked as his fingers finally touched your pussy. You spread your legs out, allowing him open access to your heat.

Your breath hitched as his middle finger grazed your clit, involuntarily thrusting your hips up, chasing the ounce of pleasure he'd gifted you. You nodded your head vigorously. "Yeah, r-right there. I usually, um, rub in circles, sort of near the to- ngh."

It seemed he was a quick learner. Mike began to softly rub your clit before you'd even finished talking, pulling a groan from your lips mid-sentence.

You were strung so tight you could've cried when he finally touched you. Mike's left hand continued to tweak at your nipple while his right rubbed slow, tight circles on your clit. He looked so fucking good. His hand flexed while he worked, highlighting the veins on the back of his hand. You felt yourself clench at nothing, pleasure rocking through you.

Your nails dug into his arm, your chest heaving at the building pleasure. In a stroke of genius, Mike reached down to your weeping hole, collecting some of your arousal and smearing it back up on your clit.

"How's that? You're so wet, shit." He asked. Your face filled with heat at his comment, his fingers sliding deliciously over your swollen nub.

"So, so good Mike, please don't fucking stop." He drinking up everything you had to offer. He'd come to the conclusion that he could stay between your legs forever, if you'd let him. He imagined plunging his cock into your warm, wet cunt, you squeezing around him as you buried your head in his shoulder. Fuck, he was getting close just thinking about it.

He kept rubbing you until you started to get restless. Your hips shot up on their own accord, your legs shaking from their outstretched position between his own.

"You can- oh fuck," it was getting hard to think. The pleasure was building up in your core, but you needed more to push you over the edge.

"You can put t-them in-inside." You instructed him, desperate for something to fill you up.

"You sure?" He stilled. "That won't hurt you or anything, right?"

You shook your head. "N-no, I've done it a couple times. Just start with one, I guess. It's been a while."

You chewed on your bottom lip expectantly as his hand traveled south, his pointer finger tapping at your tight entrance. You were so wet that there was practically no resistance, Mike's finger entering you like it had meant to be there the whole time.

"You want me to fuck you with it?" You knew he was asking purely because he didn't know what to do, but his words shot straight to your core, making you clench tightly around his finger.

"Mhm, you can curl it too, ifyouwant." Your sentence ended in a high-pitched rush.

Mike started to pump his finger in and out, curling against your g-spot with every stroke. Soft moans left your lips as he fingered you, your hips rolling in time with his pumps.

His palm rested on your enlarged clit, rubbing together with every roll of your hips. The pleasure was building, finally finding exactly what you needed to pull you over the edge.

"You look so pretty right now," Mike's free hand went back to your breast, playing lightly with your sore nipples. "Could do this all day."

Your brain was fried. His words fueled your delirium, your curses coming louder and quicker. Without warning, he slipped in a second finger, curling it alongside the first.

His fingers sped up, palm rubbing harshly against your nub. You could hear the lewd sounds of your wetness as he fucked you with his fingers, your nails digging into his arms and your head moving uncontrollably from side to side.

It was so good, too good. Better than you'd ever made yourself feel.

"Fuck, Mikey, pleasepleaseplease," you were blabbering at this point, words coming out with no meaning.

The feeling in your core was pulling tight, teetering on the edge of snapping. There was so much going on, so much to feel. You titled your hips up allowing Mike to hit that spongey spot inside you repeatedly, and-

You were coming.

It was fucking devastating. The pleasure slammed over you like a wave, clearing your mind of anything and everything. Your back arched, vision fuzzy as you peaked.

Mike's fingers wouldn't stop, extending your orgasm to the point where you thought the fall would never come. You stayed there, waiting for the crash, clenching your hands into the comforter and poor Mike's arm.

You'd lost control of your body. You heard yourself let out a groaned 'fuck' from somewhere down on Earth. It rolled through you so powerfully, that you didn't know where your orgasm started or finished. Just when you though your abused cunt would catch a break, it dropped.

The back-end of your orgasm hit you harder than the first. It desecrated through you like molten lava, burning your skin and scorching your mind. Your legs snapped together, aiming to provide you relief from the assault. Unfortunately for you, that caused Mike's hand to remain trapped between your legs, working you through the after-shocks.

You had been about thirty seconds into the come-down before you realized Mike had been speaking to you.

“C’mon, there you go.” He spoke softly into the top of your head, fingers rolling to a stop.

Your breathing was erratic as you tried to gain recollection of where you were and what was going on around you.

You were halfway down Mike’s chest at this point, looking up at him easily with just a slight tilt of your head. Slowly he slipped out of you, your legs jerking at the sensation.

“Oh God,” you exhaled, covering your face with your hands.

"How'd I do?" he asked, obviously knowing the answer.

You decided to bite, anyway. "Really good," you sighed dreamily. "Just gimme a second and then we can, y'know," you picked the condom up and threw it at him again.

Observing you in your fucked out state, Mike had almost forgotten that there was more to this for the both of you.

He leaned back on the pillows at the head of your bed, hands crossed at his chest.

"You look hot when you come, by the way," he spoke into the air. You rolled around to face him, careful to not put too much pressure on your injury.

"Michael Wheeler, are you trying to talk dirty to me?" You laughed, looking at him.

He threw the condom back at you, "I've been talking like this for a while, it's not my fault you weren't coherent enough to pay attention."

You faked a gasp, "you're an ass."

"C'mere." He smirked, motioning you over with a twist of his head. Heeding his request, you crawled over to him on all fours, planting yourself in his lap once more.

He uncrossed his harms, bringing them to your hips. Gently, he pulled you closer, kissing you softly.

You took this chance to take him in your hand again, giving him a few pumps to warm him back up. He groaned into the kiss, happy to have your attention back on his cock.

"Put it on," you whispered into his mouth, squeezing the tip slightly.

Mike didn't need to be told twice. He pulled away from you and grabbed the condom off your bed, ripping the packet open with his teeth.

"So, uh, how does this even go on?" He asked, holding it up with two fingers.

"My guess is through the big hole at the bottom." You said sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Okay, I gathered that, thanks." He brushed you off, attempting to roll the condom over himself. It took him a couple tries, but soon the condom was on snug over his angry, red cock.

You spit in your hand, giving it a little extra lubrication.

"Woah, that feels weird," Mike looked down at your hand over his condom-covered erection, perplexed.

"Like bad weird or good weird?" You asked curiously, still stroking him.

"Good weird, I think." He concluded.

Taking that as an invitation to continue, you got up on your knees, lining yourself up with him. You took in a shallow breath, preparing for the rather large intrusion, and slowly began to sink down onto him.

You scrunched your eyes in discomfort as he entered you, burying your head into the crook of shoulder with a quiet groan.

"Hey, oh fuck, you okay?" Mike asked through a pained breath.

"Ngh, hmmyeah, just really, ugh- tight?" You couldn't focus. It didn't hurt. Mike had made sure of that when he finger fucked you to oblivion, stretching you out. You were just so not used to being stretched out like this.

"Look at me, hey," he placed his hand on the back of your head, urging you to turn.

You stilled, getting used to the stretch. Lifting your head from his shoulder, you looked at him through half-lidded eyes. "Fuck," you whispered. "How much more?" You asked, not wanting to look.

"Just a little bit, shi-you're okay. Jus' keep your eyes on me, if it helps." He smoothed your hair down, touching your forehead with his.

"O-okay," you nodded. You felt comfortable enough to start moving again, keeping your eyes locked with Mike's as you continued.

You felt so full. The stretch was never-ending as you slowly worked him in, wondering if he had grown in length since when you'd started. "Mike," you mewled, a small pout on your face.

"Almost there, fuck you're tight." He wouldn't let you look away from him. His eyes bored into yours, one hand still cradling the back of your head, one on your hip for stability.

Mike was trying increasingly hard to keep himself together for you, but his resolve was quickly crumbling as your tight heat engulfed him. He tried in earnest to keep his eyes on yours, but he would fail at his own command, occasionally looking down to where you were joined to watch your slick pussy suck him in.

"Fuck, you're so- look at me, there you go." He was rambling again. You looked a dream, with your jaw slack and your eyes trying their best to stay on his.

When you finally bottomed out, you were past the point of full- you felt like you were about to burst. You clenched around him, causing Mike to throw his head back in pleasure.

The feeling was so intense it had you wondering how you would even bring yourself to move, let alone move quickly.

You remembered sneaking into the back of Family Video once with Max and El, Robin and Steve occupied at the front with the boys.

On the trailer screens they were showing a raunchy video, one of a girl dressed up as a nurse getting fucked roughly by a man dressed in a white coat. She looked to be having a great time, letting out "happy screams," as Max called them.

What you couldn't imagine in your current state, was getting pounded into that aggressively and it somehow not feeling like trying to squeeze your foot into a boot that was two sizes too small.

"You doin' okay?" Mike asked tightly. He looked like he was about to combust at any moment. Did it maybe feel the same for him?

You gave him a curt nod, wiggling your lower half to accustom yourself to the stretch. His breath hitched as you moved, gripping your hips a touch harder than he would've liked under different circumstances.

"Oh god, fuck hol' on." He practically begged, voice cracking.

"Does it hurt?" You wondered.

He threw his head back again when you clenched once more, involuntarily. "No, its good, really good, uhh, jus' a lot at once."

You took a beat to let him acclimate. The tightness had subsided substantially and you felt much less uncomfortable.

"I think I'm okay to move again," you offered.

Mike gave you a confirming grunt, and you slowly lifted yourself off him, stopping at his tip, and descending back down again. You were able to repeat the movement a couple times before Mike completely broke down, that thin resolve finally snapping.

"Fuck-you're," he moaned gorgeously, the hand on the back of your head gripping your hair tightly. "So warm, oh shit, fuckin' wet, fuckfuckfuck." He was drowning in your pussy, unable to come up for air, and once again so fucking close.

Your movements sped up slightly and sounds of pleasure began to leave your mouth. To your surprise, the stretch had almost completely dissipated, replaced instead by the feeling of Mike's cock stroking your g-spot with an increased precision.

You moaned his name, head once again dropping to his shoulder. You could understand the porno girl just a little bit better now. You're taking him so fucking deep, the feeling so much more intense than that of his fingers.

This was starting to feel really fucking good. You braced your hands on the headboard in front of you, now truly bouncing on him.

"Ngh, oh God, Mike pleasefuck, umm," you hiccup, your movements getting erratic. His cock was hitting places inside you that you didn't even know existed. His hard head never missed your spongey spot at this angle, each bounce hitting you like the most delicious, mouthwatering, punch to the gut.

Mike'd rambles grew louder, and he needed to ground himself. He began to place sporadic, open-mouthed kisses on your arms, his hips thrusting up to meet your bounces.

On a particularly hard thrust, your eyes crossed, head thrown back in ecstasy, releasing the most seductive moan Mike had ever heard. It came from deep within you, a product of the pleasure running through you.

His thrusts were getting harder, so you stilled your hips and let him fuck up into you, chasing his own pleasure. You wrapped your arm around the back of his neck, crying into his shoulder, your hand coming up to slap on the wall in front of you. Your body was betraying you, trying to find stability in the intense throes of pleasure consuming it.

You could hear Mike's breathing become ragged, his thrusts inconsistent. The closer he got to his peak, the harder he slammed his hips into yours.

"Holy fucking shit," you grit out, biting into Mike's shoulder. The bite catches him off guard, mixing with the hot pleasure forming in his tightening balls.

He comes. He chokes out something incoherent, pumping his cum into the condom. He can feel it down to his toes, his whole body floating. He keeps chasing it, thrusting into you, and fuck you, he just keeps coming. His hand is pulling insanely tight on your hair, forcing you to throw your head back and look at him. If he thought you were beautiful when you came, then he was something else entirely. His head was thrown back, eyes closed, mouth open. He looked utterly fucked. He looked like he was made especially for you. The whole world full of people but no, you got to witness Mike Wheeler come undone under you.

Mike soon stilled, releasing his grip on your hair. You both fell into each other like jelly, chests heaving together from exertion. You felt unreal. There was static humming throughout you, buzzing lightly in your ears.

"Fuck me," Mike was the first to speak.

"Think I just did that, actually," you hummed into his neck. Slowly you lifted yourself off of him, ignoring Mike's hiss of sensitivity, flopping on the bed next to him.

"Well that was..." you trailed off, still fuzzy.

"Yeah," he cleared his throat. "It was."

You turned to look at him, wiping away some of the hair stuck to your forehead. He, too, was covered in sweat, red splotches on his cheeks and chest. The room felt hotter, and it reeked of sex.

"I'm gonna go toss this," he motioned to the full condom still attached to him. You nodded silently, and watched him get up to throw it out. Your eyes fell on the alarm clock on the nightstand. Shit, it was almost four in the morning.

Exhaustion rolled over you like a freight train, returning more intensely than you'd felt it after your shower. The post-sex bliss had made you sleepy, so you managed to haul yourself up, heading towards the bathroom to clean up.

Mike was wiping himself off with some toilet paper when you arrived, condom long disposed of in the bin. You gripped the sink, looking at yourself. You didn't look any different, sure maybe a bit sweaty and a lot more tired, but you still looked like you. You felt different, though. No longer a virgin, for one. But you felt different as to your relationship with Mike.

What happened now? Now that you had known each other as intimately as you did? Do you move forward like nothing happened? Do you keep this a secret, meeting in the middle of the night when you need each other?

That's a lot of fucking questions. And you were too tired to answer any of them.

Mike came up behind you, interrupting your deep thought. He wrapped his arms around your chest and you grabbed onto his arms, leaning back into him.

"So what now?" he whispered, in-tune with your thoughts.

"Now we sleep. Finally. We have to be at The Squawk at nine. Gives us about 4 hours, give or take." You closed your eyes, feeling him behind you.

"That's not what I meant and you know it." He countered, giving your shoulders a light squeeze.

"I know. We'll talk about it later, when this all blows over. I don't think we need another thing." You tried to reason with him.

"It's not a thing if we don't make it thing. I don't want this to be awkward in the morning." His hair was tickling your face.

"I won't make it awkward, will you?" You opened your eyes to look at him in the mirror.

"No, never." He said, matter-of-factly.

You pressed a quick kiss to his arms. "Then there, it's settled. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

Mike looked at you one last time through the mirror before shutting the bathroom light off.

"Okay, cool. Tomorrow."

thank you everyone for reading! please let me know what you think :)

[hauntedinkk]

silent words ~ s.h

tags: mdni, smut, steve and reader are both over eighteen and twenty years old, ex bf!steve x ex gf!reader, groping, technically sexual assault from guy at a party, physical violence, fighting, angry steve, alcohol consumption while not yet twenty one, road rage, speeding, driving while under the influence of alcohol but not drunk, clumsy sex, humour, make-up sex, orgasm, creampie and mention of plan b pill.

summary: after a heated, spur of the moment breakup with your long term boyfriend steve, you're friends attempt to lighten your mood by taking you out to a party. but when a guy touches you inappropriately, steve comes to your rescue and you both find a way to patch things up in his car.

3.2k words :)

it wasn’t gonna last — you knew it wouldn’t.

you and steve had broken up last week and honestly, it was only a matter of time before you both got back together.

you had both been going strong for nine months but of course, with steve’s stubbornness and your lack of patience, an argument between the two of you caused you to end things.

and really it was just out of anger. even while you were doing it, you knew you didn’t mean it — and you sensed he knew too. but still, you were allowed to mad for a while — curse his name a little. so what better opportunity to make him jealous than to land at a party of some random guy you barely knew from highschool.

you didn’t even really know the guy, but he’d made it clear that he didn’t particularly care who came to the party — the more the merry.

so here you were, nodding your head to the beat of some random rock song that was being blasted through the house — the sound of frat guys hooping and hollering about someone downing a shot of cheap whiskey.

and you could fucking see the look on his face from across the room. the way his jaw was clenched tight — ticking every time you smiled or laughed. you knew how pissed he was already it was only fuelling the fire of bitterness in your chest.

but then you felt it — a hand where it shouldn’t be.

you spun around, the three girl friends you’d arrived with preoccupied with their boyfriends or the mysterious looking pink punch. there was a hand on your ass — grabbing your flesh over your short, flowy dress and squeezing it roughly.

the face of the guy you were met with was one that wasn’t familiar when you turned around. all you knew was that his expression was grimy and pervy and if left you feeling unsettled. “what the — fuck! get off me!” you say loud enough over the party noise and music for him to hear.

both his hands then slide up to hold your waist, trying to pull you toward him. “c’mon baby, don’t be so uptight, hm?” he growls into your ear. you squirm as he pulls you into his chest, but it’s quickly cut short from another persons hands not roughly, but firmly pulling you away from the guy and standing in front of you.

you stumble back slightly, looking up to see who it was and, low and behold, it was steve. standing tall and broad, both his hands pressed into fists. he brings one fist up, turning his body to the side and swinging toward the unnamed man, his fist coming in perfect contact with his jaw — a sickening crack echoing through the room.

you gasped, stepping back in shock. one of the girls you came with runs up to you, grabbing your arm and asking frantically what was happening as steve continued to pound his fist against the man’s face until he stumbled to the floor. you pulled your arm from your friends hand, watching as steve drops to the floor with the man and climbs on top of him to continue punching his face and chest.

groups of people from the party gather around, some guys shouting for steve to “kick his ass” while others shouted abuse at him. you seemed to snap out of your state of shock, your instincts kicking in.

you quickly move through the groups of people, making your way over to steve. you drop to your knees and pull him off the man who was now unconscious. “stop, you’re gonna kill the guy!” you shout over the noise, pulling him to his feet along with yourself.

steve looks at you, his knuckles bloody with a mix of his and the other man’s blood. they were cut and likely to be bruised from the force in which he was punching him. you lead steve out of the party, watching as people laugh in shock and stare at the two of you.

when you finally make it out into the large front yard, you shove him heavily — steve stumbling back a little. “you idiot! what is wrong with you, are you trying to get arrested?!” you yell, watching him heave for breath.

he doesn’t answer, body still visibly shaking with adrenaline so you don’t even try and push him for one. you sigh in frustration, trying to bite your tongue. “where’d you park? we’re getting outta here before you get yourself in even more trouble.” you say scanning around the driveway and outside the garden through the dozens of cars.

steve sucks in a breath to steady himself and he points to the maroon coloured bmw parked a few feet outside the house.

you offered to drive, but Steve wasn’t having it. you’d never seen him like this — so angry that he couldn’t even speak to you. the fact that the ride back home was fifteen minutes long didn’t exactly make matters much better. this would be an awkward ride, you think.

so you lean back against the head rest in the passengers side, your eyes locked on steve’s tight grip on the wheel. his knuckles leaked blood, his hands coloured a rusty orange from the blood that had splattered on them from the man’s nose and mouth.

and it did make you a little scared too — especially with how he was driving. you were afraid to even look at how fast he was going but it was certainly not within the speed limit.

you reach down, undoing the clasp of your heels and slipping out of them, repeating the action with the other. they weren’t even particularly hurting you, it was more something to busy yourself with than anything.

but then his voice came — low and uncertain. “he didn’t hurt you, did he?”

you turned toward him, picking the heels up and setting them in the back seat behind you. he wasn’t looking at you, eyes locked ahead as he ground his teeth against one another. you swallow thickly. “i’m fine. i’m more worried about you at the moment, though.”

he doesn’t answer, just clenches his jaw harder. you sigh at his stubbornness. “steve just — just stop the car, okay? pull over before you get us both killed.”

and something about your tone told him that you weren’t asking — you were ordering. so with a screech, he pulls the car off the road and onto the shoulder — taking his foot off the pedal and pulling the handbrake.

you take a second to gather your thoughts — think about how to approach this. you think back to the nights in the past week that you lay in bed — practically shaking with anger directed to him, yet you still missed the feeling of his huge hands wrapped around you as you drifted to sleep.

and you missed those stupid, unfunny jokes of his too, didn’t you? and the random updates he’d give you during the day about whatever asshole he had to deal with in the video store when he’d call your place on his break.

you remove your seatbelt — turning in your seat a little to face him better. you take one of his hands that were still resting on the wheel, feeling him stiffen a little at your touch. you bring his hand up to your mouth and press a kiss to a cut on his knuckle.

“these hurt?” you ask quietly, pressing another kiss there.

“a little,” he answers, finally turning to you with a tired expression. “should see the other guy.” he jokes weakly.

you knew it definitely wasn’t the kind of thing to joke about, but seeing a little bit of his regular personality sneak into the conversation did lighten your mood. you smile despite yourself, shaking your head.

then, you speak again. “i didn’t mean what I said last week — the breakup, I mean,” you start. “i actually really missed you, believe it or not.”

something in steve seemed to relax at your admission, like he had been anticipating hearing that all week. you watch his throat bob with a swallow. he lets out a breath, but this time it wasn’t exasperated or frustrated. “missed you too. hated not wakin’ up with you.”

a slow smile crosses your lips at how easily you could change his mood. you drop his hand and bring your hand up to cup his cheek, squeezing it gently. “my baby,” you coo. “knew you wouldn’t be all tough and scary for long.”

steve chuckles, removing your hand from his face. “c’mere, let me see ya,” he says patting his lap. “haven’t felt your pretty lips in a whole week, baby.”

you hum happily to yourself, smiling wider now as you manoeuvre over the centre console and eventually into steve’s lap with his assistance. you sigh softly feeling his solid thighs beneath your butt as you scootch closer to him. you cup his cheeks and lean in, kissing him slowly.

he reciprocates immediately, his hands gently grabbing at your lower back, feeling the soft cotton of your dress. he groans in satisfaction at the feeling of your lips on his — the lips he’d missed so goddamn much.

he deepens the kiss a couple seconds in, clearly craving more than you were giving. you allow him to, parting your lips and letting his tongue slip into your mouth. you moan at the sensation, feeling so touch starved. your hips start to move almost on their own and you lean back as Steve moves his head forward.

then a loud beep makes you jump.

you leaned back against the fucking horn.

you pause against steve’s lips, the giddiness from the alcohol you’d both drank earlier kicking in. you giggle against his mouth and he laughs too, softer than you.

“oops,” you mumble against his lips.

“yeah,” he says, roughly tugging you even closer, making you squeal softly. “fuckin’ oops.”

you take his sudden intensity as a sign of him wanting you to continue the grinding you were doing previous to the horn incident — so you do. you move your hips at an easy going pace and he guides you by slipping his hands down to your hips.

“missed you so fucking much, baby. couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he groans between soft pecks on your lips. you moan softly at the pressure of his denim on your clit. “was jerking off in the fucking shower like a saddo everyday.”

your breaths become ragged, uneven. “really? was thinking a-about you too. so much that i had to take care of myself all alone, stevie.” you whine.

the nickname breaks his fucking heart, and the tone in which you admit you had to touch yourself. his girl, so fucking needy for him and he wasn’t there to help. “oh, baby,” he says sympathetically. “i’m so sorry. how about i make it up to you, hm? right there.”

you whimper softly, halting your kisses to lean your forehead against his. you pout slightly, nodding. “yes please.”

his fucking girl.

his hands slip underneath the skirt of your black dress, flipping it up so the fabric sat just under your lower back. his hand travels between your legs, gently grabbing a hand full of your inner thigh.

“you want me to touch you here?” he asks softly, referring to you pussy that was now soaking the blue lace panties you were wearing.

you nod against his head, swallowing harshly. “yes steve, please.”

and ever so slowly, his hand migrates to your clothed cunt, gently stroking your clit over your undies. you moan at the contact, your head dropping into his shoulder. it felt like such a relief — after an entire week of feining for his touch.

“shit baby, you’re so wet,” he says, pulling your face from his shoulder with his other hand. “this all for me? this how much you’ve missed me?”

you nod with a bite of your lip. “please steve, stop teasing. just wanna fuck you.”

he smiles smugly, moving the damp lace to the side to reveal your soaked pussy. he then reaches down to his own lap, signalling you to lift you hips as he quickly opens his jeans and pulls his hard dick from his boxers. “you wanna ride me? we can go in the backseat if you want — there’s no pressure, just want you to feel goo — ”

“no,” you cut in. “i wanna ride you. but can we go slow? i haven’t fucked in a car since i was like.. seventeen.” you giggle.

“yeah,” he chuckles, bringing his hands back to your waist, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles into your covered skin. “of course, baby. whatever makes you feel good.”

he reaches down to stroke his cock once before lining it up with your entrance as you hover over his tip. with a deep breath, you lower yourself down — both of you hissing from the sudden warmth and stretch. your butt comes flush with his lap, his cock bottoming out inside you. steve throws his head back against the headrest, a heavy groan tumbling from his lips.

“oh my god, babe. feel so good — so warm, so wet.” he moans, gripping you a little harshly.

you whimper, reaching out to run a hand through his sweaty hair, pushing it away from his face. “feels so big like this,” you whisper, keeping still for a couple seconds to allow yourself to get used to feeling of him inside you.

“yeah?” he asks, your previous comment of course being a huge ego booster for the fucker. “get’s so deep doesn’t it? right in your belly. bet if your dress wasn’t covering it we’d see a little bulge, hm?”

you giggle hazily, starting to move your hips in a slow, steady rhythm. “don’t flatter yourself, harrington.”

steve grips your hips slightly tighter, grinning as he slams you down on his cock harshly. you groan, your walls squeezing him just as harshly back. “fuck, steve,” you moan.

“i know, i know,” he says, bringing your head closer to his to press a kiss to your sweaty forehead, the action being so sweet while his hands that were continually pulling you down on his cock were far from it. he still kept his promise though — about keeping things slow. his guiding wasn’t fast, just hard — hard enough that the tip of his cock brushed your g-spot almost every time he moved inside you — hard enough that it left you gasping for air. “feels good doesn’t it? my cock just filling ya up.” he groans, seemingly starting to become lost in his own pleasure.

“so fucking big inside me, baby.” you whimper, gripping his biceps hard enough that your nails would surely be leaving tiny crescents indented in his skin even if you were holding onto him over his clothes. the car rattled in time with your movements, and you just couldn’t help but allow your hand to snake down between your thighs. you gently bring your middle finger to your entrance while steve lifts your hips up, preparing to drop you down on his length once again. there’s enough of his cock not swallowed by your cunt to drag your digit along the base and steve shivers while you do this.

it only lasts for a second as he’d dropped you down on his dick far too quickly after for it to become much of a moment, but when you brought your eyes to his, you could tell he thoroughly enjoyed it. so while he controlled your movements, you brought your finger to your clit, the little nub nestled prettily underneath it’s hood.

steve watches as you proceed to flip it up and draw a circle around those nerves — completely mesmerised by the way it makes your eyes roll back. you always were very sensitive down there.

he keeps one hand on your hip, still guiding you but with less intent now. he ushers your hand away from your pussy, replacing it with his own as he thumbs your clit perfectly, pressing down on it with just enough pressure and moving his finger from side to side. “you just focus on riding, baby. let me help you cum — wanted to feel you cumming on my dick all fucking week.”

you let out a shaky breath, nodding frantically as you try to focus on moving your hips back and forth at a pace that feels best. his cock drags through your walls in such a satisfying way that the two of you moan in perfect unison.

and you just look so beautiful like this, don’t you? the way you move so effortlessly, how your breaths get even more ragged with each pass his thumb makes on your clit. you feel yourself grow closer to the edge of climax — you always came quick when Steve touched you like this and the combined stimulation of his cock pressed against your g-spot and his thumb on your clit meshed so perfectly together.

your grab onto one of his arms as if they were your final lifeline. “I’m gonna cum — fuck, baby — you’re gonna make me cum.” you whine desperately, your eyes teary.

“i know, i can feel ya clenching. it’s okay, pretty girl. cum for me — we can do it together, yeah?” he says, his own cock twitching inside of you as his balls grew unbearably tight.

you were both such idiots. even though you were in a fit of rage, why did you think for a second that you would be better off without him? without these arms, these legs, this hair, this face, this fucking cock. but more importantly, his heart. why did you even debate being better off without this beautiful heart — this beautiful person.

the thoughts flew around your head — intoxicating your mind so much that you weren’t even really aware of how much noise you were making — your and steve’s moans melting together as one as the squelching of your cunt and his cock together floated through the car.

and then, you felt it. that overbearing knot in your pelvis crash apart, your climax rolling over you like a tidal wave. you stopped moving altogether, completely slumping against steve’s chest with a silent cry as steve rubbed your clit through your and his own orgasm.

your mouth parted further when you felt his cum flood your walls, and right now? you didn’t really care about the consequences. worse comes to worse, you swing by wallgreens and pop a plan b pill, hope for the best.

“god — damn, baby,” steve chokes, gently pulling your face from his chest. “come here, give me a kiss.”

you smile hazily, leaning down and pressing a gentle, slow kiss to his lips as he reciprocated lazily. he wasn’t even really kissing you properly, just sort of pressing his mouth to yours like he needed your oxygen.

and you know what? by now, the asshole back at that party was long forgotten.

hope you guys enjoy this, I’ve literally had this fantasy about steve since i was like 14💀 likes, reblogs, comments and asks are always appreciated 🩶

Tag list: @joelmillerswifey @pleurspetal @drunk-and-capable @br66klynbaby @katxmay @slutforpumpkins @sins-rot @swimmingnightcolor @whenisthefall @mabelmiller @penguinsandpringleheads @funkytownjo @livingundeadgirllz @stranger-things-mania @ethereallyastral @pinkpantheris @lolamillsbarnes @homiesexuallaj (as always, Info about joining and leaving my tag list is linked in my pinned post)

[barnesonfilm]

pushing it down, and praying 

★ summary: you and steve were tangled in each other’s lives from birth, sharing scraped knees, midnight secrets, and every promise two kids could make without understanding the weight of them. as years passed, the two of you shifted with every change the years threw at you, and time kept moving the way it always does. fast and unrelenting. you could only push down the inevitable for so long before you realized all you've ever wanted has been right in front of you, all along. 

★ pairing: steve harrington x reader, slight omc x reader 

★ warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, cursing, canon character death, slow burn, childhood friends to lovers, angst, emotional cheating, p in v, oral f recieving

★ word count: 16.2k 

★ notes: this is an au where nothing supernatural happens in hawkins btw!!! i've spent soo long on this that i kinda hate it but i really hope you all enjoy! i appreciate the feedback so much <3

You had never known a life without Steve Harrington in it. From the moment you were walking, he was standing there right beside you. Your mothers were friends, often leaving you two with the same sitters. With matching sticky hands and loud babbles of nothing, you found a friend in the messy-haired boy.

 Steve was there through all of life’s biggest moments. The first time you rode your bike without training wheels, losing your first baby tooth, and your first heartbreak in the fourth grade, when Adam Kelly put gum in your hair. Steve pushed him off the slide, splitting his lip open. He thought the punishment was worth it to see the smile on your face. 

Similarly, you were there through his horrible prepubescent hormones, his growth spurt hitting later in life. You tripped Christy Morris after she called him short, embarrassing him in front of the class. Her accident overshadowed his embarrassment when she went crying to the office, chocolate milk staining the front of her white dress. Steve’s eyes met yours across the lunchroom, and you sent him a simple shrug. It was mindless, the urge to protect him. It went both ways. It was soon clear to everyone in Hawkins that the two of you would do anything for the other.

Steve held your hand when your dog died, letting you sob into his shoulders. He came to your house the next day, a bundle of picked dandelions in his hand. It was the first time a boy brought you flowers; he told you that you deserved them every day since it made you smile. And you believed him. When his parents got a new job, leaving him at your house or with strange relatives, he’d hide his face in your pillow, pretending tears weren’t racking his body. You’d run your tiny hands through his hair, and once he was done, you’d force him to watch movies with you. Making him laugh so hard that he no longer felt the absence of his parents. He would never be abandoned, because you’d never leave him. 

The summer before high school, the two of you made a pact. Bound in the blood of scraped knees and years of friendship. 

“We’re gonna be friends forever, you know that, right?” Steve asked, both of your backs pressed against the hot fabric of the trampoline. His hair was getting longer, his voice already deeper. 

You had changed, too, your body developing in ways that made boys in school look at you longer. You started caring more about your appearance, making Steve call you gross every time you’d put on lip gloss. In the same way, you’d smack him with the hairspray can he stole from you. 

“Of course I know that,” You said, “Why?” 

He huffed, throwing his arm over his forehead in an attempt to quell the Indiana heat. “High school is just scary. What if we make new friends?” 

You shrugged, not really thinking too much about it. “We both have other friends already.” 

“But none of them are like you.” He said the meaning of his words wouldn’t come to him until much later. 

“I know.” You smirked, kicking his shin with your foot. “Even when the world changes, our friends, school, and even when we change as people. It won’t matter because our friendship never will. We’re unchangeable.” 

He laughed at your word choices, pushing your foot away from his playfully. “Growing up is scary.” He admitted after a brief moment of silence. 

You hummed in agreement, reaching your hand down to grab his. Lacing your fingers together as if you’ve done it a thousand times, because you have. 

“You make it not so scary.” You smiled, the two of you staring at the clouds. 

“Pinky promise?” Steve asked, his voice betraying him. You just smiled, bringing up your other hand that wasn’t in his, holding out your pinky. He did the same, lacing your two pinkies together in an unspoken vow. 

Time is a fickle thing. Nothing ever happens as you plan it; it’s the only consistency in the world. When the two of you stepped foot into Hawkin’s High, it was inevitable that things would change. He made the basketball team, coming over to your house with his jersey in hand. Jumping up and down, swearing you needed to join the Cheerleading team. You smacked him upside the head for even entertaining the idea. He made fun of you for joining the library club, a realization coming over you two that your High School experiences were heading into different directions. You promised to go to each of his games, and he said he would read one book a year for you. A compromise of sorts. 

At his first basketball game, Trina Robbins kissed him courtside, her pom poms shaking wildly at her sides. It was the first time you saw him as a man, not just the little boy who’d help you catch fireflies in the backyard. You ran to him after the game, arms slinging around his shoulders in congratulations. He spun you around, his joyful laugh ringing in your ears. 

“I’m so proud of you!” You gawked, his arms still wrapped around you. It wasn’t until you heard a loud cough from behind you. Trina and her friends were standing behind you, evil smirks on their faces. 

“Y/n! This is my girlfriend Trina.” He smiled widely, his arm leaving your body quickly. He walked over to her, his arm slinging across her shoulders. “Babe, this is my friend I grew up with.” 

Her perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched, “Oh? Steve didn’t mention you.” 

You hoped the sound of the rowdy gymnasium covered the sound of your heart shattering. He didn’t even tell you he had a crush, let alone a girlfriend. Then he didn’t mention you at all. You knew Steve, your Stevie, would never do this. You brushed it off, a hopeless, dumb teenage boy in love. It was fine. 

You braved it with a smile, ignoring their judgmental glares that Steve seemed oblivious to. “Well, nice to meet you, Trina. You did great.” 

“I know.” She smirked, pulling Steve away. “Come on, I want ice cream.” And he was dragging her out the door. 

He turned back, waving at you. “I’ll see you around!” 

You sent him a wave back, riding your bike home in pitiful silence. Absent was the sound of his bike pedaling next to yours, his incessant complaining about assignments and practice. 

It was just a simple interaction, one you tried not to dwell on. But little did you know it would be the first crack in the glass. Your interaction with Steve at school was becoming little to none as the weeks passed. Trina was glued to his hip, and when she wasn’t, his mean older teammates were. You still saw him some weekends, helping him study for his English tests. Inevitably, doing the assignments for him. He was still the same Steve you knew and loved, but something was different. 

He no longer reached for your hand as much as he used to, and there were no more hugs goodbye. You knew this would happen when the two of you started dating, but soon the phone calls stopped. The weekend hangouts in his parents' basement were replaced with him going to parties. He no longer rode with you to school, biking halfway across town to let Trina ride on his pegs. You passed each other in the hallways, soft smiles and waves were all you got for the majority of the year. 

It was the week before Summer break, and you were excited. You and your friends had planned a slumber party, painting nails, hair rollers in, and the stereo in your room blaring your newest cassettes. Preparing your future Summer plans. Celebrating the end of finals, gossiping about going into your sophomore year. You were flipping through a magazine, ready to point out a pair of shoes, when there was a loud tapping at your window. 

The girls jumped, eyes wide at the sight of none other than Steve. His arms were clinging to the ledge, tapping on the glass. It feels like it has been ages since you’ve spoken to him, let alone seeing him, ready to climb into your room. 

“What the hell?” Imogen yelled, her hand cradling her chest. 

You rolled your eyes, ripping open the window. “What are you doing?” 

“I just wanted to-oh oh, hi ladies.” He paused, looking past you to wave flirtatiously at your friends. 

Your fingers flicked his forehead, “Out with it.” 

“Mom wants you over Sunday night for dinner. Said it’s been too long. Still thinks she loves you more than me. Also, just wanted to see you.” He cheesed, to which you pretended it didn’t make your heart pound. 

“Okay. You could've called.” 

“Can’t see your annoyed face through the phone.” 

You glared at him, making him cower. “Okay, okay. See you Sunday!” Then he was off, his feet hitting the ground with a thud. You lay back down on the floor, content to skim through he magazine once again. Trying to calm the thud of your heart. But your friends were not letting it go. 

“You have the Steve Harrington sneaking through your window?” Jessica gawked, running and watching where he ran back to his bike. 

“He’s my best friend.” You laughed nervously, watching her and Imogen stare at each other. An all-knowing look in their eyes. “He could’ve used the front door; he probably just wanted to show off.” 

“Does that happen often?” Jessica asked, her line of questioning not done. 

“Not as much as it used it. Sometimes I’ll go to his, but I’ll use the front door like a normal person. “ You shrugged mindlessly, “His bed is comfier anyway.” 

What you thought was an innocent moment turned out to be anything but. When you walked into school the last day, you were met with too many eyes on you. From the moment you walked to your locker, the whispers were evident. Your palms were sweaty as you stumbled, unlocking the combination lock. 

“Y/n.” Imogen rushed towards you, out of breath from seemingly running to you. “I’m so sorry. I told Jessica not to say anything, but she really wants to be on the cheer squad next year-” 

“What?” You sputtered, “Say what?” 

Before Imogen could spit it out, the school doors slammed open. Everyone’s eyes are on you. There stood Trina, complete with her group of friends. Her face was red, anger evident. You had zero idea what was happening, assuming Steve broke her heart and she was coming to take it out on you. 

“Hey, you whore.” Trina spat, getting in your face within seconds. Your back pressed against your lock, eyebrows raised. Imogen had run off, muttering something about being back. You were left alone, nothing but a pissed off squad of cheerleaders at your neck, with half the school watching. You felt like you were in a bad 70s movie, living out your worst nightmare. 

“What’s your fucking problem?” You asked, fingers clutching your stack of books like your life depended on it. 

“I knew from the moment Steve introduced us that you’d be a problem. With your pathetic “poor me” face. You just couldn’t accept that he wanted me, huh?” She spoke, your mind still reeling. 

“I literally have no clue what you’re talking about.” You tried to push past her, her friends pushing you back roughly into the lockers. Your books going flying from your hands. 

“We’re talking about you fucking my boyfriend.” She spoke slowly, “I heard that you guys crawl into each other's windows and you spread your legs for him.” 

Jessica. That fucking bitch Jessica. Your heart ached; you thought she was your friend. She knew nothing was happening between you two. 

“I never fucked Steve.” A blush crept up your neck at your words, “He’s just my best friend. I’ve known him since I was in diapers.” 

“Bullshit. You can lie to me, but she saw him literally hanging from your window.” 

You didn’t know where the bravery came from, clinging to your pride as much as you could. “You know, Trina, I know no one ever wants to be around you unless you’re putting out, but there’s this thing called friends-” 

Her hand backhanded your cheek before you could finish, the sting making your eyes water. On instinct, you raised your hand back, unable to get anything in before one of her friends kicked you in the shin. The other’s joining in. Pain bloomed through your body as you fought back, getting outnumbered within seconds. It was a blur; in seconds, they were on you, only stopping when they heard a yell down the hallway. 

Imogen was running back, Steve in tow. He was in his gym clothes, his eyes wild. 

“Get the hell off her.” He barked, his arm coming up to pull Trina’s shoulder back. “What the hell is your problem?” 

Her other friends scattered, leaving you slumped on your feet. Arm cradling your stomach, which was bound to be covered in bruises. You couldn’t meet his eyes, but you felt his worried gaze on you. 

“What’s my problem? My problem is you. Cheating on me with this loser?” She screamed, getting the attention of teachers who slowly poured into the hall. 

“Y/n? Nothing happened. God, she’s like my sister.” It wasn’t the first time the comparison had been made, but it was the first time Steve had said it. He didn’t like the way the words shaped in his mouth, his throat going dry before he spoke back up again. “Y/n is my best friend. I told you that.” 

He pushed her aside, dropping to his knees to look over you. He cupped your chin, forcing you to look up at him. Unshed tears were heavy in your eyes, blinking them away when he checked you over for injuries. 

“Are you okay?” He whispered, helping you stand upright. You didn’t answer, keeping your gaze on the floor. Willing yourself to wake up from this nightmare. 

“Steve, I’m sorry.” Trina whimpered, watching her social status flash before her eyes. Steve pushed you behind his back, his eyes wild with fury, while looking at her. 

“You know what, Trina. I don’t think you have the right to call anyone a whore, considering you put out on our first date.” Steve’s words were cruel, an ice to them you’ve never heard before. “You can go to hell. If you ever come near her again, you or your bitchy friends. I will ruin your life. Understood?” 

He was met with silence, tears falling down her cheeks. Little did Hawkins know this was the start of the infamous King Steve. 

“Matter of fact, if anyone has issues with her, they come to me.” He yelled, right before the teachers swarmed in, grabbing Trina by the arm. 

Steve held your hand in silence to the nurse’s office, his eyes squeezing shut when you showed the nurse your reddened skin. 

“It’ll probably bruise, nothing bad enough to go to the hospital for.” She said, snapping her gloves off. “I’m gonna have the office call your parents up here.” 

All you could do was nod, picking at the skin around your nails harshly. 

“Y/n…” Steve whispered, his hand finding yours. You let him lace your fingers together tightly. It had been so long since you held his hand, but it still fit perfectly in yours. “I’m so sorry.” 

You shook your head, “S’my fault. I made a joke to Jessica about how your bed is comfier than mine. I didn’t think she’d take it wrong, definitely didn’t think she’d tell half the school about it.” 

“No, no. It’s not your fault. I haven’t been the best of a friend lately.” He admitted, letting his thumb rub over the top of your hand. “Can’t believe I let a stupid girl get in between us.” 

His pained laugh made you roll your eyes, “Don’t care if you get a girlfriend, Stevie. Just want you to still talk to me.”

“I promise. God, I promise it’ll never happen again.” He laughed shakily, pressing soft kisses to your hand. 

Things had still changed, changed so much sometimes it seemed like you were lifetimes apart from the two kids that sat hand in hand on that trampoline. But you’d accept any change, as long as he was still in your life. Without him, there was a hole in the shape of him, lodged in the middle of your chest. You felt the hole close, each moment Steve grinned at you. Promising to take you out for ice cream as soon as your parents show up. 

Sophomore year rolled by so quickly, you wished you could have grabbed time, and begged her to slow down. Steve had grown a new reputation in school. King Steve, they called him, claiming him the royalty of Hawkins High. Little did they know the king of Hawkins made you blow-dry and hairspray his hair every morning. His girlfriends, or trysts as you liked to call them, all knew you. Whispers of the Trina incident followed every relationship of his; he just smiled and told them you’d always be more important than them. They either accepted it or they didn’t. 

Dating for you didn’t come nearly as easily; most of the boys at school were so scared of Steve they steered clear of you with a ten-foot pole. It only got worse when he began hanging out with Carol and Tommy G. You hated them, despised how they fed into Steve’s ever-growing ego. They were kind to you, most of the time. It was clear they tolerated you only. 

Every time Steve would grab you by the shoulders, pulling you into a hug in the hall, they’d groan. 

“Gotta hug my girl.” He’d shrug, kissing your forehead goodbye before going off to class. Imogen would just roll her eyes, swearing up and down that the two of you just needed to start dating. You’d cringe, shaking her off. He was just your best friend you’d tell her. When she’d swear her and her best friend didn’t act like that, all you could do was shrug. “That’s just me and Steve.” 

You didn’t have your first official boyfriend until the summer before Junior year, and Steve hated him. Hated him for reasons you were still unclear about. He was on the debate team, the most innocent, nerdiest of boys who had captured your heart. So when he broke your heart three weeks into the year, Steve had held you in his arms as you sobbed, brushing your hair down, swearing he’d kill him. 

“I really will, I promise. I’ll use the beamer. Catch him on a foggy night and just boom,” Steve spoke, making your chest rattle with laughter. “Blood and guts everywhere.” 

“It would ruin your nice and shiny car.” You pouted through your tears. For his 16th birthday, Steve’s dad had presented him with the infamous burgundy BMW. He’d almost spun the tires out pulling into your driveway. That night, the two of you went through a whole tank of gas, driving everywhere around town. You couldn’t imagine your ex-boyfriend's murder ruining that car. 

“Would be worth it to see you smile.” He said, watching your puffy cheeks as you sat up. 

“He was such a dickhead.” You frowned, rubbing your tired eyes. “I really thought what we had over the summer was good. Then he sees Rebecca in chemistry and thinks she’d be a better lay than me.” 

Steve’s brows furrowed, “Did he say that?” 

“It was implied.” You grumbled, fumbling with a loose thread from his shirt. “Can’t believe I lost my virginity to someone who asked if he was going to put it in the wrong hole.” 

A loud laugh tore from his chest, “Wait, what?” 

“He wanted to make sure, and I quote: “Is it in your vagina or your pee hole?” You burst out laughing, rubbing your face. 

The two of you laughed until your chests hurt, Steve going on and on. “Dude, poor fucking Rebecca,” 

“Poor Rebecca.” You wheezed, taking a deep breath in. It was good to laugh. It was good to be in Steve’s arms, the two of you lazily lounging in his bed. 

“Hey,” Steve spoke up, “Do you wanna order pizza and disgrace his yearbook picture?” 

You scoffed, “I’m offended you’d even ask Stevie.” 

The two of you did just that, you ended up falling asleep on his bed. The two of you waking up in a tangled mess of arms. His body pressed against yours. In an awkward shuffle, you pulled away, and he nearly flung off the bed. Stuttering that he had to go to the bathroom, the door slammed shut. All you could do was laugh. 

