summary: you meet travis while working at your local library, and what begins with book recommendations soon turns into a friendship filled with endless debates and lingering glances. neither of you expects things to go any further — until one quiet afternoon between the shelves changes everything.
c/w: strangers to friends to... something else . some plot for more conext. smut (+18). semi-public sex. risk of getting caught. oral sex (m receiving. deepthroating. light gagging). dirty talk, vulgar language. p in v. unprotected sex. orgasm. creampie.
words: 6k
That afternoon was dragging on slowly, the kind of quiet day where the only sounds in the library were the low hum of the street outside and the occasional crisp turn of a page.
You were standing behind the wooden counter, lazily organizing a stack of new books, when the bell above the door chimed. You looked up automatically, adjusting to the sudden shift in the room’s energy.
To be completely honest, your first thought wasn’t exactly welcoming.
You didn’t want to lie to yourself — the moment he stepped inside, you genuinely thought he was going to rob the place. He wore an oversized uniform that looked a bit worn around the edges, his hands were shoved deep into his pockets, and he was casting a frantic, darting gaze around the room.
It was the kind of nervous look that usually screamed trouble. He certainly didn’t look like the usual crowd of quiet college students or elderly neighbors who came in to look around the poetry section.
You instinctively straightened your posture, keeping your eyes glued to his movements as he took a few hesitant, shaky steps further into the shop.
But then, he caught you looking; and instead of turning away or darting down an aisle to hide, he walked straight toward the desk.
When he finally spoke, all your defenses immediately crumbled. His voice was soft, carrying a tone so genuinely polite and deeply nervous that a little part of your heart instantly softened.
"Um, excuse me," he said, clearing his throat and looking down at his shoes before meeting your eyes. "I was wondering... could you maybe help me find a good book? A recommendation, I mean. I’m a bit lost."
You blinked, caught entirely off guard by the sharp contrast between his intimidating, defensive posture and his gentle voice.
"Sure, I can absolutely help you with that," you said, offering a small, reassuring smile to ease the obvious tension in his shoulders. "What kind of genre do you usually like to read?"
He blinked back at you, his eyes widening slightly as if you had just asked him to solve a complex mathematical equation.
"G-genre?" he stammered, shifting his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. "Oh. Wow. Okay. To be honest, I’ve never really thought about it like that before. I mean, I know there are a lot of different genres out there, obviously. There’s romance, history, mystery, biography... but I’ve just never stopped to ask myself, ‘Hey, what genre do you actually like?’ You know? It’s kind of a big question when you think about it. I like a lot of random things, I guess. But then again, maybe there’s something I absolutely hate? Probably—"
He was talking faster and faster, his words tripping over one another as his hands came out of his pockets to gesture wildly in the air. You couldn’t help but realize right then and there that he was one of those people. The kind of person who gets so incredibly nervous or excited that they just keep talking and talking, and you have to physically step in to stop them before they go on for hours.
It was almost endearing.
"How about horror?" you asked, gently cutting him off with a soft, amused laugh.
He stopped mid-sentence, his mouth staying slightly open for a second before his brain fully processed your words. He tilted his head, genuinely thinking it over.
"Horror?" he repeated, the tension leaving his face. "Yeah. Yeah, actually, I like horror. That sounds pretty good."
You smiled and walked out from behind the safety of the counter, stepping into the narrow aisles of the library. The space between the tall, wooden bookshelves was tight, making every movement feel just a bit more intimate.
You turned your head back over your shoulder, gesturing for him to follow you. He nodded quickly and, with a slightly clumsy scramble, stepped right into place behind you.
You could feel his physical presence just a step away. He was tall, and his frame made the narrow aisle feel even smaller than it usually did. The air between you felt a bit charged, a strange but not unpleasant tension growing as you guided him deeper into the shadows of the fiction section.
"Let’s see what we have here..." you murmured, running your fingertips lightly along the dusty spines of the books.
The familiar texture of paper and leather usually calmed you down, but right now, you were acutely aware of him watching your every move. You could hear his quiet breathing right behind you.
Suddenly, a loud, heavy sound broke the silence of the place.
You jumped slightly and spun around.
A thick book was lying flat on the floorboards between the two of you. He was already frantically bending down, his face flushing a soft crimson that reached all the way to his ears.