He drove you to school that morning, and you walked alongside. When you passed by Nancy Wheeler and her friend, Barb, Steve paused, sending a flirty wave her way. Your eyes squinted, waiting to speak until you got to his locker. 

“Nancy Wheeler, huh?” You asked, ignoring the blush creeping up on his face. 

“We’ve just been talking a little.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. You hadn’t seen him this flustered before. Not over a girl. You ignored the weird sinking feeling in your stomach, smiling teasingly at him. 

“Oh, so someone has a crush.” You sang, making him shush you. Looking around, like everyone would hear. 

“Just because my love life failed this year doesn't mean yours has to; ask her out.” You encouraged him, closing his locker for him. 

He gave you a sympathetic look, patting your cheek gently. “Just because that loser broke your heart doesn't mean you can’t try again. Now I don’t think any men in this town deserve you, but I do want you happy.” 

You nodded against his hand, mourning the loss of warmth when he pulled away. 

“Go get him, tiger.” You smirked, watching him run down the hallway. 

It was no surprise you were once again regretting your words a few weeks later, doing your best to avoid where Steve had his tongue shoved down Nancy’s throat in the middle of the hallway. 

“They’re disgusting.” Barb had spoken; you didn’t know the girl well, but as Nancy joined your orbit, she had followed. 

“Sometimes I wonder if she ever gets tired of him slobbering all over her face.” You said, causing Barb to giggle. 

“Hey, you and Sam aren’t much better. Staring longingly at each other in homeroom.” She teased, making you roll your eyes. Sam was your friend, just a friend. There had been a few moments you thought something more could bloom between the two of you, but you shrugged it off. Unsure if you wanted to deal with another inescapable heartbreak. 

“Y/n! Barb.” Nancy stuttered, just now realising the two of you were standing next to her. Her face was flustered, and Steve stood there unbothered as usual. “What are you talking about?” 

“How Y/n needs to woman up and ask Sam out,” Barb said. 

“No, don’t ever ask a man out. That’s the man's job.” Steve shook his head, pulling Nancy to his chest. 

“I think if she wants to ask him out, that’s fine. Cute even. I have art with Sam, he’s really sweet.” Nancy smiled, staring nervously at you. You were friendly with Nancy, but the two of you didn’t have much in common, it felt like sometimes. Steve went on and on about how Nancy thought you hated her. 

“I’m not asking anyone out, but thank you, Nancy.” You sighed, your head hitting the locker. “I’m just gonna die alone.” 

“Little Y/n not able to get laid?” Tommy’s shrill voice ruined the moment the four of you were having. 

“That’s not what your dad said last night.” You squinted your eyes at him, Carol responding with a sarcastic laugh. 

“You kiss Steve’s ass with that mouth?” He asked, making Nancy tense. You didn’t miss it, Steve did. 

“He has this running joke that I feed Steve’s ego blindly, that’s why we’re friends. Tommy finds friendship as this impossible-to-grasp concept. One could only wonder why.” You told her with a smile, “He also thinks he’s much funnier than he actually is.” 

“Hey, cut it out. God, you two fight like animals.” Steve sighed, “While we’re all here. My house. Tonight. Parents are gone.” 

“It’s Tuesday.” You deadpanned, not ready to get roped into another one of the Harringtons' infamous get-togethers. 

“It’s Tuesday.” Tommy mocked, grunting when Steve elbowed him in the stomach. 

“A party?” Nancy asked, her innocent face looking up at Steve. 

“Ding, ding!” Carol laughed, making you roll your eyes. 

While they broke into conversation about the party, your eyes followed Nancy’s. Watching Jonathan Byers tacking up missing posters for his brother. 

“Oh, God, that’s depressing.” Carol snickered, and Barb walked away before the conversation got worse. You didn’t blame her; every time the couple spoke, it made your skin crawl. 

“Should we say something?” Nancy asked, eyes full of empathy. You knew her little brother was friends with his. 

“I don’t think he speaks.”

“How much you want to bet he killed him?” Tommy laughed, your head turning to meet Steve's. 

You scoffed, “Your friends are fucking assholes. You know that?” And with that, you stormed off, determined to find Sam. You were going to ask him out; you deserved your own happiness. Your own life outside of Steve’s little bubble. 

-

Your fingers twirled in the phone cord, “Y/n, please. Tommy said he’s sorry. Please just come.” Steve begged through the phone. You could hear them snickering in the background. He wanted you at this stupid party; he cleaned his pool out and everything. Even got your favorite wine coolers. 

“I’m with Sam.” You blurted out, The man you spoke of caught your eye. He was sitting on your bed cross-legged, shirt askew. Maybe you did decide to ask him out and sneak him in through your window. 

“So bring him,” Steve said after a brief pause. “Barb is here. If she’s here, there’s no reason you can’t be. Please.” The begging in his voice made your resolve crumble. Sucking you right back in. 

About an hour later, you were stalking into Steve’s backyard, hand in hand with Sam. Sam was beautiful. Taller with shaggy hair, you couldn’t help but immediately notice how different he looked from Steve. Wondering why your brain forced you to compare the two. There was no time to dwell on that. 

You introduced him to everyone, making sure to flip Tommy the bird while doing so. 

“Steve. I  heard a lot about you, man.” Sam spoke, holding his hand out for Steve to shake. It took Steve a moment to shake his hand. Probably gripping harder than he needed to. 

Once that was out of the way, you all found a good rhythm, chatting and drinking cheap beers. You're sipping on your strawberry wine coolers, Carol cringing with each sip of beer. 

“No fair, why did she get nice drinks?” She whined. 

“Because she doesn’t drink beer. They’re her favorite.” Steve laughed, a billow of cigarette smoke falling out of his mouth. 

You couldn’t help the smirk that graced your lips, leaning back into Sam’s chest. As much as they loved King Steve, none of them knew him the way you did. He knew you like it was the easiest thing in the world, while Tommy and Carol barely scratched the surface. They knew it too. Nancy was different; you knew she really cared for Steve. You just worried he’d break her heart; you warned him if he did, he’d never hear the end of it. She was different from the other girls. 

“It’s different this time, Y/n.” He swore, flicking his pencil on the library table. 

“What, like you love her?” You asked. 

He paused, thinking for a moment. “I think so. Not as much as I love you, and not in the same way. “ He hummed. 

“Aww, wait, so you’re really falling in love with her?” You cooed, “What happened to King Steve?” 

“Oh shut up.” He grumbled, right before the two of you were shushed by library goers. 

When your brain came back into focus, they were shotgunning beers, your eyes rolling at the dick measuring contest Steve and Tommy were perpetually in. You looked back at Barb, forcing her to join you and Sam’s little group. 

“When they’re around women, they turn into animals. Everything is a contest.” You said, making the first smile appear on her face this night. 

“Sam, you don’t wanna join?” She asked, making his chest rumble in laughter. 

“I don’t think I need to chug a beer to impress Y/n. She’d probably call me a meathead.” 

“You know me so well.” You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. 

A large splash made you gasp, watching Carol come up from the pool. Tommy was standing there with a smirk on his face. 

“What the hell, Tommy?” She shrieked, him jumping in beside her. It was then Steve’s turn to copy him, throwing Nancy and himself in the deep end. 

“I broke my arm in this pool when I was 6. Don’t get any ideas.” You told Sam. 

“So you’ve known Steve a while, huh?” He asked, watching the couples play about in the water. 

“Since we were babies. We grew up together.” 

“You guys couldn’t be more different.” He said it was an innocent comment. But it made you feel weird, frowning slightly. 

“I guess I’m a little boring. A lot nicer to look at, though.” 

“Disagree with the first part, but agree to the last.” He said, nuzzling his head in your neck. 

“Hey, lovebirds,” Steve yelled, ruining the moment by splashing water at you two, “Get in.” 

You shook your head, “I’m not ruining my shirt.” 

“So take it off.” Tommy whistled. Carol smacking him upside the head. 

“Didn’t know you wanted to see me shirtless that bad.” You teased back, Sam’s arm draping across your chest. 

“I think everyone would enjoy the show, some more than others.” He whistled, Steve’s eyes shooting daggers into his skull. 

“At least get in with us, Y/n,” Nancy spoke up, a smile on her face. 

You turned to look at Sam, “I’ll get undressed if you do.” He teased. 

“Fuck you all.” You grumbled, sitting up. You let Sam’s hands travel to the hem of your shirt, pulling it up over your head. 

“Fold it, it’s cashmere.” You muttered to him, watching him place it gently in one of the chairs. Leaving out the part where it was a Christmas present from Steve’s parents. 

Sam tugged his own shirt over his head, ignoring the hollers of the boys. You ignored the gazes, keeping your shorts on. Clad in those and a plain black bra. Thankful it at least wasn’t white today. 

“Okay on-” You started, readying yourself for a countdown before you saw Sam running at you full force. 

“Wait-no.” You squealed, being pushed into the pool. The cold water shocked your body, coming up with a shriek. “Fuck that’s cold.” 

Sam’s hair was dripping all over his face, swimming over to hold you in his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist, holding onto his shoulders for dear life. 

“We should play a game,” Carol spoke up, a devilish grin on her face. 

The group of you didn’t stay in the pool much longer after that, a few games of chicken before you were all shivering. There were only so many times you could push Carol into the water aggressively before someone got mad. 

“I’m so cold.” Carol’s teeth were chattering while you wrapped the towel around yourself. 

“I heard his mom’s room has a fireplace.” Tommy’s eyebrows waved suggestively at her. 

“Gross, Steve, you’re gonna let them fuck in your parents' bed?” You groaned. Steve turned back, his eyes locking onto yours for what felt like the first time that night. This was while Nancy and Barb had a heated exchange, Barb storming off. You felt bad, making a mental note to bring her a muffin tomorrow morning in homeroom to apologize. 

“Unless you and Sam want it first.” He said, making you cringe. 

“We’re probably gonna head out.” You sighed, bidding them a goodnight. 

“Hey man, thanks for inviting me,” Sam said to Steve, Steve responding with a tight-lipped smile. All you could do was squint at the man, watching him walk into the house. 

“I guess we should head back.” You mumbled as soon as the two of you were alone, his hands resting on your hips. 

“I guess,” He sighed playfully. “Or we could take advantage of his empty backyard.” 

You gasped, “I’m not fucking you in my friend's yard.” 

He shook his head, “I didn’t say all that.” He pulled you to one of the beach chairs, laying you down against the cold plastic. 

Your heart was beating out of your chest, his lips pressed against yours hungrily. You kissed him back with fever, letting his tongue enter your open mouth. You gasped against him, feeling his hands cup your chest. Squeezing them before his hand trailed south, popping open the buttons of your soaked shorts. 

“This okay?” He grumbled against your lips. You weren’t sure if it was the wine coolers or the warmth of his body against yours, but you nodded. 

His hand slipped into your underwear easily, fingers finding the spot that had your back arching against the chair. Your eyes fluttered open when he hit that sweet spot inside you. 

Your gaze accidentally landed on Steve’s window, the curtains open and wide. The warmth in your stomach grew as, watched his bare back ripple on the bed. There was no doubt what he and Nancy were doing. You looked away quickly, pressing your lips to Sam’s again. Pretending you didn’t just come around his fingers, looking at your best friend. You prayed he didn’t see it, the guilt radiating off of you. You shoved it down, focusing on his body against yours. 

Little did any of you know that Johnathan Byers was in the woods just feet away, snapping photos of all of you. 

-

Barb was absent from homeroom, and Sam swore to you that there was no reason to be worried. The roads were hard to navigate on Steve’s road, especially at night. It was more likely that she was too embarrassed or tired to come in. It still made a weird, nagging feeling bloom in your chest. 

At lunch, you reluctantly joined the band of misfits again. Sam’s arm was lying against the back of your chair, Steve sitting across from you. Tommy was convinced he got frostbite from the pool, putting his disgusting foot on the lunch table, making you gag. 

“Hey, Y/n.” You turned around, watching Nancy walk up to the table on a mission. “When you left, did you see Barb?” 

You shook your head, Tommy cutting you off. “What?” 

“Barbara. She’s not here today.” Nancy spoke, her patience running thin. 

“I seriously have no idea who you’re talking about.” He shrugged. 

“Come on, don’t be an ass, man. Did you...Did you see her leave last night or not?” 

“No, she was gone when we left,” Tommy answered, Carol leaning over the table. 

“Probably couldn’t stand listening to all that moaning.” She moaned, beginning to moan Steve’s name loudly. Tommy joined in mocking Nancy loudly. 

Steve kicked him under the table, telling them to cut it out. You rolled your eyes, “I was worried this morning, but I think maybe she’s just skipping. We were out late last night.” 

“Yeah,” Sam perked up, “She’s not usually a party goer, you know? Not used to running on a few hours of sleep.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Nancy said with a tight lip. 

After lunch, you were excited to finally go home, kissing Sam goodbye when he left for his art club. It was then that you saw Steve walking towards you in the hall, grabbing your arm harshly. 

“Steve, what the fuck?” You asked, letting him angrily drag you into the parking lot with him. “What’s going on?” Carol, Tommy, and one of Carol’s friends, Nicole, followed along. Steve’s sights were on Jonathan Byers as he walked to his car. 

“Steve, if you’re going to be an asshole to him, I’m not-” You were cut off by Carol, looking at you for the first time with genuine sympathy in her eyes. 

“Y/n. Apparently, he was taking pictures of us last night.” She said, your eyes widening. Nicole simply nodded. You turned your head back to the disaster that was waiting to unfold. 

“Hey, man,” Steve shouted, his voice wavering in anger. You don’t think he was this angry when Trina had you pinned against the lockers freshman year. 

“What’s going on?” Jonathan stuttered, looking at all of you with wide eyes. 

“Nicole here was, uh, telling us about your work.” He said Carol and Tommy agreed. Swearing, it sounded like the coolest art in the world. 

“And we’d just love to take a look. You know, as... connoisseurs of art.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He lied, Tommy snatching his backpack off of him, tossing it over to Steve. 

“Please, give me my bag.” He pleaded, Steve, ignoring him. Rifling through it to pull out a stack of photos. You leaned against his shoulder, watching him shuffle through the photos. Your heart fell into your stomach, seeing photos of you all getting out of the pool. Then Nancy upstairs, undressing in the window. Then his focus was on you, Sam’s hands down your pants. Your head tilted back in pleasure. Tears stung in your eyes, ripping the photos out of his hand. 

“Let me see,” Tommy said, snatching a few from Steve’s hand. He and Carol taking turns looking through them. “Yeah, this isn’t creepy at all.

“I was looking for my brother.” He tried to defend himself, unable to look any of you in the eyes. 

“No. No, this is called stalking.” Steve spoke, “Not only did you trespass, but you took perv photos of my best friend and my girlfriend. On my property. During private moments.” 

Nancy took the perfect moment to walk up, her face concerned, watching the tears in your eyes. “What’s going on?” 

“Here’s the starring lady.” Carol smirked, “One of them, anyway. I have to say Y/n, looks like he was rocking your world.” 

You crushed the photos in your hand, shoving them frantically into your bag. Steve shot Carol a look that could kill, “Shut the fuck up for once, Carol.” 

“This creep was spying on us last night,” She said, ignoring Steve’s outburst,  handing Nancy a photo. “He was probably gonna save this one for later.” 

Her expression matched yours, one of embarrassment and disgust. 

“See, you can tell that he knows it was wrong, but…” Steve reached out to wipe Jonathan's sleeve, the boy flinching. “Man, that’s the thing about perverts... It’s hardwired into ’em. You know, they just can’t help themselves.” 

You couldn’t watch this; the whole situation made your stomach turn. 

“So…We’ll just have to take away his toy,” Steve said, grabbing the camera. 

“Steve…” Nancy warned. 

“No, please, not the camera,” he begged, watching Steve pretend to give it back. Your whole body cringed when Steve dropped the camera, the lenses shattering on the asphalt. 

He stepped into Jonathan’s face again, pulling him by his collar. “If I find out you have pictures of her anywhere on that thing, it’ll be the last thing you see.” He spat, pushing him back roughly. Steve didn’t have to specify who he was referring to by the way he looked at you, before storming away. 

You and Nancy were frozen, watching the ripped-up photos crumple to the ground. 

“He shouldn’t have done that,” Nancy spoke quietly, eyes on the broken camera. 

“Please don’t make me verbally agree with Carol and Tommy.” You begged, “He wasn’t just creeping on you. There are pictures of me on there, too.” 

“Yeah, almost seems like Steve’s more upset about those than mine.” She mumbled under her breath. 

“What do you mean by that?” You stopped her, grabbing her arm. 

She jerked it away, snatching up the rest of the pictures. “Nothing. Just nothing, Y/n.” 

You were left standing there, dumbfounded. You looked back between Jonathan and the remains of his camera. 

“I hope you find your brother.” You managed out, walking back towards the group. Steve’s arm wraps around your wrist, pulling you to him. 

“You still going to the game?” He asked, his skin still warm from frustration. You shook your head no, pulling away from his grasp. 

“I’m just gonna head home.” 

He looked down at you, concern lacing his features. “Call you later?” 

All you could do was give him a weak smile. He paused, holding out his pinky. You stared at his finger; you hadn’t done a pinky promise with him in years. You laced yours with his, “Promise.” 

You avoided Nancy’s stares when you walked away, holding your hand close to your chest. 

-

They found Barbara’s car in a ditch a mile from Steve’s house, 3 days later. In a ditch you passed on the way home that night, unknowing that her body was pinned inside the vehicle for days. 

A week later, they found Will Byers alive in the woods, malnourished and traumatized, but alive. You were thankful there was at least one positive to the recent events in Hawkins. Nancy was in hysterics at Barb’s funeral, and Sam held you through the guilt. The two of you eventually made it official. Dating him was easier than it had been before, almost too easy. Sometimes it felt like you were putting on a show, living your life as you were taught you were supposed to. 

Time passed, as it often did. Senior year was full of jobs and college applications, and getting swept up in talk of the future. Despite your insistence on Steve studying and you doing half of his English assignments, his grades weren’t good. You held his hand, swore to him it would all be fine. But you knew his dad, and you knew the type of son his dad wanted him to be. Somehow, Halloween had crept up on you; flyers to Tina’s party floated around the halls. 

Despite Steve’s incessant begging to get you to join the pair, Sam was out of town visiting family, and you weren’t interested in third wheeling. Nancy had already been distant with you ever since the Jonathan incident; the last thing you wanted to do was make it worse. Late that night, you stayed in bed, only being roused by your phone ringing. You tried to ignore it, but the caller was only calling again. You rolled over, angrily gripping the phone off the hook.

“Hello?” You barked.

“Y/n..” Steve’s faraway voice came in through the phone. 

“Steve?” You questioned, confused as to what number he was calling you from. 

“Y/n. I need a ride. Nancy left me.” He mumbled. 

Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head at his words, jumping up to slip on some clothes. 

“You at Tina’s?” He responded with a mumbled yes. 

“I’ll be there in 15. Please do not go anywhere.” You made him promise, not holding drunk Steve to anything. You sped there, parting drunken bodies to find Steve. Sunglasses still perched on top of his head, his eyes hazy. 

“Guys, it’s my best friend.” He laughed, flinging his body onto yours. You pushed him off with a grunt, grabbing him by the arm. Dragging him out into the yard. Using all your strength as he kept going, deadweight on his feet.

This wasn’t the first time you had to pick a drunk Steve up from somewhere, but this was the worst. 

“Bullshit.” Steve slurred, his body slumping more in your hold. 

“What?” You were exasperated at this point, just barely able to toss his body into your passenger seat. 

“Bullshit. Nancy said it was all Bullshit. Didn’t love me.” He whined, his face pained with each word. 

Your brows furrowed, “Nancy loves you.” That was all you could manage to say, reaching over him to buckle him in. 

“No, no, she doesn’t.” He whined by the time you started the car, driving him slowly to his house. You only had to pull over once for him to throw up, thankful he didn’t ruin your floorboards. 

Getting him up into his room was easy, seeing as he threw up a portion of the alcohol in his system. 

“Come on, Joel Goodson, let’s get you to bed.” You sighed, taking the sunglasses off of him despite his protests. He took his own shirt off, not bothering with his pants, as he curled up in the bed. You watched his eyes flutter closed, his chest rising and falling. He looked peaceful, the frown lines he had earlier melting away. You moved the blanket over him, ready to leave before he stopped you. 

“Please don’t leave me.” He whimpered, not even opening his eyes. 

Your heart splintered open in your chest, crawling into bed with him. He nuzzled into your side, probably going to drool all over your sweater. That was fine, as long as he got some sleep. 

“Thank you,” He mumbled, “M’loving me. Wish it was you.” 

“What?” You asked, your heart falling into your stomach. The only response you got was his gentle snores. You didn’t get any sleep that night, content to lie on your back. Brushing your hands through his hair, staring at the ceiling, wondering what he meant. Or if he’d even remember. 

That wasn’t something you had the time for, deciding to push it into the back of your mind. 

Safe to say he didn’t when you woke up to him throwing up in his side table trash can, making you cringe. You did what you did best, taking care of him. He told you the story of what happened between him and Nancy, not liking your response. 

“I don’t think she deserves you, Stevie.” 

“Come on-” 

“I mean it, I know she’s going through a lot, but you didn’t kill Barb. It was an accident.”

He was quiet for a moment, hesitant to say the rest of the story. “She also thinks I’m in love with you.” 

The mood in the room shifted, the tension thick. “W-what? Why would she think that?” You stuttered out. 

He shrugged, not meeting your eyes. “I didn’t defend her honor enough with Jonathan, which is funny considering she forgave him.”

“She forgave him?” You scowled, trying to do your best to forget that night ever happened. The pictures were burnt in your fireplace, alongside photos of you and your ex. 

“Told her she wasn’t allowed to do that since he took pictures of you, too. She didn’t like that.” 

“What a bitch.” You mumbled, grabbing his hand in yours. 

“Dating is hard.” He gave you a sad smile, to which you nodded. “How are you and Sam?” 

You shrugged, “Fine. I think it's a little too fine. Sometimes I feel bad that he’s too sweet, too forgiving, too- I don’t know, is it mean to say boring?” 

“He does seem a little lame,” He teased, you hitting his chest playfully. He winced, holding his head, “I might throw up, don’t do that.” 

“He’s not lame. I just think something is wrong with me. Sometimes it feels like I can’t love him like I’m supposed to. Like I'm broken.” You admitted, watching his eyes soften at your admission. 

“I think you love me just right.” His words were quiet, heavier than before. “You’re not broken, Y/n.” 

“You don’t make it easy.” You joked, unraveling your hands. Maybe one day you’d explain to him that loving him was the easiest thing in the world, because you never had to think twice. From the moment you were born, there was an invisible thread tying you to him. Instead, you pushed it down, slapping his chest playfully. 

“Especially when you smell like an expired liquor store.” 

“Hey!” He whined. 

It was all fine, everything was fine. He went to shower, and you went home. He was going to buy Nancy flowers, and you were going to wait by the phone, waiting for Sam to call. So why did it feel so wrong? 

-

You got a call from Steve the next afternoon, asking if you’d come over. You obliged, only to be godsmacked by his bruised and bloodied face. 

“Oh my god? What the fuck?” You asked, rushing inside the door. 

“Am I an asshole?” He asked, ignoring your concerns. 

“What?” You muttered, dragging him into the bathroom. You immediately grabbed the first aid kit, ready to wipe his face with an alcohol pad. He stopped you, grabbing your wrist loosely. 

“Am I an asshole?” He repeated, his dark brown eyes heavy with sadness. 

“I mean, sure sometimes,” You’d never lie to him, “But you aren’t an asshole, you can just act like one.” 

“I did something really stupid.” He admitted. 

“Oh, really? I can’t tell.” You snarked, pressing the pad to his face. Making him wince in pain while you cleaned off the dried blood. “Let me guess, Nancy.” Her name tasted bitter on your tongue. 

He cocked his head to the side, “You don’t like her?” 

“I’m starting not to Stevie.” You admitted, bandaging the cut under his eyes closed. 

“Went to apologize to her with flowers for the other night, Jonathan Byers was in her bed. Tommy and Carol convinced me to spraypaint some bullshit at the theatre about her being a slut, he kicked my ass.” You took a moment to soak in his story, finishing with one last pink bandage. 

“Well, I guess you deserved a small ass kicking, but not this bad.” You winced. “Am I allowed to beat her ass?” 

“Y/n..” 

You threw your hands up, “Sorry, sorry!” 

In the silence, you cleaned up the bloodied paper, washing your hands in the sink. He stayed still, his brows furrowed in thought. A frown line forming into the crease of his forehead, you wanted nothing more than to rub your thumb over it. Releasing all the tension from him. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” You asked, placing your hand next to his on the counter. Propping yourself up next to him, your arms brushing.

“Do you ever think about it?” 

“Bout what?” You asked, oblivious to what thoughts were rolling around in that head of his. 

“How much easier it would be if we were in love.” 

Who would have thought 11 words would tilt your world on its axis? You must have been silent for longer than you thought. Steve speaking up again, “I mean, imagine how easy it would be. We’re already basically a couple anyway. Imagine if we were in love.” There was a subtle hopefulness in his voice; you told yourself you were reading into things. 

“Yeah. Imagine.” Your voice felt foreign to you. 

The silence was thick again, Steve’s eyes heavy on you. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” He copied you, his arm rubbing against yours, intentionally this time. Like he needed your touch to ground himself with each word he spoke. The sensation makes chills go up your spine. 

“I think,” You cleared your throat, “That you just got hit in the head a lot. You need ice.” 

If Steve was going to speak, you didn’t hear, too busy gliding out of the bathroom into the kitchen. Your hands shaking with adrenaline as you get him an ice pack ready. 

“Y-yeah.” He laughed, “Probably have brain damage or something.” 

With your doctoring, you gave Steve a clean bill of health, leaving him with instructions to ice and call you if his head hurt any worse. The entire drive home, all you could think about was Sam. 

Sam made you feel steady, like you were safe on the shore. Feet planted in the sand, a war, breeze flowing through the air. Why wasn’t it enough? Why didn’t it make you feel alive? 

-

Adulthood snuck up on you, graduation coming and going. You were ashamed to admit you were relieved he and Nancy were finally done. He seemed sad, but lighter. You had Dustin to thank for that, the kid he semi-adopted, despite him claiming he didn’t. The kid adored him. When he went off to summer camp, Steve nearly shed a tear, swearing you to secrecy that you’d never tell him that. He’d never live it down. 

When the mall opened up, it was the perfect opportunity for ‘real world experience’ as Steve’s father called it. Scoops Ahoy had hired him on the spot, complete with the cutest little outfit to go with it. You found a simpler, less embarrassing job at a bookstore at the end of the hall. The two of you were still able to spend too much time with each other. 

His co-worker Robin became your best friend, much to Steve’s chagrin. If he thought you were picking on him, each time the two of you were together, it was Steve’s own personal level of hell. 

Today’s topic of discussion was his horrible flirting skills. Being back on the market had made him rusty, fumbling around every single girl that walked in. Robin’s ‘You Suck’ board had made you cry out of laughter when she showed you. 

“Ladies, 3 o’clock,” Robin whispered, pulling your head down behind the window. The two of you are ready to spy on him. 

“Ahoy, ladies! Didn't see you there. Would you guys like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I'll be your captain. I'm Steve Harrington.” He spoke, too high a volume for the quiet store. The girls cringed with each word. 

“Oh my god, he’s hopeless.” Robin sighed. 

You couldn’t help but agree, “It’s like a car crash. I can’t stop watching.” 

He stumbled his way through offering ice cream samples, the girls taking their scoops awkwardly and leaving in a fit of giggles. Steve closed his eyes, “I don’t wanna hear it.” 

“Oh, you’re gonna hear it.” 

-

Steve’s freckled shoulders were underneath your hands, your fingers digging into his muscle. 

“God, you feel so good.” His voice was raspy, the moan coming deep from his chest. He was deep inside you, his hips rutting frantically against your own. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the room. The headboard slapping the wall. 

“Steve, Steve.” You moaned his name like a broken record, his lips nipping at your neck. His name fit perfectly on your tongue. 

“There you go, honey, you gonna cum around me?” He asked, looking down at you. Your eyes meet his as you.. 

You woke up in a hot sweat, fingers twisting in the sheets. There was a thin layer of sweat covering your body, chest rising and falling. Sam lay next to you, as still as a board. You let out a shaky breath, the throbbing between your legs reminding you of what you just experienced. Slipping out of bed silently was easy, grabbing a glass of water with shaky hands. The fantasies your mind conjured up played like a highlight reel as you stared into the dark room. 

“What the fuck.” You breathed, laying your head down on the cool counter. Hoping the granite would quell the fire blooming through your body. 

Steve’s words from last fall echoed in your mind. 

“Have you ever thought about us?” 

You felt queasy, content to head back upstairs. Crawling into bed with Sam as if nothing had happened. It was fine; you can’t control your dreams. There’s no such thing as bad thoughts, only actions. And nothing had happened, nothing will happen. 

-

The dream was haunting your every move, every time Sam tried to initiate anything, his face blurred with Steve’s. It’s like you were cursed. You began to see Steve in everything. Every place around Hawkins you frequented, memories lingered on all of your clothes. You couldn’t escape him, and a sick, cruel part of you didn’t want to. 

“You okay?” Sam asked, his hand still steady on your hips. Sam. He was kissing you; he wanted you. You blinked away the faraway look in your eyes, nodding weakly. 

“Just got distracted.” 

You refused to be haunted by make-believe, bringing Sam down to your level. Kissing him hard. Fingers pressed into his shoulders. Your brain continued terrorizing you, flashing you images of your dream. Before you realised it, you were mirroring the exact position. You moaned and twisted your body every which way, fighting for that feeling. When he slipped inside, all you could think about was Steve. Would he touch you like this? 

“Is that good?” Sam interrupted your thinking, noticing how quiet you had been. His hips slowing down. Catching onto your wood behavior. 

“Y-yeah.” You lied, smiling up at him. “Maybe just a little harder?” 

He obliged, the headboard creaking against the wall. Your eyes fluttered shut again, letting yourself indulge. Just for a moment. You told yourself it was to test your theory, but you knew what it was. It was the carnal urge to let yourself crave him. Just once, to let your mind wander into the feelings you’ve pushed so far back in your mind. 

You thought about his plump lips, the way his hair falls on his forehead after basketball practice, the swell of his biceps, and the happy trail you see when he stretches. Steve. All you could think about was Steve, every neuron in your body lighting up at the mere thought of him. 

“You like that?” Sam asked, watching your back arch. 

All you could do was nod, watching a highlight reel behind your eyelids. You imagined what his body would feel like against yours, heavy and slick with sweat. How he’d feel pressed inside you. How attentive he would be. You couldn’t take it, your legs shaking around his hips. 

“Stev-Sam.” You stuttered, covering it up with an obnoxious moan. Pushing it down, pushing down every single thought of him that made you feel alive. Your eyes stayed shut when he came, scared your eyes would tell him everything. 

“God baby, you really liked that, huh?” He yawned, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

That night, you cried in the shower, scrubbing every inch of your body raw. Doing everything you could to feel clean, the sin and disgust clinging to your skin like a bad perfume. 

-

The next day at work, your hands were shaky. You were spacy, constantly zoning in and out. The mall patrons only occupied you when they had questions. Working at a bookstore was the ideal place for peace and quiet, but now it felt like your own personal hell. Trapped in these walls. 

When the clock hit noon, you were running through the mall, nearly knocking down entire families in your path. 

The familiar Scoops Ahoy sign made you sigh. Steve would be on break right now. At least you didn’t have to face him. Your body collided with another, his cologne alerting you to his presence before he did. 

“Where’s the fire?” Steve laughed, his hands falling to your hips. That was normal, that was something that happened. But now it felt like the fire was inside of you, burning you from the inside out. 

“Uh, I just need to see Robin. I’m out of girl things. Pads, tampons, you know.” You stuttered out a lie, trying not to watch the way his lips parted when he spoke. 

“I have some in my car for you, you know.” He started, you cutting him off. 

“Yes! Thank you. Can you go get them?” Your eyes were wide, your voice too loud, and he just squinted at you. 

“Okay..I don’t remember your period making you this weird.” He grumbled, letting go of you. “I’ll be back. I can get you some chocolate from Bon Bon?” 

“I’d love that.” Your face softened, feeling horrible for lying to him. As soon as his back disappeared amongst the crowd of people, you jumped over the counter, Robin’s scooper flying out of her hand. 

“What the hell?” She asked, eyeing your disheveled appearance. 

“Hey Robin.” 

“Hey, Y/n.” She mocked your cadence.

“Can I tell you something, if you swear on your life to never mention it to another living soul?” Her face got serious, noticing your expression.  

“Yes, of course.” 

You took a deep breath, saying the next sentence so quickly that only someone like Robin would have been able to understand it. “I had a sex dream about Steve last night, and that’s never happened before, ever. I’ve never thought of him that way, maybe once or twice in passing as a curious teen, but never seriously, and now I can’t stop thinking about it.” 

Her eyes were wide, your chest heaving from the speed at which you word vomited at her. 

“A sex dream?” Her jaw was on the floor, “Steve? Your best friend since birth, Steve?” 

You shushed her, spinning around the empty Scoops Ahoy like a woman on a mission. 

“Yes.”

“I mean, I’ve had a sex dream about Smurfette once, so I wouldn’t think too much about it.” She offered, watching your still panicked face. 

“Wait,” She paused, “What do you mean you can’t stop thinking about it?” 

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” You grumbled, knowing Robin wasn’t going to let it go. 

“Nope, you can’t drop a bombshell on me and not elaborate.” 

You grabbed her arm, pulling her into the backroom. Watching through the window anxiously as if he was going to materialize at any moment. 

“I just keep thinking about it. Like earlier, he was speaking, and all I could think about was that my dream lips had touched his dream lips. Then I couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss him.” You rambled, “Then I look at him and feel guilty. Like I’m dirty and sinful because I can’t stop thinking about, dreaming about him naked. And inside of me-” 

“Whoa! Too much information-” Robin cut you off. 

You ignored her, “And he’s my best friend. My Stevie. So what do I do? I can’t even look him in the eyes anymore.” 

“Do you like him?” She spoke slowly, like she was poking a frightened bear. 

You stopped your anxious pacing, tears welling up in your eyes. You were so overwhelmed you could barely think, and you shook your head. “N-no?” 

“Babes, you didn’t sound too confident there.” 

“Can I tell you something else awful?” You whispered, there was never a filter between you and Robin. There probably never would be. 

She nodded softly at you to speak. 

“When Sam and I had sex the first time, I almost called him Steve. A-and I thought maybe I just you know? Two S names and all,” You laughed manically. “Then the dream, so I’m wondering if it’s always been subconscious. So when Sam and I had sex last night, I closed my eyes and imagined Steve. And I did it again.” 

When it was off your chest, you felt lighter, albeit dizzy. 

“And?” She added, her eyes wide. 

“I was really sad to open my eyes and see Sam.” You cried, tears pouring down your cheeks now. “And Sam was like Wow, you’ve never been so into it before and I’m so awful. I’m such a bad person.” 

Robin was the only person in the world you could trust to tell. You liked Sam, you really did. But you couldn’t feel a fraction of what you felt just thinking about Steve with him. You felt broken, stringing the man along because you couldn’t face the music. 

“Honey.” Robin frowned, pulling your shaking frame into her arms. “I don’t think you’re a bad person. I just think you’re in love with Steve.” 

You shook your head frantically, “I can’t be. Can’t. It’ll ruin everything.” 

Robin’s lips tightened in a straight line, choosing her words carefully. The entire Summer Robin has had to endure similar conversations with Steve. How they still didn’t see it was beyond Robin. The entirety of Hawkins thought they had been dating for years. 

“But there’s that chance he could feel the same way. You won’t know unless you try.” 

You were saved by the door busting open. Steve’s arms are full of various bags. Pads, tampons, and various snacks. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted, just got one of everything. Robin, I got you some gummies-” He rambled, looking up to see the two of you embracing, tears pouring down your face. 

He held out the bags to you nervously, “I’m sorry your vagina is bleeding.” 

The moment the words left his mouth, you and Robin fell into each other laughing, Steve’s face going red.

 “Women.” He muttered, tossing the bags onto the table with a thud. 

-

Robin’s words sat heavily on your mind, but instead of listening to her sound advice, you ignored it. Ignored the horrible feeling in your gut and prayed it would go away after some time. Now you were walking up to Steve’s front door, Sam’s hand in yours. 

The kids had conned him into hosting a movie night, complete with all the junk food you all could gather. You, Sam, Robin, and Steve were the designated chaperones. Although it’s not like they actually listened to anything any of you said. You were bombarded when you walked through the door, getting tugged in different directions by various kids. The girls wanted your advice on something, Dustin needed you to convince Steve to let them swim after dinner, and the rest of the boys were screeching about some game. 

“Go ahead,” Sam had chuckled, “Love you.” 

That was another new development. Sam had told you he loved you multiple times now. Each time you sent him a tight-lipped smile, no words escaped your mouth.  It broke your heart that you couldn’t love him. You loved being loved by him, and you were selfish enough to drag him along. 

“That was awkward,” Max muttered. You ignored it. Letting them drag you into the house. 

After the kids had run you ragged, you found Steve in the kitchen setting up the multiple boxes of pizza. 

“Remind me again why I signed up for this?” Steve sighed, gesturing to the gaggle of children currently destroying his living room. 

“Because they were getting sick of the mall. It’s summer break.” You laughed, “And you are the one who designated yourself as the babysitter.” 

He sighed, “Still..” 

“And you love me?” You giggled, grabbing a stack of plates from the cabinet. 

“That I do.” He said, his eyes meeting yours before they caught Sam’s hovering behind you. 

“I love you. Love you enough to tell you that I’m not helping you clean this up tomorrow.” 

Sam cleared his throat, and you whipped around. Startled by his presence. 

“Hi-” 

“Can we talk?” He cut you off, shooting Steve daggers behind your back. 

“Okay?” You stuttered, taken off guard. Steve excused himself, patting your arm gently before he slid past you two. Leaving you both alone in his kitchen, Sam’s eyes dark on yours. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked. 

“Why do you let him do that?” 

Your brows furrowed, “Let who do what?” 

“Steve. You let him give you those pathetic puppy dog eyes.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh come on,” He laughed, the tension growing thick, “He glares at me like I’m going to attack him at any second, then he looks at you like a kicked dog. He touches you whenever he gets the chance. And you just let him.” 

“Sam, it’s-” You stuttered, “It’s how we’ve always been.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s getting sort of ridiculous, Y/n.” He scoffed, spinning around to head for the door. 

You followed, ripping the door open behind him. “What is?” 

“You!” He yelled, his hands waving in front of you. With all the commotion, you gave it a few minutes before Steve and Robin followed you outside. No doubt the kids had their ears pressed to the door. What an embarrassing disaster this night has turned into

“Sam-” 

“Have you just been playing in my face for over a year?” He asked, his voice thick with emotion. 

You shook your head quickly, tears welling in your eyes. “No, no Sam no. I would never.” 

“So you love me?” 

You went silent, your bottom lip wobbling. 

“You can’t even fucking say it.” He spat. “That’s all I wanted from you, but you can’t even give me that.” 

“Is this because I told Steve I love him?” You whimpered, willing the tears not to fall. “We’ve been telling each other we love each other since we could speak.” 

He shook his head, “No. Something changed. Either you’re too blind to see it or-” He cut himself off, letting out a heartbroken laugh. The front door opens behind you. You knew who it was, without turning around. Steve would always come for you; he always has. What you’ve truly wanted has been right in front of you, and you never realized it until now. 

“There’s your knight and shining armor.” Sam scoffed, rubbing his mouth with his hand. 

“Y/n, are you okay?” Steve ignored Sam’s words, his soft voice speaking to you only. The voice he used before kissing your bandaids over scraped knees. The voice that got you through the darkest times. The same one that asked you that night, he asked if you’d ever thought about it. 

“She’s fine. We’re talking, can we please have a moment?” Sam spoke when you didn’t, tears falling freely down your cheeks now. 

“I wasn’t speaking to you,” Steve responded, his hands on his hips now. 

Sam laughed, a cruel one. “I know you can’t fight Harrington, so don’t bother.” 

“Stop.” You spoke weakly, turning around. “Steve, just give us a second.” 

His eyes met yours, the two of you having a silent conversation with your eyes. He was ready to turn inside, but this only angered Sam further. 

“Actually, no, Steve, you should stay.” Sam’s voice chilled you to your bones, your eyes snapping to his. Despite your protests, he continued. “We were just talking about how Y/n doesn’t love me. Apparently, you’re all she can think about.” 

“Bullshit-”

“You’re dreaming about him, Y/n! You have repressed your feelings so far down that you don’t even realize how pathetic it is. God, it’s so fucking embarrassing being with you, watching the two of you dance around each other.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You cried, confused as to how he would even know about your dreams, your feelings. 

“You say his name in your sleep. You say his name during sex.” He let out in a heartbreaking laugh, “You think I didn’t hear you? You think I don’t see that faraway look in your eyes? When you look disappointed to see me there?” 

It was as if you could feel your world falling apart all around you; you wanted nothing more than the world to swallow you whole. Steve’s eyes were burning into the back of your head; you couldn’t face him. Not when Sam was laying it all out in the open, flaying your heart open right here for Steve to see. 

“That doesn’t mean I never cared for you.” You sniffled, “Sam, I could love you, I could.” 

“I wish I could believe that. I really do.” He sighed, shuffling his feet. 

Steve stayed quiet, unsure of what to do. He was stuck against the door, his heart aching for you. Even for Sam. 

“You know what the worst part of all of this was?” He laughed, tears filling his eyes, “I always knew this would be how it ended. You, running into his arms. Everyone warned me, but I loved you too much to listen.” 

“I’m so sorry.” You blubbered, your arms wrapped around yourself. This was it; you couldn’t go back from this. 

He shook his head, “No. Not really, you’re not..” Were his last words as he turned around, speeding off down the road in his truck 

Everything you had ever known was dissipating in front of your eyes. All the plans you had made. That metaphorical box of feelings you had been cramming to the brim finally crumbled underneath its own weight. You were scared you were going to drown. The unknown picking up your body and dragging you to sea. 

“Y/n..” There was that voice again, your forever anchor. You shook your head, wiping away your tears. You couldn’t face him, you couldn't do this. 

“We gotta talk about it.” His voice was thick, “We gotta get it out.” 

“I can’t.” You whimpered, hiding your face in your hands. 

He stepped forward anyway, grabbing your wrists in his hands. Pulling them away to expose your tear-stained cheeks. 

“It’s just me. It’s just me.” He reassured you, holding your face in his hands. He held you as if his whole world was resting upon his palms, because it was. 

“That’s the problem.” You cried, eyes still squeezed shut. If you opened your eyes and saw him, it would all be real; the weight of this would crash on your shoulders. But you knew he’d be there to catch you. 

He let you steady yourself, pressing his forehead to yours. Waiting for your frantic breaths to match his, your shaking hands gripped his jacket. Searching for a lifeline. 

“All this time….” He cleared his throat. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Your eyes shot open at his words, his eyes glossy, full of a thousand unsaid words. 

“I've spent so many years dancing around it. Pushing it down and just praying it would go away. If I thought about it too hard, if I let the idea cross my mind, it would never go away. So I couldn’t. Couldn’t lose you.” You cried. 

“You’d never lose me. Look at me, Y/n Y/l/n.” He promised, forcing you to keep your eyes on him. He wasn't going to let you look away, not now. 

 “The love I have for you,” his voice cracking, “The love I have for you transcends every possible doubt you have in your mind. I look for you in every room, every time I need you, you are right there, you’ve always been right there. Through it all. If I could go back, I'd kick myself for letting you get away from me for so long, but it doesn’t matter. Because we’re right here. And I'm not going anywhere. However long it takes, whatever it takes. You’ve always been my girl.” 

You nodded, “Pinky promise?” It came out as a pathetic whimper, tears slipping down Steve’s cheeks, matching your own. 

“Yes,” He gave you a teary laugh, “Pinky promise.” His hand came up, his pinky finding yours. He leaned down, kissing your knuckles. Suddenly, you were both 13 again, the same Indiana sun beaming down on you two. 

“I choose you and me, religiously. Through everything, everyone in my life. Not because I felt like I needed to, but because I wanted to. There was no one else, god, there was never anyone else I’ve loved as much as I love you.” He cried, his forehead pressing harshly into yours, “It’s always been us. You hear me?”

“Steve..” 

“I love you, Y/n, you’re my best friend, and I am helplessly, unequivocally in love with you.” 

“That’s a real big word for you.” You laughed through the tears, making him beam. 

“It is a huge word for me, only I even know it because of you.” He sighed, “There are no words to explain just how much I love you. 

“I think I’ve loved you my whole life.” You whispered, your noses brushing. “It’s the only thing that’s ever come easy to me.” 

Steve’s smile could rival that of a thousand suns, his lips brushing yours. “Can I?” His voice was meek, unsure. 

You didn’t even have a chance to nod, closing the gap between you. Your lips pressing softly to his. He kissed you like he was coming home, and you kissed him back as you needed him to survive. The two of you are drowning in the kiss, hands clenching each other tightly as if both of you would wake up from a dream. 

When you pulled apart for air, his cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark. What a mess the two of you looked, tear-stained and blushing in the middle of his driveway. 

“I love you.” You said, just to say it. Just because you could. 

“And I love you.” He pressed a longing kiss to your forehead, pulling back to look at you. 

“This has been so embarrassing. Can’t believe I ruined movie night.” You sniffled.

“Those kids are fine. Robins probably distracted them by now with some ridiculous scheme.” Steve said, kissing away the tears running down your face. You both had a lot to talk about, you needed time to think, and grieve. But the crushing weight of your feelings was finally off your shoulders, and Steve didn’t run away. He ran towards you, holding your hand just like he always had. 

You were thankful for the kids who acted oblivious, throwing popcorn at you the moment you walked back in the door. Making you pay for having to listen to Robin monologue about Gremlins, before even pressing play on the tape. 

Steve simply shrugged, pulling you down against him on the couch. His arms are around your chest. It wasn’t anything different from how he’d held you before, but it was also so different. New intentions, a new feeling sparking every time you two touched. 

That night, neither of you was able to sleep, content to tiptoe over the sleeping children. Steve nearly slips on Mike’s blanket, making you have to cover your mouth to stop the laugh from slipping out. The sliding glass door creaked as you two descended into the night. Steve practically pulling you into his backyard like a man on a mission. 

“What are you doing?” You giggled, watching the old trampoline come into view. Your heart ached; it must have been in his garage collecting dust. 

“Made the kids pull it out.” He answered you before you even asked, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Robin asked if we wanted candles and rose petals, but I told her this was perfect.” 

“It is.” You whispered, your hands running over the rusted springs. 

Steve helped hoist you up, the two of you plopping down on the worn-out plastic. Both of you bouncing into each other. 

In a rushed fit of giggles, you pulled him down next to you, your head nuzzling into his chest. With his arm around your waist, he held you close. The stars were bright tonight, a rare, clear night this time of year. 

“I never thought this would happen,” He admitted, “Always thought you were too good for me. That I’d never deserve you. I still don’t think I do.” 

“I didn’t think you’d ever choose me. I mean, out of all the girls in Hawkin’s you’ve been with, and there’s been a lot,” You teased, “I didn’t think I had a shot in the dark.” 

“Honey, you are my girl. Everyone knew.” He smiled, thinking back to all the times everyone said you two were practically dating anyway. Looking back, it was painfully obvious; the only oblivious ones were you two. 

“Guess I just thought you were fulfilling some pinky promise we made as kids. Like out of some weird obligation to the weird girl who started following you around one day and never stopped.” You admitted sheepishly. 

“That’s ridiculous, honey.” That was all he could say, humor lacing his words. 

“I mean, looking back, it was kinda obvious,s huh?” You laughed, your mind giving you a highlight reel of the past few years. All the girlfriends of his you hated, the boyfriends of yours he wouldn’t even give a chance. Everyone’s whispers, both of your parents, calling it from a young age. It was always inevitably going to end here, no matter how bumpy the ride. 

“Dude, our moms are gonna flip.” 

“Ugh, they’ve probably already planned the tackiest wedding imaginable.” You groaned. 

“You wanna marry me, honey?” He teased, poking your side. 

“Shut up.” You grumbled, your cheeks warming. 

“I think,” He said, eyes going back up to the stars, “I think I'd marry you right now if you said yes.” 

“I’d say yes.” You admitted, “I’ve never been so sure about something my whole life.” 

Suddenly, he was jolting up from the trampoline, leaving you bouncing in his absence. 

“What are you doing?” You laughed, watching him stumble around in the dark, hands brushing through the grass. If you knew any better, you’d have thought he finally lost his mind.  

“Wait, wait. No! Yes, fuck yes okay.” He muttered, ripping something out of the ground, running back up the trampoline. He was illuminated by the moonlight, his eyes sparkling as he looked up at you. He was on one knee, holding up a dandelion he’d folded into a ring. 

“Are you proposing?” You laughed, unable to keep a straight face. 

“Yes, not for real, but also kinda?” He chuckled nervously, “Will you, Y/n Y/l/n, take me, Steve Harrington’s hand in marriage? In probably about a year or so from now??” 

“You are ridiculous.” 

He tsked, “That’s not an answer.” 

“What are my options?” 

“Yes, and uh.. Oh yeah, yes.” 

“God, lots of decisions to think over.” 

You smiled down at him, holding out your left hand. “Steve Harrington, yes, I will marry you.” 

“Fuck yeah.” He cheered, slipping the weed onto your finger. With the yellow flower against your skin, all you could think about was his bouquet of dandelions he brought you when you were a kid. 

“Come here.” You whispered, dragging him back up with you. Your lips meet his. This kiss was different than the first; this was hot and heavy. Your mouth opened, letting his tongue explore. You straddled his hips, pinning him down as best you could while the two of you bounced with every movement. 

“Baby.” He groaned, your lips trailing down the side of his neck. 

“Hmm?” You hummed, your hand crawling under his shirt. Finally touching the rough patch of hair you dreamed about. His soft stomach underneath your palm. 

“Don’t think there’s anyone in the woods with a camera, do you?” He asked, making you fall off of him in a fit of giggles. 

“Oh, that’s fucked up.” 

“Sorry, I had to.” He threw his hands up, “I mean, weirdly, he’s a cool guy. He and Nancy make a good couple.” 

“I think we make a better couple.” You cheesed, pressing another kiss to his lips. Then another, and another. You’d never get sick of it. 

“I agree.” He laughed in between kisses. “I also think we should take this upstairs.” 

You met his hungry eyes, taking his hand in yours, letting him lead the way. This was one of those times you were thankful for Steve’s rich parents. His room was upstairs on the other end of the house from everyone else. 

You had been in Steve’s rooms countless times, even slept in his bed more times than your own. But suddenly it was real; none of this was some dream you found yourself lost in. He was right here in front of you, his hands leading you to his bed. 

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” He spoke calmly, nerves radiating off of you. You looked up at him, the hunger in his eyes matching your own. 

“I want this,” You whispered, “I want you.” With every fiber of being, this was all you wanted. 

The rest was a blur, messy kisses, hushed moans, and trembling hands as clothes floated to the floor. He hesitated against your bra strap, staring deep into your eyes when the clasp came undone. Pulling it off your body as he was unwrapping a delicate vase. 

“You,” His mouth went dry, his eyes still on yours. “Are the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.” 

You were burning alive for him. His hands touched you gently, his thumbs rubbing over your peaked buds. With each gasp that left your lips, Steve watched, memorizing every single touch that left you reeling. 

“This okay?” He whispered, his face leaning down into your ribcage. 

“Yes, Please.” 

This was all he needed, his lips trailing wet kisses down your sternum. His tongue flicked over the sensitive bud, flattening before he took it into his mouth, Sucking ever so softly, while his other hand gripped your other tit, massaging the flesh. 

“Oh my god.” 

You could barely breathe, the pressure between your legs growing with each wet trail of his tongue. He pulled off with a lewd pop, his lips glossy. He didn’t stop there, his kisses trailing down your stomach, until he was perfectly settled between your hips. Arms caging your body in. 

“How are you feeling?” Ever the worrier, Steve was going to stop every few seconds, asking if you were okay. Your body was trembling underneath his, in anticipation and nerves. 

“Good. I love you.” You panted, his fingers curling in the sides of your underwear. 

“Gonna take these off now, that okay?” 

You frantically nodded, lifting your hips for him. When he threw them alongside the pile of your other clothes, your legs fell shut on impulse. 

He looked up at you, a silent question in his eyes. 

“C-can you take your shirt off?” You asked, feeling underdressed. He flung the shirt off quicker than you’ve ever seen before, smiling wildly at you. His bare skin was warm against your legs as he settled himself back in position, hands gripping your thighs. 

“Open up for me, honey.” 

You let out an embarrassed squeal, “Wait.” 

Steve paused, watching your face scrunch with nerves. “S’what wrong?” 

“I’ve never…” You trailed off, choking on your embarrassment. 

“What?” He asked, taking a minute to put two and two together. He looked down at your clamped legs, and back up to you like he’d seen a ghost. 

“Are you serious?” His voice had lowered an octave, hands clenching. “No one’s ever gone down on you.” 

“They all said it was g-gross. So I didn’t bother you, know?” You flushed, “You don’t have to.” 

He stopped you, unclenching his jaw. “Gross? Baby, I have every right mind to go track them down and beat their ass.” 

A squeak escaped your lips, “You’re hot when you’re mad.” 

“I am mad, mad because there’s no reason any of those men deserved you. I’ve been wanting to get my mouth on you for years, and they just-” He cut himself off, hand rubbing small circles on your calf. “Baby, do you want me to go down on you?” 

You nodded sheepishly, “Just nervous.” 

“Don’t be. You just talk to me, okay? If there’s anything you don’t like, anything you want. Need you to promise you’ll tell me.” 

“Okay, yeah. Promise.” You leaned back, bracing yourself on his pillows. 

“Good.” He grabbed your tights gently, “Open up for me, pretty girl.” 

You obliged, letting your legs fall open for him. A shock went through you at the sensation of your wet cunt hitting the cold air. Steve’s eyes were locked on you. Practically drooling at the sight of you. 

“Gorgeous.” He babbled, pressing kisses up and down your inner thighs. “You’re so fucking gorgeous. Gonna put my mouth on you, okay?” 

You nodded, your body jerking the moment his wet mouth came down on your clit. He took it slow, letting his tongue draw circles over you. You were over the moon, letting out choked moans of his name. You didn’t know it would feel this good. 

His tongue flattened, teasing your entrance before suckling your clit into his mouth. He ate you out like a man starved, moaning against you. The sensations had your legs shaking, overwhelmed by new feelings that licked up your spine. 

“Steve..” 

“How’s it feel, baby?” He panted, your wetness covering the bottom half of his mouth when he came up for air. His hand curled around to your entrance.  

“S’good. Bab,y it feels so good.” You basically sobbed, your cunt welcoming in his thick fingers. Stretching you out with each curl of his fingertips. His mouth wrapped around you, and that was all it took; your back arched off the bed. Grinding into his mouth messily as you came. He held your hips still, stroking out each morsel of your orgasm. Sweat clung to your forehead, your chest rising and falling quickly. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard.” You sighed dreamily. Steve had a shit-eating grin on his face, wiping his face on his discarded shirt before crawling back up your body. His lips met yours, kissing you deeply. You could taste yourself on his tongue, moaning weakly when he pulled apart. 

“I will do that all day, every single day.” He swore between kisses. His hips pressed against yours; the only thing separating you two was the thin fabric of his boxers. You could feel his hard length pressed against you. 

“Can I return the favor?” Your teeth came down to bite your bottom lip, wanting nothing more than to run your tongue down his happy trail straight to his cock. 

“Another time?” He smiled, speaking before you frowned, “I need to feel you.” 

“Just for a second?” You pleased, giving him your best doe eyes. He knew he could never say no to you. His boxers were pulled off, his cock slapping against his stomach. He was huge; your mouth salivated at the idea of wrapping your mouth around his pulsating tip. He fumbled around in his drawer, holding up a condom in his hand like it was a winning lottery ticket. He lay next to you on the bed, letting you switch positions. 

Your hand wrapped around him slowly, barely fitting. He gritted his teeth before you could fully pump him. The length twitching in your hand. 

“O-okay, baby-” He winced, his head hitting the headboard when your lips wrapped around him. Licking the precum off of him, savoring the salty taste of him. His hips jerked up, his cock sliding into your mouth deeper. 

“Fuck, okay, nope. Nope.” He hissed, gently pulling you off of him. This time, it was your turn to have a shit-eating grin on your face. 

“What? Can’t handle it?” You teased, squealing when he gripped your hips. Flipping you back onto your back with a thump. 

“Nope, my girl has a perfect fucking mouth,” He smirked, “But I wanna feel this pretty pussy more.” 

Your core throbbed at his words, hips rutting against the air for relief. He sat up between your legs, sliding the condom over his length. 

“Ready?” He asked, to which you nodded frantically. 

“Yeah, baby.” 

His tip circled your entrance a few times, spreading your wetness around for him. Before he braced himself, sliding himself in slowly. Your hands found his shoulders, fingers creating half-moon indentations as you welcomed the stretch. 

“Doing so well.” He praised, pressing kisses up and down your neck and chest. “Taking me so well. So fucking tight for me.” 

When his hips bottomed out against yours, tears sprang in your eyes. You were so full, emotions overwhelming you.

He noticed your eyes fluttering shut, his hand moving to cradle your cheek. “Eyes on me. Eyes on me.” He cooed. 

You were scared, so scared you’d open them, and it was just another dream. “I’m real. I’m here.” He reassured, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks. They fluttered open again, and you stared at your brown-eyed lover. Drinking him in, every freckle, every imperfection. You wanted to count his eyelashes and memorize the patterns in his irises. 

“I love you.” Your voice was raw, the words spilling out heavier than ever before. Despite the countless times the two of you said those three words to each other over the years, this was the one that meant the most. That held the most weight. It carried every emotion you’ve pushed down over the past decade. Now it poured out of you, oozing from your very being. 

His smile was infectious: “I love you so much.” Another kiss on your lips. Something you’d never get sick of, his plump lips against yours. Moving with a passion that can only be built from years of secret glances and repressed feelings. 

You both moved as if the other was going to slip through your hands like water. Hands frantic, but focused. Memorizing every bit of each other’s bodies as your body welcomed him in. 

“You can move.” You sighed, the discomfort turning into pleasure. He did an experimental rock of his hips, hitting a spot deep inside you that had you mewling. 

“Oh, already, baby?” He cooed, using the hand that wasn’t propped up to rub circles on your cheek with his thumb. 

“S’deep.” You slurred, with each expert movement, your body was on fire. The wet sounds of him dragging in and out of your cunt only fueled the burning. The bed creaked when he sped his movements up. 

“I love you. I love you.” Steve grunted, his fair falling meassily on his forehead. His eyebrows scrunched up, staring down at you, watching you come apart underneath him. Committing every second to memory. 

Your legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him even closer if that was possible. His thick patch of hair sits above his cock, rubbing deliciously against your clit, his tip hitting your cervix as he fucked into you. 

“I’m gonna cum. Baby gonna cum.” You whined, feeling the tension coil deep in your gut. Steve nodded with a grunt, grabbing your legs and spreading them wide. The new angle had you screaming his name, his fingers rubbed your clit messily while you spasmed around him. Coming so hard your ears began to ring, legs shaking in his hold. 

He fucked you through it, keeping you spread wide for him. “That’s it. Take this cock, baby. Feels good? Feels so good.” He muttered, his hips stuttering. 

“Come inside me,” You babbled mindlessly, paying no mind to the condom between you two. 

“Oh fuck.” Steve gasped, emptying his load into the condom with a gasp. Falling slack against your body with each twitch of his cock inside you. 

Your hands curled in his hair, his panting breaths hitting your chest as the two of you came down. Relishing in the sounds of each other’s breathing, and his skin on yours. 

After a while, he pulled out of you with a hiss, disposing of the condom and cleaning the two of you up. He crawled back into bed, beckoning you to lie on his chest. 

You didn’t hesitate, curling yourself up against him. Letting his hands find your scalp, massaging your head. You cooed into him.

“Penny for your thoughts?” You sighed dreamily, Steve’s fingers expertly combing through your hair. 

“My thoughts are worth more than a penny.” He teased, making you roll your eyes at him. 

“I have a kiss, take it or leave it.” 

“Oh, I’m taking it alright.” He leaned down, pecking your lips gently. 

“Okay, pay up.” You ordered, letting his hands go back to caressing your scalp. 

“Just thinking about you. Our future.” He hummed, like it was the simplest thing in the world. 

You sat up a little, “Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah, big house. You’ll have a garden out back. We’ll have a pool. So I can watch you lounge outside while I grill. A couple of dogs running around, maybe ten kids?” 

“You’re out of your mind, Stevie.” You gasped. 

“Okay, what about six?” He compromised, pulling his face down to yours once again. 

“Maybe let’s slow down, become real adults first. Then… yeah, maybe I’ll give you a couple kids.” 

He smirked. “I knew it.” 

Your mind conjured up images of little versions of you and Steve running around. Growing up alongside the battalion of aunts and uncles downstairs. 

“You’re gonna have to buy a minivan if you want that many kids. Can you imagine us taking home a baby in the beamer?” 

“Our first two babies are definitely coming home in the beamer, babe. It’s when we get to 3, then we need to start looking into minivan territory.” 

“If you’re doing the heavy lifting...” You shrugged, imagining Steve in dad jeans. Pulling carseats out of his car. Your children running around the two of you. Family dinners, vacations, and the stable parents that neither of you were afforded growing up. 

“Of course.” He scoffed, not believing you’d think otherwise. 

“Guess we gotta find better jobs to support this million-dollar idea, huh?” You laughed, Steve pausing for a minute. 

“God, I guess you’re right.” He slumped, trying not to think too hard about the stress of that lingering on top of his shoulders. 

“Hey,” You whispered, “It’s all gonna work out, we have each other. That’s all that really matters.” 

“Yeah.” He smiled wistfully, “You haven’t been able to get rid of me this long, don’t even try now, babe.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

“Speaking of dreams….”

“Oh. No… no no.” 

[carlosainzgf]

i lowkey vanished… but im kinda back. i won’t post regularly (i never do) but i just wanna try and write some stuff bc i missed thiiiissss. also i’ve been really really really into aib so if you have any reqs for aib fics send away.

-love, a.

[nymphethotline]

been fantasizing about smallville!clark all week im obsessed

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

virgin!sub!clark who gets all whiny when you’re making out with him – both of your lips soft and plush, melding together. he fights the urge to get too handsy, even though his body yearns for more than he can handle. the sound of your lips smacking turns him on a bit more than he’d like to admit, and his veiny hand sneaks its way underneath your shirt.

“easy there, farm boy.” you tease, mumbling the words into his mouth. “i thought you said you were waiting until you were ready.” the pads of his fingertips drag along the skin of your back, gripping and squeezing as if you were going to fade away. “nghh… i know what i said. i’m ready now.” 

you pull away from the kiss, gazing at his flushed cheeks and berry pink lips. “really? what happened to being patient?” he licks his bottom lip, already looking fucked out before you even touched him. “i changed my mind, need you now.” he grabs ahold of you, positioning you onto his lap as he bucks his hips up; the friction of his jeans and your heat making his cock throb. he moans and flops his head back, eyes rolling to the back of his skull as you rolled your hips against his denim clad groin. “yeah? that feel good, baby?” you purr into his ear as your fingers nestle and tug on his umber locks. a broken sob escapes him as he nods fervently.

“yes, god– feels so good… want you to touch me, please?” he begs like a stray puppy, all needy and lovesick. “of course, baby. you’re such a good boy for me, aren’t you?” you coo as your hand reaches for his zipper. you barely get a good look as your fingers brush against the head of his cock before a loud groan escapes him, humping against your hand as wetness seeps through the thin fabric. he’s all out of breath as the apologies pour out. “‘m sorry, just felt too good.”

“a little too excited there, honey. you’ll last longer next time – i know it.”

[leclerc-hs]

a lifetime of summers - cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: in which every summer, at the villa your families rent together every year, gives you a version of charles OR you and charles are childhood best friends with a complicated history. warnings: angst, language, childhood friends with complicated history, smut, angst, yearning, etc... idk what I'm missing, NOT PROOFREAD (prob typos or things that might not make sense), lots of back and forth, messy messy messy, also cute, jealousy jealousy, seriously lots of YEARNING, them being stupid also word count: ~8k author's note: this idea came to me a few days ago and i've spent as much time as possible working on it since (in between carlos version). y'know when the creativity just hits right and the words pour out of you?? that was me with this. i hope you guys like it!!!! xoxo ◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

Age 7.

“I’m gonna marry you one day.”

The villa smells of sun lotion and salty air.

Your dad’s playing music through some tiny old speaker he brought. And the adults are laughing too loud over their drinks.

The sun is beginning to sink, but it’s still hot. 

You’re sticky with juice, hair tangled, and bathing suit clinging awkwardly.

Charles is chasing you. A water balloon in his hands.

You shriek, running against the hot stones. Smiling so hard that it hurts.

“Y’already got me twice!” You shout in between giggles. “S’not fair!”

Charles appears closer. Face sunburnt. A smile tugged on his lips. “You cheated at Candy Land!”

“You cheated first!” 

“Because you always win!”

And he raises the balloon over his head.

“If you throw that, I’m telling maman you said a bad word the other day.”

His smile drops. “I did not!”

You cross your arms over your chest. “Uh huh…you said ‘shit’ when you hit your funny bone.”

“It hurt!” He argues.

You stick your tongue out. 

And then he hesitates. Looking at the balloon. Then at you.

Throws the balloon anyway.

It explodes against your stomach. Cold water soaking you.

And you gasp. 

Then lunge for him. Chase him all the way into the back yard, shrieking. Laughing so hard that you both struggle to breathe properly. 

And eventually you both collapse into the grass. Side by side. Near the lemon tree. 

There’s a few moments of silence. Both of you panting from trying to catch your breath. 

“I’m gonna marry you one day.”

You blink. “Why?”

“Because you’re funny. And you like ice pops. And you beat me at Mario Kart once.”

You look at him. And he’s staring at the leaves above your heads. Arms touching.

“I don’t think that’s how marriage works,” your voice soft.

“Don’t care.” He shrugs. 

You roll your eyes. “Okay. But I don’t want to wear a dress.”

“Fine. But you have to split the cake with me.”

“Only if it’s chocolate.”

“Well duh.”

And you both fall asleep like that. In the grass. Smelling like chlorine. Sticky with sugar.

-

Age 12

“Why are you being weird?”

The summer heat is burning.

Heat clings to you like a second skin. And you’re still dripping from the pool. The stone tiles are too hot to stand on for too long, so everyone moves around them quickly. Your hair is wet. Trying to read a book, but can’t focus.

Because Charles won’t stop staring at you.

Well, he’s technically not staring. But he’s in the pool in your direct eyesight. Hands behind his head as he sits on a float. Sunglasses almost too big for his face. Smirking.

And every so often, he splashes water your way.

“Would you stop?” You snap. Wiping the water off your ankles.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. Blinking. Innocent.

You groan, falling back on the lounger. Trying to ignore him.

He floats closer. “You haven’t turned the page in almost twenty minutes.”

“That’s because you’re distracting me.”

And he grins. A full sheepish grin. “You think I’m cute.”

You don’t answer. Keep your eyes on your book.

“Y’gonna tell your friends I have a six pack now?” He calls out.

You raise your eyebrows, “Six pack of what?”

“Muscles.” He says. Dead serious.

And your mouth twitches. “Your voice still cracks.”

Charles slips off the floatie. Swims to the edge and rests his arms on the ledge. Chin on his forearm as he looks at you.

“Yeah? And what does it do to you when I say your name?”

Your breath hitches.

“You’re blushing.”

“It’s the sun.”

He laughs. And you throw your book at him. 

He ducks under the water. And when he resurfaces, grinning…you’re trying so hard to not smile. And he knows it.

“Why are you being so weird?” you ask.

He shrugs. 

“You’re just starting to notice me now.”

And you don’t answer.

And later that night, when you’re brushing your teeth. Still burnt from the sun. You wonder what he meant.

You don’t ask.

But you do start to.

-

Age 15

“That didn’t count.”

“So kiss me again.”

The villa is quiet. 

Your parents and his mom stay up talking. Your siblings long asleep. Arthur passed out on the couch. 

A few candles flicker near the steps, but most of the light is coming from the moonlight.

You’re barefoot. The grass cool and soft beneath your toes as you walk to the lemon tree. The one where you and Charles always meet when its too late and you’re supposed to be asleep.

He’s already there. Leaning against it. 

He looks different this year. Taller. A little bit sharper. More grown into his body.

He glances at you. “Took you long enough.”

“Had to sneak past my sister.”

He grins, holding up a bag of chips. 

And you sit beside him. Your shoulder brushing his. 

Talking about nothing for a while. Catching up on the weeks you aren’t together. How he kissed a girl in Monaco and it was fine but also kind of awkward. And you pretend you don’t hate hearing it.

You tell him about the boy from school who tried to hold your hand during a movie when you went with your group of friends.

Charles almost immediately demands his full name. And address.

And you laugh.

He tosses a lemon up and catches it. Again and again.

“I heard you tell Joris that I was in love with you.” You say.

And he glances at you. “I did not.”

You narrow your eyes. A smile on your lips.

And he shrugs. “I said you were obsessed with me. S’not the same.”

And you laugh. Then scoff. “You wish.”

You shove his arm. And he grabs your wrist before you can pull it back. Fingers wrapping around you. Warm. Familiar. But somehow different.

Neither of you speak for a few moments. Just take in the sound of the cicadas, the faint chatter of the adults on the terrace.

“Y’ever kissed anyone?”

And your stomach twists. Look away. “No.”

He nods. “Me either…at least, not really.”

Silence.

And then he says, “Wanna try?”

You look at him. But he’s already looking at you. And he looks nervous. Hopeful. Like he’s been thinking about this for a long time. Nothing like the boy who used to throw water balloons and stick paint in your hair.

You nod.

And it’s awkward. Your noses bump. One of you breathes too loudly. His hands tremble at your cheek. 

But it’s sweet. Slow.

And his lips are soft.

And when you pull apart, you both stare at each other. Lips a little rosier than before.

“That didn’t count.” You whisper.

And he blinks. “Why not?”

“There was no tongue.”

And he grins. Slowly.

And then pulls you back into him.

And this time….it’s real.

-

Age 17

“This doesn’t have to mean anything.”

The villa’s light glow behind you. Laughter echoing from the kitchen where your parents and his maman are finishing a bottle of wine.

You and Charles are on the terrace. Barefoot. A shared bottle of win between you. Practically empty. And his leg brushes against yours every time he fidgets.

It’s the first summer where you’ve both been allowed to really drink. Not just a stolen sip of a half-empty bottle found on the kitchen counter. Or a watered down spritz. Real drinks. Poured and given to you like adults.

And you’re a little tipsy. Cheeks warm and rosy. Limbs loose. 

“You’re quiet tonight,” you glance at him.

He nods. “Jus’ thinking.”

“You do that?”

And he laughs. “Shut up.”

You smile. Taking a small sip straight from the bottle before placing it back down. “What are you thinking about?”

He hesitates for a little. “Uh…that night last year.”

You don’t have to ask which night. You already know.

The night behind the lemon tree. His mouth on yours. And you think about it often.

“Me too,” You admit. Soft.

And he looks at you. Watch as his gaze dips to your mouth.

And then he’s leaning in.

The kiss is soft. Deeper. Not rushed. And his lips are warm. Tastes of wine and something sweet. Like the fruit you guys were picking at earlier.

When he pulls back, his voice cracks a little bit. “I want you.”

You don’t answer. Just smile soft. Pulling his hand into yours as you drag him into the villa. Into the bedroom. 

Your clothes peel off slowly. Clumsy. And he’s careful. Like he’s afraid if he moves too fast, it’ll ruin the moment. 

“Y’sure about this?” He whispers.

You nod. “Yeah…want it to be you.”

And he closes his eyes for a second. Like his heart is in his throat.

And then it happens.

It’s slow. Messy. You both laugh when your arms bump. And he curses softly when he cant get the condom wrapper open. But then he’s inside you, and your laughter becomes hushed gasps. Fingers digging into each other.

“Y’okay?” He mutters. His forehead pressed to yours.

And your nails dig into his back. “Yeah.”

And then he kisses you again. Harder. Holds you closer.

Later, when you’re both lying tangled in the dark…you feel his fingers tracing your skin. Both of you enjoying the silence.

Then a good few moments later.

“This doesn’t have to mean anything.”

You swallow hard.

“Yeah.”

-

Age 19

“Y’gonna dance with him again?”

“He asked.”

“You let him kiss your cheek.”

“You fingered me in the kitchen pantry last night.”

“That’s different.”

You’re barefoot in the sand. Music loud. And Luca…or maybe it was Leo? You weren’t sure. Had his hands lightly on your hips. Flirty.

You’re laughing at something dumb he said into your ear. And then you feel it.

The heat. The stare.

Glance over your shoulder and…

Charles. Leaning against the beach bar. Beer in hand.

Eyes on you with a glint in his eye like you’ve offended him.

You try not to react. But the next time Luca spins you, you pull away with a smile and a I’ll be right back.

You only make it a few steps before Charles intercepts your path.

“Having fun?” He says. Trying to be casual. But his voice is too tight. Too bitter.

“Yes.” You brush past him. And he falls right into step with you.

“You’ve got weird taste in music.”

“That’s not my music taste. It’s called dancing.”

And he scoffs.

You walk to the side of the bar. To a more private area. Grabbing his shoulder to face you.

“Are you okay?” Voice sweet. Gentle. Caring.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re glaring too much.”

And looks at you. “I just think it’s funny.”

“Oh, here we go.”

“I mean, you don’t even like that song.”

You cross your arms against your chest. And he steps closer.

“You let him put his hands on you.”

You raise a brow. “So?”

“So…you let him touch you. Kiss your cheek”

And you laugh. Soft. “You fingered me in the kitchen pantry last night, Charles.”

His jaw clenches. Hands twitch. “That’s different.”

“Is it?”

You take a step closer. Testing him, And he doesn’t budge.

“It’s not the same.”

You stare at him. His cheeks are sunburned. And his eyes are so green it makes your heart rate spike. So handsome.

“So I’m not allowed to dance with a guy I’ll never see again?”

He runs a hand over his face. Grazing the slight stubble on his jaw. “You’re not just dancing.”

“No,” You admit. “But you’re not just fucking me either.”

His eyes widen. Slightly stunned.

And you don’t back down. Step even closer until your chests are touching.. “You don’t wanna talk about what this is? That’s fine. But you don’t get to act jealous then.”

“I’m not jealous.”

And you grin. Snort. Just a tiny bit.

“Okay,” he says. Throwing his hands up. “Maybe I am.”

Your stomach twists.

“I just…I don’t like seeing you with other guys.” His voice is low. 

“Well…it’s not like you don’t talk to other girls, Charles.”

And then you leave him standing there. Alone.

-

“Wanna go out for a bit?” He asks. “Just us?”

And you say yes without even thinking.

You’re on a light blue towel, sunglasses over your face, pretending to read a book. Charles is stretched out next to you. An arm tucked under his head. Throwing grapes in the air and trying to catch them in his mouth.

You glance over just as a grape hits his forehead and falls into the sand.

“Impressive.”

He laughs. “The wind interfered!”

He tosses another grape. Misses again. 

And you burst into laughter.

“I’m warming up.”

He laughs with you. Giving up and rolling onto his side to face you.

He squints his eyes at you. “Do you have sunscreen on?”

“Yes.”

“Are you positive?”

Your brows furrow. “Why?”

“I think that….” His hand reaches for the bottle of sun lotion, flicking it open. “That you missed a spot.”

He squirts some into his hand, a smirk on his lips.

“Back off.”

And he reaches for you, smearing it all over your chest. You shriek, tossing your book into the sand beside you.

And somewhere between this sun lotion assault, you’re both breathless and laughing so hard.

He pins you down, dropping heaps of sun lotion onto your skin.

“Truce,” You laugh. Stomach burning from laughter. 

He nods. Smiling. Rubbing the sunscreen into your skin.

“Don’t want you to burn.”

You throw a pile of sand at him. And he doesn’t even flinch.

-

His cock is already buried inside you. Deep. Thick. Fucking aching.

“God, you’re fuckin soaked.” He groans into your neck. Hand pressed into your stomach. 

You claw at his back. Back arched. Legs spread. Shaking every time he hits that spot in your tummy just right.

He looks down at you like he’s overwhelmed. Like he doesn’t understand how you can feel this fucking good.

“Swear to God,” He grunts. Pulling back slow, then snapping his hips forward. “S’like your pussy jus gets tighter every time.”

Your mouth falls open. Gasping.

His hands slip under your thigh, pushing your knee into your chest. Fucking you deeper.

And then he moans.

“Jesus….fuck.” He chokes out. “Y’feel that?”

You sob out. 

“I’ve been inside you like a hundred times this summer and it still feels like fuckin heaven.”

His forehead drops and presses into yours. Voice rough. 

“M’not gonna last.” He huffs. “You’re too wet. Too fuckin tight.”

You grip his shoulders, nails digging into the skin. “Don’t stop…”

“You’re fuckin milking me.” He cuts you off. “Y’gonna come? Please come on me. C’mon baby…please, yeah? Please let me have it.”

And you fall apart. Gasping. Shaking. Coming so hard around his cock it makes his head fall back.

And he swears. Filthily. French tumbling out go his mouth.

And then he’s spilling inside of you. Chest pressed to yours. Hips jerking.

He buries his face in your beck. Collapsing on you. 

And neither of you speak for a bit.

Just catch your breath. Comfortable silence. Holding each other.

Eventually, he reaches up. Tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

Then whispers into the dark.

“I like it here.”

And he doesn’t elaborate.

You don’t ask him to.

-

Age 21

“He seems tense.”

“He’s fine.”

“He didn’t even blink when I mentioned that guy from Madrid.”

“I told you not to bring it up.”

Your best friend’s been here for five days and already the villa feels different.

She means well. But she talks fast, drinks fast, and has no filter. 

She also loves to talk about your love life.

The one that you’re apparently “thriving in”.

“So wait,” she says over breakfast, digging her fork into her food. “You never texted that guy from Madrid back? Y’know the one with the sexy voice?”

Across the table, Charles is picking at his plate. Fork pausing. Just for a little bit. Enough for you to notice.

You look at her, “No.”

“Why not? He was so hot.”

“Didn’t feel like it.”

“But he was so into you…” She takes a sip of her drink. “What about the Italian one? The one you really liked.”

Charles cuts into his eggs. A little bit harder. Knife scraping the plate.

“He ghosted.”

“Ugh, yeah total loser.” She laughs. “Oh my god, remember…what was his name? From the bar crawl.”

“Liam.” You choke out.

“Yes! Liam!” She snaps her fingers. “Didn’t he pick you up at the bar? Like just threw you over his shoulder?”

You laugh, slightly embarrassed. Nodding.

Charles sets his mug down a little too hard.

And then he stands. Takes his plate to the sink. 

And walks out.

“Was it something I said?” Your best friend asks.

-

You find him in the kitchen later. Your best friend is lounging out by the pool and you slipped inside to grab a water.

He’s rinsing the plates. Back to you. But his jaw is clenched tight.

You lean against the counter by him. “Hey.”

He doesn’t look at you. Just keeps scrubbing the dishes. A little harder than before.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” He says. “Just didn’t realize breakfast started with a running list of every guy you’ve fucked.”

You wince.

And he breathes deeply. Dropping the dish in the sink. “Sorry…that was, uh harsh.”

You give a tiny nod.

“I just…” He turns off the water. Looks at you. “Didn’t know it was like that?”

“Like what?”

He shrugs. 

“Is it a problem?”

He stares at you. Sucks his bottom lip in for a moment. Like he’s deep in thought. Before finally saying…

“No. It’s not my place.”

And there it is. 

You step back. “Right.”

And then you’re turning around, reaching in the cabinet for a glass. “Still going to the bonfire later?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, if you still want to.”

“Cool,” Your voice is light. 

-

Age 22

“You’ve been quiet lately.”

“I’m just tired.”

The long table on the terrace is full.

Extra chairs from inside scattered around it, one of your younger cousins crawling underneath it.

Your dad is asking your mom if there’s more grilled vegetables. Meanwhile your sister insists on telling the story about the jellyfish sting again.

“And she was crying so hard, she had actual snot bubbles on her face,” She says. Laughing.

You lift your hand, “I was six!”

Charles laughs. “You thought you were dying.”

“I thought it was venom!” You laugh. “And no one even helped me.”

“We were too busy laughing at the snot,” He says. Looking at you. That familiar grin pulled on his face, eyes crinkled. Like it was just you two.

And then Alex leans into him. Whispers into his ear. And whatever she says makes him smile wider. Makes him shift toward her without even thinking.

You chug your wine.

“I love that photo,” Alex says softly. And you glance at her to find her already looking at you. “The one of you and everyone in the inflatable pool. You’re the only one not smiling.”

You curl your lips. “We were sinking.”

“It’s so funny though,” She says. “You look so unimpressed by them.”

“She always looks like that,” Charles chimes in. “Probably came out of the womb judging people.”

You narrow your eyes, but the smile pulling on your lips gives you away.

Alex laughs. And your mom’s already popping open the next bottle of wine. 

And it would be perfect.

If it weren’t for Charles sitting across from you, arms wrapped around another person. Like he’s not yours anymore. 

You ask Alex about her job, and you mean it. She answers so soft and kind that it almost makes you hate her. Almost.

But you can’t. Because she’s nice.

“She’s good for him,” Your sister whispers under her breath, leaning toward you. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

You nod. “I’m just tired.”

Eventually, dinner ends. Alex excuses herself to help your mom bring out dessert. And Charles follows.

And when they come back, head thrown back laughing. 

He sets a slice of cake in front of you without a word.

And you thank him like its normal.

-

Someone suggest drinks at the beach bar. Something to do. The one with the bulbs on string down the street. 

You come barefoot, some sweet drink already in hand. Alex walks beside you, her wedges hooked in her fingers, hem of her dress brushing her knees.

She’s pretty in a way that doesn’t feel threatening. Not showy. Just perfect.

Inside the bar, you spot Charles leaned against the bar with a beer, grinning at something Arthur’s saying. And he’s wearing that linen button up that you used to tell him he looks like a recently divorced rich guy in. 

You find yourself smiling.

Alex touches your arm. “Hey…you want a new drink?”

You shake your head. “I’m good for now.”

She nods. A small smile on her lips.

“I was really nervous to meet you.”

You blink. Eyes slightly wider. “Me?”

She nods. “Charles talks about you all the time.”

You freeze for a moment.

“Yeah,” she smiles. “Not like in a weird way. Just like you’re part of the picture. In his life. Almost every story he tells involves you.”

You don’t know how to respond.

“I’m just glad you’re not..uh, like intimidating.” She laughs.

And you laugh back. “I save the intimidation after a few weeks.”

She smiles. “So I’ve still got time?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

And for this moment, you like her. Even if it hurts.

Because she’s kind.

Because she doesn’t know that you and Charles shared a bed when thunderstorms were scary.

Because she wasn’t there the summer he kissed you against the sand and told you he’d never want anyone else.

You chug your drink.

Later, you’re all gathered near the back of the deck, huddled around a wooden table and wobbly stools. Someone ordered a side of fries. Someone else ordered a round of shots no one really wanted but drank anyways.

You’re pressed between Charles and your sister. You’re laughing. Tipsy. Warm.

Charles is teasing your sister about something but you’re not really listening. 

And that’s when another guy slides in.

Not dramatically. Just casual. Confident.

He’s tall. Tanned. Cute. 

He talks to the guy beside him, someone you’ve definitely seen before, and then turns to you. 

“Did I hear something about you getting stung by a jellyfish?”

You smile. “Unfortunately.”

He nods. A grin. “Survival stories always get me.”

“Tragic,” you say.

He laughs. “I’m Nick.”

You take a sip of your drink, tilting your head. “Do you open with tragedy stories for flirting a lot? Or is it just me?”

“Only for girls who look like they bite back.”

You grin. Slow. “You say that like its a challenge.”

“Depends,” He shrugs, gaze dropping to your bare legs, then back to your face.

“On?”

“Depends how hard you bite.”

And you laugh. Like really laugh. Hard. Head falling back. And then you feel it. The way Charles stills beside you. The way his fingers grip his cup just a little bit tighter.

And Nick leans in closer. More private. “So…what other tragedies should I know about you?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“If you want facts or warnings.”

He raises a brow. “Any preference?”

You place your cup down on the table. “I like a little risk.”

And Charles says something to your sister now. A little louder. Like he’s trying to distract you.

You don’t bother to look at him.

Nick grins. “And just how dangerous are you exactly?”

You grin back. “Pretty dangerous.”

He laughs. “Good.”

You both just stare at each other for a little. Grinning.

“You dancing?” He asks, nodding his head in direction of the dance floor.

“Are you asking or telling?”

“I’m hoping.”

You slide off the stool.

“Let’s go tragedy boy.”

And as he takes your hand. Leads you into the crowd. You catch Charles’s eyes.

Watching.

Burning.

-

The music’s slowed a little. Just swaying to the music, instead of the rapid jumping you were doing earlier. 

Nick’s hand rests at your hip. His other is holding your drink while you talk with your hands.

“You can’t seriously think pineapple belongs on pizza,” You yell over the music.

Nick grins. “It’s good.”

“You’re weird.”

“I’ve been told that before.”

And you laugh, bumping your shoulder into his. He leans in, speaking into your ear.

“You know your friend’s been staring at us for like ten minutes, right?”

You blink. “Huh?”

He tips his head. Over your shoulder. And you turn just a little bit. Just enough to see Charles still sitting at the table.

Drink in hand. Not talking. Not even blinking. Just looking.

You breathe out, turning back. “That Charles.”

Nick raises a brow, nodding. “Ahh.”

“Don’t read into it.”

He watches you.

“He has a girlfriend.”

Nick hums, a teasing grin. “He doesn’t look like he remembers that right now.”

“We’re just friends.”

“Cool.”

You shrug. “You don’t believe me?”

He smiles. “Doesn’t matter what I believe. Just means if I kiss you, he might kill me.”

You laugh. “You’re awful.”

“You’re still here.”

And you look at each other. Smiling.

You kiss him. Not because you’re falling for him. But because you’re single. Because Charles brought someone else. Because he gets to have her. Because you’re tired of thinking about him.

So you kiss him to feel good. To forget. To remind yourself that you’re free.

Hands in his shirt. Hands on your waist.

And you let yourself lean into it.

Enjoy the uncomplicated.

And for a few moments…it almost works.

-

Age 23

“You brought him here.”

“Yeah. Remember you said he wouldn’t last.”

You’re late this year.

Flight was delayed. Rental car place was too busy. And by the time your feet hit the familiar stone of the villa’s terrace, the sun is already low in the sky.

Theo’s beside you. Rolling your suitcase like a pure gentleman. He’s good. Kind. Gets along with your parents. Laughs at your sister’s jokes. 

And still, your heart flutters when you hear his voice.

Charles.

Laughing louder than necessary. As if he wants you to hear it.

You follow the sound. Trying not to think about the last time you saw him. A few months ago in Monaco. A hotel room you both swore you wouldn’t end up in. Both seeing other people. Both pretending it didn’t count.

And it wasn’t even the first time.

Since last summer, it’s happened a few times too many. Whenever him and Alex called it off. On and off. On and off. You slipped between the cracks. A quiet fuck in your apartment. A drunken make out at a birthday party. You pressed against the shower tiles. Bent over his kitchen counter.

Always followed by soft smiles and easy goodbyes. A promise to act normal. 

Best friends first.

And the moment you step further into the terrace, you see him.

Charles standing against the bar, shirt unbuttoned. Tanned. Holding a drink with the confidence of someone who knows exactly how hot he looks.

And worse…Alex is next to him.

Beautiful of course. Sundress swaying. Hand on his chest like it belongs there.

He notices you before you can even speak. Smile faltering for a fraction of a second. Just enough for you to really feel it. And then it’s back.

And he lifts his glass in a salute. “You’re late.”

Alex smiles. “We thought you weren’t coming til’ tomorrow!”

You smile back. She was always so nice. “Surprise!”

Theo steps forward. Hand extended with that charm that always made it hard to hate him. “Hey…Charles, right?”

And Charles doesn’t hesitate. Shakes his hand. But its the same one he uses with driver’s he never liked. “Yeah. We’ve met.”

And it hits you like a knife to the ribs.

You remember that night clear as day. Theo was still new. Only a few dates in. And you invited him to a party. 

Charles showed up late. And barely looked at Theo. Offered him a lazy smile before finding you later into the night. Pulling you into his car thirty minutes later and fucking you in the back seat.

And Theo’s smiling. “Nice to see you again.”

Charles smiles. But his eyes stay on you. Never leave your face.

Alex swings her arm into his. “So glad you made it. Saved you the good room too.”

You smile at her. “That’s sweet of you.”

Charles lifts a brow. “Didn’t know you needed a good room to enjoy yourself here.”

And you hum. “Guess I’ve gotten a little pickier.”

He takes a sip of his drink. “Since when?”

And you shrug your shoulders. “Since I started dating someone who doesn’t forget my birthday.”

And it hits him like a bullet. You see the way his jaw shifts. Swallow.

Theo’s hand slips onto your lower back. Whispering softly into your ear. Nothing specific. Just something that makes you smile.

And Charles swear’s he might just vomit.

-

The ocean is calm. Waves hitting the rocks. A few birds chirping. Air cool before the sun is fully up.

You slip out of bed, letting Theo sleep. Making your way down the stony path that you walked hundreds of times. Towel slung over your shoulder. Hair twisted up in a clip.

And you’re halfway across the sand when you see him.

Already waist deep in the water. Back facing you. 

You freeze. Debating if you should turn around. 

But it’s too late. He see’s you. And his face shifts into something. Longing? Guilt? You’re not sure.

“You’re always here early,” He calls out.

You drop your towel, walking into the water without glancing at him.  “Not always.”

He watches you. You can feel the burn of his eyes on your skin. “You do when you’re avoiding me.”

You glance up. The water cool against your skin. “Who said I’m avoiding you?”

He shrugs. “History.”

You reach him in the water. You both stand there, not touching. Not moving.

Eventually…he speaks.

“He’s staying the entire time?”

You raise a brow. “Are you asking as my best friend or something else?”

He doesn’t answer. 

You move a little closer. “You said he wouldn’t last.”

“I was wrong.” His voice is low. “Clearly.”

He swallows. Looks away from you. “Does he know?”

And your stomach twists. “Know what?”

He doesn’t say anything. Lets the silence tell you.

You feel your throat tightening. “He know’s we’re close.”

“Close.” He repeats. Half snort, half laugh.

“Best friends.”

He turns to fully face you now. Jaw clenched. 

“Right. Just best friends.”

You don’t respond. Because what else are you supposed to say? That you still feel his fingers dig into your skin. That no matter how many nights pass, you still wonder what this could’ve been if you both spoke up all those years ago.

He steps closer. Too close now.

“Y’still taste like that shitty rosé we used to drink.”

And you blink. Trying not to smile. “You’re not funny.”

“Not trying to be.”

His fingers brush against your shoulder. 

“You have a girlfriend.”

And his eyes look sad. He breathes loudly. “And you have him.”

-

The villa is loud tonight. Music is blasting. Too many drinks are being poured. Bowls of snacks turning stale.

All of you are packed into the living room. Sunburn. Sprawled into chairs or the floor. Hoodies thrown on. 

Your families are here. Everyone laughing and shouting. Bickering. Like its still 15 years ago.

Theo sits behind you on the rug, legs wrapped around you. Hand resting on your hip. And he’s been sweet all evening. He fits.

Yet every time you crack a joke. Or win a game. It’s Charles who looks at you first. Like he’s your person.

His leg bounces restlessly. 

“Alright,” Arthur announces. “We’re playing that game again. The one with the acting.” He holds up a deck of cards.