He picked up the book with trembling hands and shoved it back onto the shelf. He didn’t even check if it was the right spot before burying his hands deep into his uniform pockets again, looking exactly like a kid who had just been caught breaking a valuable vase.
"I’m sorry."
You had to bite the inside of your cheek to contain a genuine smile.
His sudden embarrassment was incredibly sweet, completely shattering any lingering awkwardness or suspicion you had left.
You reached past him, your shoulder brushing lightly against his, and pulled a specific book from the top shelf. You turned and extended it toward him.
"Try this one," you said softly. "It has horror, suspense, a bit of science fiction... a little bit of everything, really."
He cautiously took his hands out of his pockets and accepted the book from you. As his fingers brushed against yours, a small, sudden jolt of awareness ran through your veins.
He held the book up to his face, scanning the cover and frowning slightly as he took in his first impression.
"The Body Snatcher," he read the title out loud. His voice trailed off, a highly skeptical look appearing on his face. He looked up at you. "A bit creepy, don’t you think?"
You shrugged your shoulders playfully, leaning back against the sturdy bookshelf and crossing your arms.
"Well, if it’s a bit too much for you, I can always take you over to the children’s section," you teased, dropping your voice to a whisper. "They have some really great picture books over there. Very safe."
He looked up from the cover, and a wide, genuine smile broke across his face. You couldn’t deny it — from the very first moment he smiled, it had a strange, indescribable effect on you. Your stomach did a sudden little flip, and the small aisle suddenly felt much warmer than it had a few minutes ago.
"No, no," he laughed softly, holding the book a bit tighter against his chest. "I’ll take this one. If it’s okay with you, I mean."
"Perfect," you replied, leading the way back to the front of the library and stepping behind the desk. "I hope you enjoy it, uhm..." You paused intentionally waiting for him to fill in the blank.
"Travis," he said quickly, reaching across the counter and extending his right hand toward you.
"Travis," you repeated. The name fitted him perfectly. You smiled, telling him your own name as you reached out to take his hand.
His grip was warm and firm, but instead of a quick, polite business shake, your hands stayed joined a second longer than necessary. Neither of you seemed to want to break the contact first. Travis’s smile widened, a soft, knowing look appearing in his eyes that made your heart beat just a bit faster.
"I’ll see you in a month, then," you said, finally letting go of his hand, though you already felt the sudden absence of his warmth. "That’s usually how long it takes people to finish that one."
"I’ll probably be back around here way before that," Travis replied smoothly, his eyes locked onto yours with a newfound confidence.
You nodded, a sudden wave of happy anticipation washing over you.
"Deal."
"Deal," he repeated with a final nod. With a lingering wave, he turned around and walked toward the exit.
Your eyes followed him every single step of the way. You watched him push open the door, the bell chiming once more as he stepped out onto the busy sidewalk. The very moment the door clicked shut behind him, you let out a long, heavy sigh, only just realizing that you had been holding your breath the entire time.
—
These days, the book discussions between the two of you have become a regular habit.
"I just don’t know if I really get the motive, you know?" Travis has been talking for twenty minutes straight about Frankenstein, the book you recommended to him just last week.
You hold out your hand, and he smoothly passes you a heavy hardcover volume, his large, calloused fingers securing the base of the wooden rolling ladder while you climb up a few steps to slide it back into its proper place on the high shelf.
This has become your routine. Every single Friday, right before he starts his night shift at the local storage facility, he walks through the front doors of the library to pick up a new recommendation.
He took his sweet time reading the first books.
But lately? He devours them faster and faster, his reading speed accelerating until it becomes completely impossible not to see him crossing that threshold at 5:00 PM sharp, eyes scanning the room until they land on you, eagerly waiting for his next acquisition.
"What exactly is it that you don’t understand?" you ask him, looking down from the ladder and extending your hand again to silently ask for another book from the pile.
Travis shrugs his broad shoulders, turning around slightly to grab the next book and handing it up to you. As the physical exchange happens, your fingers brush against his. The contact lasts for only a second, but a sudden spark of heat shoots straight up your arm.
"I don’t know. The why of it all," he mutters, crossing his thick arms over his chest and leaning his weight back against the side of the ladder.
The way the material of his uniform stretches tightly across his broad chest and biceps whenever he moves is the kind of sight that, if you stare or think about it for too long, makes a deep blush creep up your neck.
"Why create the monster in the first place? Why go through all that trouble just to abandon it?"
You smile, shaking your head gently as you slide the book into its perfect, tight slot on the shelf.
"You lack ambition, Travis."
He frowns, his dark eyes intently tracking the subtle movements of your body as you begin your descent down the wooden steps of the ladder.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
When your feet finally touch the solid linoleum floor, your body is positioned directly in front of him. The space between you is incredibly small, close enough that you can smell his scent.
You shrug your shoulders playfully.
"It’s about power. It’s about feeling like God, even," you murmur. You reach out and grab a fresh stack of heavy books from a nearby cart, your knuckles intentionally grazing against the side of his stomach. "Haven’t you ever wanted to have total, absolute power over something?" you ask him, your voice dropping into a teasing, playful whisper close to his face.
You turn on your heels, your hips swaying just a fraction more than usual as you walk away toward the classic romance section.
Travis stands frozen for a few seconds, his gaze completely locked onto your hips as you walk away from him. He pulls himself away from the ladder, his heavy work boots thudding softly against the floor as he follows you down the narrow, dimly lit aisle of the library stacks.
"I mean... yeah... I guess so," he says, his voice sounding a bit thick, a trace of confusion and growing arousal coloring his tone.
"What do you mean, 'I guess so'?" you ask, turning back to face him and gesturing with your chin for him to pick up another stack of returned books from the bottom shelf to bring along.
He groans softly but complies, bending down. As he does, the hem of his dark work jacket pulls up a few inches, exposing a strip of skin and the dark elastic band of his boxers. He lifts the heavy stack with an effortless grunt, straightening up and following you deeper into the maze of bookshelves.
"I don’t know," Travis mutters, looking down at the books in his arms. "I guess when I was in prison, that was when I felt that need the most. To have control over something. Anything. Over my own life. And I just couldn’t have it."
You let out a soft, sympathetic sound, reaching out to take one of the books from his arms to slide it into a shelf. Travis drops the rest of the stack onto the floor beside his boots.
For a guy who can talk your ear off about anything, he rarely ever mentions his time behind bars. You never want to pry or push him too hard, but you genuinely appreciate the tiny, rare pieces of information he occasionally lets slip.
"Still, sometimes the desperate need for power can lead straight to your downfall," you remark, carefully aligning the spines of the books on the shelf.
Travis lets out a low, appreciative whistle, leaning his back against the opposite bookshelf, his entire body turned toward you, watching your hands work.
"Damn. That’s deep."
You smile, casting a quick glance over your shoulder at him before shrugging.
"But it’s the truth."
He bites his lower lip, trying and failing to hide the broad smile pulling at his mouth, and nodding in agreement.
A comfortable, heavy silence settles between the two of you for a few minutes. The small local library is practically dead, just minutes away from closing up for the night. At this hour, the place is completely deserted. There aren’t even any late-night students lingering around to look for last-minute research books.
Travis shifts his weight, glancing down at his phone. He’s supposed to leave for his shift in about half an hour.
"So..." Travis starts, his voice dropping an octave. He steps closer, his large hand reaching out as his fingers gently tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He tilts his head down, trying to catch your gaze while you desperately try to focus on organizing the books. "About our date tomorrow..."
You smile, raising your eyebrows as you finally turn your head to look at him.
"You’re calling that a date?"
His brow furrows, though his expression remains thoroughly playful.
"It isn’t?"
You let out a soft laugh. "Travis, you invite me to go to a crowded bar with your friends. That is definitely not a date.
Travis rolls his eyes, a dramatic sigh escaping his lips.
“Oh, come on, you’ve gotta be a little more flexible than that. Things nowadays don’t work like they do in those old books you love so much. What’s it called? Order and Prejudice?”
"Pride and Prejudice," you correct him immediately, reaching out to give his broad shoulder a firm, playful shove.
He laughs, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates right in his chest.
"Whatever. Same difference."
You roll your eyes, turning away to walk toward the next section of shelves.
But his large, warm hands reach out, wrapping firmly around your waist from behind. With a gentle tug, he turns your body completely around to face him.
Startled, you place your palms flat against his chest, feeling the steady thumping of his heart beneath the thick fabric of his uniform.