“Y’mean charades?” Alex asks. Soft.

“No.” Charles says. “The one I always win.”

And it’s you rolling your eyes now. “Y’mean the one you always cheat during?”

He leans forward. “I win.”

Theo laughs behind you.

Your sister tries to act out like Snow White. Falling over and laughing when Arthur misreads a motion. Theo keeps guessing too many times. And Alex’s impressions are almost too good.

And later…when the game’s over. You find yourself in the kitchen, stacking freshly cleaned glass and bowls onto the drying towel.

Humming to yourself.

And Charles leans against the doorway, arms crossed. Watching you with a lazy grin. 

“You two are cute,” He says.

You roll your eyes. “Don’t be weird.”

“M’not.” He shrugs. Pushing off the archway and stepping closer. “It’s just…uh.” He scratches the back of his neck. “You let him touch you a lot.”

You pause with a glass in your hand. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

And he smiles. Tight. Not genuine. “Nothing.”

“You’re being weird.”

He raises his hands. Says something mocking of Theo.

And it has you gasp lightly. “You’re such an asshole.” You try not to smile.

He steps even closer.

“Yeah.” He whispers. “But I’m still your favorite.”

And then he’s stepping beside you, taking the glass from your hand and dries it.

Finishes washing the dishes with you in silence.

-

“You’re staring again.”

“Yeah. Looks like you’re having fun.”

“Jealous?”

“Of him? Never.”

Silence.

“But of you? Maybe.”

The bar is tucked into the cliffs. A grand view of the sea. Well lit by bulbs on strings.

Everyone’s dressed for the night. Sun-kissed. Hair soft and flows. Laughter echoing. 

You’re on your second drink. Lightly buzzed. Your dress clinging to you just right. And you feel good. Happy.

Theo’s spinning you around. His hands warm on your waist as you move slowly in the corner of the makeshift dance floor. He’s not much of a dancer. But he’s trying. And in the end…that’s all that really matters.

He leans in close. “Y’look so beautiful.”

You smile. “Yeah?”

“I mean…y’always do.” He grins. “But-“

You don’t let him finish. Kiss him. Easy. Soft.

And when you pull back, you catch him in the corner of your eye.

Charles. At the bar.

Sitting with Arthur and Alex. Drink in front of him. Head tilted.

And he’s watching you. Not listening to either of them.

And when you’re eyes meet, he lifts his drink.

A challenge.

And later when you slip away from the loud music. He’s there. Leaning casually against the table. Shirt undone just enough to make your throat dry. 

“You’re having fun.” He says. A statement. Not a question.

“Isn’t that the point?”

He nods. “Theo’s a big fan of spinning you around like you’re some prize.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s called dancing.”

“More like claiming.” He huffs under his breath.

And you look at him.

Hard. 

Trying to read him. 

“What’s your problem?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Eyes dropping to the floor. Then to his half empty drink. 

“You kissed him.” He still isn’t looking at you.

You squint your eyes a little. “Yeah. I did.”

He swallows. Harsh. “Cool.”

You laugh. Dry. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m the ridiculous one?” He finally looks at you. “You’re out here making heart eyes at a guy you know won’t last more than another year.”

Your mouth falls open. “You don’t even know him.”

“I don’t need to know him. I know you.”

And he steps forward. Voice dropping.

“And I know that’s the same dress you wore the night I…”

“Charles.”

You both go quiet. 

Alex’s frame flickers by. Laughter erupts. People keep dancing.

“Whatever. You’re right. Have fun with your fling.”

You narrow your eyes. “Jealous?”

He smiles. Sad. “Of him? Never.”

A moment of silence. And his gaze drops to your mouth. Stays there.

“But you? Maybe.”

-

The trip is winding down. Bags are beginning to be packed. Towels still damp. Nights slower. Everyone pretending that they’re not ready to be home.

The sky’s dark. Everyone’s inside finishing up packing. Winding down.

You slipped out.

Without thinking, ended up here. The lemon tree.

The same as always. 

You hear footsteps. Uneven. Dragging.

And you turn. Charles.

He’s drunk. Swearing under his breath as he loses his footing. A bottle dangling from his hand. Shirtless. Barefoot.

His eyes meet yours and there’s something bitter in them. “Of course you’re here.”

You breathe. “You’re drunk.”

“A lil’ bit,” His words slur. “Celebrating your last night as someone else’s girl.”

You cross your arms. “We’re not doing this.”

But he’s already walking closer. 

“Y’know….s’kinda funny.”

You don’t speak.

“How he holds your hand like its somethin’ delicate. Like you’re some untouchable thing.” He takes another step closer. Voice shaking.

“I’ve had you on your knees on the kitchen floor.” He says, bitter.

Your heart pounds. “Stop.”

“In the pool too,” He slurs. “Begged me to not pull out. Said you wanted to feel it. Feel me.”

He doesn’t even let you speak. Just rambles on. Slurring. Drunk. Angry.

“Had you in every room in that house,” He grunts. “Fingers shoved in you while our parents set the dinner table. Bent you over the bathroom sink. Panties still halfway up your thighs because you were too desperate to wait.”

“Charles…”

“The pantry…remember that one?” His voice drops lower. “You were so wet it dripped onto the floor. Had to stuff my fingers in your mouth so no one would hear you cryin while you came.”

“Don’t do this.”

“I fucking have to.” He snaps. “Because I can’t fucking sleep this entire trip knowing he gets to touch you.”

You swallow. “I’m not some prize.”

“No. You’re worse.” He spits. Stepping close enough that his chest is close enough and you have to crane your neck to look at him. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and you handed it to someone else like I never fucking existed.”

“Stop it.”

“He doesn’t know what its like to hear you lose control. How you cry when you come. Shaking and begging.”

And your breathing hard now.

He leans in. Bending down to be eye to eye.

“He gets to hold you in public.” His eyes are glaring. “And I got your thighs shaking around my face while you said my name like a fuckin’ prayer.”

You don’t speak. Can’t.

Silence for a few moments.

And then…

“Tell me.” He slurs, small grin tugged on the corner of his lips. “Tell me which of us you think about when you touch yourself.”

You slap him.

Hard.

And his face whips to the side. He breathes heavily. Like he’s trying not to cry. Or scream. Or grab your face and kiss you.

He swallows.

“He gets you in the daylight.”

You don’t speak.

“He gets the sunlight.” 

And you whisper back. Soft. Heart breaking. “You only met me in the dark.”

You walk away barefoot. Tears forming in your eyes.

And Charles?

He stays at the lemon tree until sunrise. Alone.

-

You don’t talk for three months.

Which is considered a lifetime for you and Charles.

And then on a random weekday at nearly three in the morning, he sends a photo of the lemon tree in the winter.

No message beneath it.

You don’t answer.

Not for a day. Not even for three.

But then, on a random day the following week, you send a photo back.

A shot of your bedroom wall. A blurry photo of your hand holding a book in the corner.

Can’t sleep.

And the three dots appear before you can overthink it.

Me either.

And that’s how it begins.

You don’t FaceTime each other. At least, not at first. 

You fall back into a rhythm neither of you thought would come back. Almost normal. The funny kind of banter you guys always had.

Charles broke up with Alex. You broke it off with Theo.

Neither of you really said why.

-

Age 25

“Don’t sit in my chair.”

“This isn’t your chair?”

“I licked it.”

“You haven’t changed.”

“You haven’t either.”

The sun is long gone. You’re curled up in one of the cushioned chairs on the front patio. A half finished glass of wine on the stone table beside you.

The front door swings open.

“Don’t sit in my chair”

He doesn’t even hesitate. Charles drops into the cushion next to you. Barefoot. Hoodie swallowing him.

“This isn’t your chair?”

“I licked it.”

He makes a funny face. “You haven’t changed.”

And you smile. “You haven’t either.”

And its easy. The way he stretches out, folding his arms behind his head. Like nothing ever happened. 

You sip your wine.

His knee bumps into yours. Gaze on you.

“Thought it’d feel weird.”

“It did…for like,” You pause. Whisper. “For like a day.”

He holds your gaze. Doesnt look away. Smiles.

You break the tension first. “Maman said you still haven’t unpacked.”

He shrugs. “I’ll get there.”

“It’s been almost a whole week. That’s psychotic.”

“You’re just mad I haven’t asked to borrow your good smelling shampoo yet.”

“You are so not borrowing that.”

“I already did.”

You elbow him in the side. Laughing. Body shaking. He laughs with you. Head falling back.

He clears his throat. “I missed this.”

And you bump your knee back into his. “Rematch tomorrow?”

“Candy Land?”

“Don’t cheat.”

“I didn’t cheat.”

You narrow your eyes, smiling so hard. “You’re the worst.”

-

Monaco, Age 26

Your back hits the wall of his apartment. 

Urgent. Focused. 

Like he’s waited for forever to get you alone again. And doesn’t want to waste a single second of it.

His mouth is hot on yours. Hands at your hips. Your thighs. Slipped under your dress. And you’re clinging onto him like he’s a lifeline.

You can still taste the champagne on his skin. Skin warm from the race. But his mouth is desperate against you. 

He groans against your lips. “Thought about this almost every night.”

You gasp when his fingers curl around your thigh. “Stop thinking.”

And he’s about to take you right there. Dress bunched at your waist. Pants halfway down. But then you press your hand to his chest.

He stills. Panting. Flushed.

“I need to say something first,” You breathe.

He waits. Hands still gripping you.

And you look up at him. The man who just won Monaco. The boy you’ve known who’s been chasing that dream since you can remember. The one you loved. Hated. Missed.

“Your dad would be so proud of you.” You whisper.

And you feel his chest rise. Jaw clench. Fingers curl harder into your skin.

“I’m serious.” Your voice is soft. “Not just because you won. But because of how you’ve carried him with you.”

And his eyes are glassy.

He swallows hard. “I heard him.” His voice soft. “Right after I saw that checkered flag.”

You bring your hand to his check, pressing your palm. And he leans into you.

And then he’s kissing you again. But its different.

Still hungry. But more grateful. More claiming.

He whispers I love you into your mouth. Again and again. 

He whispers it when you tug his shirt over his head. When you lift your hips to pull your panties off.

Whispers it into your skin when he touches your bare skin. Like he’s seeing it all for the first time again.

And when he sinks in, he groans. Leaning over you, gripping you like you might just slip through his fingers.

“Y’feel like fuckin heaven.” He mutters against your lips. “You are heaven.”

And then he starts moving. Not fast.

Slow. Deep.

“Squeezing me like you missed it,” He huffs. “Did you, hm? Did you miss me?”

“Yes…” You pant. “Fuck…yes.”

He kisses your throat. Hot open mouthed kisses at the corner of your jaw. Hips rolling into you. Each thrust making you cry out.

“I love you.” 

He thrusts.

“I love you.”

Another.

“Not just tonight. Not just now. Always.” He cries out.

And you clench around him. Yelling out as your orgasm builds too fast.

“C’mon that’s it..” He breathes. “Come for me. Let me feel it, yeah? Let me have it…please baby.”

“I love you,” You gasp. “I love you…I love you..”

And then you’re coming. Body shaking, mouth falling slack as he fucks you through it.

Following seconds later, spilling into you.

He collapses over you. “Fuck. You’re it for me.”

You hold him close.

-

“You still take it with milk?” He asks, voice soft. 

You nod.

He hands you a mug. His fingers brushing against yours.

You sit on the couch together. Close.

“I keep thinking about the lemon tree,” You say. Cradling the mug in your hands.

He looks at you. “Yeah?”

You nod. “How many summers we sat there pretending everything was normal.”

He huffs a soft laugh. “We were idiots.”

You smile. “Still are.”

“I’ve loved you since we were kids.” He says quietly. “Since you made me sleep outside by the lemon tree because you said it wasn’t fair that only the birds got to live outside.”

You laugh, heart clenching.

“I’ve loved every version of you.” He continues. “The snot version. The barefoot version. The one who laughs too loud after a few drinks. The one who tried to date other people. The one who…the one who kissed other people in front of me because I waited too fucking long.”

You pause. Placing the mug down on the side table.

“I was scared that loving you would ruin everything.”

He pushes you hair behind your ear. 

“I love you too.” You whisper. “You idiot.”

He laughs.

Leans in.

Kisses you.

-

Age 28

“This is where I almost lost you.”

“And now it’s where you’re asking to keep me?”

“No. Not asking.”

“Oh.”

Its late. 

You’ve changed into one of Charles’s old shirts. Barefoot. As usual. 

He finds you standing at the edge of the yard. 

Where the broken stone path curves. Where the grass bends. Where the lemon tree leans.

You hear him before you see him. His footsteps always so loud.

Neither of you speak. He wraps his arms over your shoulders from behind. Your back to his chest as he nudges his head into the space between your shoulder and neck.

You hold his arms. Swaying to the light breeze. Staring at the lemon tree together.

“This is where I almost lost you.” He says.

And you glance at your side to him. 

“And now it’s where you’re gonna ask to keep me?” You say, laughing. Teasing. Soft.

He smiles. Small. Shaky.

“No.” He says. Unwrapping his arms from you. “Not asking.”

And then you’re turning towards him. 

And he drops to one knee.

Just like that.

Just him in the grass. Kneeling by the lemon tree. Choosing it to be the place where he does the most important thing he’ll ever do.

Your breath catches. And his hands tremble as he pulls a ring from his pocket.

“I wanted to do this right.” He says. “I want to choose you the way I should’ve all those years ago. Not just when it’s easy..or when we’re alone. But in front of every version of us we used to be.”

Your throat burns.

“I want every summer.” He whispers. Eyes glued to you. “Every winter. Every fight. Every make up. I want to kiss you goodnight when we’re tired. Want to raise mini versions of us.”

You laugh. You cry. And you’re nodding before he even finishes.

“I want you forever.”

And then finally, “Will you marry me?”

You fall to your knees right there in the grass. In front of the lemon tree. And kiss him hard enough that you both fall into it. Laughing. Like little kids again.

“Yes.” You whisper against his lips. “Always. In every lifetime…yes.”

taglist: @softtdaisy @zicosbitch @esmeextraa @evie-119 @teamnovalak @leclercmylove @skylyn-vais @tabisswag @annaswrites00 @chaconadine @sassy-persona @im-an-overthinker @ptrickbateman @angelique-rose-valentine @agmoon03 @whistlef0rthechoir @bvbyacid-666 @jenxjar @crazynyctophilia @theoriginalsfan124 xoxo love u all :)

[lvrclerc]

✶ THE EX EFFECT

summary: being oscar piastri's pr manager is... uneventful, to say the least. that is, until your most recent ex winds up the mclaren garage. in an attempt to prove him something, the arm you end up grabbing is oscar's. now the word is spreading around the paddock that you're his (fake) girlfriend and it turns into a beneficial pr opportunity for him and a perfect cover up for you. except oscar gets a little too good at it, and all the reminders in the world are not enough for you to keep in mind that this is fake.

F1 MASTERLIST | OP81 MASTERLIST

pairing: oscar piastri x pr manager!fake gf!reader

wc: 19.2k

cw: not proofread, past toxic relationship, annoyances/colleagues to lovers, fake dating, he falls first, sort of third act breakup, oscar is slightly ooc, very light angst, season timeline is fucked but who cares! romance! clichés! drama!

note: requested here, i know nothing about pr, this was supposed to be short but i couldn't stop myself so you have this monster of a fic! i kinda hate this. anyways, enjoy!

WHEN YOU FOUND out you’d aced your interview, you thought to yourself, the sleepless nights carrying group projects every other member had procrastinated were worth it. The number of social events you passed on to finish top of your class─valedictorian, Communications major with a Journalism minor─had paid off because you had just landed a job as PR manager in Formula One. Not just in any team, either: McLaren. You were ready to dive into the glamour, the glitz, and the hardships of the sport. To thrive in the pressure, the politics, the media storms. You were ready to shine.

Except you were managing Oscar ‘No Emotions’ Piastri, and nobody thought about telling you that.

Oscar Piastri, a quiet semi-rookie when you first crossed the headquarters’ threshold, who gave you five words max per interview, had a sarcastic comment to every command the team social media manager threw his way, and disappeared at every media opportunity like a ghost, deadpanning instead of showing enthusiasm. Needless to say, there wasn’t much for you to manage.

It’s not like you didn’t try. You nudged him gently at first: helpful suggestions, friendly reminders to loosen up a little. Be more engaging. Play the game. But every time you did, he looked at you as if you'd sprouted a second head and proceeded to swiftly ignore you. The first time it happened, you were offended, and maybe a little concerned. You complained to Charlotte, Lando’s PR manager at the time, and she gave you the wisdom of a woman who had seen some things: “Assert yourself,” she’d said.

It was your first month on the job. You were fresh out of university. You didn’t even know where the best coffee machine was. How were you even supposed to do that?

Still, you decided to try again.

During a long and taxing car drive to the McLarens’ HQ, one you were sharing with Oscar after a last-minute driver swap and a logistical disaster, you figured it was now or never. Assert yourself, Charlotte had said. Be firm. Be confident.

You went for humor instead. A joke. 

Terrible idea, in hindsight.

“You know,” you said lightly, breaking the silence that had stretched across three roundabouts, “you’re kind of boring.”

Oscar simply glanced at you, expressionless, so you clarified. “I mean, you’re not even letting me do my job. Throw me a bone here.”

And it was supposed to be playful. Oscar was supposed to quietly snort, asking how he could finally help you, and boom, you’d finally get to apply all that polished knowledge you’d studied for years.

Instead, he tilted his head slightly, puzzled, as if you’d just spoken in Morse code aloud, and said, “Imagine being boring and still more interesting than your ex.”

“What?” You blinked. Saying you’d been taken aback would have been a euphemism.

He didn’t even look away from the road.

“You talk in your sleep. Don’t nap in the common room again.”

Silence fell again, but this time it wasn’t peaceful. It was personal.

That was the moment you decided, with startling clarity, that you very much disliked Oscar Piastri.

You didn’t know you talked in your sleep. You didn’t even know he’d stumbled upon you squeezing a thirty-minute nap in the common room of McLaren’s headquarters. And you certainly didn’t remember the dream you’d had─ or why exactly it had featured your ex out of all people. All you knew was that, no matter what he heard, it was a low blow.

Especially when it came to the one man who somehow slithered his way into your heart just to shatter it from the inside out.

Disliking the person you were assigned to manage wasn’t unheard of in the world of public relations. It was practically a rite of passage. Most of the time, it came with celebrities who were a walking headline: strippers, drugs, arrests, rumors of twins with three different people. That, you could’ve handled.

Oscar wasn’t like that at all. Oscar was just… rude.

Not loud rude, or messy rude. Just… quietly, unbotheredly rude. He was unreadable, dry, and too clever. Not a PR nightmare, just a PR black hole. Just to you.

And if there was one thing you happened to be very good at─besides the job you weren’t even getting the chance to do─it was holding a grudge.

After that episode, you kept your interactions with Oscar to the bare minimum, or as much as you could without being fired. The paycheck was just too good, especially as a fresh grad still recovering from student debt.

Any advice or directions you had for him came during team meetings, always surrounded by enough people that he couldn’t hit you with his usual blank stare. When he messed up during interviews, which was sometimes inevitable, and you followed up with a politely scathing email, bullet points and all. Face-to-face convos were reserved strictly for emergencies… or if you happened to be seated beside him, in which case you communicated via foot. Strategic, silent, and sharp. You’d step on his sneaker under the eyes of all, and he’d keep smiling at the camera like nothing happened. Except for the tiny, throbbing vein on his temple─ oh, you lived for it. 

It was a perfect arrangement. Passive-aggressive peace, mutually tolerated detachment. It worked for both of you.

Sometimes, you caught him glancing your way, wondering why you were still here. But you didn’t care. You had a system, and it was stable. It would’ve stayed that way for a long time, until your or his contract expired, whichever came first.

But then your ex decided to show up, and that messed everything up.

It was a very nice Thursday, dare you say. The kind of morning that made you think the season wouldn't be so bad.

You’d expected Bahrain to be hotter, considering the furnace it had been last year during the start of your first season with McLaren. But today, the air was warm without being unbearable, a soft breeze threading through the paddock and playing with the loose strands of your hair. Your cardigan slipped off one shoulder, but it didn’t cling or suffocate─ just draped like it was meant to be styled that way.

Oscar had just rolled out of the garage, off to log laps and data and whatever mysterious things drivers did during testing, which meant you were officially off-duty for the next three hours. You had time for yourself, maybe for a proper coffee and a chocolate croissant. Eventually, a little conversation with Lando, if you ran into him.

Yeah. This was a good morning.

You should have known it wouldn’t last.

It should have hit you when the coffee machine didn’t work, so you had to walk all the way to Lando’s side of the garage to fetch yourself a cup. It should have hit you when you didn’t even see Lando, and they were out of your favorite chocolate croissant. It should have hit you when you passed by grown men in their forties gossiping like schoolgirls about the new additions to Oscar’s car engineering team, you never heard anything about. It should have hit you when the feelings in your gut made you hesitate near the orange-colored walls.

But it really, really hit you when he grabbed your elbow.

“Y/N?”

Your body locked up like someone had flipped your off switch. The voice was familiar in the worst way─ like a nightmare you thought you’d finally grown out of. You didn’t even need to turn around. Your body already knew. Still, you did, as if asking the universe for confirmation.

And there he was. Theodore Silva, in full McLaren uniform, lanyard slung around his neck. Dark brown hair, messy, tied up in a bun, with his characteristic three o’clock shadow. Your ex-boyfriend. Your heartbreak origin story that, somehow, had the nerve to smile.

You would have backhanded him if the shock didn’t make your mind go blank.

“Wow,” he said, and you felt like a funny coincidence. “Didn’t expect to see you there. Always knew you were the ambitious one.”

Oh, you knew that tone. That patronizing little tone he used when he wanted to seem impressed while reminding you he could always do better. As if you hadn’t told him a million times about your fascination with motorsports and all of its scandals. You weren’t 19 and easily diminished anymore.

You slapped on a polite, seething smile. “I could say the same. I wouldn’t have guessed they hired people with so little… experience. Or the grades to back it up.”

Theodore Silva wasn’t the richest man alive. No, that title was reserved for his father, who owned a few businesses that took off in the early 2010s and left him with an outrageous amount of money and too much to do with it─ including sending his incompetent son to a prestigious business school even though he could barely manage to keep up half of the average required. Even his father’s money couldn’t get him to graduate the same year as you.

But after another year, it could apparently get him a job at McLaren.

Yet, Theodore still chuckled, brushing off your remark as if it were just another inside joke you two shared. “They just brought me on- engineering for Piastri’s car. Funny how life works out, huh?”

He was on Oscar’s team. You’d be obligated to see him, be near him, every day. You didn’t answer, just stared at him blankly, too busy cataloguing every sharp object in the vicinity, trying to ignore the twist of your heart.

“Small world,” he added to your silence.

You tried to smile again, but you knew it came out weird when the words that came out of your mouth sounded more like a screech than anything else. “Smaller than I’d like.”

Theodore tilted his head, studying you with calm eyes, as if he hadn’t watched you, arms dangling near his side, as you broke down in his apartment’s parking lot. “You look good,” he said softly. “I’m glad you’re doing well.”

You stared at him.

Hell no. He had that voice, wearing guilt like an optional accessory, looking at you like he was the one that got away. The nerves. You hated how your chest tightened, the smell of his cologne, and how he thought he could just waltz in, throw some compliments around, hoping to win you back.

Fuck him. “I’m doing very well, Theodore. Loving my job. How’s Anna?”

That landed. He physically winced, scratching his neck. “We, uh─ We broke up, actually.”

How surprising.

“So─”

You weren’t about to let him finish. You weren’t about to let him think he even had the sliver of a chance. He wasn’t about to wreck the life you built for yourself by simply being here, no. Instead, you did the sanest thing anyone would have done in your place.

You lied.

“I have a boyfriend, actually.” The words came out so fast you almost flinched, not registering them yourself.

Theodore paused, eyebrows lifting. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, wildly too sharp for the context. “He’s great. Amazing, supportive. Emotionally available. You know─ faithful.”

He blinked, and his fake-casual mask slipped for a second. “What’s his name?” He asked, all lightness gone from his expression. 

That’s when it hit you. Unspoken panic rose in your throat because, believe it or not, you didn’t have a boyfriend. You barely even had a social life─ you spent most nights in bed with a sheet mask and Youtube videos. If you hesitated now, even for a second, Theodore would know. And he’d never let go, flashing you his smug little grin of his, strutting around the garage for a season, thinking he had a chance.

Not today, Satan.

The garage door behind you creaked open and footsteps echoed in your direction.

You didn’t look, didn’t think. You just grabbed the first arm that brushed against yours.

“This is him!” You said, an octave too high. “My boyfriend.”

And Oscar Piastri, your emotionally repressed, sarcasm-saturated PR headache of a driver, froze mid-step. As much as you wanted it, there wasn’t any way to back out now. His eyes dropped to your grip, white-knuckled, around his bicep. Then to you. Then to Theodore.

“... Sorry, what?” He said under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Babe,” you hissed between your teeth, eyes still set on Theodore and smiling like your life depended on it. “Go with it.”

Finally, your ex managed to speak up. He was frozen, mouth half-opened in shock. “This is your─ You’re dating─ Oscar Piastri is your boyfriend?”

Oscar opened his mouth, definitely to ask what was going on, but you beat him to it. “Yes! Yep. It’s, um─ it’s very new. A few months.”

You finally turned to face him fully.

His brown eyes, sharp and unreadable as ever, flicked across your face─ first your eyes, then your mouth, then down to where your fingers were still digging into his arm. There was confusion there, definitely, but also a kind of calculation unique to him.

“This is Theodore,” you added, swallowing thickly. “He’s one of your new engineers.” You hesitated. “... and my ex.”

That’s when something clicked.

You felt it. The subtle shift in Oscar’s expression─ the way his shoulders straightened or the brief flicker of understanding behind his eyes. He glanced at Theodore just once before looking back at you. You pleaded silently. With your eyes, with your fingers brushing lightly over the sleeve of his fireproof top, even with the part of your lips that whispered please without making a sound.

But the longer you stood there, the more the panic crept up your spine. Oscar didn’t owe you anything. The man barely liked you. He could’ve thrown you under the bus without blinking, called you out right there and made your life ten times harder.

Which is why you almost jumped when his hand, much larger, reached up and gently settled above yours.

“Ah, Theodore,” Oscar said, like the name physically bored him. “Nice to meet you. Sorry about my reaction,” he added, fingers tightening just slightly over yours. “I just didn’t expect… this.”

He turned to glance at you. An innocent smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“Y/N’s told me a lot about you.”

Theodore snapped out of the shock that froze him into place, and his smile flickered. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Oscar said casually. “All the highlights.”

You blinked up at him, heart in your throat, unsure whether to laugh or sob. Was Oscar Piastri helping you?

“The highlights?” Theodore asked, dumbfounded.

Oscar hummed, thumb absentmindedly brushing over your hand─ just once, like punctuation. You weren’t dreaming, he was playing along. And the look on Theodore’s face was worth every single of it.

“Funny, she never mentioned you, or the fact she was dating an… F1 driver, as a whole.” As if you even talked to him anymore!

Oscar shrugged, way too relaxed. “That’s all right. We’re keeping it on the down low for now, I’m sure you understand. And we don’t do much… talking, anyways.”

Your jaw nearly hit the tarmac. You stepped on Oscar’s foot, a habit by now, and he barely flinched. Apparently, that was enough for Theodore. “Well,” he said slowly, eyes narrowing. “Guess I’ll see you two around the garage.”

“Guess I’ll see you around my car,” Oscar answered, a little too quickly.

Theodore just glanced at him before muttering, “Small world.”

“So small,” you nodded stiffly.

The second he was out of sight, you yanked Oscar by the wrist like a woman possessed, dragging him to the nearest utility alleyway─ dim, slightly greasy smelling, and blessedly empty. For how long, though? You didn’t know. “Okay,” you hissed. “Wow, what the hell was that line?! We don’t do much talking?!”

Oscar raised a condescendent eyebrow, arms crossed on his chest. “I don’t know, you tell me, Mrs. This Is My Boyfriend. I just followed along. You’re welcome, by the way.”

You groaned so loud it echoed, looking up to the ceiling, hoping answers will fall off it and solve your life, simultaneously pacing a short line across the floor. “I know what I did, alright? I just─ I panicked! That guy─ he… he cheated on me. With my best friend. In my own bed. And I just─ he looked so smug and self-satisfied standing here like I’d run back to him. I needed to shove something in his face, show him I’m fine. Better. And I didn’t look and you were there and your arm was right there and now I’m going to have an aneurysm─”

Oscar blinked. “Wow. Okay. That’s… a lot of information, considering we barely know each other.”

“Thank you so much for the support, Oscar. I wonder whose fault that is, exactly!”

“I’m just saying. That was a whole soap opera act in thirty seconds,” he snapped back, rolling his eyes.

You exhaled harshly. “Whatever. I didn’t actually mean to drag you into this, okay? I’ll fix it. I’ll… tell him it was a misunderstanding or… I’ll figure it out. I’ll PR my way out of this, because whether you like it or not, it’s actually my job─”

“It’s fine,” he said, cutting you off, eyes closing briefly like he needed to reboot.

You paused. “Huh?”

“I said it’s fine.” His eyes opened again, locking onto yours. “Now that he thinks you’re dating someone, his delusional ego’s going to spiral and he’ll leave you alone. Especially if it’s someone… above in station, let’s say. Not to stroke my own ego.” He tilted his head, tone flat. “He looks like the insecure type.”

“He is,” you aggressively agreed, pointing at him like he’d just cracked the Da Vinci code, and you swore you saw his lips pull up. “So we just… leave it alone?”

“Let it die down,” Oscar continued with a casualness you could only hope to replicate. “Maybe have a conversation here and there for consistency, but that's about it. It’s not like he’s going to go around bragging that his ex-girlfriend is dating the guy he’s working for.”

You snorted. “I think he’d rather die.”

Oscar’s mouth twitched, trying not to smile. “Exactly.”

You sighed, finally letting your shoulders drop as the tension bled out of you. The adrenaline was still rushing through your veins, waterfall-like, but slowly softening, giving way to a quiet panic that you could make do with until the end of the day. It’s fine, you told yourself, it’ll be fine. “Okay,” you murmured, giving him a small nod. “Thank you. Seriously.”

“Don’t mention it,” Oscar replied, already turning away. “Literally.”

“Deal,” you said. “Never again.”

The plan was to return to your regularly scheduled programming─ distant and professional. With the way Theodore worked (or more accurately, didn’t), you were pretty sure he wouldn’t last long in the McLaren garage anyway. Life would go back to normal soon enough. You were sure of it.

Rule number one of PR management: never assume anything. Certainty was a myth. Because as long as there was even a sliver of doubt, it could all go wrong. Maybe you’d gotten complacent in your ways, Oscar never gave you anything to work with after all, but you really thought that this time, it would be fine. You slept like a rock that night, the kind of sleep where your mind recharged so hard it forgot you had responsibilities in the morning.

That’s probably the reason it took you so long to notice. First, it was the way people lingered as you passed. How engineers muttered behind their coffee cups and went dead silent when you got too close. You weren’t used to this level of attention─ as a whole, you were a pretty discreet presence in the paddock, so when the smiles came and the knowing smirks got thrown your way, you started becoming suspicious.

“Morningggg,” Lando sing-songed as you entered the McLaren hospitality tent.

“Good… morning?” You muttered, narrowing your eyes as you plopped down next to him. “What’s got you in such a good mood today?” You asked as you bite into the chocolate croissant you’d been craving since yesterday.

Lando studied you. Waiting.

“Do I have to guess, or…?”

The curly-haired man sighed dramatically, as if your question alone had aged him. “No, but I thought we were friends. Guess I was wrong, since I had to hear it from my race engineer. During briefing.”

You blinked. “Okay, what the hell are you on?” you admitted. “Have you been doing crack? Is that it?”

“Whatever, keep your secrets, Y/N,” Lando conceded, a smug little grin on his lips. “You’ll talk to me when you’re ready. Or I’ll just get the truth from Osc’. He seems… chatty, lately.” 

You couldn’t imagine Oscar Piastri being chatty to save your life. “What? What does Oscar have to do with anything?” But Lando was already up and walking off.

Alone with your chocolate croissant and your detonated sense of peace, you scanned the room, eyes darting in panic.

Across the tent, Oscar stood by the coffee station, talking to a staff member with his hands-in-pockets casual disinterest. His eyes met yours, and he paused mid-sentence, one eyebrow raised in that really? kind of way that made you want to slap him. There was a silent question in it. 

One you didn’t have an answer to.

The answer actually came knocking that night─ quite literally. Loud, incessant, unforgiving knocks at your hotel room door.

You were in the middle of taking off your makeup, cotton pad in one hand and dabbing at your under-eye concealer like it personally offended you. “Seriously?” You audibly commented, exhausted. It was nearly 10 PM. You’d done your job, answered more emails than anyone should in one day. The very least the universe could offer was twenty-four uninterrupted minutes of peace.

But the knocking didn’t stop, so you opened the door with a groan and a complaint on your tongue, only for the sound to die the moment you registered who was standing on the other side.

Oscar Piastri. In a hoodie, track pants, socks that did not match, and looking far too calm for someone who’d just banged on your door as if the apocalypse was tracking him down. You stared in confusion, words refusing to come out of your mouth no matter how hard you tried.

“Sooo… we might have a problem,” Oscar finally spoke in the silence stretching between you.

He walked in your room with no hesitation, without you even inviting him in─ the audacity! Sure, yeah, come on in, ruin my night, you thought. He glanced around, sizing your room and seemingly expecting paparazzis behind the mini-bar, before turning to face you with a flat look.

“What’s this problem that has you acting so dramatic for─”

“You’re trending on F1 Twitter. Well, we are,” he said simply, tone measured. “Someone took a photo. You holding my arm next to your ex. In the garage. And the caption is─”

He pulled out his phone. A screencap of big, red, capital letters: IS OSCAR PIASTRI SOFT-LAUNCHING HIS PR MANAGER?

It took a while for reality to set in. 

You stared at the screen blankly, eyes flicking from Oscar to the headline, erratic. Soft-launching. Soft-launching. You tasted blood in your mouth. Oh, no─ it was actually just your soul leaving your body. “This is not happening,” you mumbled, blinking rapidly. “It’s fake. This is fake. I’m hallucinating.”

Oscar hummed. “Want me to read you the quote tweets?”

You pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare.”

He shrugged and put his phone down. You sat down on your bed, hands flying to your temple. “Okay, okay. No big deal. I’ll just tell the team we were talking about… a car issue. A steering problem. Brake pedal feedback. That sounds fake, right? Like, real-enough fake.”

Oscar gave you a look. “You could try that,” he said slowly, “but your ex has apparently been sniffing around the garage asking people if we’re actually dating.”

“No way.”

“I overheard Lando’s race engineer telling him. He asked five different people.” A beat. “He’s not subtle.”

You could feel your eyes twitch. “Jesus Christ.”

Oscar crossed his arms, leaning back against the mini-bar, staring at you. “So I don’t think your little oh it was just a brake issue! excuse is going to cut it.”

“I’m going to end it all,” you said, dropping your face in your hands. “I’m going to crawl into my media kit and live there forever.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “I’ll bring you snacks.”

“How are you not freaking out? Like, at all? It’s your face on every headline, and my job on the line!” You didn’t want to think about the repercussions this would have on any future jobs you might want, or your actual one. Future employers were going to Google you and find dating rumors about a fake relationship with a driver you were managing.

“Oh, I freaked out,” Oscar cut in smoothly, walking toward you. “Trust me, I had a whole mini-existential crisis in the elevator.”

“That’s good for you, Oscar. Why aren’t you still freaking out?”

“Because I figured this might be a job for my PR manager,” he said, toned laced with sarcasm. “Who also happens to be the cause of the PR disaster in the first place.”

You opened your mouth just to close it, and to open it again. “That’s fair.”

“And you said I was too boring.” Oscar gave you a dry smile, and weirdly, that was the moment it clicked.

You were his PR manager. This─whatever mess the universe had decided to dump in your lap─wasn’t just a disaster. It was an opportunity. A viral, narrative-controlling opportunity. The kind of chaos you could work with. You’d complained that Oscar gave you nothing: too quiet and acidic. Well, he certainly wasn’t that anymore, or almost.

You straightened up, the panic slowly morphing into focus. Your heart was still pounding, but now to the rhythm of the plan puzzling itself in your head. No one had trained you for what to do when you were the story but if anyone could improvise, it was. Your idea was wild, unhinged, even. But you knew better than anyone that the line between unhinged and brilliant was just the execution. And if you played this right, it could be exactly what the both of you needed.

You turned to Oscar slowly, the corner of your lips twitching into something almost insane. “Oscar,” you said carefully. “What if we didn’t let this go to waste?”

“Come again?”

“I mean, this,” you gestured vaguely toward his phone, screen down on the counter. “Oscar Piastri’s mystery romance unveiled, blah blah blah. It’s a mess, but it doesn’t have to be.”

Oscar’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “... You’re about to say something crazy.”

You got up from your spot on the bed to face him fully. “Fake dating.”

“There it is.”

“No, seriously, hear me out,” When he started taking a few steps back, you rushed toward him, hands animated. “People are already talking. We can’t undo the articles or stop the whispers, but we can own the story. It’s simple PR strategy: if the narrative’s out of our hands, we grab it back, shift the focus and make it work for us.”

“And what, exactly, would we be gaining from this?” Oscar looked deeply, deeply unconvinced.

You got closer to him and his eyes widened discreetly, quickly shifting from your eyes to your lips, and to the one finger you were holding up in front of his face. “One, you get press engagement. You’ve been called the human spreadsheet by more than one person─”

“Never heard of that.”

“Okay, maybe it’s only me, but my point still stands. This? It gives you dimension. Warmth. Personality. More people of all age groups rooting for you.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m dating you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself too much. Two,” you continued without missing a beat, “I get a break from Theodore. He’s more likely to leave me alone if he thinks you’re in the picture long-term, or as close as we can get to it.”

“Isn’t that the reason you picked me in the first place?”

“I was desperate. You were here and tall.”

Oscar shrugged at your words, quietly agreeing with you, which egged you on for the last point of your argument. “Three, if this all goes up in flames, we just say we broke up. That wouldn’t be the ideal outcome until Theodore’s out of the picture, but if push comes to shove, we do this quietly. Classic ‘we ask for privacy during this time’, then ghost the media. End of story, and we go back to our ways.”

The silence stretching between the walls of your hotel room seemed to last a lifetime too long as the Australian studied you carefully, arms crossed on his chest. “You’ve really thought about this.”

“Actually, I just did. I’m that good.”

He exhaled loudly at your comment, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation, and you tried your best not to let a little quip past your lips. “And how long would this have to last?” Oscar asked, voice muffled by his palm.

“Until Theodore goes away, which shouldn’t be more than a few weeks knowing his talents. Enough to let the story peak and settle and it would include a couple public appearances, some social media crumbs─ low effort, maximum payoff for you.”

Hope swirled in your chest with the intensity of a storm when he dropped his hands, his dark eyes locked onto yours.

“And your ex leaving you alone would be the only thing you’d gain out of all this?”

You didn’t hesitate a single second when you answered. “That, and peace. Maybe a little petty revenge over him and honestly? A challenge.” Because this is what you’ve been dying to do ever since you stepped foot in the paddock a year ago.

And maybe Oscar saw the hellfire of determination in your eyes as he scanned you, either that or you sold your reckless idea with the confidence of a politician, because after long, skeptical minutes. He held out his hand, and the overwhelming weight pressing against your shoulders seemed to evaporate in the flight of a hundred butterflies.

“Fine, count me in,” he said, voice a little hoarse, “but if it all goes to shit, you’re taking the blame.”

You hastily took his hand, his rough palm fitting into yours, and you blamed the electricity rushing in your spine and the powdery pink of his cheeks on the ridiculous situation and the relief coursing through your body. “Deal, but it won’t go to shit if you keep up with me.”

The ghost of a smirk pulled at his lips, which made you smile. Your heartbeat was thundering in your chest and the heaviness of what you’d just agreed upon settled over you like a second skin.

Fake dating Oscar Piastri. How hard could it be?

First thing you did the next morning was to warn a handful of team members: there was no world in which running a fake dating scheme in secret wouldn’t come back to bite you and frankly, your job and reputation were already hanging by a thread due to yesterday’s PR earthquake. You and Oscar pulled Lando, Zak, and a few key staff members─social media, comms, and PR support─into the smallest available hospitality room you could find, locking the door behind you.

You explained the situation as fast as you could, hands raised in surrender under their gazes. How the rumors were technically true but not real, what conclusions you came to in such little time, and the thought process behind your idea, carefully excluding Theodore’s implication.

“Wouldn’t lying to the public make it worse?” Someone from comms piped up, deadpan.

You winced. “Damage control isn’t always about truth. It’s about optics, controlling the narrative before it controls us. We’ve assessed the risk, this buys us time to refocus headlines onto the cars, not the garage drama all while boosting Oscar’s popularity.”

Zak blinked at you as if you’d grown a second head. “You assessed the risk?”

“With me,” Oscar added from his chair, facing you. “I see the strategic upside. I’ll blow over in a few weeks, it’s fine. No harm done.” You sent him a silent thank you, holding his eyes just long enough for him to notice.

“Soo, when’s the wedding?” Lando piped up, leaning forward. “Or do we just have the break-up arc planned?”

You ignored him, preferring to explain the conditions of you and Oscar’s little agreement: no posts unless you greenlit them, no press comments and if anyone asked, yes, you were together. Happy. In love, but still casual. Social media staff were already scribbling notes or rapidly typing on their keyboards, and Zak looked like he might die of a heart attack.

So were you. Still, when you glanced at Oscar during one of McLaren’s CEO's silent breakdowns, you couldn’t help but share a silent laugh.

The following days were catastrophic, to say the least. Navigating the Bahrain paddock for the last of testing and media obligations for the first Grand Prix of the season the week after had turned into a minefield of knowing looks and suspicious stares. You and Oscar were learning how to walk the tightrope of fake affection with the grace of two toddlers. A few shared smiles, a shoulder brush, but every interaction felt rehearsed, taken off a badly written script. By some given miracle, it did work on some people but not all, and especially not Theodore. You could feel his eyes on you everytime you walked through the garage, narrowed as if waiting for a slip-up, but you’d rather die than prove him right.

By the end of the first few days, Oscar’s social media manager handed you a photo of the both of you to approve for Instagram─ one where Oscar had his arm slung around your shoulder awkwardly while you stood next to the car, all too aware of the massive lens pointed right at you. It was…

“It looks like we lost a bet,” you muttered, horrified.

Oscar leaned in over your shoulder to look at the picture. “Oh. Yeah, that’s bad.”

You threw your hands in the air, movements more powerful than words to transcribe the frustration elevating your blood pressure. Before a flurry of complaints and insults could slip past your lips, Oscar spoke.

“Okay, maybe it’s not very convincing, but it’s also because we haven’t figured out how to sell it correctly.”

“What a revolutionary thought.” He shrugged your comment off. 

“Well, I figured since we skipped the whole dating part and went straight to the whole madly-in-love thing, maybe it’s time we… backtrack?”

You felt the lightbulb switch on in your mind, eyes widening in realization. “Backtrack… like a backstory?”

Oscar nodded solemnly. “A timeline, yeah. How it started, how it’s going, first dates and everything. The whole fake fairytale.”

You couldn’t argue with that. You hated to admit he was currently beating you at your job, but Oscar was right. People were already speculating about the two of you a week in your fake relationship; everyone, including you, needed some foundations to be settled and fast. “Okay, alright. We can figure this out tonight, preferably in my hotel room since it apparently became the headquarters of this,” you made circle hand gesture between the two of you, “operation. Also because nobody will bust us in there.”

Oscar showed up at an ungodly hour of the evening─ the clock showcased numbers that hurt your sleep cycle, but nothing made the press talk more than going to your girlfriend’s room in the middle of the night, right? He knocked once before letting himself in, dressed in the same sweats and hoodie as a week ago, and holding a suspiciously large energy drink. “I come bearing poison,” Oscar announced, lifting the can.

You squinted at him from your spot on the bed-your hotel room lacking a desk-surrounded by a battlefield of notebooks and your wheezing laptop that was one short breath away from the grave. “Perfect, that’ll keep us up. We have work to do. Welcome to the Ted-talk-slash-lie-building meetup.”

Oscar kicked off his shoes, walking toward you. He eyed the chaos with a low whistle. “Oh wow, you weren’t kidding.”

You handed him a purple glitter pen without even glancing in his direction. “Sit your ass down and write with honor, Piastri.”

“Glitter? Really?”

“Don’t patronize me. I love glitter gel pens. Better memorize that if you want to be a good fake boyfriend.”

Oscar snorted but didn’t protest as he took the pen, sitting down next to an open notebook on the edge of your bed. He cracked the energy drink open with a hiss, and you took it from his hands before he had the time to bring it to his lips. “Jesus, you’re bossy.” You shot him a look. “Alright, alright. Where do we begin?”

You exhaled, eyes settling on your computer screen. A bright, pink page was showcasing Date Idea: Where To Take Your Beloved For A First Date? “With the basics. When we started dating, how we met, how many fake months we’ve been in fake love, which side of the bed you sleep in for continuity purposes.”

“Right side.”

“Wrong answer. It’s mine.”

You gradually settled in a surprisingly comfortable rhythm. Between the quiet clicking of the keyboard, the buzzing of Chinese nightlife outside your window, and the rhythmic scratch of the glittery ink on paper, you and Oscar brainstormed.

Ideas came slowly at first, awkward and stilted the way two kids forced together in a group project would work─ which it was, in a way. It didn’t take you long to realize you didn’t know Oscar at all, and he didn’t know you either, and the recognition of that fact put a certain strain on your interactions, as much as there already was. Yet, the tension softened as the minutes from midnight trickled away. You found yourself building a history out of thin air, questions after questions and jokes after jokes─ inside jokes that didn’t exist and justified why you laughed so hard at ‘soft tyres’, a first date that involved a tragically undercooked lasagna which Oscar and you had to fight over because neither of you wanted to look like a bad cook. You chose May 21st as the anniversary date because it sounded cute. Oscar protested, “How can a date even be cute? It doesn’t make sense.” He still settled on it.