"Let’s have a date right now, then," he murmurs, his eyes locking onto yours.
You laugh, completely astonished by his sudden boldness.
"What?"
"Yeah. Seriously. Come on," Travis urges, his hands sliding slightly up and down the sides of your waist, over your shirt, swaying you gently from side to side in a tiny, slow-motion dance. "If you don’t think going out with my buddies counts as a real date, then let’s just have our own date. Right here. Right now." His eyes go down to your mouth before snapping back up. "We can order some greasy food, sit on the floor, and just talk..."
You bite your inner cheek to fight back a growing smile, tilting your head to the side.
"Travis, you literally have to go to work."
He clicks his tongue against his teeth, waving his hand in the air as if the job meant absolutely nothing to him.
"I can show up late. Nobody cares over there. That storage is a ghost town and boring as hell. It can survive without its night watchman for a couple of hours."
You place your hands against his chest again, giving him a gentle, firm push to create some distance.
"I already have plans tonight, Travis. I’m sorry."
You turn back around, picking up the final stack of books from the cart and walking toward the isolated, shadowy section at the very back of the library where the last few shelves need to be filled.
Travis lets out a heavy, frustrated sigh.
He rubs his large hands aggressively over his face, his boots scraping against the floor as he storms after you.
"You know, if this is all just because I’m completely not your type, you can just be straight with me and tell me once and for all," he snaps, his voice suddenly losing all its playful warmth, replaced by a raw, biting edge.
You freeze instantly in your tracks.
The book you were about to slide into the shelf remains gripped tightly in your hand, suspended mid-air. You slowly turn around to look at him, your heart hammering against your ribs.
"What?"
Travis lets out a sharp, sarcastic laugh, crossing his arms tightly over his chest as he glares at you.
"It’s fine. Really. I get it. I’m not like those super smart, intellectual college guys who walk through that front door every day. The ones you probably have incredibly deep, fascinating conversations with. I’m not some rich kid with a bright future, either. Hell, I barely managed to get my life back on track after getting out of prison."
He takes a large, aggressive step forward, closing the distance between you in an instant. Your back hits the hard wooden edge of the bookshelf behind you. You are completely cornered, trapped entirely between the solid wall of shelves and the massive, imposing heat of his body.
"But you can’t keep doing this to me," Travis whispers, his voice trembling with a dangerous mix of anger and desperate desire. He leans down, his face inches from yours. "You can’t keep playing this game where you pull me in, get me all twisted up, and then push me away the second I try to get close. It’s driving me completely insane."
You frown, your breath catching in your throat as you stare into his dark, intense eyes.
"I don’t do that..."
A bitter, humorless smile touches his lips. He shakes his head slowly, his warm breath fanning across your cheeks.
When he speaks again, his voice is nothing more than a rough, gravelly whisper right against your skin.
"You know what bothers me the most about that creature in the book?" His eyes drop down to your lips, tracking the way they part slightly. "How fucking pathetic he looks, just begging and searching for a little bit of love."
The air between you feels thick. Your breathing is completely erratic, matching the heavy rise and fall of his chest.
For a long, agonizing second, neither of you say a word. The tension is a living thing, stretching tight enough to snap.
"Whatever," Travis mutters roughly, his eyes darkening with a flash of defeat.
But before he can even begin to pull his body away from yours, your hand shoots out, your fingers wrapping tightly around the collar of his work jacket. With a sudden burst of desperation, you yank him down and slam your lips hard against his.
Travis lets out a low, guttural growl deep in his throat, the sound vibrating directly into your mouth as he reacts instantly. Any trace of hesitation vanished. His large hands fly to your face, his long fingers tangling into your hair as he tilts your head back and kisses you with a raw, bruising hunger.
It isn’t a gentle kiss; it’s a desperate, starved collision of teeth and tongues.
He presses his massive body heavily against yours, pinning you flat against the bookshelf. The wood groans under the shifting weight, and a couple of books rattled on the upper shelves, but neither of you care.
You whimper into his mouth, your hands moving from his collar to grip his broad shoulders, pulling him even closer, if that’s even possible.
His tongue slides deeply into your mouth, claiming you with an aggressive, possessive rhythm that makes your knees completely weak.