Snorts, teasing looks as you drew a clumsy timeline in the middle of your designated ‘Relationship Basics’ notebook. “What about our first kiss?”

“Mmh, that’s a good one. People are going to ask.”

“Duh,” you fought the smile on your lips with little effort. “C’mon. You were wearing that hideous orange puffer, it was raining, and I was mad because you didn’t share your umbrella.”

“Oh right, and you were soaked and… okay, you said I owed you a kiss for compensation. Sounds like something you’d do,” Oscar replied, leaning forward in mock seriousness.

You made a sound, halfway between a gasp and a laugh. “You do remember!”

He laughed. A real one, warm and easy, going right through your chest. You quickly joined him, and his eyes lingered on you a second too long after the joke faded. “I made it up with hot chocolate later, though,” he added with a lazy smile that didn’t belong in any scenarios.

You scribbled that in your notebook. “Ew. We are sickeningly cute.”

And somewhere between a fabricated ski trip and the great debate of who said ‘I love you’ first, something shifted, just a little. Oscar had moved from the edge of the bed to sit beside you, arms behind his head against the headrest, legs stretched on the covers. His knees bumped yours every now and then, but you didn’t flinch away. The notebooks laid abandoned now, pens scattered across the duvet. Your laptop screen dimmed after an hour of neglect and your limbs were heavy with the sweet stickiness of fatigue that only came when you laughed too much and too hard.

You glanced over at Oscar and his hair was a little messy, eyes a little sleepy, softened by the light of the space. He was already watching you. “You know,” he spoke up. “For a so-called meeting, it suspiciously looks like a sleepover.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that, tiredness winning over your resolve. “It’s almost four,” he continued,  voice lower in the hush of your hotel room. “We’ve officially survived our first week of fake dating. Well, we did four hours ago, but…”

“And we haven’t accidentally gotten married in Vegas like they do in movies. I’d call that a win.”

“Oh yeah, that’s definitely not because of our amazing chemistry.”

A huff escaped you again, and your head fell back against the pillows. Shanghai still hummed outside the window, quieter this time, and the city lights threaded through the thin curtains you pulled. The room was just as still, if warmer─ you could feel the tired blush on your cheeks and the heat of Oscar’s thigh against yours. “You know, you’re not as annoying as I thought,” you said, a lazy sigh curling into your words.

It came out like an offhand casual observation, but you didn’t meet his eyes. Truth be told, you were ashamed. The whole year you’d convinced yourself Oscar Piastri was a nuisance and a stain on your work life had been shattered in the shine of glitter pens and the drafting of a romance novel-worthy story. Because he was actually kind of funny, and even though he delivered his jokes like he was bored half the time which you used to interpret as condescance, they still made you laugh. He listened when you spoke. He had a dry, understated charm you were starting to recognize as very authentic.

And he hadn’t complained once tonight. Not when you made him pick an anniversary date for the third time, or reenact a fake first meeting with your best friend. He was just… there.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he replied, but his voice melted at his usual edges. “You’re alright too. Surprisingly.”

When you turned your head, you found he was already looking at you for the second time, and a moment passed. You gave him a smile, barely there, and he looked away. “Guess we do make a decent team,” Oscar mumbled.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you mimicked him. He snorted.

You walked him to your door after an exchange of soft chuckles and breathy goodnights. Fake dating Oscar would be harder than you thought, but it definitely wouldn’t be as bad as you made it out to be.

You weren’t sure what it was between the sleep deprivation, the amateur acting, or the emotional whiplash of building an entire relationship with a guy you were only acquainted with, but something about it shifted the rhythm you’d gotten used to. Whatever happened during that night, being Oscar Piastri’s fake girlfriend became easier after it.

It started with texts. You couldn’t remember which one of you sent the first non-work related one, but it became a daily occurrence of linking the other pictures the press took of the both of you.Oscar would often comment something along the lines of Do I look like a man held hostage or a man in love? Be honest. You’d roll your eyes everytime, answering: All I can say is that I’m not flattered. At first, it was mostly logistical─ scheduling photo ops, making sure neither of you veered your scheme off the track. But somewhere between sarcastic captions and oddly flattering candids, the conversations grew longer. It became a way to kill time, a habit.

Oscar was easy to talk to, which was a thought that would’ve originally terrified you. Except the conversations carried off screen, and you found yourself enjoying them an awful lot.

Along the lines of your ruse, you started saving seats beside each other during lunch breaks or waiting up for the other to go back to the hotel together─ not for the cameras or Theodore’s heinous stare, but for a reason as simple as the enjoyment of the other’s company. Oscar was more than a colleague by that point, he became something else that you couldn’t quite call a friend the way you called Lando one. You stopped overthinking every step you took beside him, every glance and sentence. You had your script, sure. But more than that, you had a quiet kind of understanding. He knew when to press his hand to the small of your back when it was needed, and you knew when to lean in just enough to sell the look of something intimate. 

It wasn’t perfect, but it was practiced. Comfortable, even. Maybe, just maybe, a little fun. Which is why you couldn’t tell when the little things started to feel not as little anymore.

Rare were the times you arrived late to a team briefing, but a late-night spiral reviewing articles about your little charade had stolen more sleep than you’d expected, and for the first time since you started out at McLaren, your alarms lost the battle. You slipped in your seat next to Oscar, a movement you barely thought about anymore, breathless, cheeks warm from your run across the paddock and the drizzle misting your hair. Your pants were drenched, there was a pounding behind your eyes and you were thirty minutes away from biting someone’s head off if they even dared mention your tardiness.

Oscar didn’t say anything at first, just glanced your way as he often did, eyes flicking up and down once. You braced for a comment, a joke, preparing to hold yourself back from doing something you’ll regret doing to your fake boyfriend in public.

Instead, he leaned down, reaching for a paper bag next to him, from where he pulled out a steaming paper cup and a chocolate croissant that he slid toward you without a word. Your name was scribbled across the side of the wrapper along with your very specific order, down to the temperature.

You looked at Oscar. At your breakfast. Then at Oscar again. “How─”

“You weren’t answering my texts,” he said, still looking forward. “Figured you’d be late, so I got you this. You get cranky with no sleep or caffeine in your system.”

“I don’t get cranky,” you muttered, wrapping your cold hands around the hot beverage. “You get sassy when you don’t sleep.”

“Sure,” Oscar said casually, meeting your eyes for the first time since you sat down. “There’s extra vanilla, by the way.”

You didn’t answer, just rolled your eyes, but his gaze was still on you when Zak burst through the door. The fact he remembered that you took extra vanilla syrup in your extra hot latte and that your favorite pastry was a chocolate croissant should be nothing, because you’re sure you told him at some point during your many one-on-one briefings. Except it wasn't. Not really.

Then, there was the flight. There was nothing the fans and the media loved more, and Theodore despised just as much, than couple apparitions at airports, which led to Oscar’s social media manager to nudge you into the believable. That’s how you found yourself catching the same flight as Oscar, Lando and a few others on their jet. It had become recurrent in the past few weeks and you’d never admit it out loud, but there were non-neglectable perks: fewer crying babies, more space, and the occasional poker game where you absolutely obliterated Lando’s ego. You know I’m just that good at acting, you’d said, throwing a cheeky smile at Oscar that he gave you right back.

This time, though, none of you had the energy to talk, let alone play cards. It had been an exhausting and emotional race weekend─ back-to-back media obligations underneath the fire of reignited on-track rivalries, rain delays, and disputes amid the team you couldn’t legally disclose. The jet was unusually quiet as it took off into the night sky, everyone slipping into their respective silence.

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep. You usually didn’t in airplanes, they stressed you out too much─ you’d just leaned against the window for a little moment, eyes fluttering closed. The buzz of the engine and the soft cabin light blurred the world into static and you drifted away in a split second, as soon as the city was turned to insignificant holes in the black tapestry underneath you.

After a while, you felt a warmth, subtle at first. There was something solid against your shoulder, enough to make you crack one eye open.

Oscar’s head was resting against yours, and you were tucked comfortably against him. At some point, he’d dozed off too, and the both of you had slumped toward each other in your sleep. You could’ve moved, you know you would have a few weeks back, but you didn’t. You let your eyes close again and let yourself drift in and out of sleep along the quiet sync of your breath. His arms wrapped around your waist, your legs rested on his knees, and you weren’t quite sure how long you stayed like that─ten minutes, an hour─but when you finally woke up again, it was to the obnoxious flick of Lando’s phone camera and his barely contained laughter.

It was the accumulation of those little things, the seemingly insignificant moments that, piled together, made them bigger than they should have been. It was when Oscar took the habit of sleeping in your hotel room after qualifications to watch a movie under the pretense of simulating ‘passionate encounters’. It was when, one morning, bleary-eyed, you accidentally threw on his hoodie with his number printed on the back, and his hands lingered on the small of your back a little more possessively that day. It was when you were running low on your orange glitter gel pen and a full set was mysteriously delivered to your door, even if you didn’t need one. In the way his pupils dilated ever so slightly when you caught him staring, when he pointed right at you after his podiums, how your skin fizzed with heat for hours after he kissed your cheek in front of the cameras.

But what really blurred the line was the night in Spain.

It hadn’t been a particularly thrilling race─ tame from lights out to chequered flag. Oscar had finished P3, Lando snagged P2, both holding their qualifying positions with sharp determination. But the crowd had been wild, the champagne flowing and before you knew it, Lando dragged you and Oscar into Carlos’ plans for the night. All that happened after was a blur of neon lights and ear-shattering singing.

The walk back to the hotel was your idea- just a short stroll through warm cobblestone streets, the air sweet with late night chatter and the slow beginning of summer. You and Oscar snuck out the back entrance of the club, the latter clearly not fitting in the Spanish nightlife, your heels dangling from your fingers and his cap pulled low to hide the flush of his cheeks. Both of you were just tipsy enough to feel invincible, shoulders brushing as you exchanged anecdotes and very real inside jokes, something about not-much-talking, laughter echoing against the dead of the night.

It was quiet for a moment after that, the comfortable kind that sometimes settled between you. Oscar decided to break it.

“You know,” he started, softer than usual. “I’ve been meaning to ask─ why didn’t you like me at first?”

You turned your head up slowly, the reality of the question dawning on you. You raised an eyebrow. “What made you think I didn’t like you?”

“Come on.” Oscar gave you a look, and in the dark of his eyes you swore you saw the polite, Shakespearean insults you sneaked in your emails, the harsh tap on your foot on his, flashing in the quarter of a second. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, maybe I didn’t. At first.” 

He kept his eyes on you, waiting. You sighed, tipping your head back to look at the night sky─ no stars were visible, but it didn’t take away from the beauty of it. “You were just─” You paused, choosing your words carefully. “Honestly, you were rude, smug and condescending. I felt like you were trying to make my job harder than it should be by just- not doing anything. People were talking about you as this nice, quiet boy and I secretly wanted to bash your head against a wall.”

A beat. “Wow. That’s brutal,” he simply answered. “I don’t get how I gave that impression. I always thought you were the one being rude to me.”

Your head whipped in his direction and you could physically feel the disbelief splashed across your features. “Me? You started it!”

“How?”

“That one car ride in my third month,” you deadpanned. “You made a very snobbish comment about a dream I had about my ex. You said, and I quote─” you cleared your throat dramatically, dropping your voice to the flattest Oscar impression known to man, “‘Imagine being boring and still more interesting than your ex.’” Oscar was half-laughing by that point. “Oh, don’t you dare! You also said something about how I shouldn’t sleep in the HQ again, but for the record? It was my first triple-head─”

He held a hand up in mock surrender, mouth agape in stupor. “Is this what started this whole… passive-aggressiveness?”

“Uh… yeah? It was unnecessarily arrogant!”

Oscar made a face. “Unnecessary, sure. I get it. But you know what was also unnecessary? The intimidating, pretty new girl at McLaren─who also happened to be my new PR Manager─calling me boring to my face.”

The words hung in the air between the two of you. Your froze, caught off-guard by the ease with which the compliment slipped out. Oscar was continuing with his rant, either completely oblivious or choosing not to care. You cut him off. “... You thought I was pretty?”

That’s when he faltered, his lips parted in a half-word as if he hadn’t realized what he said before you pointed it out. Oscar’s gaze flicked to yours, then away, suddenly far more interested in the cracks of the sidewalk than anything else. “Well, yeah,” he took off his cap and brushed a hand through his hair like it might undo the sentence. “I mean, you still are. It’s not like that changed.”

It would be lying to say you had considered the possibility that you caused the tension between you and Oscar in the first place. While your sad attempt at humor might have been the catalyst, something must’ve already been simmering under the surface for things to go cold so quickly after it. Your heart gave the tiniest, traitorous jump, chest pulling in a reluctant way, at the thought he’d noticed you then. You despised how easy it was to smile, to fall into the warmth of the possibility.

“Oh,” you said softly, and it explained everything and nothing all at once.

“I’m just saying,” Oscar added quickly, flustered, “it didn’t feel great.”

You couldn’t tell if the red of his cheeks was from the heat, the alcohol, or the embarrassment, but what you could tell was how hopelessly cute you found him in this moment. You tried to play it cool, despite the fact your heartbeat had skipped a full chord. “Noted. And for the record, now I know you aren’t boring,” you added, teasing, playfully nudging your shoulder with his. “You’re just… private. Or mysterious. A sardonic brick wall, if you will.”

It successfully had him looking up, a light-hearted scoff slipping past his lips - you could see the relief in his facial traits. “I’ll take mysterious. It’s better than boring.”

When you got into your hotel room, Oscar slipped past your door as he normally would, and you collapsed onto the bed with your legs tangled together like always─ but something was different now. The air around the mattress was slower, stuck in time, warm in the way his breath ghosted over the nape of your neck when he settled beside you, eyes already fluttering shut.

For the first time since this whole agreement began, you had to consciously remind yourself that it wasn’t real. The comfort in your chest wasn’t made to stay. The steady rhythm of his breathing next to yours, the way your body naturally molded into the other─ it was all pretend. 

At least, that’s what it was supposed to be.

Like silk curtains flowing with the breeze, the change was discreet but there nonetheless, in the shared silences that felt less like pauses and more like instances captured with a polaroid. There was hesitation, once again, but unlike the one you chased away before─ in how you touched, how you laughed, how you glanced at each other and closed the gap under the bright flashes. You were both tiptoeing around something fragile and new.

Neither of you said anything, but it was something too heavy not to notice─ at least, you hoped Oscar did as well: the reluctant awareness of how hazy the lines had started to get and the stunned realization that maybe they’d never really been that straight to begin with after Oscar’s tipsy confession in Spain. You were still doing everything to showcase your relationship to the media, Theodore’s presence in the paddock still overwhelmingly present and Oscar’s popularity sky-rocketing. You were still holding hands and tucking yourself to his side in the garage between two meetings, carefully weaving the continuation of the story you made up together. Yet, when no one was watching, it didn’t feel as plastic. Not when Oscar whispered in the crevice of your ear in a crowded room, or when your heart jumped at the sound of his laugh. When it started to hurt, just a little, when he pulled away.

The day he called you at five in the morning from Canada was confirmation enough. The switch from the heat of Spain to the rainy weather of the United Kingdom for work had taken its toll on you, and you had to call in sick for the Montreal race weekend. Tucked in your covers with a cup of coffee and an inability to sleep due to your clogged nose, you watched your phone screen lit up with his name. You answered with a hoarse, “Why are you awake?”

Oscar chuckled, his voice slightly muffled by the hotel air conditioning in the background. “Why are you?”

“Respiratory betrayal,” you said, dragging your blanket further up your chin. “What’s your excuse? The race’s tomorrow.”

You talked about everything and nothing for a little while. Oscar told you how the track felt a little underwhelming, how the social media team messed up with their main Instagram account, and of Lando’s endless complaining about the lack of your presence─ apparently, the paddock was too quiet now. You nodded in your pillow with a smile like he could see you.

Eventually, the conversation drifted away, like it always did now. Oscar asked what you were listening to lately and you told him of a song that sounded like spring and reminded you of long drives at night, especially the instance when he drove you home after Monaco. He said it sounded like something you’d play to get out of your own head. You said it was. He told you about this stupid childhood habit he had of organizing cereal boxes in alphabetical order and you laughed so hard it triggered a coughing fit.

Oscar’s voice dropped. “I wish you were here.”

It wasn’t dramatic or purposeful in the slightest. He said it as if he was realizing it at the same time he pronounced the words. It was your case too when you answered, “Yeah, me too.”

Your chest ached, because there was no camera to capture the softness of the moment and you just found out you preferred it that way.

And then you came back for the Austrian Grand Prix. You didn’t see Oscar much that weekend. You’d barely touched the ground before you were swallowed whole by emails, debriefs, documents you missed during your sick leave and Theodore side-eyeing you every time you so much as coughed next to him. There was no time for soft moments, not even time to stop and just glance at Oscar even if you wanted to.

He crossed the line in P1 that day. You were mid-conversation with Zak, animated with excitement even during your lengthy talk about the following media duties, when arms pulled you in so strongly you lost track of what you were saying. You recognized him by touch alone: Oscar was wrapped around you, body sweaty and warm from his maddened laps. He held the helmet in his hand, still catching his breath when his head dropped on your shoulder. 

“You’re back,” he said, voiced laced with something a lot like relief.

“Of course I’m back,” you whispered back, fingers twitching on the back of his race suit. He sounded like you were gone for years and somehow, it really did feel like it. You could’ve stayed there for hours, you thought, until Zak obnoxiously cleared his throat next to you.

Oscar pulled back, eyes brighter than his usual post-race exhaustion, the glint of something you couldn’t name just yet dancing in his pupils. His hands came to rest on your wrist, barely brushing your hands. “Stay with me?” He asked, and your heart might have stopped just there. Realizing how it sounded, Oscar quickly corrected, “For the interviews. I’ve been dodging the media since you weren’t there.”

“I will,” you smiled. Your feet were already moving anyway.

He kept glancing sideways everytime the journalists asked about strategy and pace, and the little tug in your guts told your mind you were enjoying it, even though shamefully missing the feeling of the circle his thumb drew on the inside of your hand. When the interviewer asked about the less than discreet glances, making a comment on the obvious chemistry you two shared and how well you worked together─as colleagues and as a couple─Oscar didn’t laugh it off like you always practiced. He nodded, bashful and sure.

The sentence kept blinking in the back of your head like a warning sign: this was all fake. But even telling yourself that wasn’t enough anymore because your heart apparently didn’t get the memo. The touches and the sleepovers made your dreams spiral and your cheeks warm. You became his phone wallpaper for authenticity and his picture became yours as well without as much as a second thought, every little attention as natural as the cycle of seasons.

You were falling for your own fake dating ruse. Which meant you were quietly, miserably falling for Oscar Piastri in the process, in the realest and most literal way known to man. That was terrifying.

Never, in your short but hectic PR career, had you ever experienced that.

Not the newfound feelings you were harboring for your fake boyfriend, no. You tried your best to think about that as little as possible─ if you didn’t look at them, maybe they wouldn’t look back. Right now, you were talking about the diplomatic ambush you and the F1 grid and staff just walked into. The hotel hosting the drivers and half the sport’s staff for the Silverstone weekend had decided to organize a charity gala. Last minute. Mandatory, if you had any desire to keep your reputation intact.

It was a smart move─ brilliant, even: Host a fancy event for a cause, pick a night when the entire motorsport world is under your roof, and leak just enough information to the press so no one can afford to skip it. Declining? Not donating? Refusing to schmooze with the hotel owners? You’d be crucified online by breakfast. Genius, really. You respected the play. 

But damn, give a girl some warning. You didn’t have anything to wear.

Apparently it was the case of everyone else as well, which made you feel less self-conscious. When you walked out your hotel room the morning of FP3 and qualifying, the hallway wasn’t buzzing with race talk but with chaotic murmurs about last-minute outfits, shoes emergency and the drama of Max Verstappen only packing team merch─ which, much to his dismay, was absolutely excluded from the dress code.

You were promptly swept away by a group of female staff members from different teams, mostly working in comms or PR, determined to save you from showing up in jeans and a prayer after a heated conversation around the breakfast table. It turned into a surprisingly wholesome mission: shared complaints, budding friendships, and a chorus of tender laughter when you found the dress. “Your boyfriend’s going to be a happy man!” one of the older women teased, earning cackles from the others and a fiery blush from you.

You were, admittedly, very lucky─ as much as someone in a fake relationship could be.

Especially when Oscar knocked on your hotel door later that evening, fresh from his post-quali shower, hair a little messy, still buttoning up the blazer of his suit and eyes flickering with something unreadable when you opened the door, ready.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t expecting a reaction. When you were tearing down your skin with your scented body scrub and carefully smoking out your eyeliner in the mirror, you told yourself it was for you only─ but faced with Oscar’s eyes roaming over you, you knew you were clearly lying to yourself.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He silently took you in, and you feared that maybe you didn’t achieve the effect you hoped for. Maybe a hair was out of place, or the dress looked awkward on you. But Oscar’s lips parted in a discreet intake of breath and the way his mind blanked out was painfully visible on his features. Quietly, “You look…” He trailed off, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck as if he could try to scrub off the red climbing out of his collar. “You look really nice.”

Really nice. That wasn’t quite what you expected, but his reaction was telling enough for you and knowing Oscar, you knew you weren’t getting anything more unless he was under a copious amount of alcohol or sleep-deprivation. You rolled your eyes at him, biting back a satisfied smile. “You don’t look half bad either.”

And he did. Devastatingly so. His suit was tailored within an inch of its life, cinched right at the waist and the lapels hugging his chest, his frame striking in the color. It was all very James Bond of him, minus the reckless charm─ though tonight, he seemed to be toeing the line. Your gaze dropped to his tie, and your fingers twitched at your side when you realized the shade was an exact match to your dress. You hadn’t said anything about your outfit ahead of time so you didn’t believe it was on purpose, but when your eyes met his again, there was a flash of something knowing and boyish─ almost proud that you noticed.

“Come on,” Oscar finally broke the silence. “You’re setting the bar too high. Everyone’s going to think I’m the lucky one tonight.”

“That’s because you are.”

The hallway was quiet as you two walked down together. You could feel it again─ that invisible thread pulling tighter, a weightless tension lodging in your chest and the incessant smile pulling at your lips. This was fake. Totally fake, you repeated to yourself again as you stepped with Oscar in the elevator, arm slithering around his bicep, ready to make your entrance.

The hotel hall was drenched in gaudy decorations, shimmering chandeliers and overly sparkly dresses, the kind of excessive elegance that only made sense in photoshoots and unnecessarily overpriced galas. Everywhere you looked, sequins caught the light and laughter echoed over the clink of crystal glasses. You weren’t in your element at all, Oscar wasn’t either and clearly, none of the drivers or the team principals who showed up wanted to be there. But in the name of keeping up appearances, you spent the evening with Oscar and a glass of champagne, stepping on his foot from time to time for old time’s sake. You knew how to mingle, after all it was everything you studied for four years.

You drifted through conversations in tandem. His hand stayed on the small of your back, occasionally brushing lower in ways that felt more unconscious than performative, or maybe it was just wishful thinking. When you’d lean into him to talk, he always dipped his head to hear you better on instinct. When Lando started tagging along, he was quick to complain about third-wheeling.

The whole evening was spent like that: finding amusement where you could in the middle of obligations, which was often spent sending sharp comments Oscar’s way, which amused him greatly, or Lando’s with Oscar’s help, which definitely amused him less. But gossiping could only get you so far, and soon enough the height of the heels you chose and the weighty ambience was enough to uncomfortably tighten your ribcage. You were quick to excuse yourself to the empty entry of the hotel, where you collapsed on a chair with a sigh.

You took a slow sip of your almost empty glass, letting the fizz of the bubbles distract you from the uncomfortable twist in your chest. Oscar would have followed you if you didn’t ask for some alone time, and God knows you needed some away from him. You were trying to find a distraction, anything to make you stop thinking about the brush of his fingertips or how you could have sworn his gaze lingered a second too long on your lips when you laughed at one of his jokes.

You didn’t expect, and especially didn’t want, Theodore to be that distraction.

His voice cut through the fog. “Tired?”

The glass nearly slipped from your fingers. Your body tensed, and you jumped to your feet out of reflex, ready to leave at any given moment. “Oh wow, didn’t mean to scare you like that,” he raised his hand in mock surrender. You rolled your eyes.

Theodore had the same haircut, same smug face, same cologne that lingered like melted plastic. The longer you looked at him, the longer of an eyesore he became─ nothing about him stood out: not his suit, the false casual way he was holding his blazer in his hands, and certainly not his demeanor. You couldn’t help but draw a silent comparison to Oscar.

That’s when you realized: you hadn’t seen much of Theodore the past week around the paddock. You hadn’t paid a lot of attention to his presence in general, too caught up in Oscar and the torment of your own conflicting feelings to even grace him with acknowledgement. You voiced the first part of your thought, casually sipping your drink.

His expression tightened as he forced a smile. “Ah. Yeah, well, they… they let me go. Budget cuts, you see.”

It took all your will and decency not to explode in laughter. Budget cuts. Ah, yes. Incompetence must have had a change of definition in the Oxford Dictionary recently. “So… why are you here?”

“My dad knows the hotel owner. I got an invite last minute.”

“Oh,” you said with a mocking tilt of the head. “So nepotism and unemployment. Got it.” The fake niceness you sported on during your first interaction at the start of the season had vanished out of thin air─ you weren’t going to put up with this pathetic excuse of a man any longer than you had to, precisely now that you had no reason to anymore.

Theodore laughed. Your hand prickled with the need to punch him in the nose. “You know, it’s not even that important that I lost my job at McLaren.” Said no one ever, you thought. How far did his privileges go? “I─ well, I only took it up because I learned you were working there. I thought… maybe if I was around again, we could fix things.”

You must have hit your head, this had to be a fever dream. The words reaching your ears made no sense to you whatsoever. 

“Fix─?” You scoffed, eyes widening. “That job was supposed to be your redemption arc? Is that it? Oh my god, Theo. You slept with my best friend and you thought I’d fall back in your arms because you barged into my career?”

“I made a mistake─”

“You made a choice,” you spat.

“I didn’t think it would matter this much to you!”

“Did I not cry enough the first time or do you want me to reenact it? Were you really hoping I’ll welcome you with open arms, open legs and a memory loss?”

“Well─”

“Don’t answer that. Actually, stop talking.”

Theodore threw his arms in the air, taking a step forward as he hurled his jacket on the chair you sat on a few minutes ago. “I just thought maybe seeing me again would remind you of what we’ve had!”

Rage and indignation alike rose in your throat like vomit, and your hands shook imperceptibly as you answered. “It did. It reminded me that what we had was never good enough to keep me from building something better. So thanks for the little nostalgia trip, but I’ll pass.”

Something in Theodore’s gaze darkened, dangerous and petulant, and before you could step back, he leaned in. “Oh, I get it now,” he snarled at you, voice dropping into something bitter. “It’s because of Piastri, isn’t it?”

“Back off, Theodore.” Your back had straightened instinctively. Discomfort crept under your skin like cold water─ you didn’t like the way he hissed his name and how close he was getting.

He didn’t back away. Instead, he took another step. “Didn’t realize you’d fall for the first man who gave you attention after me. Guess I underestimated how lonely you─”

“Everything alright there?”

His voice, warm and familiar, sliced through the tension and your shoulders slumped in relief. Oscar.

He was standing just behind Theodore, who turned around comically slow. Oscar’s expression was unreadable. You never saw him angry, but you did know how to recognize the calm before a storm.

“Yeah,” Theodore answered, too fast. “Just… catching up.”

Oscar’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, I think you’ve done enough catching up for tonight.”

He walked toward you, and you subtly stepped to his side, his heat grounding in the absurdity of the situation. He didn’t look at you─ his eyes were locked on Theodore’s, cold and measured. “If you’ve said your piece,” he started, “I think you should head back to whatever table your father pulled strings to get you to.”

Theodore scoffed, his features twisting into something ugly, but he didn’t push his luck. He wouldn’t be winning this fight. After a beat of tense silence, he turned and stormed off the entry hall, muttering something beneath his breath you didn’t bother catching.

The moment he was out of sight, you could feel the rigidity in your body melt away. You hadn’t even realized how tightly you’d been wound until now, standing frozen in place. You reached out instinctively, gripping Oscar’s sleeve in order to keep you on your feet. “Shit,” you whispered. “I didn’t expect him.”

Oscar’s hand closed gently over yours and how thumb drew slow circles across your knuckles. You could feel his eyes on you attentively. “You okay?”

You sniffled, breathing fast as a breathy, nervous laugh slipped past your lips. “God.” You wiped your cheek, pausing when you saw the glint of moisture on your fingers, “I didn’t even realize I was crying.”

Oscar didn’t say anything right away─ he reached up with his other hand and brushed your tear track, cradling your cheek with the gentlest touch, like you’d break if he pressed too hard. “He’s a real dick,” he murmured, brows drawing together. “Trust me, he’s never coming near you again.”

That made you laugh─ quiet, and undeniably tired, but real. You looked up at him, something vulnerable sitting openly between you now. “Thanks for stepping in,” you breathed out. “You know, you’re awfully good at being a fake boyfriend. You nailed the attitude down.” You tried to make light of the situation, but the words stung when you got them out. You regretted uttering them as soon as you felt the frail openness in the air retract. Something in Oscar’s eyes dimmed a little, but they didn’t move from yours. 

“Always, that’s my job,” his tone dripped with a strange kind of acerbity. “Now, let’s get you to your room. I think we’re done for the night.”

You couldn’t agree more.

The way to your room was spent in silence, apart from the click of your heels on the carpet and the faint sound of breathing. The quiet was now oppressing, seeping with an anxiety that took you back to when he shook your hand in a similar hotel room a few months ago. When you released his arm as you reached your door, you half-expected him to mutter a polite goodnight and disappear at the end of the hallway.

Instead, Oscar leaned against the doorframe, hands shoved in his pockets. “Can I ask you something?”

You gave a small nod.

“What made you say yes to him?” He asked. Faced with your confused expression, he clarified, gaze flicking down. “Theodore. Why did you date him?”

There wasn’t a trace of judgment in his voice, just a searching sort of curiosity. The answer sat heavy on your tongue, unfamiliar and painful, but still, the question pulled something sharp through your chest─ you didn’t know why you were suddenly so self-conscious about it. 

“I’d like to say I don’t know but…,” you leaned back against the wall next to him, folding your arms to hold yourself together and eyes fixed on a point somewhere past his figure. “I think… I was tired. I used to put everything into school, so much that I skipped out on everything else. I didn’t even know who I was beside the pressure and achievements, and Theodore… just happened to be there during that confusing time of my life. My roommate’s, and ex-best friend’s, friend. I thought he was charming, in his own sort of way. He was persistent, used to leave flowers by my dorm room every morning.” You chuckled sadly. “They weren’t even my favorite - turns out they were hers.”

You heard Oscar exhale. “It still made me feel noticed, like I mattered to something outside of studies. Like someone actually saw me, you know? So I fell in love. And turns out he didn’t see me at all─ he sure as hell doesn’t now either, if he thought showering Zak with dollar bills and side-eyeing me across the paddock would be enough to win me back. That’s without mentioning the cheating.”

The silence of the hallway was deafening, your words echoing against the walls. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just dense. Until Oscar broke it.

“I don’t get it,” he murmured, “how anyone could cheat on you. It doesn’t make sense.”

It made you look at him. You’ve gotten used to turning around and finding his eyes already on you; it shouldn’t have been much of a surprise, but your chest still tightened when you met the darkness of his irises. You waited for him to reply, lacking any explanation yourself of why it couldn’t meet the simple principles of logic in his head, why he couldn’t find the flaws in you that lead Theodore to another woman.

Oscar’s answer came under a different form. “For what it’s worth,” he said, gaze steady. “I like to think I see you.”

You blinked. “Do you?”

The question slipped out before you could stop it, and the moment it did, the answer came rushing in. He did. You knew it in the way his head tilted slightly to the side, like he was still trying to see more of you, even now.

Oscar knew your coffee order by heart, the temperature and how much milk to ask for when you were too tired to speak it aloud. He knew which bakery carried your favorite pastry and what time he had to sneak away from media duties to grab it for you─ especially when the paddock version tasted like cardboard. He noticed when your hands got cold before you did, kept spare hand warmers in his bag in colder countries because “you’re always freezing.” He sent you stupid memes during long flights because he knew take offs made it hard for you to sit still. He carried spare glitter gel pens in his bag, and never teased you about it─ just handed you another one when you absentmindedly noticed yours was running out.

He remembered that you always got motion sick if you sat in the backseat of a car for too long. That you needed silence when thinking. That you hummed when you were concentrating and tapped your pen when you weren’t.

And suddenly, you weren’t just asking if he saw you the way you’d always wanted to. You were asking if he’d always been seeing you, even when you weren’t looking.

“I do,” he answered, barely above a whisper.

You nodded. There couldn’t be anything more true than that.

Just like that, the air tilted. Toward him, engulfing you both in a fragile, sacred space. Everything narrowed down to Oscar and the small buzz between your two bodies─ dense and electric, full of every feeling that had been lurking beneath the surface. His eyes flickered to your lips for the briefest of seconds. Back to your eyes. 

He moved subtly, like he wasn’t sure you’d let him, the idea of losing the moment scarier than not having it at all. Your body was still, breath hitching and heart racing, as his hand reached up to cup the side of your face, thumb brushing softly over your cheekbone, memorizing the shape.

And when he finally leaned in, he hesitated just inches from your lips, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath and the tremble in yours. “Is this okay?” He whispered.

You closed the space.

The kiss was gentle at first─ careful and tentative. The gentle, kind sweep of two people trying to find their footing, but the electric shock of the feeling brought everything back to you: the months of tension, the stolen glances, the fumbled excuses to stay close. Your mouths crashed over each other, deepening in the split of a second, slow and aching in the pants you let out and the touch of roaming, curious hands. You breathed into his mouth, seeking his air to make it yours.

Oscar’s other hand slid to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer and your back flush against the wall as your fingers curled into the lapels of his jacket. You could feel his heart hammering under your palm, fast and desperate, mirroring yours. His tongue demandingly slipped past your lips, and he kissed you like he had wanted to for a long time, and there was no denying he had. Raw and needy, you felt stripped bare by the small whine he let out when you bit down on his bottom lip.

You thought, the world could fall apart tomorrow and this would have been everything you needed to go peacefully.

When you finally pulled apart, both breathless, he didn’t move far. You wouldn’t have let him anyways, the heat of his body too comfortable, the weight of his mouth branded on your own. His forehead rested against yours, eyes closed and lips swollen.

“You have no idea how long I wanted to do that,” he whispered, voice hoarse and rough with honesty.

You fingers tightened in his jacket, and you brushed a strand of hair off his forehead. “Trust me, I think I do.” He laughed against your lips and you kissed him again. Because after all of it─all the pretending, the teasing, the overthinking─you didn’t have to lie to yourself anymore, to convince yourself. You couldn’t make up the way he was kissing you back.

Yet, you still went to bed alone.

You hadn't planned on it─ well, not exactly. After the emotional whirlwind of the evening, the kiss, the honesty, the confession, you’d invited Oscar into your room without really thinking. It had been an instinct, comfort-driven by the nights already spent together, even if everything was entirely different─ including your intentions and his. But Lando had to barge in, clumsily looking for his room next to yours, doing a double-take at the sight of you tucked into Oscar’s side, your makeup smudged from tears and kisses like a hormonal teenager, Oscar looking all too rumpled and embarrassed next to you.

“Jesus,” Lando muttered. “I’m just─ you know what, we’ll unpack that later. Good night. Please don’t make too much noise.”

Oscar laughed, arms wrapping tighter around your waist when your friend disappeared, whispering, “I’ll come back tomorrow. After I take you out on a date. A real one, this time.”

You’d smiled. “You better.” He kissed you again, quick and soft and annoyingly perfect, more than your dreams made it out to be, and you went to bed glowing, with his name lighting your phone screen with sweet nothings and promises of conversations tomorrow.

But tomorrow never came, because the knocks that woke you up were giving you a sickening déjà-vu. They were urgent, a trumpet announcing the complete turning of your world just like they had done a few months back, in February, and loud enough to slice through the sleepiness in your bones along with the drowsy haze of your mind.

You got up with difficulty and barely had the time to wrap a blanket around yourself before answering the door. You half-expected to find the Grim Reaper himself waiting on the other side with how early it was for anyone else to be knocking. Instead, you were faced with Oscar. Your heart gave a small, automatic jolt when you saw him. After how last night ended, he should have been the best thing possible to wake up to.

The expression on his face stopped you cold.

Oscar, who rarely wore his emotions so plainly, looked visibly shaken. The sharp lines of his face were pulled tight with worry, brows furrowed and jaw clenched. And that─more than the hour, more than the knocks─was what stopped you from throwing yourself into his arms.

You opened the door wider to let him in, which he did with hurried steps. “What’s happening?”

“Can you close the door first?” You did without much of a question.

Oscar sat on the edge of your bed, phone cradled in hand. He looked up at you, and distressed wasn’t enough to describe it─ he looked wrecked. “Have you checked your phone this morning?” He asked.

Dread pooled in your stomach. “No, I─ I just woke up,” you answered. “Oscar, I─”

“Someone leaked it. Our agreement, the fake dating. It’s all out.”

The world tipped.

The air in your lungs vanished and, for a moment, all you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears. His words repeated like static, a taunting echo getting louder and louder the more you realized what it meant. “What?” You whispered, eyes locked on his. The truth could have looked different there, but didn’t.

You sat down next to him, every limb leaden, cinching the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “How─? Who even─? We were so careful and─”

“Nobody knows, they’re searching for it right now,” Oscar replied, but it came out strained. “Everyone's trying to trace it now, but it landed on DeuxMoi and basically everywhere after that. They’ve got… receipts. Pictures, testimonies, photos- and a very incriminating audio recording.”

His throat bobbed with a swallow. “Of you. Saying something like… how good of a fake boyfriend I am. From last night, before we went up.”

Your stomach flipped. “But─ we were alone.”

Different scenarios flashed in your mind, engulfing you both in a spiral of questions and worry. Someone could have been filming you, and the lights were too low to spot the silhouette. Maybe Theodore’s jacket, draped over the chair you’d sat on, had a recording device on it in an attempt to prove himself something, or to get revenge on you. But how would he have guessed? There were so many possibilities, and Oscar’s silence didn’t help you feel any better about any of them─ not knowing burned hotter than the betrayal itself.

He took your hand in his, your intertwined fingers resting between the two of you. The contact made you flinch.

Your breath came out in a shaky exhale. “I mean… it was going to end anyways, right?” Oscar’s frown deepened, so you pushed forward. “The whole relationship. Theodore left. That was the plan, wasn’t it? It wasn’t supposed to last past him. It’s a very shitty way to end, sure, but… you can work with it.” You were tearing up by the time the last word left your lips.

Oscar winced. His grip on your hand tightened. “Don’t say it like that.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” You let out a wet, pathetic laugh. “It’s over.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said, and it sounded a lot like a plea. “We can figure something out─ Zak, the rest of the PR team-someone will know what to do, there-”

You scoffed─ not at him, never, but at the cruel absurdity of it all. Your incapability of keeping something good for yourself. “You don’t get it, Oscar.” Your voice wavered. “Apparently, we’re everywhere. There’s an audio recording. People feel like they’ve been made fools of. They won’t forgive that so easily─ they’ll turn on you. They won’t believe in something that’s already been exposed as fake, even if─”

You couldn’t finish your sentence. Because that was the worst part, wasn't it? You weren’t faking it anymore. Neither of you were, and hadn’t been for a really long time. You could have stumbled around, trying to figure out what it meant, searching his mouth and holding on to the feeling long enough to put a name on it, but the headlines didn’t give you that chance. They took it from you, carved it out of your hands before you even got to claim it as yours.

A beat.

“It was real for me,” Oscar said. “It is.”

You looked at him, the details of his eyes that made promises you were sure he could have kept under different circumstances. You tried to smile, but your face cracked under the weight of it, tear tracks shining under the early morning light. “They don’t know that,” you whispered. “They won’t care.”

Oscar’s gaze fell on the floor, and you shook your head gently. “You still have a career to protect. Just say it was my idea, you were helping me out and I got you into all of this─ which is the truth, technically. You just got too caught up. They’ll forgive you eventually, they’re here for the racing.”

“And what about you?”

The silence spoke for itself, heavy with the undeflectable nature of the situation. Carefully, as to not startle him, you took back the hand he was holding and folded both of them on your lap. There would be no other outcome to this story. “I’ll figure it out. It’s my job.”

He didn’t believe you, you could see it in the lopsided curve of his mouth, the prominent vein near his temple you traced with your eyes before falling asleep. You realized you never had the opportunity to pass a night in his arms.

“You go get ready for your race, Oscar. Don’t worry about me.” Your chest ached as your mouth shaped the words, barely hearing them yourself. The only thing that mattered was the low lights in the Australians’ eyes, how his mouth opened and closed around something. He never said whatever was pending at the edge of his tongue, but he closed his eyes when you put your lips on the skin of his cheek.

Oscar just left quietly, in the imperceptible click of a hotel door. You couldn’t watch him go─ if you did, you might not have had the strength to let him.

You were let go by McLaren before the race even began.

The decision had been clear from the get-go. Still, it didn’t make sitting in that sterile room any easier knowing the lanyard around your neck would be up to grab for someone else in seconds. It wasn’t cruel or personal─ it was just business.

You spent over three hours with members of staff, going over the facts and projected damage. You nodded along and asked questions you could predict the answers to, but the conclusion was written into the walls: the scandal was too loud, and you weren’t quiet enough to survive it─ at least, not with a badge that read McLaren on your chest.

You gave it back, sliding it over the table to the chief of staff. They booked you a flight home as discreetly as they could manage and it wasn’t until you stepped in your apartment, suitcase dropped by the door and keys shaking in your hand, that the overwhelming silence caught up with you.

And with it, everything else.

Your face was headlining the front pages of multiple websites and you’d just lost the best job you’ll ever have─ if not the only one, because a simple search would now lead every possible employer to the failed scheme you tried to put up.

You collapsed onto your bed, entirely dressed and only one shoe off, still wrapped in the airport chill. They made you hand-over your team-issued phone, along with the contacts of everyone that mattered back at Silverstone. You didn’t even have a chance to explain yourself or to say goodbye.

Oscar would finish the race and find out you vanished, and you had no way of telling him 

You let the weight of it all crash down on you.

If you had to estimate, you’d say you let yourself rot in your own misery for about a week, give or take. You weren't counting the days, but you knew you hadn’t opened your curtains since you got home. Your eyes were red, rubbed raw every time another wave of emotion struck you, and you hadn’t so much as looked in a mirror. Instead, you moved through your apartment like a ghost, sidestepping your own reflection as if it might reach out and confirm what you already knew─ you’d lost something you didn’t realize mattered this much until it was gone.

The past year had been everything. You successfully worked your way into a world that worked too fast for second chances where you found a rhythm, built friendships and connections. As tiresome as the lifestyle could sometimes be, you fell in love with what you were doing and what you came to be. In the past months, your life had mirrored the tracks─ swift and brutal, with enough turns to break a few wheels. Now, you were left with nothing but the emptiness in your stomach and for someone who always strived for more, the bitter aftertaste in your mouth was enough to keep you from wanting.

Your wake-up call came in the form of your rent.

Turns out heartbreak didn’t pause rent or the cost of groceries rising due to inflation. McLaren paid well, but not well enough so that you could afford to disappear off the grid and wallow in self pity with your last check. So you did what you always did, reminiscent of your past college superhuman efforts: you opened your laptop and got to work.

You applied to everything you set your eyes on─ LinkedIn, obscure websites, Facebook Ads, no one was safe. You didn’t dare touch anything remotely F1 related, or even F2, F3 or F4, the wound was still fresh and your name was probably too much of a touchy subject for you to be accepted anywhere near. You stuck to motorsports-adjacent companies, agencies, development programs, even local circuits. Just… something, anything that would let you keep your toes in the world you loved.

Eventually, it came.

A small karting company in the Netherlands, of all places. Barely enough to fill a spreadsheet on a good day, but they had promising talents and were expanding, so in need of someone to help build their communications structure from the ground up. Preferably someone who knew how to handle press and build narratives, connect people to stories. They were desperate, which means they probably didn’t even look you up when they interviewed you. You took the opportunity with your first real smile in a minute.

It wasn’t as glamorous. The office had flickering lights, and you hadn’t come with the most adapted wardrobe. But it was something─ so you got to work.

You were surprised by how much you ended up loving it.

The people were awkward but nice, you went out with a few of your colleagues by the end of your first week, and the kids racing under your name were awfully sweet and their parents just as kind. The work wasn’t overbearing, but you put every ounce of your attention in building its perfect image with your team. Your new apartment was small and comfortable, and the city you settled in a neverending discovery of wonders. You felt fine─ which was a step away from the state you had been in not so long ago.

But even though you tried to build yourself another life, you still couldn’t shake the memory of Oscar. He was still there─ not in person, but in every memory you were not capable of erasing just yet. You caught yourself ordering his coffee order alongside yours as a force of habit, and accidentally took the notebooks with the overly precise details of your fallacious history with you to work. There was so much of him in you now, you had trouble picking apart the pieces. You scanned articles for his face but skipped race reports in case his name hurt more to see.

You tried to bury the ache in your schedule and the excitement of the company’s mediatic expansion, you wrote press releases, attended networking events with a tight smile and let small wins feel bigger than they were. Yet you knew your heart was sitting in his hands, thousands miles away- and you refused to wonder if, without knowing, you were still holding his. It was a hope you couldn’t entertain, all in the name of letting go. It was an act of healing of some sorts. Putting Oscar behind you was growth, not grief, and letting go of something that had no chance of being anymore was the most adult thing you’d ever do.

Except you have a history of your past catching up with you─ deep down, you should’ve known this time wouldn’t be any different.

It happened when you bumped into someone on your way out the café, hands full with the Communications team’s comically large coffee order. It was the end of August, and your mind was anywhere but on the street─ mostly focused on not spilling anything. Of course, that’s what made the crash even more cinematic.

Cold drinks flew in the air, splattering across the pavement and down your pants in dramatic, sticky rivulets. You were halfway into a curse when someone said your name in an all-too-familiar voice.

“Y/N?” You looked up from your drenched legs, and there he was.

Lando Norris in the flesh, unruly mullet and all. “Oh my god,” you muttered, halfway between disbelief and horror. “Hi?”

He stared at you like he was trying to convince himself he wasn’t hallucinating. You’d feel offended if you couldn’t understand where he was coming from- you did disappear suddenly, those two months ago. “You’re─ holy shit, what are you doing here?”

You awkwardly wiped your hands on the napkin that came with the order, glancing at the wasted money on the ground. “Clearly failing my duties. I work for a karting company just outside the city. Communications consultant.”

“No way, seriously? In the Netherlands?” Lando asked, eyebrows shooting up. “That’s… kind of awesome.”

You gave him an awkward smile. “Yeah. It’s not McLaren, sure, but I like it there.”

The mention of the team brought an icy breeze to the conversation and had Lando shuffling on his feet before you changed the subject. “And what are you doing here?” You asked, too enthusiastic for it to be spontaneous.

“Zandvoort race this weekend,” he answered with a slight grin.

“Oh, true.” With the drastic changes in your life and the newfound popularity the company had gained, you’d forgotten all about the fast-paced calendar you had become so accustomed with. The fact there was even a race taking place in the Netherlands, despite Max Verstappen being Dutch, had completely slipped your mind.

It should feel like a win, but your heart twisted to punish you.

Faced with another silence, Lando spoke up again. “You know, it’s not the same without you there, Oscar’s new PR manager is an old man.” That made you chuckle, although bittersweet. “We miss you. A lot.”

You didn’t miss the implication in his words. The air suddenly felt a bit thinner in your lungs than it did a few minutes ago. “He shouldn’t,” was all you could manage to reply in the tightening of your throat.

“Why not?”

You shrugged, forcing your voice to stay level. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It ended. He has to focus on his career.”

Lando opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it, only giving you an hesitant smile in return. “Well… I’ll tell him I saw you. If you want.”

“No,” You shook your head with a soft laugh. “No. Just… good luck, alright? For the Grand Prix.”

It got Lando to smile wider, at least, something warm in the spreading of his lips. “Thanks. And Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad I bumped into you. Let me make up for the spilled coffee.”

He did. Brought the entire order again and handed it over with a sheepish shrug, reminiscent of the friend you had two months ago, before disappearing down the cobblestone street. You stood there a bit too long, dazed by the improbability of it all. The universe decided to shake you a little, but somehow it had to be just when you made peace with the fact it had moved on without you.

You went back to the karting center where reality demanded your full attention. The rest of the day passed in a blur of last-minute adjustments─ tomorrow, you were hosting a little event in order to showcase the rising talents driving in your colors, which needed your immediate attention, no matter how divided by the episode this morning. You didn’t even notice everyone else leaving until the sun dipped below the horizon, painting gold across the windows and casting long shadows on the now-empty space.

You exhaled slowly, closing your computer and feeling the soreness in your back from being hunched over too long. The cons of being a workaholic, you guessed, but you’d done your part. You gathered your things, slid your jackets over your shoulders, and stepped out into the cooling evening.

You could have missed him if you hadn’t hesitated a second too long in the doorway, but you could also recognize Oscar anywhere, eyes closed or blindfolded.

He was leaning against a car, parked a few meters away from the entrance, hoodie loose around his shoulders and hair tousled by the breeze. His gaze was distant, unfocused as he was watching the distance. The second the door thudded shut behind you, the sound cutting through the quiet evening, his eyes snapped up, finding yours.

He looked lost, beautifully so. It froze you in your tracks. It didn’t seem to have the same effect on Oscar, as he pushed off the car and took careful steps forward.

“Hi,” was all he said, soft and steady.

You hadn't realized how much you missed the silken casualness of his voice before it reached your ears. It hit you harder than you’d expected. “How─?”

“Lando,” Oscar cut in gently. “He said you worked at a karting company near the city. I… looked it up. Thought maybe, with a little chance, you’d still be here.” He scratched the back of his neck and he looked away for a second, just one, before his eyes snapped back to yours.

Neither of you moved, unsure how to cross the canyon that had cracked open between you.

“I wasn’t expecting…” You trailed off.

“Yeah,” Oscar breathed out a humorless laugh, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “Me neither. It was, uh, pretty impulsive. But I couldn’t just…” He trailed off too, shaking his head.

You nodded, even though you didn’t understand. This whole conversation made no sense. “How’s it going? Life, I mean. At McLaren?” you asked, desperate to ignore your heart clawing at your ribs.

Oscar’s lips thinned. “Fine. Busy.”

“That’s good.”

He took a step closer, so very little you could have missed, and so slow it gave you the opportunity to step back. You didn’t take it. “And you? How’s─ all this?”

“It’s… something. I like it. I do.” You laughed, and it came out wrong.

“I’m glad.”

Silence fell, weighty on your shoulders. You didn’t know what to do, and you couldn’t guess how to act when Oscar looked so closed off, out of reach─ something he hadn’t been to you in a long while. You chose to let it stretch, unsure of what else.

Finally, it came down to Oscar. “You left.”

The words stung with the strength of a slap, and heartbreaking enough to put you back in front of your apartment door, two months back. You gripped the hem of your jacket, bringing it closer to your body in hope to substitute for the warmth his tone lacked. You inhaled sharply, fighting the sting behind your eyes.

“I didn’t have a choice. They made it very clear there was no place for me anymore, and it would be the better option for one of us to come out unscathed.” Your voice faltered despite your best efforts. “I didn’t want to leave that way, Oscar. Not without saying goodbye.”

You couldn’t help the comment that bordered on your lips. “But I figured you weren’t too concerned. You didn’t look too hard to reach me either.” Not an e-mail, no nothing. You were deprived of his contact information due to your work phone being taken away, but he wasn’t. 

Oscar’s hands curled into fists at his side. “I couldn’t. If I did, they assured me it could make everything worse if someone leaked it again, for the both of us.” A scoff escaped him. “Told me I had to wait until they found the person who took the audio recording in the first place before I could try anything.”

“And did they?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I don’t really care.”

Again, he took a step forward. Oscar was close, not overly, but close enough for you to see the wild and desperate edge etched in his delicate traits, regardless of how much he tried to hide it. “I wanted to reach out. Every day. I just─” He ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I thought that’s what you wanted. I kept thinking that maybe you hated me for how it ended, or─ maybe you regretted it.”

Your laugh broke out sharp and ugly, more hurt than anything else. “Hated you? Regretted it?” You shook your head in disbelief. “Oscar, how could you even think-?”

He didn’t interrupt you. You had to do it yourself, because Oscar just watched as if waiting for a confirmation between the lines. “You really think I’d regret you?”

He still didn’t move. “I mean…,” he finally rasped out, barely carrying over the wind, “it cost you your career in F1. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“I cost me my career, Oscar. Not you. The fake relationship was my idea. I told you from the beginning I’d take the fall if it came to it. You were just helping me.”

You watched his jaw contract with the need to argue back, but you wouldn’t let him. Oscar was wrong on all accounts in his reasoning, blinded by whatever had been clouding his mind during your disappearance, and you were making sure it stopped there.

“I couldn’t hate you even if I tried. Well, not now at least- you were pretty insufferable at first.” His shoulders shook in the semblance of a laugh. “And if there’s anything I regret, it’s not realizing that it stopped being fake a lot sooner.”

There it was, the hefty topic you had been dancing around─ the kiss, gentle in its unearthing, and the whispered promises of explanations in the morning. Something that had been stolen from you and was now coming back to the surface for a last gasp of air. You could either take it or let it drown.

Oscar’s eyes searched yours, and for a second you believed he’d apologize and leave.

But that’s not what he did.

“It was never fake for me,” he said. “When- When you walked in and introduced yourself as my PR manager, and you were all smiles and nerves and─” he huffed, breathless, shaking his head, “and I was gone. I didn’t know how to act around you or what to do with myself.”

He got so close, you had to tilt your head to look up at him. “I kept thinking it would pass,” he continued. “That it was just a stupid fixation. But you kept being you, and you got close to Lando, and you stuck around. It just kept getting worse. Or better, I guess, depending on how you looked at it.”

“Then there was your ex,” He said, breaking into a soft laugh. “You took my arm and called me your boyfriend and all I could think was, yeah. I’d like to hear that again.” His fingers grazed the inside of your wrists, a ponctuation in his confession. “I didn’t fake a single thing. Not once. It’s been real from the beginning.”

Almost delirious, you broke into a cackle that had your hand flying to your mouth─ a half-sob, half-choke ripped from your chest. “So you were a douchebag… because you liked me?”

Oscar’s mouth quipped, sheepish. “Yeah.”

“And you acted like an idiot because you didn’t know how to show it?”

“... Yeah.” Now he sounded embarrassed.

Another watery laugh bubbled out of you, and you wiped at your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket. “Oh my god, you’re such a man,” you said, voice wobbling between amusement and heartbreak, and Oscar’s smile cracked wider at the sound of it. You sniffled, rolling your eyes to try and hide the hopeful pain in your chest as you asked, intertwining your hand with his. 

“So… what do we do now?”

The pad of his fingers trailed up your arm, sending shivers down your spine. He cupped your elbows gently, steadying you like you were at risk of breaking at any minute. “Well,” Oscar murmured, the ghost of a demand parting his mouth. “Now that we got everything out of the way, I’m here for a reason. Only if you’ll have me.”

You didn’t need any more convincing, the days spent in his company during the tired mornings  and warm nights gave you ample amounts of reasons not to deny him.

As if you had the strength to even think about it.

You surged up, and your mouth caught up with his in the same way a puzzle piece would fit into another. It felt like homecoming, how the weight of his lips balanced against yours. Oscar hands went up your sides, painfully slow, wrapped around your waist and pulled your body flushed against him. You curled your fingers in the air at the nape of his nec, tugging slightly, and he sighed into your mouth─ broken and hopelessly in love.

The world shrank to just this: the press of his chest to yours, the warmth of his skin and how intensely Oscar Piastri kissed you back.

When you broke off contact for air, Oscar chased after your mouth. You tried to contain a giggle, unsuccessfully. “I can’t believe it took a whole fake relationship, messy break up and all, for you to do and say all that,” you teased.

He rolled his eyes and before you could react, the hands resting on your hips pinched your sides. You yelped, stepping on his foot. Old habits die hard, apparently, no matter what may have transpired in between.

“Well, I think you wouldn’t have liked me as much without that fake relationship.”

“I wonder whose fault it is, Oscar.”

“I’m just saying, I─”

You kissed him again. And again, and again, until the sun was well gone and stars were the only witnesses.

That night, you made sure to take Oscar back to your apartment. There was no awkwardness in the small talk made in the car, no hesitation in your movements. It was a slow series of quiet laughs against skin, not rushed or frantic in the slightest, whispered confessions tangled between languid kisses. You were curled up against him, a blanket thrown haphazardly on your legs and you talked. The way you wanted and needed to.

He murmured you might need to lay low for a while into your hair, eyes already closing with tiredness, in order to let everything die down and you agreed, brushing his knuckles with the featherlight touch of your lips. You could always come out with the truth later on, and you were content with your life in the Netherlands─ even more so if Oscar could share it with you in some hidden place in his heart. Your palm rested over his heart, feeling his heartbeat slowing down by sleep and lulling you into Morpheus’ arms just the same.

He kissed you one more time. The taste of home and future lingered in your mouth. Oscar will be there in the morning, when the sunlight will shine through the window. And then you could discuss it, about you, more in detail around a cup of coffee, when he’ll drive you to work before disappearing in his orange car, feelings less raw and more authentic.

Real didn’t have an expiration date. You had all the time in the world to figure it out.

©LVRCLERC 2025 ━ do not copy, steal, post somewhere else or translate my work without my permission.

[thecheshireprincess]

Cat and Mouse

Chishiya x F!Reader x Niragi

Summary: A sexy game of cat and mouse, but how fair is it when there's two cats and just one mouse?

Content Warning: NSFW (18+); porn with some plot, smutty smut, just smut fr, threesome, Chishiya and Niragi are both dominant with reader; Niragi is more dominant with Chishiya, curse words, this is smut in case I didn't mention it

I won't tell anyone what or what not to do, but please interact responsibly ✨️

A/N: I should be put down for this immediately

You had asked for this.

No, you had begged for this. It was all a part of your carefully crafted plan to get both of your boyfriends in bed with you together. To cultivate that final connection to complete your little love triangle.

Because having two handsome, smart, sexy boyfriends was a miraculous thing in such a bleak world, but having the three of you all be together would be next level. Earth shattering, even. You wanted it so much that it hurt. Everyone at The Beach knew that you were Niragi's girl. That kept you safe, ensured that no one looked at you without good reason much less hurt you in any way. They also knew you were Chishiya's girl. That made sure they respected you, that they knew you were smart and cunning to be able to draw emotions from a man like him. Most people referred to you as a throuple, always together, rarely one without the others. What they didn't realize was that while there was a line connecting you to each Niragi and Chishiya, you were missing that third line. The one that connected the men together.

It was there, you knew it. Felt it. But along with their similarities came a deep stubbornness to remain in quiet competition over you that you needed to break. You knew they cared for each other; you saw it in the way Chishiya's eyes softened in worry when his steady hands patched Niragi up after a particularly challenging game. You saw it in the way Niragi's jaw tightened when someone said something snarky in passing about the blonde - "Wanna say that again?" Of course they didn't. And you? You felt partially empty every time you laid down with just one of them at night, having just one of them between your legs, being filled with cum by just one of them. You needed both of them. All the time.

And tonight, you were finally doing something about it. "Hunt me," you'd said seductively to the two of them, "Catch me if you can, and whoever does gets to have me tonight." Chishiya had scoffed, the simplicity of the task you were asking of them hardly worth the effort if it meant that he'd just have you tomorrow night instead. But Niragi's eyes had sparkled in amusement, a predatory grin spreading across his face, "Fuck yes." So similar those men of yours, but so different too. But if Niragi was playing your game, Chishiya would play too and he would win, no matter how frivolous it seemed.

So that is how you found yourself creeping quietly through the thorny brush at the edge of the resort's fencing. You have no plans of getting caught by either of them, no. Your game is slightly more fixed than you'd let on. You're in your skimpiest bikini, the one that neither of them are thrilled about you leaving the room in. They'd both laid eyes on you once already, their pupils dilating to shining black orbs when they had. You plan to keep letting them get just close enough to get excited a few times, then nimbly slipping through their fingers. Waiting for them to get hot, flustered, and irritated. Then they'll come storming back into your room ready to fuck you. And hopefully each other.

Niragi is not difficult to avoid. The man is loud, behavior spontaneous and erratic. Every once in a while he shoots his rifle in the air or at the ground, loving the way adrenaline flows through him at the loud cracks. You want to roll your eyes at his childlike behavior, but right now it is working in your favor. 

Based on the sounds echoing out through the courtyard, you know the man is about to round the corner of the building in search of you. Lucky for you, the strange overgrowth of plants and vines that have been taking over Tokyo have recently extended to this back area of The Beach; coating even the colored gingko trees that stood majestically around the property. Double lucky for you, you are a deft and skilled climber.

Testing one of the vines hanging from a tree to your right, you prepare yourself to swing on it up and away from your boyfriend. But first, you stand enticely with a hand at your hip, twirling the vine playfully in your hand like it could be a whip in another life. Niragi whistles out as he sees you in the courtyard. "Fuck, angel. Wanna show me what you're planning to do with that?" he drawls in a gravelly low tone, the sound traveling straight to your core. You nearly crumble, coming close to waving your metaphorical white flag.

A sweet, playful grin spreads on your face as you let out a chuckle, "Perhaps another time? Looks like I have to go!" You pull back with the vine, getting a running start to swing up into the tree as Niragi reaches to snatch you. He snarls as he barely misses your ankle, and you land gracefully in the neighboring tree. Niragi is not particularly fast, so you are able to deftly move from tree to tree in pursuit of your next destination - the pool. You hear him call out from below, "Just wait until I get my hands on you, angel!" You can't wait.

The crowded pool deck was not a good place to hide from Niragi; his presence made people part like the Red Sea, and especially so if he was looking for you. No, those jerks had no loyalty - they'd hand you straight over to him in a second. It was, however, a fine place to hide from Chishiya. Your shorter blonde boyfriend would never have the patience, nor the height to look for you in a crowd like this.

The flashing strobe lights streak bright colors across your face as you carefully filter your way through the sweaty bodies bumping and grinding against one another. Eyes shift in every direction, searching for his characteristic white hoodie - you need to be on high alert now.

That little performance should be enough to have your boyfriends' pants fitting a little bit tighter, so you sneak away toward the side of the resort that houses your room. You jump up on top of the air conditioning unit to scale the wall, grabbing onto the window ledges to swing yourself up. Luckily, you're only on the third floor, and you stealthily climb back through the unlocked window to your room with ease. Releasing your hair from the ponytail it had been in, you sprawl yourself just so across your cozy bed to wait for your cats to return to you.

Unlike Niragi, Chishiya is like a little ninja; covert and stealthy. You've often considered putting a bell around his neck because of the number of times he's nearly given you a heart attack just appearing beside you. You reach the outdoor bar, pulling yourself up to sit on the granite bar top. Tatta smiles when he sees you, coming over to see what's up. "Tatta! Have you seen Chishiya?" He nods knowingly, eyes focusing behind you but not responding.

"Looking for me, sweetheart? I thought we were looking for you," his monotone voice drawls, approaching the bar from behind you. You squeal in anxious anticipation, thinking you might have let him get a little too close this time.

Tatta, who is decidedly an incredible friend, looks between the two of you rapidly before reaching out to pull you onto his side of the bar. You flash him a dazzling grin of thanks, dropping to the floor and crawling out the open back of the bar. You disappear into the brush once more, but not before hearing the blonde call out to you, "You'll be back on your knees just like that when I catch you!" Fuck yeah, Chishiya, you're in.

You begin to get antsy after about thirty minutes, the anticipation of them finding you building in your chest and pooling in your core. At long last, you can hear Niragi's booming voice berating Chishiya in the hallway, the two of them arguing already about who was closest to winning. Showtime.

The door slams open, both men spilling into the room in irritation. Niragi is already shouting nonsense about how he'd been closest to catching you, so he was the winner; his pent-up frustrations obvious in his jeans. Chishiya is in no better shape and retorts sharply but at a much lower decibel.

"Join me, both of you," you command, patting the spots on the bed on either side of you. "You both found me, and now I want you both to have me. Together," you breathe. Chishiya sucks in a breath, turning away from you and Niragi's face snaps to yours in disbelief. This was not a new conversation; you've tried before to bring them together. Stubborn.

You giggle from the anxiety, "Please, just this once - we'll go slow, I promise. I have to know what it's like to have you both here at the same time. I'm begging." Chishiya chews on his cheek in thought, Niragi glancing in annoyance between the two of you. You can see through both men; they're both horny as hell, and neither are likely to deny you, their princess, something that you want so badly.

Despite their relentless hesitation, both Niragi and Chishiya obey your whims and sit on either side of you. The former glares at you, arms crossed over his chest as he waits; the latter facing away from you toward the window instead. A heavy blanket of lust is spread over the three of you, the tension feeling thick enough to slice through with a knife.

You pull yourself up against the velvety headboard of your bed, crossing your legs underneath you and wrapping your arms around Niragi's neck to drag him into a wrathful kiss. You can feel the quick thump of his pulse in his neck, your kiss quickly turning to all tongue and teeth. His large hands easily slip under your tiny bikini top, thumbs rubbing roughly over pebbling nipples. A salacious moan escapes you as Niragi bites your lower lip, taking the opportunity to lick sensually into your mouth. Your stomach clenches as you notice how Chishiya finally turns towards you in response, obviously wanting to make you moan like that too. Your left arm reaches out to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer.

Your pulse thunders in your chest in anticipation as you pull away from Niragi and lock your spit soaked lips with Chishiya's. He is much more patient in his kisses, taking his time in mapping out every inch of your plush lips with his own. Niragi licks and nips his way up your right arm, pressing the cool metal of his tongue ring against the crook of your neck. The contrast of his warm, wet tongue and the cool metal never fails to leave your head spinning.

Chishiya's dexterous fingers find the waistband of your bikini bottoms, dipping easily underneath to spread your dripping folds for him. He smirks between open-mouthed kisses, "So wet, sweetheart. Desperate for us, hm? Tell us what you want, baby." Your head falls backwards in a needy moan, because fuck yes. This is exactly what you've been waiting for. You nearly wail, "Please, Chishiya!" Niragi halts his ministrations on your neck - where you're certain he's left multiple colorful bruises - to study your desperate face. "Please what, babe? Use your words," he coos almost mockingly. You feel utterly wrecked by the two of them already; both men staring at you expectantly, eyebrows furrowed, and swollen lips parted.

Your pussy clenches around nothing, your arousal blooming more urgently in your belly. "Fuck me with your fingers, baby, pleaaaase," you whine, any shame of telling the men what you wanted dissipating as the burn of your longing courses through you. Chishiya is quick to oblige, slipping two fingers into your cunt, an obscene squelching noise giving away just how turned on you've become in such a short amount of time. A growl rumbles in Niragi's chest, the man pushing your bikini top to the side, taking one of your perky nipples into his mouth and massaging the other between two fingers. His left hand snakes down to join Chishiya near your core, swirling his middle finger on your clit.

Both men feel foggy, heads clouded with desire just listening to your lewd mewls and cries; pride that they have ravaged you like this without even undressing yet. When Chishiya curls his fingers toward your spongey spot, you reward him with a low, broken moan that brings Niragi's attention back up to your face. You have never looked more stunning to him than in this moment, eyes half-lidded and mouth agape as Chishiya works you ever closer to your release. He looks up at the blonde, too, a familiar longing burning in his core. The way the cat-like man looks at you, his angel, as he expertly drives his fingers in and out of your pussy. Niragi realizes that he is so fucked, he does want both of you. More than anything.

Even through your haze of nearing your peak, you see the way Niragi looks now at Chishiya. It's now or never, you decide. One hand comes to gently caress Niragi's face, your left one doing the same to Chishiya, both men maintaining their pace on your core. You press your lips seductively against the former's lips first, moaning at the taste of him on you, before turning your head to the left to capture Chishiya's lips once more. It's now, while both men are watching you hungrily, that you tenderly guide their faces to each other.

Your heart drums in excitement, pressing another chaste kiss to the corner of Chishiya's mouth and then the same to Niragi. After what feels like a century of you waiting with bated breath, the two allow their lips to crash together fervently. Mentally, you squeal and cheer for them. Outwardly, Chishiya is still working you on his fingers, Niragi circling your sweet spot; both men moving more urgently as they lick experimentally into each other's mouths. Your orgasm crashes over you at the sight of your two boyfriends joined together in a passionate kiss, both of them turning back to you to watch their favorite show when you squeal for them.

Niragi's eyes are black as charcoal, grabbing onto your hips to keep you from writhing away from them, "Good fucking girl, baby. Such a good girl when you cum for Chishiya." His praise makes your pussy flutter around Chishiya's fingers, the man groaning as he continues to pump in and out, guiding you gently through your orgasm.

When Chishiya pulls his fingers out of you, your arousal dripping down onto your silky sheets, a wicked idea comes to you. Gripping Chishiya's wrist, you pull his fingers to Niragi's mouth to let him suck your arousal off of him. You groan when Niragi wraps his lips around Chishiya's long digits, maintaining first eye contact with you and then shifting eye contact to the blonde in front of him. Fuck. You see how Chishiya's breath hitches at the intimate contact, clearly surprised by how much he's enjoying it.

You don't think you've ever whined so much in your life. You've certainly never been this turned on, your pussy dripping through your bikini bottoms and soaking the bed under you. Your neighbors absolutely know what's going on in here, and you don't care; you hope they're listening. Niragi releases Chishiya's fingers with a wet pop, grinning down at you. "Now that I've got a little taste, I want the whole thing," he growls, hooking his arms around your thighs and dragging you roughly to the edge of the bed pulling a high pitched yelp from you. He kneels with his torso pressed still against the end of the bed, pulling your soaked through bottoms off and tossing them somewhere in the room. It doesn't matter. You are never wearing that suit out of this room again. The man takes his time, biting and kissing every inch of the soft, supple skin of your inner thighs, making you whimper out in excited anticipation.

Chishiya strokes a thumb over Niragi's swollen marks on your neck, leaning down to claim your lips once more and silence your whining. His warm hands wander to help remove the tiny bikini top still clung to your chest, goosebumps trailing in their wake. Your entire body jolts as Niragi finally licks his tongue up through your folds, his metal piercing catching deliciously against your clit. He hums against you as his tongue cleans up the mess Chishiya made of you - that they made of you -  the vibrations traveling through you like an electric current.

The pleasure of their combined ministrations against your body brings you near the edge of your orgasm once more. Niragi feels how your pussy floods with arousal, talented lips coming to suction around your clit, suckling deeply and slipping two fingers into your wet heat to give you something to squeeze around. He knows his angel needs to have something for her tight hole to cum around.

Chishiya, who was busy sucking marks into your belly and massaging your super sensitive nipples, looks up at your blissed out expression, smirking. "That feel good, sweetheart? You like the way Niragi eats your tight little pussy?"

That filth is all you need to hear, crying out desperately for both men, nearly crushing Niragi's head between your legs as you approach overstimulation. Niragi presses his hands firmly into your thighs, keeping you against him in the aftershocks of your peak. Your hands claw desperately into Chishiya's hair, pulling his head impossibly closer to you to deepen your kiss. His tongue takes the lead against yours, your orgasm washing over you entirely and swallowing you whole.

"Damn, angel. You taste so good, I could lay between your legs all day. Wanna taste?" He asks the man to your left, raising a pierced eyebrow. You think you've died and gone to heaven when Chishiya pulls Niragi's lips to meet his, instantly deepening the kiss to taste your arousal on his tongue. Yep, you knew this would be the hottest encounter on the planet.

You lay beneath the two men completely bare and panting still from two orgasms crashing through your body, watching in awe as Niragi runs his fingers through Chishiya's locks, pulling the blonde closer through them. Chishiya responds earnestly, wrapping his arms around Niragi's neck as their mouths move in tandem. You watch with widened eyes as the blonde enjoys the sensation of Niragi's tongue ring against his own, something you completely understand.

You realize that everyone in bed is overdressed except for you, and sit up to try and change that. You start with Chishiya, unzipping his white jacket the rest of the way to expose his chest and abdomen. The man assists you by shrugging the garment off his body, letting it pool to the floor. Your lips connect like magnets to his neck, running your hands over him as you suck colorful bruises into his porcelain skin.

Your fingers deftly find their way underneath his swim trunks, finally capturing his hard, leaking cock in your hand. A whimper escapes his mouth, only spurring you on further. Niragi watches your movements curiously, his heart hammering against his ribcage. He knew what he wanted, and why would he not take what he wants?

He grips onto your wrist, halting your movements against Chishiya's hardened member. You look at him questioningly, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. "Let me," he says, voice low and gravelly. Both you and Chishiya feel that in your cores, breathily moaning in tandem. Niragi's hand joins yours on Chishiya's cock at first, both of you pumping him as you find a pace that makes the blonde needy in the best way.

Your brain is starting to short circuit, watching your two loves finally coming together in pleasure. Your now empty hands come to work on removing Niragi's belt and unzipping his dark jeans. His cock springs out, hitting his abdomen when you finally release him from the restraint of the material. Your mouth salivates staring at the hardened member, flattening yourself to the bed between the two men to take his cock in your mouth without hesitation. Tongue swirling the tip, you taste the salty sweetness of his pre-cum dripping into your mouth. Chishiya's fingers easily find your clit, rubbing circles in pace with the rest of your motions. For the first time in your relationship with the two, all three of you are finally connected together.

Through heavy pants and delectable moans from all three of you, you decide you don't want to cum again like this. If this will be a one time encounter, you have a different idea.

You sit up, wrapping an arm around each of their necks, pressing a quick kiss to each of their lips. When you pull back to look at them, both are looking at you with a glazed, far away look. You rub a thumb on each of their cheeks, glancing between both of them as you sink your teeth into your bottom lip. Nerves are fluttering in your belly as you prepare to tell them what you want.

Chishiya notices your hesitation, pulling you closer to the two men to provide comfort. His hand comes to your cheek, stroking it gently. You feel Niragi's hand come to rest at your waist, also stroking gentle patterns into your skin.

"Go on, sweetheart. Tell us what you want," Chishiya coos. Niragi nods, "You know we won't say no to you, angel." You let out a shaky breath, heat pooling again in your core at how sweet and generous your lovers are. "It's just, I've waited so long for this, and I really really want to feel you both inside me. Together." Your eyes look down to study the soaked sheets, embarrassed despite all three of you literally being nearly naked together on the bed.

Niragi needs to hear no more, unbuttoning his shirt quickly and letting his jeans pool to the floor. The man lifts you easily with him to carry you to the couch against the wall. "Come on pretty boy, our princess needs us." Chishiya rolls casually off the bed to follow the two of you, allowing his swim trunks to fall to the floor as well.

Niragi sits on the couch, legs spread slightly. You whimper kneeling over him, feeling the blunt tip of his cock tease your entrance, your dripping pussy already soaking his length. "Fuck babe, so wet for us," he growls, wasting no time splitting you open on his hard cock. The man reaches out toward the blonde as you wail in pleasure, pulling him by his hand to join you.

Chishiya moves your hair out of the way to suck on your sweet spot from behind you, bringing one hand around to rub tight circles on your clit as Niragi pounds deep inside your pussy. You feel your body temperature rising, sweat starting to drip down your face, your walls fluttering tightly around his cock. Niragi reaches a hand down to gather your arousal, a ring of white already forming around the base of his cock. His soaked fingers wrap around Chishiya's hardened length to coat him in the slick that they've both pulled from you.

The blonde gasps at his touch, but doesn't shy away. No, it feels amazing having Niragi coat him in your slick. And Niragi? He could get used to the weight of Chishiya's member in his hand. Drooling at the thought of taking it into his mouth.

And you? Have died and gone to heaven.

"P-please Chishiya. Need to feel you too," you whine pathetically. So fucking desperate to have them both inside you. The man hums, still sucking on your neck while also bringing his hand to gather more of your slick, fingers grazing Niragi's balls as you continue bouncing on him. Niragi's pace stutters when Chishiya touches his balls. Holy fuck.

You've never felt so full in your life, Chishiya gently working his way into your other tight channel. Your head falls back on the blonde behind you, face contorting with the pleasure they are giving you. The two men move closer together, joining their lips once more as they find a pace that works for all three of you. Niragi smirks when he feels the way your cunt squeezes around his cock.

You are absolutely cockdrunk for them, head lolled back on Chishiya's shoulder, skin coated in a gorgeous sheen. Their absolute goddess. Niragi can feel his balls tightening, knowing it won't be long before he's filling your tight pussy with his cum. Chishiya is a sight for sore eyes too, eyebrows furrowed and sweat dripping. Your tight little hole squeezes his cock in a way that he's never felt before.

You wail incoherent strings of words to your boyfriends, the pace you've created together is brutal and you aren't going to last. Sweat is dripping from all three of you, desperate to keep moving. "N-niragi . . . C-chishiya . . . s'too much, gonna cum," you stutter, you are so fucking full.

Both men groan in response to your words, cocks throbbing deliciously inside you.

"Me too, angel. Gonna fill you up so well, my baby."

"Fuck, sweetheart. Can't hold it any longer."

Your entire body goes electric, your orgasm exploding through every nerve ending in your body. You're vaguely aware that you're screaming out, but you can't hear it, can't feel it. All you can feel is the blissful tingle of your high, and the incredible warmth blooming through you as your loves fill you to the brim with their cum.

You can just barely hear the men talking around you, your body falling limp against Niragi on the couch. "Good fucking girl, baby. You are such a good girl for us, we're so proud of you angel." You can feel his nails scratching down your back soothingly, your eyes unwillingly falling shut.

After you've all been cleaned up and are dressed for sleep, you lay cradled between the two. "Can we do that again sometime?" You ask hesitantly, unsure if maybe the two would regret what had just happened between you all.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

"Are you kidding?" Niragi speaks, "Now that I've had you both, I'm never letting either of you go."

Your triangle was complete, at long last.

[yuna542]

Unwanted Bodyguards

Pairing: WooJin + GunWoo x Reader

Word Count: 14.4k

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Bodyguards x Reader

Warnings: Smut!, Under 18 DNI!, Swearing, Pet names, voyeurism, cum play, overstimulation, threesome, oral (f&m receiving), fingering, , masturbation, swearing, motions of violence and wounds

Note: FINALLY! I made it! Worked on this quiet a while. I could hardly choose between them, so why not both? Hope you like it and I could meet your expectations. Let me now what you think.

Summary: After a failed assassination attempt is made on you to harm your grandfather Mr Choi, he locks you up against your will for your safety. Even the incredible luxury villa with pool does not lift your spirits as you can no longer join forces with your sister against your grandfather's enemies. And to make matters worse, he also forces two ridiculously hot boxers on you who are supposed to keep an eye on you all the time and protect you. Soon the forced quarantine with the two young men turns out to be more exciting than you expected.

"Shit, I'm gonna kill you! Let me go! God damn it!"

"Yeah yeah. Sure.”

All the tugging and kicking did nothing against Yang-Jun's firm grip. The knife fighter dragged you out of the car you had refused to get out of by yourself only minutes before. Doo-Young stood in front of the car, waiting as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

"Please don't make this harder than it is," he sighed, and you glared angrily at him as the older one tried to hold your hands.

"Why are you going along with this? I can help! You know I can!"

"Orders from the boss," Yang-Jun growled, then grumbled:

"Arms up!"

"What are you doing?" you snapped at him, giving the mansion behind him a disparaging look.

This was going to be your dungeon for the next few weeks. The white walls with black shingle roofs stood out elegantly against the trimmed lawn and box trees in the front yard.

Without hesitation, he yanked your arms up and scanned your body. First your torso, then your hips, down your sides, and finally your legs, where he looked carefully in every pocket of your cargo pants.

"We need to take any weapons from you so you don't do anything stupid," Doo-Young explained, and you leaned against the car they had used to drag you here. When your grandfather's two hit men showed up at the bar you had been secretly observing for days, you knew something was wrong.

Three days ago, you had snuck out of the hospital because Choi would never have let you go off on your own.

"This is ridiculous! Are you into groping young girls Oppa? Let Doo-Young do it, then at least I'll get something out of it!" you said with a typical evil glint in your eyes.

Both of them just snorted and Doo-Young quickly averted his eyes. He'd never been able to handle your flirting, and that made it all the funnier for you.

„Don't worry, you're not my type. I'm not into ungrateful brats", the older one mumbled grumpy as always. You chuckled and looked at him with those devilish eyes.

„I'm everybody's type, right Doo-Young?"

He just sighed overwhelmed, because you were not wrong. In fact you had that thing about you, that let every guy crumble in front of you and beg for even the tiniest bit of attention.

The two of them had not only become your mentors after all these years, but something like friends. They had watched you grow up, rescued you from the orphanage with Mr. Choi, and molded you. That's why they weren't surprised when he pulled out a pistol from your belt, three throwing knives and a baton from the hidden holster on your back.

Yang-jun threw everything into a box on the back seat and looked at you inquiringly.

"Was that all?"

You jutted your chin defiantly and crossed your arms in front of your chest.

"Yes. That was all."

But Doo-Young interfered and turned back to you, arms crossed.

"Back pocket," he said simply, and by then Yang-jun was already whirling you around again and pressing you hard against the car.

Cursing, you bared your teeth as he pulled the folding knife from your pocket and looked at it, shaking his head. Then he tossed it to the rest of your weapons.

"Now she's your problem," he said, turning to his colleague and patting his hands on his pants.

As Doo-Young approached you, you raised your hands defensively.

"Don't you dare put me in that golden cage!" you growled dangerously, but he unceremoniously grabbed you by the hips and threw you over his shoulder.

"I'm really sorry, little one, but the order came from the very top."

Cursing, you slammed your fists on his back, but his grip was so tight that you couldn't do anything. Not only was he one of the best fighters you knew, unfortunately he was also your friend and you didn't want to hurt him.

So he carried you to the entrance, unlocked the door with a key card and an extra code, and didn't let you down until you were in the living room.

Offended, you threw yourself on the big red velvet sofa and pouted.

"Hey, there are worse places to be safe," he said carefully, looking around the luxury mansion. The pool in the backyard glistened through the large windows, and the huge kitchen made quite a impressive impact as well. A spiral staircase led up to the second floor, where your room, a guest room and a dressing room was. As well as another bathroom with a whirlpool and walk-in shower. A fitness area on the patio, huge bookshelves crammed with stuff for years. The house had everything you could want, and yet you just wanted to get as far away as possible.

"Just get out!" you hissed without looking at him, pressing your face deeper into the pillow.

„Traitor..."

"Y/N... You have to understand Mr. Choi. He's worried about you. You got busted and killed three of Myeong-Gil's men. Just a few days ago, you woke up in the hospital. If he gets hold of you, he will not only torture you to get information, but also kill you to harm your grandfather."

Silently, you tried to ignore him. Everything he said was true and yet you hated him for saying it out loud.

"I'm going to leave now. If anything happens, call me! Please!"

You groaned in annoyance and sat up before he could just leave.

"I'll have to. You took away my weapons, after all," you replied, and he was clearly relieved when you stopped looking at him with such hostility.

Then he spread his arms and grinned in amusement.

"Come on. It's going to be okay."

Sighing, you scrambled to your feet and hugged him. Satisfied, he smiled and stroked your back. It was inconceivable to him how such a slender girl had cut down three armed men in cold blood with only a knife. Maybe they had trained you too well.

"Take care of yourselves and let me know if there's anything new" you murmured against his chest, looking up at him pleadingly.

"I promise," he replied, then let go of you again.

As soon as he disappeared through the door and the alarm was turned on, such a loneliness seized you that you trembled. Sighing, you wrapped your arms around your knees and lay on the couch in the huge house. Like a lonely kitten, abandoned in a huge forest.

The very next morning, you heard someone at the door and with a glance at the camera, you scrunched your face. Mr. Choi, Hyun-Ju and two young men were standing in front of it.

Astonished, you let them in and greeted your grandfather briefly before wrapping your sister in your arms.

"Shit, when you disappeared from the hospital, I thought something bad had happened to you," she said, hugging you a little tighter than necessary.

As soon as you got your breath back, you went ahead into the living room, where you took your seats. Except for the two young guys. They seemed to be a little older than you and both of their eyes almost fell out of their heads as they looked at the mansion from the inside. They elbowed each other excitedly in the sides like little kids, yet they remained silent.

"Is your shoulder better?" asked Choi worriedly, eyeing you intently.

You were wearing sweatpants and a cropped top under which the white bandage peeked out.

"It's not that bad. Who's that?" you asked directly, pointing at the two men.

Hyun-Ju raised her eyebrows meaningfully and stared at the ground, as if she knew what was coming next.

"Those are two young men I trust very much," the old man began, and you frowned.

"I'm Gunwoo," said the one who had shoulders so broad you could hide behind him. He had warm eyes and a really adorable face. Then the other one bowed as well:

"My name is Woojin, nice to meet you."

He too was unnaturally attractive. Curly hair, a sharper face, higher cheekbones and mischievousness in his eyes. They seemed completely different and yet they harmonized without saying a word.

"What's all this about?" you asked without answering them, looking to your grandfather. Both of them eyed you inconspicuously and looked at each other in surprise. Neither of them had expected such a young and attractive lady when they agreed to the job.

"I am worried about you. This mansion has not yet been discovered by Myeong-gil. But if he finds you here, I want you protected. These two men will do that job. They will be your bodyguards."

Stunned, you jumped up and stared back and forth between him and the boys, as if waiting for someone to break up this bad joke.

"What, no! I don't need bodyguards. No way! Those two aren't going to follow me all day!" you shouted a little louder than you meant to and looked to Hyun-Ju. You searched for any kind of help in her gaze, but she just shrugged apologetically.

"This is not negotiable. They will move into the guest room until this is all over!"

Mr. Choi's tone brooked no argument, and you pressed your lips together, seething with anger.

"They are for your protection. You almost got killed! It's not a bad thing!" your sister said and you slowly shook your head.

"You mean they are here to prevent me from leaving and to keep an eye on me?"

You didn't get an answer to that. Stunned, you snorted and looked at them again. Yes they were damn good-looking, trained, and if you ran into them in a club or bar, you would have had your fun with them for sure.

"We're boxers and used to fighting. We can protect you if it's necessary," Gunwoo said then, almost seeming to wince under your piercing gaze.

The way they looked at you, wide-eyed and trying to hide their staring wandering up and down your body, gave you naughty ideas. Maybe this whole thing could get pretty interesting after all.

"All right... I don't have a choice anyway," you muttered, and that's when your grandfather exhaled in relief.

He said goodbye shortly after and at the door your sister said a little louder than necessary:

"Don't devour them both at once."

You grinned knowingly and she just smirked. Hyun-Ju knew very well that they both suited your taste and she also knew that hardly any man would last longer than 24 hours near you without weakening.

You were self-confident, a flirt and loved attention. You also knew how to use your advantages and how to wrap men around your finger.

As soon as the old man and Hyun-Ju disappeared, you turned to the boys and put your hands on your hips. That's when you also spotted the suitcases they had smuggled in with them.

"What are your orders?"

"Orders?" asked Gunwoo meekly, and you rolled your eyes.

"What did grandfather tell you to do? Are you here to watch me? Report to him on my daily routine?"

Gunwoo looked like a scared bunny by now and you doubted his ability as a fighter a little. At least if his biceps weren't twice the size of your head. Woojin stepped in and smiled charmingly.

"He just asked us to watch over you and keep an eye on you so nothing would happen to you of course."

"So you're supposed to spy on me all the time?" you asked, walking past them into the living room. They followed you up to the second floor with their bags.

"Uh no. We're supposed to stay close to you, but we don't have to watch you... like… All the time", Gunwoo mumbled a bit overwhelmed.

"We're not stalkers or perverts or anything," Woojin quickly added.

"We didn't even know you were so young and.... and looking like...", Gunwoo stammered, obviously lacking the right words.

That's when you glanced over your shoulder and when your eyes met, no sound at all passed his lips anymore. Woojin jumped in and put a hand on his shoulder:

"We didn't know you were a young pretty lady. Hyun-Ju told us you were hot-tempered and dangerous to men..."

Gunwoo elbowed him in the side and gave him a warning look but you smiled knowingly with your back to them. This was going to be fun.

Hyun-Ju was not your biological sister. Like you, she was from the same orphanage, and the two of you had been inseparable since the day you saved her from an older bully by stabbing a fork through his hand.

Through her, you eventually came to the attention of Mr. Choi. He was quickly taken with your courage and emotionality, which is why he adopted you as his own flesh and blood, just like Hyun-Ju.

But unlike her, he could not keep you under control. You learned how to use weapons from his best assassins and as soon as Myeong-Gil reappeared, you were the first to spy on him. Your sister soon joined in and one thing led to another until you stupidly ended up in the hospital.

You opened the door to the guest room and stretched out your arm invitingly.

"This is for you. We only have a kingsize bed, but I think that will be enough."

The two looked around the room in amazement, Woojin directly pawing at the decoration in the form of scrolled sculptures and both of them seemed unaccustomed to such luxury. If they worked for Choi they were probably poor wretches from the street in his debt.

You leaned against the doorframe and looked at the two of them.

Gunwoo's smile was really cute and Woojin had that attractive charisma of a daredevil. They both made a nice sight and so at least you wouldn't get bored anytime soon.

"My room is right next door.... If you want to stop by," you said and they both froze and looked at you questioningly. As you grinned in amusement, you could see that they were both breaking out in a sweat.

You were making them nervous.

After all, they already agreed without words that they had never seen a prettier girl. Your long lashes framed your mysterious eyes and your body stood out softly under the fabric of your loose clothes. Likewise your features were engaging and the beckoning smile on your red lips was beguiling.

"I'm going to order some food. Do you like pizza?" you asked and they both nodded quickly.

Then you left them alone to get settled.

As soon as they heard you on the stairs, Woojin whirled around to Gunwoo and stared at him meaningfully.

"Dude!"

"She's hot..."

Gunwoo swallowed emphatically.

"Yeah, but she scares me."

"Hell yes. She's scary!"

The next morning, you had almost forgotten that the two boxers were still here, but when you saw Woojin already sitting on the patio with a coffee in his hand and Gunwoo standing by the punching bag, you sighed softly.

"I see you found the punching bag..." you said and both heads flew in your direction.

You were wearing a sports bra and tight leggings that showed your round curves underneath. You put down the yoga mat you were carrying rolled up under your arm and tied your hair in a high ponytail.

"Good morning," Gunwoo greeted you and you eyed him not exactly inconspicuously.

He was shirtless and sweat glistened on his remarkably defined muscles. He looked really really sexy with the bandaged fists, the focused expression on his face. So now you got a much better picture of the boxer.

Woojin was waving air at himself and had probably exerted himself on the punching bag just before.

At your glance to Gunwoo, he also pulled his shirt over his head and you grinned slightly as he stretched emphatically and also presented his muscles.

"Did you sleep well boss?" he asked, propping his elbows on his knees as you stretched.

"Yes. It's nice not to have to sleep in the hospital bed anymore. How about you guys? Do you like it here?" you asked, and as you stretched to loosen your muscles and tendons, Gunwoo flopped down next to Woojin on the cream-colored couch and they both watched your elegant movements.

"It's incredible. I've never been in a mansion like this," Gunwoo said in awe and Woojin nodded in agreement. How cute.

"You can make yourself some breakfast in the kitchen," you said and started your work-out.

They both looked at each other silently and then disappeared inside. There, Woojin leaned against the counter and looked at Gunwoo:

"This is insane..."

Gunwoo nodded and prepared sandwiches with ingredients he found in the refrigerator.

"There's a huge tub with jets in the bathroom!"

"I think it's called a whirlpool," Gunwoo smirked ironically, as Woojin mimicked his know-it-all manner mockingly and stuck his head into the fridge. However, he found only healthy vegetables, fruits and little meat. Astonished, he glanced at Woojin, whose gaze was transfixed on something behind the window.