He moves one of his legs in between yours, making you ride the hard, thick muscle of his leg as he rocks his hips forward. The unmistakable, rock-hard length of his growing erection presses firmly against your aching center, even through the layers of your clothes.
"Fuck," Travis growls, tearing his mouth away from yours for a fraction of a second to breathe.
His breath is hot and heavy against your wet lips. He drags his mouth down your jawline, his teeth nipping sharply at the sensitive skin of your neck, making you arch your back and gasp loudly into the empty, quiet library.
"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this. How fucking long I’ve dreamed about tearing your clothes off in this place."
"Travis," you gasp out, your fingers digging into the thick muscles of his back. "The doors... someone might..."
He doesn’t even answer, still pressing his lips against your skin, his hands moving down to grip your waist with a bruising pressure, lifting you slightly so he can grind his crotch harder against yours.
He slides his hands underneath your shirt, his rough, calloused palms scraping against your bare skin, sending a violent shiver straight down your spine.
He moves up to cup your breasts through your bra, squeezing the soft flesh roughly, his thumbs flicking hard over your sensitive nipples until you are whining, your head dropping back against the shelf.
The sheer thrill of being caught, combined with the raw, unfiltered dominance Travis is radiating, completely pushes you over the edge. You want him. You need him right now.
Your hands push at his chest, guiding him backwards. His back hits the bookshelves on the other side, and he grips the edge of it to stabilize himself
"So…" you whisper on his lips. His dark eyes flash with an intense, predatory heat. He understands instantly. His gaze locks onto yours as you reach for the waistband of his work trousers. "Is that all the book analysis you have for me today?"
With a swift, heavy tug, you unbuttoned his pants and shoved them and his dark boxers down past his hips. His cock bounces free, completely thick and fully hard now, pulsing with a heavy vein running down the length of it.
It’s massive, glistening with a bead of pre-cum at the thick, red head.
Travis lets out a rough, gravelly groan the second he feels your hand wrap around his cock.
The veins in his neck pop as you slide a little lower, gripping his length tightly from the base. Travis tangles his thick fingers into your hair to anchor himself as he launches into his rant.
"It’s just... seriously, I can’t get over how fucking stupid the guy is," he rasps, his voice dropping an octave and cracking as you kneel down and slowly leave wet kisses on his v-line down his pelvis above the thick pubis hair. "The piece of shit Victor spends months locked up in a lab, playing God, completely obsessed with the idea of creating life... and then when the creature finally opens its eyes... Ah, fuck, right there.. right there, baby!"
You start to suck him with a steady, punishing rhythm from the head of his cock. Travis throws his head back for a second, cutting off his own speech with a dirty groan as your spit completely lubricates his thickness.
He forces his gaze back down at you, his eyes dark with pure lust, completely turned on by the sight of you on your knees, swallowing him whole on the library floor.
"And then..." he continues, his breathing incredibly ragged as your lips slide up and down his length. "The guy sees that the creature is terriying and just runs away like a fucking coward. If you have the balls to create something, you take responsibility for it. You don’t just abandon it just because it doesn't look or acts as you— ohhh, fuck, shit, baby, mmm, fuck, you take me so fucking well."
Your mouth swirls tighter around him, making his entire body shudder.
Travis gently tugs your hair back, forcing you to release his cock by just an inch — just enough so he can catch his breath and keep cursing the damn scientists.
"The creature wasn’t born evil, you know? They made him evil by constantly rejecting him. The guy just wanted a shot, someone who wasn’t terrified of him, f—"
His voice completely breaks as you shove him deeper into your mouth again, swirling your tongue aggressively around his sensitive skin.
"Holy shit"
Travis can’t hold onto the thread of his analysis anymore. The blinding heat of your mouth is driving him insane, erasing any trace of logic as his hips begin to unconsciously thrust against your lips, completely surrendering to the pleasure.
His fingers tangle in your hair, holding you in place.
"Fucking look at you." Travis moans out, "Do it. Take it."
You don’t hesitate.
You lean forward, opening your mouth wider, trying to take him completely. Travis lets out a loud, ungodly groan, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. His thighs tremble as you wrap your lips around the head of his cock and suck him down into your throat as deeply as you could manage again.
"Oh, fuck, yes," he gasps, his knuckles turning white as he grips your hair, guiding the rhythm of your head, throwin his own head back. "Suck it, baby. Eat my cock."
The language is dirty, completely stripping away the polite, quiet atmosphere of the library; and it turns you on completely.
You swallow him deeper, your nose burying into his pubic hair, the heat of his skin enveloping your face.
You let your teeth graze slightly against him, and Travis lets out a sharp, ragged curse, his hips thrusting heavily against your mouth, forcing himself deep into your throat until you gagged softly.
"Fuck, sorry, sorry," he pants, though his grip on your hair doesn’t slacken. He looks down at your face, your eyes watering slightly from the depth of his cock in your throat, your lips glistening with his spit.
The sight completely breaks his remaining restraint.
He pulls away from your mouth with a wet, sticky pop.
Before you can even stand up, Travis grabs you under your armpits, moving your body off the floor with effortless, terrifying strength. He spins you around, slamming your front flat against the bookshelf.
"Lean down." he orders roughly, his voice trembling with an overwhelming urge to possess you.
You place your hands flat against the wooden shelves, knocking a small stack of paperbacks to the floor as you bent over, pushing your hips back towards him. You feel his large, rough hands grab the hem of your jeans and underwear, sliding them down past your thighs in one violent, impatient motion. The cool air of the library hits your bare ass, but a second later, the intense, radiating heat of Travis’s body presses flat against your back.
He reaches down between your legs, his thick fingers finding your dripping, soaked folds. He spreads your own slick juices all over your clit and down across his aching, throbbing cock.
You whimper loudly, your fingers digging into the wood of the shelf until your nails click against the varnish.
"You’re so fucking wet for me," Travis whispers in your ear, his teeth sinking into the sensitive meat of your neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark. "Tell me what you want."
"Please, fuck me. Put it in." you cry out, your voice echoing softly in the dark, empty aisles.
"I’m going to ruin you right here," he growls.
He guides the thick, pulsing head of his cock against your soaking wet entrance and with one brutal, heavy thrust of his hips, he buries himself completely inside you.
The size of him stretches you wide, filling you so well that a loud, high-pitched scream left your throat. Travis immediately slams his large hand over your mouth, muffling the sound as he pins your upper body down against the shelf.
"Shh... quiet, baby. Remember where we are," he whispers, a wicked smirk in his voice, even as his breath hitches from the tight, crushing warmth of your pussy gripping his lenght. "God, you’re so tight."
He begins to move, pulling nearly all the way out until only the tip remains, before slamming back into you with a heavy, wet thud.
The raw, explicit sound of his thighs hitting against your bare ass cheeks echoes loudly through the classic novels section. He doesn’t pace himself. He fucks you with a feral, frantic speed, his heavy body battering against yours over and over again.
Every single thrust pushes you forward against the shelf, the books shifting and scraping against the wood. You bite down hard on his palm to keep from screaming out as his cock hits your cervix repeatedly, sending waves of intense, hot pleasure straight to your core.
The friction is incredible, the heat building between your legs until it feels like you are going to combust.
"Look at how you’re taking it," Travis pants, removing his hand from your mouth to grip your waist, his thumbs digging into your hips to hold you steady while he absolutely hammers himself into you from behind. "Look at what a good little slut you are for the ex-con. You love this dirty shit, don’t you?"
"Oh God, Travis." you sob out, no longer caring if anyone hears you. Your head rolls on your shoulders, your vision blurring with tears of pure pleasure. You arch your back, tilting your pelvis up to give him deeper access, your wet walls clamping down around his thick dick with every single stroke.
"Fuck, you’re squeezing me so hard," Travis groans, his pace becoming completely erratic, harder and faster, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps.
He grabs your hips, turning you around easily. You quickly wrap one leg around his hips, and your arms around his neck, not wanting to be apart from him a second longer.
He grabs under your leg, keeping you in place as he slides inside you again.
Your moans and uneven breaths mix together as your faces get closer. He kisses you messily while his hips trust against you in an uncoordinated rhythm now.
"I’m so close. I’m gonna come inside you. I’m gonna fill you up right in the middle of this fucking library."
The announcement, delivered in his rough, vulgar tone, triggers something deep inside you. Your internal muscles contract violently as a massive, shattering orgasm rips through your body. You shake all over, your hands losing their grip on his neck as your head falls back, your throat letting out a strangled, breathless cry of release. He wraps his arm around to help you to keep your balance.