"She seems to be eating very healthy. Takes care of her body, I guess."

"I can tell..." his buddy replied, and that's when Gunwoo got curious. He placed the toasts on the sideboard and stood next to him to also get a look at what had him so enthralled.

"Look at this... Would you have expected that?" asked Woojin, and Gunwoo's eyes nearly fell out.

You sprawled elegantly on the mat, stretching until you landed loosely in the splits. With your back to them, they had a perfect view of your body and especially your ass. Sensual curves paired with toned muscles without losing your femininity.

You were steaming hot and under those tight gym clothes, they could easily imagine what you would look like without them.

"No... Not in a thousand years. With that view, I'll never complain about getting up early again."

They watched you for a while through the big window doing different yoga exercises and both of them automatically imagined how you would feel under them. All flexible, with the slim waist and round breasts.

The next few days did not get any easier for them.

Often you caught their eyes wandering longer along your curves, holding their breath as you pushed past them in the kitchen, your butt grazing their crotch, your fingers touching their arms, or you accidentally brushing along their shoulders while passing by.

It was fun to tease them and with each passing day they became more restless. By the third day at the villa, your head was nearly bursting.

No call, no message from Hyun-Ju or Choi. There was complete silence and that was important, but it drove you crazy to be without knowledge of what was happening in the outside world right now. Myeong-Gil was dangerous and the thought of something happening to your family and you not noticing anything because you were stuck in that luxury hell was horrible.

Besides, your wound was almost completely healed, you were more flexible again and you got bored and that was even more dangerous.

One evening you were sitting on the couch, stretching and trying to loosen the bandage that was wrapped around your shoulder, but no matter how much you twisted around, you couldn't get it off. Woojin watched this for quite a while and then poked Gunwoo hard in the side, who looked up from his cell phone, startled. Woojin pointed his chin in your direction and pushed him toward you meaningfully.

"Do you need help?" he asked then, and you glanced at him briefly before exhaustedly blowing a strand of hair out of your forehead.

"That would be nice," you murmured, even if it scratched your pride.

He moved closer while Woojin watched you curiously.

"Can you just loosen the bandage and take it off?" you asked, turning your back to him. He nodded, taking in your flowery scent that surrounded them the whole time and played with the guys senses. You pulled your shirt over your head and held it in front of your bare breasts. Woojin, who was sitting across from you, quickly turned his gaze to the floor. That you had no sense of shame was something he would probably never get used to. You always ripped your clothes of before going in the shower, without a second thought about him being also in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. He would also never get used to your body, which he wanted to look at all the time and trace every line with his fingers.

You smirked and Gunwoo exhaled loudly before tampering with the clamps with shaky fingers, carefully loosening them and beginning to roll the bandage off your arm, shoulder and torso.

"How did this happen?" he asked into the silence, trying to drown out the nervous tingling in his fingers stroking your soft skin and Woojin's nervous foot tapping. "Myeong-gil somehow found out that I was a spy.... I had snuck into his place, been a spy among his people, but before I knew it, I was exposed. His goon and three men ambushed me in my apartment."

"Shit," Woojin gasped, looking at you now after all, full of enthusiasm.

"Three of them I was able to take out with my knives.... Kang In-Beom I didn't manage. He plunged my own knife into my back from behind and left me to die. If it hadn't been for Hyun-Ju, I would have bled to death there," you recounted, and both of you could see how you shuddered at the memory of the pain, the adrenaline of the fight, and the fear for your life.

Gunwoo had removed the bandage and was looking at the stab wound on your shoulder blade, which by now gave off a red scar, too fine for the act of cruelty with which it was forced on you.

They were equally surprised and awed that the girl before him was so different from what she seemed after all.

"You have also had experience with the gorilla and his master?" you asked, pointing to Gunwoo's scar that ran across his jaw and was not unlike the one on your back. Then you pulled your shirt back over your head.

Gunwoo nodded slowly:

"Myeong-gil trashed my mother's cafe and gave me the scar. He brought ruin to my family and Mr. Choi saved us. For that, I am eternally grateful to him."

The loyal expression in his eyes and the strength, the indomitable courage they both exuded was refreshing. Attractive.

"Yes, he is always like that..." you murmured, tilting your head slightly as you raised your hand. You expected him to flinch, but he just looked you serenely in the eye as you ran gentle fingertips over his scar.

"It suits you. Our scars remind us about what's really important."

The boys were always amazed by you anew. Behind the tough, intelligent facade was a deep, emphatically girl who made an impression on both of them.

They admired you, were soon crazy about you. You also liked to be around them, to be looked at, to glare at them when they weren't looking.

Just playing with the boxers, like with small dogs, embarrassing them or making them nervous was not enough anymore.

So you decided to leave. You had already escaped from the hospital, so the ivy-covered wall around the estate was not a problem, was it?

Without thinking much about it, at noon you headed for a place in front of large stones that served as decoration around the pool.

You swallowed hard as you looked up. It was at least twenty feet you had to climb.

You had told the boys that you wanted to take a bath and therefore needed your privacy. They hadn't questioned it and Gunwoo had just rushed out of the bathroom with a red head when you just started to undress in front of him.

You had snuck past Woojin, who was doing push-ups and lifting weights in the living room, just like every morning. The guys were working out so much that you feared an apocalypse was coming. However, you didn't complain about the sight. Quite the opposite.

Confidently, you grabbed an ivy vine and pulled yourself up until you found a foothold with one foot. Just as you were about to pull yourself higher, you lost contact underfoot and felt two strong hands on your hips, plucking you from the wall like a ripe grape.

A startled squeak escaped you and you tried to free yourself from the tight grip by kicking.

"Let me go right now!" you yelled, and Gunwoo set you back on the floor, but not without pressing you firmly against his chest.

Cursing, you resisted, trying to shake off his hands until he wrapped both arms tightly around your torso and you barely had room to breathe.

"I'm really sorry, but we can't let you go. This is for your own safety!" he pressed out strained as he pulled you away from the wall.

Snarling and flailing like a cat gone wild you tried to move his arms away, Gunwoo looked around frantically for Woojin, who had already rushed across the yard to help.

"Stop that right now! You're both fired!" you shouted and a desperate yelp escaped you as Woojin tried to grab your wrists.

"I'm pretty sure you can't fire us," Woojin said and you tried to fight off his hands.

Together they tried to drag you back to the house where the big canapés were lined up.

You were startled yourself when in the heat of the moment you hit Woojin on the lip with your fist, but he didn't even flinch, instead pressing your hands against your body, his chest pressed tightly against yours.

You could see blood flashing at his mouth and tried to ignore your guilty conscience. Still, your resistance weakened a bit. Your muscles were already burning from the tension.

Finally, they managed to throw you onto the cream-colored canapé with the red cushions and before you could jump up, Gunwoo pounced on you and pinned you with his massive body underneath. His hands pressed your wrists firmly into the mattress next to your head and he was between your legs, so you couldn't even begin to fight his weight.

"Stop that! It's no use!" he said, and that's when you paused for a moment. Angrily, you glared at him and stared him straight in the eye.

"You guys are really pissing me off! Just let me go!"

Gunwoo sighed loudly and braced himself so he wouldn't hurt you with his weight. Like a wall, he cut you off from the outside world, and only when your pulse calmed down again did you begin to realize what position you were in.

Silently, he watched you, perplexed, as a strand of hair fell into your eyes, as the strap of your top slipped off your shoulder, revealing your white lace bra. He felt your soft body under him, your breasts, how they nestled against his chest and how your skirt had slipped up.

Directly he became insanely hot and indecent thoughts crept into his head.

"What are you going to do now?" you asked sharply, blinking at him through your thick lashes. He was even more handsome up close and you could feel his hard abdominal muscles against your body.

"Wait until you calm down and promise not to run away again."

You sparkled at him and jutted your chin a little. As you spoke, his warm breath brushed against your face and his eyes wandered aimlessly across your face.

"Why would I do that?"

"Because Mr. Choi will kill us if you don't."

The two of you were silent for a few seconds until the patio door opened and Woojin came back out with a cloth pressed against his bloody lip. You hadn't even noticed that he had disappeared, so focused were you on each other.

Gunwoo made no effort to move, and when his gaze fixed on your lips, you smiled slightly.

Teasingly you stretched your pelvis towards him until your middle brushed against his crotch and he noticed that your dress had ridden up so high that your panties were visible. However, you didn't seem to mind. His grip loosened on your wrists and his cheeks flushed as you felt a glint of it, causing arousal to shoot between your legs.

Your pretty face with deep-set eyes drove him crazy and he automatically had to imagine what it would be like to fuck your brains out in that position. Hearing your moans as he thrusted into you.

"You know I like it rough, right?" you mumbled and Woojin swallowed loudly.

"...Excuse me?"

Gunwoo looked completely overwhelmed, but his body's reaction spoke volumes. You rolled your hips at him again and this time he clearly felt your cunt against his now hardening dick.

"Well, considering the position we're in, I think we can take advantage of that, no?"

He exhaled loudly and let go of you.

Head flushed and clearing his throat, he turned away and sat down next to you. Seeking help, he looked at Woojin, who just stared at you.

Then he pressed a pillow to his middle and mumbled a curt apology before disappearing into the house.

Amused, you tilted your head and brushed your dress back into place.

"Is he always this uptight?" you asked, and to be honest, you wanted them even more now.

Woojin swallowed and then put on a grin.

"With beautiful women, you can sometimes lose your composure."

"Charming," you replied, stroking his shoulder as you passed, which made him freeze.

Then you settled down next to him on the couch and took the cloth from his hand.

Carefully, you dabbed at his lip, leaning against his bare chest as you did so, and said in a honeyed voice:

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

He held your wrist tightly, thus catching your gaze. The amber of his eyes was streaked with golden speckles. He was stunningly beautiful, too, and his muscles tensed under your fingertips.

"Half as bad. As a boxer, I'm used to worse."

You gazed at him through your thick lashes and as he took the cloth from your hands and leaned forward to set it aside, your gaze traveled over his broad shoulders and the muscles on his back that were tensing.

You noticed the tattoo on his back and touched it with feathery fingertips.

"You served?" you asked curiously, and he shuddered as you stroked along the lines. His entire body tingled as you leaned against him and he felt your tits against his torso.

"Yes. You know about this sort of thing?" he asked incredulously. You smiled slightly and ran your fingers over the tattoo.

"Not really. But I'm interested. It's hot..."

Woojin's eyes lit up and his enthusiasm was contagious.

"Do you have a girlfriend or Gunwoo?" you asked then, and he stumbled over his words:

"No... There's not much time besides boxing."

You nodded and ran your fingers down his shoulder, over his biceps, to his inner arm. He watched how you bit your lip and wanted to touch them.

"As bloodhounds, it's hard to find someone?"

He tracked your movements, fidgeting restlessly. He wanted to grab you, kiss you to know what your lips tasted like, and he wondered if you would still look so confident stuffed with his cock.

"We're not bloodhounds."

You raised your eyebrows, wandered your fingers over his palm, and rested his hand on your thigh.

"You work for my grandfather, you're my bodyguards.... He would never hire any men off the street. If you're not bloodhounds yet, you will be soon."

Woojin pressed his lips together, slowly closing his hand around your inner thigh, just centimeters from where you actually wanted to feel his long fingers. Sighing, you leaned forward a bit, placing a hand against his chest until he had a good view down your cleavage.

"What did he tell you to do? What are the rules?" you breathed, and Woojin increasingly lost his self-control. His hand closed tighter and tighter around your thigh and you could see him struggling with himself.

"Don't let you out of our sight. Protect you with our lives. No touching." he enumerated the rules Choi had drilled into them, and now he finally understood what Hyun-Ju had warned them about. When she talked about you being dangerous, cunning, and a temptation, he hadn't believed her. But now he could hardly stop himself from pushing you down on the couch and ripping your clothes off.

He wanted your sweet voice moaning his name and touching you everywhere he shouldn't.

You nodded slowly. Of course Choi had ordered them not messing around with you. He knew you and your charm too well. You had a temper. You were uncontrollable. Everyone was afraid and enraptured by you at the same time.

"What if I want to touch you?" you whispered in his ear and he sucked in a sharp breath.

Agonizingly slowly, you let your fingers travel down his stomach, to the waistband of his pants. Your lips brushed his jawline and his hand wandered up your leg. The temptation was too big and he struggled with himself.

"He'd kill us..." he whispered with the last bit of resistance he could muster.

He... Your grandfather knew you well enough to know that one stupid rule wouldn't stop you from asserting your stubbornness.

"What if I want you to touch me?," you continued, pressing your thighs together so he could feel the heat between them on his hand, trapped just finger-widths away from your cunt.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Instead, he furrowed his eyebrows in agony, and you wanted to fall to your knees to see if he looked as stunned when you took his dick into your mouth.

But before you could slide your fingers into his waistband, you stood up and left him sitting there, dumbfounded.

Gasping, he also pressed his hand between his legs as you disappeared into the house. It was a game for you and you were the master at it. Like chess. You were the queen. The boxers were your pawns, the pawns with which you passed your time, and both had to admit that they liked it more and more to walk for you on the board.

You retreated to your room for the rest of the day, until in the evening you resigned yourself to not getting out of here anytime soon.

The next few days your games became more and more dangerous and both Gunwoo and Woojin expected you to lose their mind every time you came into the room in skimpy pants, a dress that barely covered your breasts or skirts that showed glimpses of your underwear.

You made the time in the villa so much more interesting and they caught each other raving about you, losing themselves in mind games, only to be jilted in the end.

The danger surrounded you like the smoke of a cigarette and yet it was so seductive that Gunwoo did take a peek through the crack of the open door of the bathroom when you went to shower. He hated himself for it, but his curiosity and dirty desire to see more, to not always be kept at a distance, overwhelmed him.

He opened the bathroom door just enough to peek and catch you slipping out of your clothes.

He saw through the crack how you took off your skirt, threw away your top and looked at yourself in the mirror only in your underwear. He felt disgusting, but the line of your thighs as they merged into the perfect curve of your ass made him pause until you took off your underwear too. The way your tits spilled out of your bra when you undid the clasp made his cock hard in an instant and only when you turned on the water in the shower and faced the door did he tear his eyes open in shock and twirled away, pressing his back against the wall next to the door and gritting his teeth so hard his jaw ached. Gunwoo never been more thirsty in his life. Although he should just leave, he risked one more look. Just one last one. He wanted to suck on your skin, let his tongue lap up the water that dripped from your nipples, trickled down your calves. Your back is sexier than he realized, the slope of your spine incredibly pleasing to the eye, especially as you began to lather up your soft skin with the shower gel.

His pants were uncomfortably tight and he wanted to slap himself.

As soon as you walked past his room, wrapped in steam with only a towel around your body, a soft sound made you freeze.

The strained gasp came from the boys' room and you dared to look through the crack of the open door, which had hastily not been closed properly.

You recognized Gunwoo's broad back on the bed, muscles straining to him jerking his cock off, sighing your name. Your lip twitching up as fast as you clenched your legs together.

Another time you tried to take a cup from the top shelves in the kitchen. However, you were too short and the modern cabinets were placed way too far up. When Woojin saw this, he came to you, stood behind you and enveloped you in a shadow as if a tree had grown out of the ground right behind you.

He took out the cup and held it out to you, but you made no move to take it. You glanced coquettishly over your shoulder, leaned back a little until your ass was pressed firmly against his crotch and said:

"Thank you. Very thoughtful."

Immediately all color drained from his face and he grabbed your hip with his other hand to prevent you from making his dick even harder by wiggling your butt.

"It's all right," he dismissed it and wanted to flee, away from your seductive body and mesmerizing eyes.

But you turned, looked up at him through those long lashes you could swat flies with, and smiled sweetly:

"What do you think of the top? It's new, but I'm unsure if the color suits me."

Although you looked innocent, everything in him screamed trap! Still, he dropped his gaze and took a rattling breath as he clearly saw the curve of your breasts through the thin, almost transparent lilac material nestling to your body and your nipples forming little mounds on the fabric.

"It's pretty. Very pretty..." he stammered, trying to resist the urge to push the stupid thing up and hold your breasts in his hands.

He had big hands and they would fit perfectly.

As soon as the heat made him hard again, he watched you go, teeth gritting and jaw flexing as he lusted over how smoothly you walked away. You had to know you drove him crazy, that you were so beautiful and just out of reach that it made him want to crush the mug in his hand. Before Gunwoo could ask him, if he wanted to help him work out, he disappeared into the bathroom, with the excuse that he still had to shower.

Instead, he tried to get rid of his hard-on by ignoring it or even silently praying for it. But when he made the mistake of looking through the window, which offered a direct view of the pool and the loungers in front of it, an incredulous sigh escaped him.

You were just lying down in the sun, in the top and short skirt that accentuated your long legs. With big sunglasses on your nose, you tied your hair in a bun and to his horror, you unceremoniously pulled your top over your head. Your breasts in the bright sunlight looked soft and Woojin couldn't look away. As if caught in a curse, he stared at your body as you made yourself comfortable on the lounger, slipping out of your skirt and tanning only in black panties.

A wave of heat flashed in his gut, one that told him he was doing something wrong, that he should look away. He wasn't a pervert who secretly stalked women, though it was really hard not to look at you when you were prancing around in front of their noses all day. He shook his head, looked at himself in the mirror and mumbled a few curses. Fresh, hot blood flowed straight between his legs, made his dick thump against his lower stomach, the flushed tip peeking out of the waistband of his boxers.

Then he looked out again, eyeing the lines of your thighs as they converged between your legs, and as he pulled his now rock-hard dick out of his shorts, he tried to block out the accusing voice in his head.

Your skin glowed like the skin of a peach and he wondered if the tan-lines were as lighter where the panties were as they were around your breasts.

He wanted to touch your nipples, no he was so desperate, he wanted to take them in his mouth, suck on them and kiss you until you begged for him to fuck you. The fat of your boobs looked so soft, plush, and he imagined the weight of one in his palm as he started to stroke his cock. The sight of you naked and unaware made his head go fuzzy, garnet eyes glazing over as he shoved his boxers into the floor and kicked them away.

His cock laid heavy and demanding in his hand as he palmed himself to the sinful thoughts.

He sped up, imagining you kneeling on all fours in front of him and him slamming into you from behind, your pussy sucking him in, gripping him way better than his hand could. The naughty fantasies played like movies in his head and didn't let him go anytime soon. He gasped overwhelmed, imagining your naked body under his, stretched out just for his satisfaction. When you turned onto your stomach, he had to brace himself against the wall, panting. He had been plagued by images of you since day one, as if trying to burn the curves of your naked body into his memory. He loved how round your ass looked like this, how the length of your thighs begged for his hands to reach into each one. His fingers longed to feel soft skin between them, to sink into flesh and pull you back against him. His orgasm felt dirty, sultry, a long strand of ecstasy pulled from his cock and dripped onto his hand, splattered on the windowsill.

He cleaned it all up, put his pants back on, and tried to forget what he had done.

Meanwhile, you slid the sunglasses on your head and smiled slightly as Woojin's curly head disappeared out the window.

You made life harder for the two of them with every hour that passed.

Always the treat in front of their eyes, but they didn't dare to grab it. Yet.

The boxers were way, way too curious about you since they entered the luxury villa. Not to mention it was still late summer, so they caught you making dinner or doing yoga in the tiniest shorts and prancing around with no bra, nipples always hard and tempting from the breeze of the air conditioner.

It was way too much fun for you, however, you also became impatient. All this was soon not enough.

It was already dark and the round lanterns in the garden bathed everything in a pleasant orange light. Together with the blue of the pool, it made a dreamlike contrast. Woojin and Gunwoo were sitting on the loungers and talking quietly, but when you appeared, the conversation stopped and they looked at you attentively.

As soon as you took off your bathrobe and stood in front of them in just a sinful piece of bikini, Woojin clawed at Gunwoo's leg. They examined every little movement you made, the way you cocked your hip, how you cupped one of your breasts as you turned to them while you got into the water.

"Do you want to just watch or join?" you asked, letting yourself slide into the deeper water. They looked at each other, puzzled, and Gunwoo said:

"I don't know if we're allowed to..."

"What if I drown? Don't you have to protect me from drowning? You can't do that from there."

They looked at each other, not sure what to do, and before you waited any longer, you poured a gush of water over the edge of the pool, hitting them both. Startled, they jumped up and you giggled as your attack left them dripping and soaked.

When they heard you cackle so gleefully, something playful entered their gaze.

"Are we going to let this pass?" asked Gunwoo and Woojin shook his head, coming to the edge of the pool, but before he realized, Gunwoo had seized the golden opportunity and pushed him into the water from behind.

Woojin, however, clung to his arm in a flash and pulled him along. Gunwoo frantically rowed his arms, but it was all to no avail as they hit the surface of the water next to you with a loud splash.

Drops of water splashed you completely wet and you held your hands in front of your face. When they resurfaced, Woojin coughed, Gunwoo rubbed his eyes, and you held a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter.

As Woojin tossed his hair out of his face, he fixed you and pulled his wet shirt over his head in one fluid motion. At the sight of his trained body, you raised your eyebrows slightly and bit your lower lip, however, as he walked up to you and muttered:

"Well now you're laughing!"

You tried to run away squealing. However, he caught you and splashed water on your face, though in the process he also hit Gunwoo, who also began to tussle with him. He tore off his shirt and threw it to the edge before grabbing Woojin and wrestling with him.

You were laughing like little kids, splashing water at each other, and you felt more free and like yourself than you had in years.

The sound of your bright, high-pitched laughter as Gunwoo dove between your legs, lifted you up and threw you into the water with a loud splash was like music to the boys' ears.

You wrestled for quite a while, holding each other, pulling your legs away and dunking each other under the water until you could take no more.

Your heart was light, the water pleasantly cool, and the boys' hands firm on your soft skin.

You finally landed between the two of them. Woojin had his arms wrapped around your belly, pressing you tightly to his chest, Gunwoo grabbed your wrists, pulled you to him and held you by the waist. You paused in the position, breathing heavily. You brushed a wet strand of hair out of your eyes and you suddenly realized how close you were. You looked up at Gunwoo, who had a sweet smile on his lips, Woojin's arms were tight against your stomach and you leaned against him. You shook your head, unable to tear your eyes away from him. The air was thick with an unspoken tension, and your heart raced in anticipation.

"Do you really want to fight us?" asked Gunwoo with a smirk, your skin tingling excitedly. Woojin tried not to look down too long at your ass pressed against his crotch and instead pinched your sides playfully.

"Maybe she has a chance," he said, and you tilted your head a little, like a curious cat.

"I think you can use those strong arms of yours to do plenty of other things with me," you replied, delighting in the stunned reactions. Gunwoo froze and looked a lot like one of those greek statues of a god and Woojin's grip on your hips tightened.

With a silky voice and seductive aura, you took Gunwoo's hands and slowly guided them up your sides.

"Or is that not what you want?" you asked, as if asking his opinion on his choice of ice cream.

Gunwoo could no longer take his eyes off your slender fingers guiding his hands along your curves.

"Or this?" you asked, placing his large hands on your breasts.

In parallel, an overwhelmed gasp escaped Woojin as you rubbed your ass harder against his crotch. His hands flew to your hips and he could think of nothing but the heat gathering between his legs, pressing against the soft curve of your ass.

Gunwoo cupped your breasts tentatively, but they felt too good, too perfect to let go. He wanted to get rid of your bikini, to feel them whole and complete.

Your words were like a spell that made the boxers take off completely:

"Or don't you want me?"

Gunwoo's eyes snapped back to your face and he looked almost panicked as he said:

"I want it! I want you!"

Woojin grinded your ass against his bulge and would have loved to pull your bikini bottoms down right then and there to thrust into you.

"We want all of it!" he added, and you smiled triumphantly.

It was so simple.

"Then take it."

Gunwoo gave Woojin a questioning look over your shoulder, he nodded curtly at him and by then he was already leaning down to you, pulling you closer by the face and kissing you tempestuous. Woojin began kissing your neck, continuing to rub his increasingly hard length against your soft skin.

The kiss was sunny, warm, full of desire and you melted, pressed between the two muscular men. Gunwoo began kneading your breasts, sighing into your mouth as the water seemed to boil around you.

As soon as he broke away from you, Woojin turned your head to the side by the chin and already his lips were pressing to yours as well. Sweet as honey, hot as fire and much more impetuous than Gunwoo.

He greedily pushed his tongue into your mouth, turning you over until your back bounced against Gunwoo and he could push his knee between your legs.

"Free her tits!" murmured Woojin, and his hands reached for your ass, kneaded your soft flesh until you gasped into his mouth. Directly you felt Gunwoo's fingers pull open the loops of your bikini and the top fell off of you. He tossed it aside and Woojin was finally able to touch what he had been dreaming about for nights. Directly he kissed down your neck, sucking on your skin until he reached your nipple and ran his tongue around.

You took Gunwoo's hand and placed it on your other breast as you leaned against him, sighing comfortably.

"So pretty for us," he murmured, twirling your nipple between his fingers while Woojin sucked on your other and groped your ass.

The water lapped around you and you felt detached, weightless.

Gunwoo's fingers wandered over the waistband of your bikini panties, hesitantly, as if weighing whether to cross that line. However, it was all too late now anyway.

"Touch me! Please go on!" you gasped, your fingers in Woojin's hair, working red marks into your skin.

Gunwoo's lips brushed your neck as he exhaled and slid his fingers into your bikini. He played with the little bundle of nerves, rubbing it until your knees went soft. You gasped, your lips swollen and your face enlightened with desire.

You looked into Woojin's eyes as you did so, and he was equally incredulous by the immense horniness. You stroked down his abs, over his crotch, and there he lifted you out of the water with ease.

"Woojin... What...?"

But you didn't get any further, because he was already carrying you onto the canapé, the cool air on your wet skin gave you goosebumps and when he leaned over you and kissed you wildly, you let out a loud gasp.

In Gunwoo's eyes, too, a fire burned in the meantime that could no longer be extinguished. Whimpering, you pressed your body against Woojin and the stormy kissing ended only when you both could no longer breathe. He tilted his head a bit and his hand wandered down your belly into your bikini bottoms where he stroked through your folds. His eyes lit up and a blush shot up your cheeks as he felt how wet you already were.

"Shit have you been this horny all this time?" he muttered, biting the crook of your neck, making you whimper softly. As he did so, he pressed his thumb flat against your clit. Quickly, you grabbed his wrist and held it ironclad so you didn't immediately come over his fingers.

"Don't act like I'm the only one.... I know you've been watching me," you replied, glaring piercingly at both of them. Gunwoo actually laughed softly and sat down next to you on the canapé, while Woojin knelt between your legs, the sun sparkling on his wet abs.

"Do you really think we haven't been thinking about fucking you since day one when you're always running around in those skimpy clothes, getting us hot and worked up obviously with pure intention?" he growled and started spreading wet kisses along your collarbone. Your head was already floating in the clouds, so you looked up to the star studded sky and when Gunwoo firmly kneaded one of your breasts, you let out a sigh:

"Oh God..."

"He won't be able to help you now," Woojin chuckled and that's when you felt him roll your bikini panties off your legs and toss them carelessly aside. Since he was kneeling between your legs you couldn't squeeze your thighs together and hide your soaked cunt from Woojin's intense gaze.

"Look at how wet she is!" he said with a grin at Gunwoo, pushing your knees even further apart. Gunwoo eased off your neck for a moment and stroked two fingers through your folds, collecting your wetness on his fingers and the smile on his lips turned your head. Gasping, you pushed through your back as he suddenly sank two fingers into you and began pumping them into you.

"Gunwoo... Oh... Fuck," you moaned as you clawed at his biceps and moved your hips against his hand.

"You like that, huh? My fingers deep in your pussy?" he murmured in a soft voice, as if he was talking to a puppy or a kitten.

Woojin watched as Gunwoo's fingers disappeared into your wet cunt, creating naughty wet sounds, while your whole body trembled and by now his cock was so stiff that he could hardly stand it anymore. Gunwoo suddenly pulled his fingers out of you so that you were forcibly thrown back into reality and could only watch as he pushed his fingers into his mouth and licked your wetness off of it.

"She tastes like candy," he gushed, and Woojin grew more impatient.

"I need to taste her so bad..." he growled, kneeling down in front of the canapé. Without further ado, he grabbed you by the hips and pulled you to the edge so that his face hovered in front of your exposed cunt.

When his tongue met your clit, your eyes were already rolling backwards and when he then also sank two fingers into your hole and pumped them into you at an unholy pace while sucking on your clit, you couldn't stop moaning his name. He ate you out as if his life depended on it and as your hand sped into his curls and you pulled on his strands, he growled into your pussy. Gunwoo meanwhile went to work on your breasts, taking your nipples in his mouth, sinking his teeth into your sensitive skin and groping your whole body with his big hands.

"You're god damn gorgeous," he grunted, sucking so hard on your neck that you trembled. You felt your high rolling in record fast and Woojin worked your throbbing pussy only more intensely. His tongue slid over your bundle of nerves and his fingers hit the spots that drove you crazy every time.

"Faster... Woojin please," you begged and the sound of his name spilling from your lips had his cock aching against the fabric of his way too tight boxers, shoulders aching as he hammered his fingers into your pussy even faster, almost hoping you'll break for him.

Gunwoo palmed himself through his shorts by now, as he was more than aware of the sounds of Woojin devouring your pussy and your naked body just stretched out and ready for them.

Your vision was blurry by now, but when you felt Gunwoo's hand in your hair you looked up at him.

"Are you our good girl, princess?" he asked in such a low voice that you could only nod breathlessly. All you could do was cry in gargled whimpers, writhing around as Woojin focused on sucking the life out of you, his hands now on your hips, holding you still.

"Then open your mouth suck my dick, like the little slut you are," he purred, kneeling beside you, pulling down his shorts and holding his massive cock in his hand. A strangled gasp escaped you as Gunwoo put the tip to your lips and spread precum on it. Overwhelmed, your eyelids fluttered as you licked his slit and he tangled one hand in your hair, slowly pushing his length into your mouth. As he nudged your throat, a gag escaped you, making him groan loudly. You braced yourself against his thighs as he began to rut into your mouth. He was so thick that you quickly stopped breathing. In addition, your whole body tensed as your orgasm threatened to wash over you. Desperately, you squinted your eyes as Woojin didn't let up. He noticed how your legs began to tremble around his head and sucked hard on your clit. your whimpers stuttering as he continued to suck, flicking his tongue against it before sucking again. You gripped the pad beneath you, shutting your eyes tight and moaning repeatedly around Gunwoos dick as Woojin devoured you. Gunwoo noticed it too and paused from his slow but deep thrusts into your throat, holding you by the hair, his tip still pressed tightly against your lips as you came whimpering loudly. He studied your expression closely, trapped in the cage of pleasure and pure bliss.

As you slowly came back down from your high, Woojin licked clean everything he had caused and looked up at Gunwoo.

"Fuck you have to taste her! Her pussy is addictive."

Woojin chuckled contently between your thighs, his fingers pulling your folds apart to show Gunwoo the way your juices dribbled out of your leaking hole. He teasingly blew a puff of air over your sopping cunt, enjoying the way you writhed beneath him.

Completely attuned to each other, they changed places while you swam on the edge of reality, unsure if you would ever forget the feeling if pleasure flashing through your veins like lightning. You had never come so hard and that had only been Woojin's finger and mouth.

Gunwoo took a seat between your legs, grabbed a handful of your ass and pulled you closer to the edge until his mouth met your pussy. Directly you saw stars and when his tongue penetrated you, his deep humming filled your body. Somehow you felt Woojin's mouth on your neck, nibbling on your skin, stroking your tits and you were closer to heaven than ever before.

An unintelligible mass of words, curses and their names escaped you as you pushed his face deeper into your cunt with one hand in his hair. His nose bumped against your clit as he licked deeper and deeper into your hole and the knot in your belly tightened burning.

That's when you felt a rougher grip in your hair than Gunwoo had before. When you looked up at Woojin, you already saw that he was holding his cock and palmed himself. It wasn't as thick as Gunwoos length, but longer and even now you didn't know how to survive it.

"Don't leave me out, open up for me baby!" he demanded and pressed his tip against your lips. You saw how you got him worked up and as he tilted his head, taking in the sight of your fucked out facial expression, even though they hadn't really done anything yet, he was sure not only to be satisfied with a blowjob today. He tapped at your lips with his angry red tip, his eyes wide with demand.

You couldn't help but obediently obeying like the good girl you were, you parted your lips for him, taking the tip of his cock with ease. With uneven whines of pleasure, you stuck your tongue out to lick up his length. Slobbering messily, you smeared a mixture of precum and spit all over your chin.

Woojin tangled his fingers into the strands of your hair, guiding your head, watching your lips stretched around his dick as he pushed himself down your throat.

Tears welled up in your eyes and the naughtiest sounds escaped you as he began to snap his hips against your face. Your slurping noises and stifled whimpers only seemed to spur Gunwoo on, as he gripped his hands tighter into the flesh of your thighs and sinked his whole face into your pussy, licking as deep as he could.

Woojin grunts, feeling you swallow around him. He liked the way your eyes clouded with tears, the way you looked at him with such urgency when you needed to breathe.

"I think she's about to cum," Woojin gasped between his deep thrusts into your throat, and Gunwoo hummed in response, continuing to penetrate you with his tongue.

"Gunwoo tongue-fucking you real good, huh?", Woojin pressed out and pushed you all the way onto his cock so that your nose bounced against his lower belly and the world around you blurred. Gunwoo meanwhile withdrawing his tongue from your pussy and spreading your lips to start sucking on your clit again, a scream ripping from your throat from how amazing he was making you feel, as Woojin roughly pulled you back by the hair in time and pulled his dick out of your mouth to look at your face as you crumbled beneath him. Gunwoos mouth and tongue still torturing you. You'd long accepted that you were going to have to just cum for them. It's something they made sure you understood from the beginning. You came not for your own pleasure but because they wanted to see it. Like hungry lions they were just waiting until they pushed you over the edge each time. Your high shook you and your eyes rolled back as Gunwoo obsessively pressed his mouth on your pussy again. Woojin watched with satisfaction as you recovered from your climax, continuing to hold you by the hair so as not to miss any detail of your flushed face.

When you were gradually able to think clearly again, your legs were still shaking and the boxers were looking at you with a gentle smile.

"Holy shit," you sighed, running your hands through your hair and looking Gunwoo in the eye as he climbed back up to you.

"Was that good?" he asked, though he could read the answer on your face and body.

"That was sick," you murmured, and that's when his lips crashed down on yours. You could taste yourself on him, his hands tight on your hips and your head fogged with lust and desire.

"You didn't think that was it, did you?" asked Woojin suddenly, after the boxers had exchanged a meaningful glance. Even if you saw clearly again, your head was still filled with absorbent cotton. Before you could inquire, Woojin grabbed you by the hips and threw you over his shoulder. Grumbling, you drummed on his back as he carried you into the mansion, Gunwoo close behind you.

"Put me down! I can walk myself!"

He didn't even seem to have a little trouble carrying you up the stairs, and when he just laughed throatily, you got all hot.

"Don't act like you don't like being bossed around. You were just fucking begging me to finger you faster," he said and your head glowed with shame and arousal. In truth, you had never experienced anything hotter than being used by the two of them and everything inside you was screaming to finally be fucked.

He carried you to his and Gunwoo's room, threw you on the kingsized bed and climbed between your legs to kiss you. Demandingly, he slid his tongue into your mouth without hesitation, grabbed your hips and rubbed his hard dick through the fabric of his shorts against your thigh.

You sighed softly and your cunt contracted demanding. You wanted to feel him, deep inside you even if his size was already scaring you.

Gunwoo closed the door behind you and sat down on the chair beside the bed, watching you intently. Woojin kissed the red marks he and his best friend had worked into your skin all over your neck and breasts, then looked at you.

"What do you want, princess? Tell us so we can make you feel good. We're here just for you."

His voice was rough with lust and you melted under the gaze of his gemstone eyes. He couldn't get enough of the sight of your soft skin, pleading eyes and legs spread over the bed. He looked at you through half hooded eyes.

"Oh yeah? You're selflessly dragging me into your bed?" you asked cheekily, wandering your fingers down his stomach until you slid them into his waistband. He smelled seductively woody and of honey, which immediately gummed up your mind. Worse than any alcohol.

Woojin grinned crookedly and put a hand around your neck to push you back onto the mattress. You could feel how impatient he was.

"Answer him!" sounded Gunwoo's voice, low and rough, and you shuddered.

It was enough to make you gulp and the heat between your legs pulsate.

"Fuck me. I want my bodyguards to fuck me until I can't walk," you whispered and immediately fire shot into Woojin's eyes. He looked to Gunwoo, whose dick was massive and powerful in his hand.

"You want to start?" he asked him, and you got goosebumps. Gunwoo shook his head and smiled gently:

"You start. I'll take her after you stretched her for me."

Woojin nodded with a dirty grin, looked down at you with an intimidating stare, and flipped you onto your stomach by your hips with lightning speed. With a gasp, you felt him grab your hips, pulling you toward him until you were propped up on your elbows and your ass was sticking up in the air in front of him.

With one hand he pushed your torso into the mattress, with the other he pulled off his boxers. Your body trembled when you felt his tip at your entrance. He covered it with your juices, letting it brush up and down between your folds, and his tip alone would stretch and ache you, you knew for sure. He wasn't as thick as Gunwoo, but he was longer and you'd never had such massive cocks before.

"Look at the little princess..." he said teasingly to Gunwoo as he continued to tease you with his tip at your entrance, rubbing along your clit.

"Ready and desperate for us to fuck her brains out."

He had wanted you like this since he saw you that morning, ass in the air as you did your early morning exercises. But now you were even hotter, pussy messy and dripping and already spread from his fingers. He had an urge to spank you, punish you a bit for being so dirty, for teasing him for so damn long, but his balls are so heavy with cum that he needed to pound into you, like he needed to breath.

"I'm trying not to break you," he growled, and that's when he started to penetrate you. You whimpered softly as he began to push his tip inside you.

Your face was pressed into the mattress and you could only look at Gunwoo, who was watching intently as Woojin sank inch by inch deeper into you. Your body trembled and your walls began to pulse painfully.

He dug his fingers into your hips so you couldn't get away and pushed his length incessantly into your aching hole. Directly your field of vision veiled as inch by inch he seemed to tear your insides apart, regardless of your whimpers and gasps.

You clawed at the bed sheet and just as he disappeared halfway inside you, he paused to sigh softly:

"Holy shit. Your so tight. The best pussy I ever felt..."

You managed to take a quick breath and adjust to his size as a naughty moan was ripped from you as he thrusted completely into you unannounced. Your widened eyes met Gunwoo's as he palmed his hard dick and watched you in overwhelm, moaning softly.

"Oh fuck... Woojin it's too big," you pressed out overwhelmed, between whimpering and gasping. Subdued, you moaned out, clawing your hands into the mattress until his thighs bumped against yours. You felt his balls pressed against your clit and he pulsed deep inside you. Then he leaned over you until his mouth hovered next to your ear. He kissed your shoulders reassuringly and murmured:

"Shh. I know baby girl. Take it like the little whore you are."

Your breath caught as he slid out of you and slammed into you again. This time faster as your arousal was already dripping out of your cunt and as soon as he started thrusting into you, your eyes rolled back.

"Fuck so good," he gasped and Gunwoo started moving his hand up and down his cock, turned on by the way his best friend was destroying you from behind.

Then he started moving his hips steadily, he gripped your hips tightly and after just a few thrusts you thought you were going to burst. Every movement electrified you and soon all you could hear was your moans, the slap of his hips against your ass and his low growl as he took you hard and deep from behind. He could feel the thick veins that ran along the length of his cock rubbing against your walls with every plunge, and knew you could feel them too. Your hands were already slipping against the sheets, searching for some kind of sanity to cling on to as he fucked you senseless. All the while, you watched Gunwoo who couldn't take his eyes off of you, and as you narrowed your eyes at your third orgasm, Woojin grabbed your hands and yanked them out from under you, leaving you fully at his mercy.

"Look at Gunwoo and show him how good I'm fucking you!" he panted, seeming to reach deeper with each thrust. He moved his hips roughly and quickly. By then he was holding your wrists with only one hand, reaching for your face with the other, bending over you and turning your head until your lips collided. He was starving, keeping your face in his iron grip so he could take what he wanted so bad. Your lips were soft but eager, following his movements, trying to keep up. It was sloppy, a clash of tongues and spit smearing across cheeks. But you tasted so good, felt so fucking good bouncing against him. He twisted one of your sensitive buds, thumb and forefinger plucking and pulling as you moaned all breathy and light.

He gasped and clawed his fingers into your hips so hard it hurt, but you were hardly aware of anything except the enormous bliss that mixed with the pain into a pleasant mass.

He filled you up completely, messed up your insides and with every thrust you were more on fire.

The room was filled with slapping skin, the wet sound of your cunt and your sinful noises. You were seeing stars by now and he was just stepping it up a notch, slamming into you like he was trying to win a race.

Your cheek rubbed against the sheets with each time and your mouth was open as his name rolled from your lips like a desperate prayer.

The knot in your stomach tightened firmly and you could see Gunwoo's heated gaze as he watched closely as Woojin's cock disappeared into your tight hole and penetrated it.

Your back ached and Woojin was sure he had never seen anything more beautiful than your cockdrunk face, your body bent just for him and your ass slapping steadily against his hips.

"How does she feel?" asked Gunwoo, sliding his hand along his dick, edging himself.

"Incredible. So wet... So tight. Fuck she's crushing me," he gasped between thrusts, letting his hips snap deep inside you several times, hitting the sensitive spot each time, sending you into a different atmosphere.

With your hands behind your back and Woojins cock squeezed at your tense walls, he snapped his hips hard against yours a few more times before his movement became chaotic and sloppy.

By now your arousal was flowing down your thighs and had he not held you upright by your arms, you would have simply collapsed while the orgasm almost overtook you like an avalanche. The world was enveloped in a glistening white light and Woojin pushed you over the edge as you moaned his name so sinfully that he would probably never forget it. He felt your walls tighten around him and your body spasmed.

"It's okay baby girl! Come around my cock! Let me fill you up," he moaned and that's when the knot in your belly snapped into white glowing hot pleasure. You screamed, your next orgasm explosive your eyes rolling so hard it hurt, your entire body shivering as you tried to handle the pleasure.

Your orgasm made your entire body tremble and the expression on your face, pressed against the bed sheet, your eyebrows drawn together accusingly and your features contorted with desire, that's when Woojin came too.

With a loud grunt he came deep inside you, but he didn't stop, not even as thick ropes of hot cum filled your already gushing pussy and spurting out onto his stomach, onto your thighs. He was unrelenting, keeping you both within the throes of orgasmic bliss with his cock plunging inside of you over and over again. His hot cum mixed with your juices and spilled out of your cunt as soon as he pulled out. The sight made Gunwoo clench his teeth. Sweat stood on Woojin's forehead and he looked at what he did with satisfaction.

Taken completely by surprise, you stayed flat on the bed, trying to calm your breathing, but the orgasm left you drained and shaking, your eyelids fluttering and your fucked out face. It was a glorious view and he gently turned you over onto your back, brushed your hair out of your face and kissed your lips with so much affection that you felt quite comfortable.

"Are you all right?" he asked, kissing your neck, stroking your sides and calming you.

You nodded weakly and gradually you came back to reality. Gunwoo stood beside the bed, his throbbing cock heavy in his hand, and your body immediately responded by letting the arousal run between your legs again.

"Do you think you can really take both of us?" he asked challengingly and the mocking grin on his lips, made the pride and lust return.

"Of course..." you said, and Woojin tilted his head a little, his eyes shining energetically, and he grazed your neck with his lips.

"So you want Gunwoo to fuck you too?"

Quickly you nodded and looked at Gunwoo, who looked impatient.

"Such a good girl...", Woojin purred and stepped back to make room for Gunwoo, who was lunging over you as he did at noon today, spreading almost innocent kisses along your jaw. You felt his tip at your entrance and your body responded without you being able to do anything about it.

You wrapped your legs around his hips and there he pressed his tip into your aching hole. "Fuck, I guess we're wrecking her tonight?", Gunwoo chuckled , biting his lip at the sight of your pussy spread so wide open for him.

As he stretched you open, the initial thrust inside is slow and sharp. He smelled pleasantly sweet of fresh strawberries and cinnamon, which immediately got you hooked. He was big, shifting his hips slowly for you to take it all in. He intercepted your moans with kisses until you were moaning into his mouth, fingers clutched tightly in his back and barely able to perceive the world around you anymore. He moved his hips fluidly, almost artistically, finding the sensitive spots that made you fly every time. There he worked it down your body again. His eager, hot mouth enveloping one of your nipples and sucking. His tongue flattens, nibbling on your heated skin and swirling around your nipples, fast and rough until you were whining, your cries came with every thrust. You were the perfect picture, everything even more incredible than either of them had ever tried to visualize. He felt unlike anyone you had ever been with. Beside his kind nature there was a sadistic edge to his slowness, dragging each stroke as if he wanted to slide over every nerve in the tight depth of your cunt. Your body was out of your control by now, the coil in your belly so tense that you feared fainting with the next orgasm, while your brain was just mush.

"Gunwoo, you're gonna fucking break me!", you sighed and moving your hips against his, without a chance of resistance.

His muscles under your skin felt warm and protective. You sucked him right in, all tight and warm, gummy walls spreading to fit snugly around him. Your moan was swallowed down his throat as he pressed his mouth to yours again, brutal and quick. But somehow sweet and intense.

"Don't act all surprised, you wanted this. You were the one driving us crazy all along," Woojin said from his place on the chair where he watched you two fucking tightly entwined.

He was right. You wanted this, but you never thought that both of them were so good in bed and fucked your mind out with ease. Gunwoo smiled and his breath bounced against your lips as he held your hips as your body's were completely melted into each other. He lifted your hips a little with both hands to sink even deeper. Directly your eyes rolled back and only incoherent sounds passed your lips anymore. Enchanted by your beauty, the warmth of your cunt and your body that he never wanted to let go of, he pressed his lips hard on yours again as he felt your body trembling beneath him and your fingernails digging deeper into his back.