Feeling your pussy pulsing violently around his cock, Travis lets out a loud, feral roar.
He delivers three more brutal, bottoming-out thrusts, burying himself as deeply as physically possible inside you, and freezes. His entire body locks up, his muscles turning rock-hard against you as he shoots his thick, heavy torrent of hot semen deep into your womb. He holds himself deep inside you, his hips twitching as he pumps load after load into your pulsing body, groaning loudly against the back of your neck.
For several long seconds, the only sound in the library is the ragged, heavy breathing of the two of you.
Slowly, Travis pulls his cock out of you with a soft, wet sound. A mixture of his cream and your own juices immediately begin to drip down the inside of your thigh. Your legs are shaking so badly you can barely stand, but Travis’s strong arms are right there, catching you and pulling you flush against his chest.
He looks at you, and his fingers brush your hair behind your ear.
You both chuckle nervously and you bite your lower lip.
He opens his mouth to say something, when the front door bell chimes.
“Hello?” the voice of a young guy sounds through the walls of the library.
Panic hits both of you at the exact same time. In a single second, you go from pure ecstasy to a desperate race against the clock.
Between muffled whispers and hushed curses, you both start dressing at lightning speed behind the very last bookshelf. Travis yanks up his boxers and the heavy trousers of his uniform in one violent tug, while you frantically adjust and smooth out your own clothes, praying to God that you don’t look completely wrecked.
You quickly wipe your mouth with the back of your hand to clear away any trace and take a deep, shaky breath, desperately trying to piece back your professional composure.
"Yes, I’m coming!" you call out, your voice a little higher than usual, as you step out of the dark aisle and into the bright light of the main counter.
Waiting there is a young college student with a heavy backpack slung over his shoulder and a face that looks like he hasn’t slept in three days. He’s holding a crumpled piece of paper with the name of an economics manual.
With your hands still trembling slightly from the adrenaline, you smile at him as if absolutely nothing happened, look up the book in the system, and guide him to the correct section.
As you are handing the book to the student and checking it out, heavy, familiar footsteps announce Travis walking out from the back of the library. He already has his jacket zipped up and his hair lazily thrown into place with his fingers, but the expression on his face is one of pure satisfaction.
He walks slowly toward the exit, passing right by the front desk. He stops for a brief second, leaning his broad frame against the wooden counter, and locks his dark, deeply amused eyes onto yours. The college student doesn’t notice a thing, far too focused on shoving the heavy textbook into his backpack.
Travis leans in just a fraction closer, winking at you with a broad, lazy grin, and whispers in a tone meant only for you:
"Thanks for the date. See you tomorrow at the non-date."
You roll your eyes dramatically, pretending to be thoroughly annoyed while your cheeks burn a bright, furious crimson.
But as you watch him push open the heavy glass door and disappear into the cool night air, you can’t stop a smile from breaking across your lips.
⭑ para juani juanita juana⭑
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summary: after leaving hollywood behind to make a career in the italian industry, you meet sean at one of the elite's lavish parties. what begins as a chance encounter soon becomes something neither of you sees coming.
c/w: strangers. tension. yearning. some plot for more context. (18+) use of alcohol and cocaine. smut. oral sex. p in v. no protection. orgasm. creampie
words: 17k
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ .
You take the driver’s hand to step out of the black car, thanking him with a soft, practiced smile, while the thick heel of your shoe lands firmly on the Roman asphalt.
The night air is cool, carrying the faint smell of rain and expensive perfume. You pull your heavy coat closer around your shoulders to keep the chill away.
Even from out here on the street, the party is alive. You can hear the loud, energetic jazz music spilling out from the open windows of the grand building.
The wild notes of the saxophone and the deep, steady beat of the double bass seem to bounce right against your chest. It’s a rhythm that tells you exactly what kind of night this will be: fast, loud, and exhausting.
You take a deep breath and walk up the wide stone steps. As soon as you enter the palace, the heat of the room hits you. A thick cloud of cigarette smoke wraps around you like a heavy blanket and it makes your eyes water for a second, barely letting you see the massive, rich ballroom in front of you. The ceiling is painted extravagantly and giant crystal chandeliers hang from above, making everything shine with a soft golden light.