You gasped into his mouth, unconsciously raising your leg up to wrap around his waist tighter as he supported you with his arm, your fingernails clawing at his shoulders as you felt yourself reach your climax, the coil in your tummy snapping.

"Fuck she's crushing me," he moaned, coming deep inside you moments later. Overwhelmed, your breath went rattling and you tried to gasp, clutching tightly. You didn't know if minutes or hours had passed as Gunwoo rolled off you and stared at the ceiling, breathing heavily. You could not yet comprehend what had just happened. Only when Woojin slipped into bed next to you and pulled you in by the waist until your back was pressed tightly against his chest did your pulse gradually calm down. It was pitch dark outside and their bed seemed more comfortable than your own right now. Gunwoo moved close to you so that you could lay your head on his chest and feel his heartbeat with your hand. So you fell asleep tightly embraced, exhausted and overwhelmed. You felt safe and secure. A Feeling that you had been missing for a very long time and that was all the more beautiful now that you perceived it again.

You fell into a dreamless deep sleep and when you opened your eyes the next morning, it took you an eternity to realize that the ringing noise did not come from you imagination. Sighing, you felt Woojin's arm wrapped tightly around your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck, and Gunwoo was also still fast asleep, one hand on your hip.

The events of last night were burned into your memories like brands and you would probably feel the traces of that night for days to come. But then the front doorbell rang again and finally even the boxers slowly woke up grumbling.

You managed to free yourself from Woojin's grasp and push Gunwoo's massive arm aside to slip out of bed. Quickly grabbing your robe from your room, you sleepily hurried down the stairs as the doorbell continued to ring.

"Yes, yes! I'm coming!" you called out, and when you saw your sister on the display outside the door, you breathed a sigh of relief.

As soon as you opened the door, she was already rushing in.

"You're not awake yet?" she asked incredulously, heading straight for the kitchen to make herself some coffee.

In fact, it was unusual for you not to be up at this hour. You were an early riser, always full of energy. But after last night, you were glad to be able to walk upright. Hyun-Ju turned to you and leaned against the kitchen counter. She looked around the apartment in wonder.

"Where are your bodyguards?" she asked curiously, and you automatically pulled your robe tighter around your body.

"They're still asleep."

Suspiciously, she looked at you properly for the first time. There from second to second the questioning look turned to recognition then to disbelief.

"What's that on your neck?" she snapped, and you jerked back a step as she tried to touch a spot the boxers left on your neck with her finger.

"Nothing!" it escaped you too panicked, too quickly. She furrowed her eyebrows and grabbed your robe, pulling it down a bit. Her eyes went wide and her mouth was open in bewilderment.

"Holy shit!"

Directly you slapped her hand away and took her now full coffee cup to drink it yourself.

"Which one did you lure into your bed?" she asked directly and you tried to hide your grin by taking a big gulp from the coffee mug.

Because you couldn't answer without grinning like an idiot, she scrunched her nos in disbelief.

Slowly she began to realize it. She could always read your thoughts on your face.

"Don't tell me you have...", but she didn't get any further, because now Gunwoo and Woojin also came strolling down the stairs. Their hair messed up, yawning and Gunwoo wearing sweatpants while Woojin was only in his boxershorts. When they saw you they greeted curtly and Hyun-Ju could almost grab the smell of sex in the air as they smiled amusedly at you as you passed.

"Good morning Hyun-Ju. Boss," Woojin said, and Gunwoo pressed his lips together to avoid looking too guilty. But Woojin's satisfied look in your direction was enough to prove what was obvious anyway. The hickeys on your neck, your hair all messed up and the tiredness on your faces was proof enough. She even got a good view of the scratches all over Gunwoos back, as he walked out of the door.

As they sat down with their coffee outside, your sister whirled back around to face you.

"Both of them? All at once?" she hissed and you laughed softly.

"You're unbelievable..." she exhaled heavily, shaking her head. The two of you looked out onto the terrace where the two boxers were chatting, offering a picture like something out of an erotic novel. Upper bodies exposed, muscles glistening in the sun and hair a mess from sleep.

"For not wanting them, you like your bodyguards quite a bit now, don't you? I must admit they are quite pretty toys" sighed Hyun-Ju, and you cleared your throat with rosy cheeks.

"Maybe. Just don't tell Grandpa... Otherwise, he'll take them away from me."

When your eyes met, you grinned like an idiot and you two couldn't help but snorting with laughter at that.

Taglist:

@be0mluver @lola2004sworld @ilyilykaeya @badwicht @marked-unknown @peachy-aisha @etherealcherrie @mel-onthemoon @heisoemi

[zerocoded]

𓂃 ♥︎ⴰ bloodhounds . kim gun-woo

˚ TITLE 𓂃 ♥︎ⴰ polymyxin b. ˚ WORD COUNT 𓂃 ♥︎ⴰ 9005 (i am so sorry).

“stop pressing it, you dumbass!”. you exclaim in discomfort, but shamefully not because of you.

“it’s just a bruise, some nebacetin will do it”. your boyfriend’s reaction was pissing you off more than his colleague’s grunting behind you.

“it’s not just a bruise, that was metal they were hitting you with”. your angry tone left space for your saddened one and gun-woo did not like it at all. “why did you guys agree on that anyway?!”.

“it was his idea”, they both said it simultaneously, pointing fingers at each other making you roll your eyes.

“ya, y/n”. woo-jin called you. “don’t be so mean to him, he dodged almost every punch wonsuk-subaenim threw at him”.

was that supposed to calm you down? a middle finger was pointed at the older man next to your boyfriend, gun-woo laughing.

"aish-", woojin gets up to grab a towel and you laugh a little seeing woo-jin's response. "i miss when your girlfriend wasn't a professional doctor, gunwoo-ya". gun-woo smiles shyly and you return to your job on your boyfriend's abs.

"shut up, old man". you ignored him.

"see?! she doesn't respect me!". it was your turn to laugh, ignoring him once again.

“i can’t work properly without some soothing paste, gun-woo, look at this mess”, the frustration was evident in your voice, manicured hand tracing his right side carefully which made the boy a little sad and impatient.

“it’s okay jagiya, don’t worry too much”. he turned to you after throwing a nasty looking at his best friend for not helping and held your face in his hands. he hated to admit that he could see tears forming in your eyes. “we can take a look after napping today, what do you think? you must be exhausted”.

the brutal difference between your little hand and his almost pierced skin shamefully stole his attention for a couple of minutes. without even noticing, your other hand grabbed his shorts so tightly it was starting to color your knuckles white.

worriedly, gun-woo laced his fingers with yours and made him eye-level with you, damp hair and sweaty armpits ticking his brain saying you should shower after a training session that long but his mind was nowhere near worrying about himself.

“hey, look at me”. his voice sounded lenient enough that even woo-jin got quiet on the other side of the room. "it's okay, baby, i'm gonna be fine".

“you’re the one that should be exhausted, not me”. you complain about his kindness, starry eyes becoming glossy minute after minute, making the man in front of you almost panic.

“don’t think i don’t know you worked the whole day”. he says brushing your hair behind your ear. “mr. seo said you’ve been taking your colleagues' shifts too”.

your pout only grows like a kid being caught stealing candies at a party. it was so frustrating dating a boxer when you built your whole life around saving people's lives, choosing the most efficient predicament to help someone on the verge of dying, or physically taking matters into your own hands to avoid any nasty side-effects that could change a person's life forever.

leaving patients behind to suffer wasn't an option for you, let alone postpone the pains and unattended injuries of your loved ones.

“the skin, gun-woo”, you return to ramble and point at the purple bruise on his body. “it needs bacitracin and polymyxin b otherwise it’s going to get pretty ugly. imagine the metal pierced your skin? that would be the end, god".

“baby, stop thinking about it”. he lifts your chin so you’d stop looking at the bruise. “i won and that’s what matters, right? just one more week and we’re going to the finals half, it’ll be over soon”.

a pout was formed and your lips quivered. you’ve never cried in front of gun-woo before and his reaction was pure terror. you didn’t know what got you so worked up after the match against his stupid coach and that stupid ugly machine, but you winced every time his grunts on the ring got louder and louder.

a couple of minutes into the last round, you regretted coming to see his training, he kind of forgot to tell you that it wasn't the usual gym sessions anymore, and now they were approaching a more realistic season of monthly fights coordinated by his coach.

you hated his coach from now on and that was final.

gun-woo’s eyes were round and full of stress when you cleaned the first tear that have fallen on your left cheek, averting your gaze to the table behind him and trying to distract yourself.

“people with skin infections have a higher risk of low immune responses and vice-versa”, you continue, “they can vary from mild to serious”. gun-woo grips your arm.

"baby".

"are your vaccines up to date?". you asked him and he nodded. "god, that could've turned into a fucking lockjaw or something, gun-woo". he looked at you with pity and panicked.

"i'm okay, see?". he points to his sweaty chest. "we came to the doc appointment last week and we were all good, right, hyung?". gun-woo glances at woo-jin silently asking for help.

unfortunately, gun-woo was inexperienced in this dating thing and sometimes needed the help of his dramatic hyung.

"oh, yes, yes, yes. the doctor said we were new as a baby and wonsuk-ssi even congratulated us". the boxer held his thumbs up in an exagerated sign and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. "the diet has been doing good for us! stop worrying too much kid, you're sounding like his mom".

you looked at your boyfriend with glassy eyes and a red nose, turning your back to woo-jin so he couldn't see your crying expression and hopeless state. you trusted the man with your life just as gun-woo did, but something about the ugly-looking bruise on your boyfriend's side was starting to look too scary for you.

"neomycin, compression, elevation, and a bruise-healing diet can also help speed up the healing process, but that looks scary". breathing deeply, you point to the injured local and grimace. "15—20 minutes of ice packs for 3—4 days will do it unless the skin is pierced". you pause, talking to yourself. "we better get going or you'll start bleeding soon".

"baby".

"arnica gel is useless here". you take a step forward and breathe deeply again. "fuck it, i'm applying vaseline if it gets worse".

"y/n". gun-woo called you but none of that was working.

"tell me if it starts bleeding, please? do not press it or else the blood will fuck everything up".

“woah, she is a stress-talker i can see”. on the other side of the changing room, woo-jin's comment made you think he deserves death.

“aish-, will you stop?”. gun-woo hugged your head in his chest and grimaced at his best friend next to the door. he was starting to get frustrated with your state and didn't know what to do.

woo-jin also came to see the fight but it turns out he was only making things worse in this moment.

“what? i am too!”. woo-jin defends. “i get all talkative when i’m stressed, but just not all of that smarty stuff she sayin’”.

“baby, we’re going home yeah?”. gun-woo patted your shoulder, dismissing his friend and looking at you. “there you can take a closer look and then we order food, hm?”.

your boyfriend was waiting for your response when he got a change of plans.

“sounds good!”. woo-jin exclaimed and you could feel your boyfriend rolling his eyes.

you swear to god woo-jin wasn’t usually this persistent.

gun-woo ignored him, which you found a little cute in your opinion, and even laughed a little.

“okay, but you’ll have to promise me to rest tonight”. you look up at his eyes and your boyfriend smiles. it was different to have someone other than his annoying best hyung or his mother worrying about his well-being, and for sure it was the first time someone this 'brainly' took care of him.

after being alone for so long, gun-woo appreciated your nurturing nature like no other and wanted to stop the negative feelings blooming in your chest right now.

“okay, i promise”. he presses a quick kiss on your lips, which was accompanied by a little wince since he had to bend down to your height to reach your face.

"ooh, i'm sorry". you grimaced apologetically.

he smiled and turned to reach for his shirt beside you, putting it on while waiting for you to pick his things up. gun-woo had to admit that was the most intense fake match his coach had put him into. maybe you were right and he should rest tonight.

"i met him first". gun-woo can hear woo-jin's voice threatening you at the door. he only went to wave his coach goodbye and came back for a bickering woo-jin and a pouty y/n. "he was just fine when it was only me and him".

"you smell like belly pork and not in a good way". you replied.

"aish-, respect your elders, kid". woo-jin's eyes were round and menacing. "i saved his life more than once, okay? we are brothers at heart, we even share our clothes!".

"his mom loves me, she even cooked me bulgogi when we first met!". that was you on your tip-toes beckoning woo-jin to the door, a man at least seven inches taller than you. his face was frightened and his hands were defensively in front of him. "and i know exactly when to turn the grill on when we're going out!".

gun-woo's shirt was too tight for him to keep listening to your argument, and he definitely was starting to feel his right side itching when the tissue came in contact with the bruise.

"aish-, that was one time!". woo-jin defended. "and you'll never know how a boxer's spirit works because we invented it".

"liar! you said you preferred mayweather when you guys first met, and i know this because he told me himself".

"oh please i am a manny pacquiao enthusiast at heart and forever will be. and! i've also seen his d-".

"ya, would you both stop?". gun-woo interrupted his friend with a glare, warily pulling you back so you wouldn't hit his friend across his face. "i'm tired and it's getting late".

"he started". you pointed at the older man. "and i've seen more than his dick, you old".

"ya!". gun-woo looks at you affronted and woo-jin starts laughing, hiding his mouth when gun-woo pretends to hit him.

"she gots quite the temper, bro". woo-jin had to point it out. "woo, i'm excited! finally someone who matches my energy".

"you both should stop". your boyfriend tsks and you look at him smiling. "and you shouldn't listen to him". he says.

"don't say it like we're finished, boxer". you threaten woo-jin with your eyes and gun-woo has to stand between both of you so you wouldn't jump the man scaringly.

"ya, take good care of my lil bro for me, yeah?". he taps gun-woo's shoulders and they both smile at each other intensively.

"aish-, it looks like you're both exactly in love, stop that".

"yes! she's getting jealous!". woo-jin exclaims.

"hyung, you're wife is waiting for you, just go". gun-woo whines at the man and he smiles, seeming to finally remember he has his own real lover. "woah, that's true, i'm going!". woo-jin starts running down the hall and waving at both of you goodbye, finally letting your boyfriend go smiling like an idiot.

gun-woo takes his bag from your shoulders and you both start walking down the hall hand in hand. for now, you choose to silence your concerns about the big boy and just plan a peaceful ride back to your home.

"take your clothes off". your voice sounded a little too low for gun-woo's liking and he couldn't suppress a smile. glancing at you, he couldn't help but find his all-black gym set a little out of place in your all-pink bedroom. to no surprise, you perfectly fit in the pastel colors you were wearing.

"buy me a dinner first, sailor". he had to joke looking at you and taking his tight gym shirt off. instantly, he felt his side ache. something damp ran down his ribs and gun-woo cursed when he spotted blood in the rem of his shorts.

well, wasn't that just great?

looking at the bathroom mirror, he grimaced pressing the purple and red spot with his other hand.

"don't". you came from nowhere, taking his bigger hand off of him and analyzing the situation with - what your boyfriend liked to call - doctor face. a first-aid kit was on your arms the instant you glanced at the little blood accumulating on the bruise. gun-woo attentively stared at your facial expressions worried about what you were going to do.

to his surprise, only a sigh escaped your lips, and the boxer was guided to sit on the bathtub behind him, your little hand holding two of his fingers so he could follow you. it was funny how larger his frame was compared to yours in the small white bathroom.

"does it hurt a lot?". you ask worriedly wiping his skin.

"no". he wasn't necessarily lying, you both knew how pain tolerance worked for gun-woo. "just itchy". he made a face and clicked his tongue boringly.

you looked attentively at the injury while avoiding your hands on the more reddened area.

gun-woo thought your size was the perfect complement to your cute personality. when he first met you, your height was the first thing that he noticed after your soft hair. of course, accompanied by your scary father he didn't dare to even look at your way properly, but his first impression of you was something the boy held dearly in his heart.

your smart brain was when everything became blurry to the boxer. for a recently graduated student, gun-woo knew your knowledge was freshly put into place, and added to the great things he had heard about your intellect before meeting your father, he knew you were smart. but imagine the surprise when he first saw you dealing with your father's disease from up-close, admiring your basically perfect approach and ripeness to everything handed to you.

it didn't click him. how could someone so delicate-looking be so splendidly clever and loveable at the same time. he thought it was unfair the fact that you were so effortlessly sexy in his eyes. and that was a first for the boxer.

you were his first everything.

"this has to have knocked the air out of your lungs". you state while kneeling on the floor in front of him, making the boy gulp and avert his gaze suddenly embarrassed.

“hm, yeah”. he gulped even harder. “but just for a moment, though. coach didn’t want to stop”.

between his parted legs, you were insinuating things he had trouble forgetting, and with one more glance at you, he had to part his lips surprised because jesus christ, why were you tying your goddamn hair?

"i'm talking to wonsuk-subaenim about this no matter what". you looked up at him and he quickly averted his gaze. "that stupid machine has to go away".

two weeks ago. in this same bathroom. you were wearing your pink PJs late at night and he swore he had never seen your lips that glossy. the position was the same. he remembers it all too well and has to shake his head to not make things harder for him.

"jagi-".

"i'm serious, gun-woo". now was his turn to sigh. why were you pretending this didn't do anything to you? was he the creepy one? oh god, he definitely was the creepy one. 

his eyes were as round as a golf ball as he looked at your innocent expression and silently cursed his inappropriate thoughts.

gun-woo swore he wasn't like this before meeting you. he was a decent young man with respectable beliefs and a proud mother that admired and trusted him blindly.

being an athlete, gun-woo was often proclaimed for his self-control and disciplined routines. now, only a glance at your smooth skin without too much clothing was enough to have the man spiraling and sweating.

four months ago he wasn't like this.

"it's the second time this happens. remember that day in your mom's apartment? you told me you'd take more care of yourself". you continue to speak nonchalantly, rambling your frustrations to the man.

"it was a snap kick i wasn't ready for". he clears his throat hoping to not sound too raspy. "coach didn't tell me on time". you suppress the urge to roll your eyes.

"i am going to need an elastic bandage for this". you say more to yourself, warm hands inspecting the swelled area while your boyfriend examines your face panicked. because why were you so close to his fucking crotch? "and also a heating pad to clear up the trapped blood. will you hold it for me?". you ask him to hold the warm cloth while you searched for more things for help in the first-aid kit.

"baby, could you work on this side first?". he shyly asked, thick thighs trapping you in place to gather your attention. the boxer had to summon all the courage in the world to politely ask you this. the little yelp you let out because of the sudden touch made him blush involuntarily. "s-sorry".

his voice was so low and raspy that made you question what the hell was going on. even involuntarily, his voice always gave him in.

"oh my god, did i hurt you?". you worriedly questioned, getting up quickly so you could examine him from afar.

"no, no". he waves it off, gulping a few times so the embarrassment could pass.

it wasn't working.

"it's just that... that position". he pointed to the floor where you were previously sitting and saw exactly the moment your expression changed.

"what?". your confusion was clearly shown by your knitted brows and opened mouth.

"the position you were in... you know...". he gulped more times than he could count and could feel the fire his cheeks were on at that moment. only when his hands fled to his crotch area as if trying to hide something that your brain finally clicked.

"kim geun-woo, is that a boner? oh my god". he grimaced embarrassingly. "how could you think of things like that when your skin is basically peeling?!".

"c'mon, baby, i was trying to be discreet". he interrupts you, dying to pull your hands so he could properly apologize to you but you kept getting away. "i'm sorry, it's just that it triggered a memory of us a while ago and you tied your hair and everything and my brain stopped braining".

"you need to go to church, you pervert". his pout was something you were accustomed to, and his shy whines were a great reminder that, even if your boyfriend looked like a war trunk and sculpted by the sky itself, he still was stupidly timid when it came to things like this. "i'm joking". you laugh and he rambles.

"i'm not asking for anything! just s-stay here". he points to the floor next to his right leg, a different space from where you were before. "please".

"how long have you been like this?". a shit-earing grin was starting to adorn your face, almost forgetting about the important task you had at hand.

"i-i'm not asking anything, i swear". he repeats in despair. "i don't want you to feel uncomfortable, please".

"uncomfortable?". you approach him laughing. "baby, you're my boyfriend for a reason, you could never make me uncomfortable. that happens sometimes, no need to feel embarrassed about it".

"well, i'm just worried sometimes because of... you know what". instantly, your heart grew all soft.

"oh my god, are you talking about what i told you the other day?". your round eyes were glued to the man in front of you, hands swiftly caressing his sweaty hair while you fought the urge to kiss his forehead.

"you said you didn't have great experiences in the past and, even though i wonder sometimes, i don't feel like it would be nice to ask you which ones. so i try to just avoid situations like this so you won't think of me as just another dirty-minded creep". he explains and you kiss him.

you wanted to cry. and suck the life out of him. at the same time. because that's just how dating kim geun-woo makes you feel.

"i'd never think of you in that way, oppa". you hugged his head on your chest and he nosely laughed, finally relieved for not completely fucking things up. "i would suck you anytime, anywhere you want, you know that". you say and he looks up at you seriously.

"ya, stop teasing".

"i'm serious, i literally am in love with you and your co-".

"oh my god, you need church". he closes his eyes and breathes deeply, trying to take control of his own body.

"you're like the most romantic and sweetest guy a girl could ever want. and then your dick had to be big too!".

"ya!". gun-woo looked serious and you smiled at that. what he didn't notice was that he was gripping your ass unconsciously in his nervous state.

"pervert". you whispered in his ear and he immediately stopped.

"i'm going to go, woojin-hyung is not so mean to me as you are". he pretends to start getting up and you hold his arms laughing. his whiny tone was so cute you could die.

"i'm sorry, sorry! it's just so easy to mess with you". he glared at you and you smirked. "i can't let an injured man run around the streets alone, especially an uncontrolled one".

"just wait for this fucking thing to heal, y/n". you opened your mouth in shock. was that veins popping on his temples?

"language!".

"sorry, sorry, can you please do your job?".

you laughed at that and kneeled at his side, sensing that he was starting to become frustrated. you weren't sure why, but at this beginning of your sexual life, you found yourself often giving in to his wishes afraid that you are stepping into a hole with no way up.

gun-woo made you feel safe - not uncomfortable in any way. but sometimes you doubted the man was engaged in this type of thing at all because he seemed to skip any opportunity he has to rock your world daily. you trusted him and respected his slow pace.

you made the order in your head, soothing the area with some polymyxin b and nebacetin, soothing oils for the itchy feeling to go away, and vaseline to keep the wound moist. after that, you wrapped the bruise with an elastic bandage and gently pressed the heated cloth there for a few minutes.

too tempted, you sneaked a glance at your boyfriend's shorts.

"oh my god, it's huge".

for one second, you thought you were flying across the bathroom and the other you realized gun-woo had got up so fast you fell backward and hit your head on the marble floor. the pain shoots straight to your neck and ear almost instantly.

"omo!". gun-woo came to the rescue in panic, seeing what he has done. "are you alright?". he asked worried.

"it was a compliment, idiot!". you screamed at him, grimacing at the new feeling in your head. "what is wrong with you?".

"so now it's my fault?". he defended. "you're not supposed to be saying things like that when is not sexy time!".

“don’t say ‘sexy time’!”.

“you can’t keep doing this, i’m trying to be polite here!”.

"i was just teasing you!". you glanced at his stoic face and got up with his help, patting your head where it hurt most, thankful to find no blood in the area.

"it turns me on!". he confessed and for a minute you were glued to the ground. "it makes me want to take you to bed and have sexy time when you're all bratty and mouthy". his raspidly voice said and you had to grip the counter behind you so you wouldn't fall again.

what did he just tell you?

"oh". it was your turn to feel the fire on your cheeks. "i-i didn't know, i'm sorry, i thought...". you guiltily gulped staring at gun-woo's chest before looking him in the eyes.

"i'm trying to take things slow but you don't help, y/n". the sincerity in his raspy voice made you almost want to shy away. forwardness never looked so sexy in someone like it does to him. "i'm not that experienced, you know that, so i don't know what you like and don't like and that makes me scared to fuck it up. and, god, that makes me fucking insane because all i can think about is you all the time".

your sweaty palms gripped the bloodied rem of his shorts and you closed the gap between the two of you, steading your wobbly feet with gun-woo's help. the proximity made him crazy and you could see the mental battle he was going through in his head. you pecked his lips three times before whispering.

"why be scared?". your starry eyes locked him in place and gun-woo swore he couldn't move, your question making him confused. "i also want you all the time, oppa. i think of you all the time, that's why is so hard for me to see you getting hurt and i want to cry my eyes out when it happens. you drive me crazy, oppa".

"i'm sorry". you didn't know he was talking about what have happened in the ring or about what he was going to do to you because suddenly his expanded pupils made his eyes get darker and darker and you were almost crying from the anticipation of feeling him anywhere.

"i'm worried you'll get more hurt". one of your hands traveled to his injured side, never leaving his gaze. "you should... i'm sorry, gun-woo, we shouldn't-".

"you promise to tell me if anything feels wrong?". he cuts you off by arching your back and locking his eyes with you, entirely invading your personal space. "if you don't like something, do you promise to make me stop? because i swear to god i can't take it anymore, y/n". he whispered the last part on your mouth and you swore the cat got your tongue for a minute.

"uhum". you nod your head and gun-woo stayed still, arching his brows as if challenging you not to finish the sentence. "i promise, oppa". you said breathly, eyes focused on his and nowhere else.

you could feel all of gun-woo's desire pulsing deliciously beneath him, hard and voluminous, inciting your intimacy to slowly release lubricant.

you were curious. his face was cute and his body was a sin, but not all of the morals and good mannerisms in the world could hide the true desire of a person. you knew he always wanted more and you were so curious to find out what exactly his innocent brain had conjured in all these months of dating you.

gun-woo panted softly, having complete control of your body now that your toes were barely touching the ground, back arching even more while he took a deep breath next to your ear. and then he started teasing his own body as he rocked back and forth, slowly, in search of relief. and using you.

you kissed his neck, and there was when you worked him up with little kisses and shy licks, making him more and more susceptible to pleasure. gun-woo was such a selfless person that he felt scared of taking instead of giving and you wanted to prove him wrong. you wanted to prove to him that sex is good regardless of your position.

you didn't count on his strength in moments like this, but he was a boxer, after all, so you were silly to think he would take it easy on you. only one minute in and his grip was so strong on your skin that you were certain your ass was battered, squeezed, and still under the fabric of your slacks.

you knew his body all too well, you saw him naked countless times and so did he with you in the last 4 months. but never he did what he wanted with you. too shy, too aware, too scared to ask you. because that's just what gun-woo was.

selfless.

he pulled your face away from his neck so that he could bring his full lips to yours. you were kissed at the pace he dictated, in the way he wanted, fast and wild. both of your tongues collided in a hot, pleasurable slide.

you swore this wasn't the same man who had blushed at remembering you sucking him off minutes ago.

gun-woo sucked hard on your voluminous lips every time he withdrew his tongue, which you insisted on sucking in the most erotic way possible whenever he invaded your mouth. meanwhile, your hips were manipulated by the boxer's hands, which made them rise and fall slowly on his still-covered cock.

your hips were placed on the counter and you finally realized you didn't have much place to run after that. you were trapped between your sink and a 6ft tall man in front of you with sirened eyes that could kill you.

your pants gradually gained moisture, and the moan you let out when gun-woo gripped your ass with more force maddened the boxer even more, making him stop the kiss and go down with his stimulations on your neck and collarbone, seconds later capturing one of your clothed nipples between his lips and sucking it.

you bit your bottom lip and intertwined your fingers in gun-woo's hair, with his head tilted up, eyes closed and lips parting as he let out gasps of pure delight. the moan you let out when he invaded your pants with his hands and started unbuttoning your jeans and unconsciously scraping your clit was so purely erotic that even he grunted.

"sorry". his gruff voice was rushed as if he felt bad for you but at the same time didn't actually give a shit and was only trying to be polite - trying not to lose his complete sanity.

which was slowly faltering.

you pushed his head against your chest in response, undulating your hips over his hard prominence and the boxer's reaction was to feel a painful twinge in his pelvis and moan.

he raised his head, eyes even darker, then glared at you. he touched your chin with his thumb and slid it across your lips while breathing deeply.

you reached into his pants and touched him, initiating continuous movements along his entire length. gun-woo's lips parted and his brows furrowed, giving you the most obscene view you've ever seen of his face.

hot scar glowing in his sweaty skin and cutting the right side of his entire cheek. 

his body was getting hotter, your body was getting hotter, his cock getting harder and your pussy getting wetter. it was painful to repress his own urges.

"fuck". you brought his dick out of his shorts and jerked it off, hands almost trembling with so much tenseness your crotch area was feeling. getting him off made you want to cry.

gun-woo closed his eyes and gasped when you massaged his glans wet by pre-cum.

"gun-woo". you called him in such a whiny tone that made him go crazy, hiding his face on your neck and biting his lips until it draw blood to his mouth. "i c-can't". you tried to say and his ears perked up. "i'm too wet, i d-don't know what to do". it was embarrassing for you to confess something like that, but hearing gun-woo's grunts and quiet moans was making you wetter and wetter. and you weren't lying, you actually didn't know what to do because you've never been this turned on before.

what the hell?

"fuck, don't call me that, baby". he breathed on your neck and for a second you were afraid he could smell your fucking pre-cum pooling on your panties.

"stop moaning in my ear, for fuck's sake". you didn't know where the strength to say a full sentence came from suddenly but you were afraid a simple touch of the man was going to make you fucking cum.

is this how you feel when you fuck someone you love? mighty skies above, you'll have to do this every day now. 

"what do you want me to do when you won't stop squeezing my fucking dick, princess?". his voice sounded more like a growl than an actual human sound and you whined even louder in return.

you arched your body as he trailed his fingertips along your back, intensifying the contact of his thigh against your intimacy. you parted your lips and let out a high moan in response to his touches.

suddenly, you were so sensitive you could cry.

gun-woo felt your grip on his dick falter as if giving him a break. finally, the man could breathe properly again.

the next second, you felt your lips numb with such force that gun-woo sucked them, your body limp as he ultimately took control of your body.

not platonically, but literally.

"fuck, gun-... please".

like a ragdoll, he manhandled you in a position where your cunt was pressed directly on his flexed thigh, making you cry. frustratingly kicking your pants off of you, gun-woo helped you strip the rest of your clothes off before positioning you in the same place as before and teasing your bare pussy lips with his muscles.

you felt him capturing your left nipple and massaging it with his thumb, hearing your sighs between the kiss. as he stimulated the areola, he felt it getting rigid. gun-woo introduced his tongue into your mouth and played with your whiny moans.

your body was tactful to the boxer's touch, and when you felt the digits tightening around your areola, you couldn't help but dig your toes into his butt and moan muffledly, with gun-woo's tongue entering and leaving your mouth, slowly.

a trickle of saliva ran down the corner of the man's mouth. he closed his eyes to focus on the sensations. your excited pussy continued to be stimulated by his thigh, as well as your chest. he was still sucking your tongue when he felt his member pulsate painfully, brushing on your other thigh and moving a little farther to the left, bringing both of your crotches together and beginning a slow rub, undulating his hips in such a way that you stopped sucking his tongue and gasped in delight, squeezing his biceps tighter.

"gun-woo".

he kissed your lips and bit the bottom one, slowly pulling it away from your teeth.

his mouth moved down your jaw and onto your neck, where he could hear your gasps more audibly as he tongue-kissed the warm, milky skin of your throat, careful to leave pretty marks in his travel. his fingers were sadly no longer playing with your nipples, now they were on your bent thigh, holding it firmly as he rubbed himself shamelessly against your body.

gun-woo was using you to get off.

sensing what your boyfriend was finally doing, you cocked your head and with heavy, fluttering eyelids, watched your boyfriend's unholy face in pure delight. parted lips, messy hair, and one of your legs wrapped around him.

you watched, full of lust, as the boxer rubbed himself on you. kissing your neck ardently to the point of trembling eyes.

you already felt your opening releasing natural lubrication and wondered why haven't this man done this to you before.

"i can't anymore, gun-woo. p-please".

"please? do you need something, princess?". he spoke softly but with full of warning.

"fuck... you. need you".

"yeah right, you do". his comment was so lowered that you wondered if you had imagined it for a second. "need you too, princess, don't worry".

in a swift moment, your torso was thrown directly in his chest, your arms circling his neck for purchase while gun-woo hugged your body and finally walked towards your bedroom. when you said you were a ragdoll was because you felt like one, being tossed in the bed without an ounce of strength in your limbs and you weren't even fucked yet.

he then grabbed your waist again and kissed you, meanwhile, you took his shorts off completely, admiring the messy state he made with his liquids. gun-woo grabbed your ass once again and squeezed them, sliding his fingers through the partition between them and smearing all over your ass with his own lubrication.

oh my god. this man was sick.

"gun-woo". you called him whiny.

he climbed off the bed and pulled you to the edge simultaneously, manhandling your body as he wished. when both of your feet hit the floor, he tore his lips from yours and looked at you.

"do you mind?". for a second, his old innocent eyes shined in the pink light your bedroom had on. sincerely, your mind was too sex-hazed to even process he was talking to you in the first place, so you just tried to focus on his face and smile. "turning around?". he motioned with his fingers a cute circle and your eyes rounded dangerously.

"back?". you pointed to the bed and then at you, voice hoarse from all the torturous moaning.

"uhum". his smile was so pure you wanted to punch him in the face, nodding his head excitingly as if he wasn't asking you to expose your cunt in the air for him.

"a-all f-fours?". you asked him again, surprised and feeling your brain all fluffy inside.

"if you don't want, that's okay". for a moment, you felt his uncommon confidence falter and you were quick to reassure him.

"no, i want to". your doe eyes held all the stars in the sky, gun-woo was sure of it.

"ok". he smiled like a kid.

"ok?". you were too stunned to form coherent sentences.

"ok?". he asked confused, waiting for you to turn around with expectant eyes and arched brows.

"ok". you nodded your head finally.

again, he grabbed your waist, pressing his pelvis to your ass as you turned around. gun-woo started attacking your nape with chaste kisses that made their way to your neck, where he left hickeys and bites. you cocked your head to the side, leaving your neck completely free for the man to make as many purple and red marks as he wanted.

quickly, gun-woo left you to search for his shorts on the floor. when he came back, he surprisingly handed the condom to you, a silent request for you to put it on him which almost made you choke.

upon receiving it, you opened the package and took your hands back, touching the boxer's length. simultaneously, gun-woo slid his hands along your curves and massaged your breasts, making you fail on the first try of putting the condom on. a low moan escaped your mouth, but you didn't stop concentrating on holding your boyfriend's cock and positioning the condom on the glans, then holding the tip and unrolling it completely to the base.

you positioned the glans between your heat and thrust it into yourself, having to bite your lower lip to contain your murmurs due to the burning sensation. gun-woo hugged your body and let himself slide in slowly, with his forehead pressed against your shoulder. you opened your mouth and a breathless groan left your mouth painfully.

"gunw-".

gun-woo's eyes opened slowly, just to enjoy the view from below, where his cock slowly came out of your hole, and seconds later, it went back inside a little faster.

"fuuck". his voice was gruff, head empty, and only the feeling of your walls gripping his member inside of you running through his mind. "fuck, princess”.

you threw your head up and brought your right hand back, tangling your fingers in his hair. your brows shaped like your entire face in a set of pained and pleasurable expressions. you felt the heat every time gun-woo entered and exited, but it also felt wonderfully good to feel his cock opening you.

"fuck you". you couldn't help but curse, vaginal canal struggling to keep his member inside as he slide out of you every time. "gun-woo, please, i c-can't". you felt your cheeks wet, confirming to both of you that you were crying over a man's cock.

gladly.

"breathe for me, princess, fuck". he stopped inside you, letting you accommodate him calmly. your moan when he pinched your clit was feral.

"big, big, big". was all you could say and the boxer started to want to laugh.

"hey, princess, you're hearing me?". you breathed deeply. “c’mon, don’t be so cock-dumbed already”.

“fuck you”. was all you could say, twitching around him like crazy.

"we can't stop if it's not what you like-".

"i swear to god, i'm going to kill you. don't stop!". you screamed. painfully.

"hey, you're too tight, jagiya. you need to breathe for me first, yeah?". gun-woo himself was struggling to contain his urge to fuck you relentlessly, but he wanted you to enjoy this as well. "fuck, you're squeezing the fuck out of me, prin-".

"i c-cant. too fucking stretched, gun-woo".

"we've done this before baby, remember? i know you can, now relax for me. i'm feeling a bump on your stomach here". he pressed the bulge and you keened, juices leaking everywhere between your legs.

“i’m so wet”. you didn’t know who you were talking to anymore if it was to him or yourself.

again, you were crying and involuntarily relaxed your lower half, turning limp in your boyfriend's arms and arching your back more making him hit a new angle.

"shit-". you moaned and he felt his member twitch because of the contraction. "that's it, that's it, good girl". he breathed deeply when he could move again, relieved to have some breathing space.

without warning, gun-woo penetrated you fast and rough, making your small body propel forward, and the only thing that kept you from falling was his firm hands on your waist.

a moan escaped your lips and the rest of them died on your throat when your eyes rolled back and gun-woo hit a new angle.

the boxer smirked. gun-woo knew perfectly well how to tease you.

he then squeezed your hips and wrapped his digits in your hair. for the next moment, he withdrew from inside you and came back again, fast and hard, eliciting moans from your drooling mouth. as much as your eager moans were constant, gun-woo continued to fuck you mercilessly, without chastity, inserting himself completely without stopping. the erotic noise of your bodies colliding became frequent, echoing throughout the room and almost moving your bed from its place multiple times.

the moans became louder and more constant, and if it weren't for the firm touch of gun-woo's hands in your hair and hips, you would certainly collapse on the mattress. a trickle of lubricant ran down between your legs, and the excess made gun-woo's cock penetrate more easily into you.

you let out a high-pitched moan, the loudest yet.

gun-woo smiled happily, almost proudly, starting to thrust in the same place, which generated a sequence of loud and tearful moans coming from you.

"fuck". he cursed once, twice, and countless times with how good your pussy felt. gun-woo was losing his mind with no restraints and overthinking.

you moaning his name was beautiful, too wonderful not to be heard and appreciated, and gun-woo wished you would call his name louder and louder so everyone would know you were his.

as much as he was yours.

"princess, you there?". he worriedly asked, sensing your lack of words and quiet whines while he fucked you.

"hmm". you couldn't speak, that was on period. it didn't matter how much you tried, your eyes were too rolled back in your head for you to make sense.

and gun-woo being the wonderful boyfriend that he was, started kissing your shoulders and the back of your neck, silently saying to you that it was okay to feel so good you turned completely non-verbal.

you bit your bottom lip and, glancing over your shoulder at the worried boxer, you threw your hips back and forward, repeating the same movement signaling you were okay.

gun-woo, on the other hand, had to tightly close his eyes and suppress a growl at your hips undulating while he was still inside. the veins on his neck, arms, and hand were surely evident while he hold his breath.

somehow, you sped up your movements, and little by little, the noise of both of your bodies colliding became louder, more frequent, hotter. you whimpered when gun-woo's glans hit your sensitive spot again, and it didn't take long for your orgasm to threaten to come.

you stopped bouncing and rolled slowly, contracting, the boxer's entire cock inside you.

"i'm cumming". you exclaimed. "can i cum? fuck, gun-woo".

he then grabbed your hair again and put the side of your face against the mattress, and in that position, you were able to see the reflection of your bodies in the wardrobe mirror. and when you thought that your pleasure could not increase, the opposite was proved when you watched gun-woo's hips investing quickly in yourself, while his face was a mixture of pleasure and lust.

your small doe eyes rolled back and your vision became more blurred, your fingers dug hard into the mattress, pulling it and squeezing it between your hands. your eyes water and you mentally asked him not to stop.

"so good". gun-woo grunted in your ear and that was your last thread, squirting everywhere your pussy reached and making a mess of gun-woo's legs. the heat you felt on your cheeks was so intense you started to feel embarrassed.

panting for air, your body couldn’t stop twitching and your muscles couldn’t stop contracting around gun-woo’s member. for a moment, your brain was only white and you were certain you were crying for fuck’s sake.

"jesus christ, what was that?". the man was marveled and lust-hazed, too surprised to notice you were almost passing out.

"baby, please". you whispered weakly, gun-woo slowing down his movements and reaching for your face.

"princess?". his tone was worried for a minute too long. "are you good?".

"squirt". you try to say, feeling your brain too hazed to work properly. "i just s-squirted".

"oh", gun-woo's face was too innocent for someone who had his cock deep inside you, in your opinion, and you hated it. "you gripped me so tight, i thought i was dying". he laughed meaningly and you glanced back at him through the mirror with horror. how could he react like that?

the next thing you know your eyes were as round as your mouth and your lungs were burning with the lack of air. you moaned uncoordinated, finding it hard to distinguish when your pussy stopped spasming and gave him room to move again.

"what do you think you're doing, gun-woo-!?". your scream was cut short by the man thrusting into you again. with full force.

your legs trembled with pleasure, and then they failed to hold themselves together. seeing that you would collapse on the bed, he laid down on top of you and held both of your closed fists, accelerating the penetration even more, which, due to the position, made you tighter.

your clit pressed against the mattress caused friction that only added to the maximum overstimulation. gun-woo took your hands to your pussy lips and made you pull the bands one on each side.

"keep it open for me please, princess?". he asked menacingly, another orgasm starting to build inside you.

"gun-woo!". this man was sick.

"cum with me this time, yeah, baby?". he whispered in your ear, face turned to your reflection in the mirror and staring right back at your eyes.

"i'm gonna cum-". you affirmed.

"c'mon baby, just a sec, will ya?".

you closed your eyes and tried to hold back, however, gun-woo continued to fuck you deliciously. couldn't hold it anymore. that was final. having your clit constantly hit and neck kissed was too much to delay your orgasm any longer.

the overstimulation was killing you.

"gun-woo, i can't".

"i'm cumming, baby". he grunted out of breath. "cum with me, princess".

and as if it were magic words, you reached your orgasm right when he closed his mouth, followed by a slick and louder moan, making your whole body tremble with the wonderful spasms. breathing was frantic, and his hands were lying at your sides. gun-woo was still fucking in search of his own orgasm.

you contracted around him, squeezing him and, consequently, increasing his pleasure, and that was the climax for the boxer, who finally came deliciously inside the condom.

he was in heaven. searching for something to hold his sanity onto.

his nonexisted sanity.

you kissed him, in an attempt to distract both of you from the thoughtless state of mind. gun-woo turned your body with one hand and collapsed on top of you just after. your yelp was soundless to the boxer, head too pleasured for not stuffing his nose on your hair and trying to compose his fucking mind.

"you there?", gun-woo's voice was muffled by your skin, body too subtle under his.

"everything burns". you admitted in a whisper, throat flaming for moaning so loud.

"i think your neighbor will have complaints tomorrow". the man on top of you smirked and nosely laughed.

"don’t laugh, it’s your fault. you're crashing me, oppa". you whined trying to pull him off of you but not being able to move one muscle.

"omo, 'm sorry". he got off of you and smiled looking at you, almost shy to see your flushed face.

you smiled weakly in return and gun-woo took the condom off of him, making a knot and throwing it on the floor, next to the bed, to throw it away later. he settled on top of your body again and leaned on his forearms, and after facing you and smiling tenderly at your disorientated state, he kissed you tenderly.

you cupped his face and returned the kiss, calm but as delicious as any other one you both had. your hands were shaking while holding his chin and the man seemed to notice. his breathing was still labored, and because of that, he stopped the kiss but continued with both of your foreheads together, noses brushing against each other and lips open.

the two of you were sweaty, you were tired.

"you were amazing, oppa". your raspy voice came in contact with his ears and gun-woo tried to hide his burning cheeks on your neck again, you stop him and stared right back into his eyes.

"really?”. you giggled and he laughed at your hazy gaze. he then started sliding the digits of his right hand by your waist. "you're the one to blame".

"i love you". gun-woo smiled widely and you followed suit, without much exaggeration.

gun-woo tilted his head down and stared at your face; rosy cheeks, closed eyes and chest rising and falling with some frequency. he smiled small and kissed your slightly sweaty forehead, starting to stroke your damp soft hair.

"thank you, princess. i love you too". he whispered drowsily. "can't believe you squirted yet".

"stop". it was your turn to feel shy.

"it was hot".

"you sex beast. i am afraid of not being capable to get up to change your bandage". gun-woo almost choked.

oh god. the bruise.

"a-ah y-yes, totally". he looked down on his side and made a face at the kneaded band-aid.

you could not see that now.

"it's okay, though. i'm okay".

"are you?", your hazy doe eyes glanced at his sirened ones and gun-woo was quick to nod his head dramatically. "'kay". you replied tiredly, eyes almost closing. "can i take a nap, oppa?".

"of course, babygirl". the boxer keened, worried about your dimmed state and praying that he'd have the time to fix your bandage before you woke up.

his high pain tolerance scared him sometimes too, but gun-woo was sure that when the adrenaline left his body, he would feel the consequences of his actions the next day.

"want to shower with me first?". he asked before seeing your eyes completely closed.

"'m tired". you murmured.

"i'll be quick, okay? you don't have to do nothing, we can use the tub", gun-woo suggests.

you surprisingly laughed, and your eyes reduced to two tiny lines. it was so admiring the unique beauty of your joy that, spontaneously, your boyfriend also smiled. it was infectious and refreshing to see your smile so huge and genuine.

"are you suggesting that you shower me like a kid, sailor?". your voice was filled with happiness and the man next to you was quick to reply.

"no, no, no, that's creepy". his brows were arched and his eyes round, you wanted to laugh because of his pure reaction. "i just wanted you to rest... to not be tired and sticky".

"okay, baby. you can take care of me".

gun-woo opened a huge smile and left your body on the bed so he could turn on the bathtub and quickly come back to you.

staring at you sprawled in your element, kim geun-woo realized that he had never been more happy in his entire life than right now.

and he didn't give a fuck if his right side was completely numb when he had you.

don't normalize arguing with your boyfriend's best friend while he is injured and horny ! that might have consequences... hope you guys enjoyed and i'm so sorry for any misspelling 🥺 (this is how sex with kim geun-woo post ep.6 would be and you cannot prove me otherwise)

this blog is desactivated, if you want to reach me, follow me on my new account ( @zerocoded ) new kdrama content there soon, xx.