Before you can even take off your coat, a thin, cold hand grabs your arm tightly, pulling you into the crowd.
"But if it isn’t the most beautiful person in all of America! My gorgeous girl!"
A loud, sharp voice rings in your ears. Even with the loud music, you hear her perfectly. Because of the heavy Italian accent, it’s not hard to recognize who has caught you. It’s Mrs. Agnelli. She has claimed you as her prize for the evening, and you know right away that escaping her claws is going to be impossible.
You already knew this would happen. You’ve prepared yourself since this very rich and powerful family invited you to their "business meeting" — which is what they call it, even though you know it’s just an excuse to throw a huge, wild Italian party — and you knew it would be a long, tiring night.
But you could not say no. The offer to come here was too valuable. The Agnelli family has been in control of Rome’s high society for many years. Knowing them is the best way to get inside the European movie industry; and given that you came to this country looking to grow, to leave behind the old Hollywood rules, and to expand your horizons as an actress, you need these people.
And the truth is, they are in love with you. They are completely obsessed. Maybe the whole world is right now.
With the natural elegance you show, your fresh beauty, and your raw talent, it’s very hard for them not to stare like fools. You are the young, promising actress who crossed the ocean to give them her art. Or, at least, that is the story the newspapers are telling everyone.
"It’s so nice to see you, Mrs. Agnelli," you answer. Your Italian is still a bit rough, but you are trying. You practice every morning, but speaking it in a loud room is different.
"Oh, please, come in, come in!" the older woman says, not really listening to you. She links her arm through yours, practically dragging you deeper into the giant room.
As you walk with Mrs. Agnelli, you look around. Every face is completely unknown to you. There are young, handsome men in very expensive suits holding glasses of dark liquor. There are young women, dressed in shiny silk, laughing too loudly, trying very hard to be accepted by the rich families.
It’s a complete circus.
It’s a world that does not interest you at all, but sadly, it’s a world you cannot escape.
Not if you want to have the success you dream of. Not if you want the perfect life.
Mrs. Agnelli finally drops you off at a table with a group of older, very well-dressed people, before running away to greet another guest. You are trapped.
You look at the clock on the wall. Maybe forty minutes have passed since you arrived at the party, and you want nothing more than to run back to your hotel, take off your shoes, and sleep.
Luckily, a waiter passes by and you grab a strong drink. The cold gin is the only thing helping you pass the time.
"I heard that you are filming a movie just outside the city," one woman says. Before she speaks, she looks at you from head to toe, judging your dress, your hair, and your jewelry.
You put on your best face. You just smile kindly, the exact same way you do in every interaction, in every interview, in every set.
"Yes, that is right," you reply, keeping your answer short but polite. "We started filming last week."
"And... is it true that Mr. Mastroianni is part of the movie?" a younger girl next to the woman whispers. She bites her lip, trying to look cute and flirty.
"Oh my God, what a handsome man," another woman sighs, fanning her face. All the women in the circle laugh quietly together, sharing a secret look.
You just keep smiling. You take a slow sip of your drink. You know exactly how this game is played: they want secrets; they want gossip to share with their friends tomorrow.
"I can’t really say anything about that," you answer smoothly, using your best innocent voice. "The director wants to keep things quiet. The only thing I can say is that—"
"It’s Miss Esperanto," one of the man whispers sharply, completely cutting off your sentence.
Suddenly, the mood in the room changes. The small laughs stop. The whispers around your table begin to spread across the whole room like a wave of water. Slowly, trying not to look too obvious, every single person in the room turns their body to look at the main entrance doors.
Your back goes perfectly straight. You feel a sudden cold feeling in your chest just as the young woman steps through the door. And, as if this were a script for a dramatic movie, her eyes scan the room and lock straight onto yours.
Josephine Esperanto.
She stands there with perfect posture and an elegant, slow walk. She is wearing a dark green dress that hugs her body, and diamonds shine around her neck. She has a very powerful place in the movie industry here. You can’t say that you don’t know her, because everyone knows her. But that definitely does not mean you are good friends. In fact, it is exactly the opposite.
From the rumors on the Italian streets to the quiet whispers on the movie sets, you know exactly who she is. You know she’s a very difficult woman to work with. She gets angry easily, she demands the best dressing rooms, and she hates sharing the spotlight.
More importantly, you know she’s not happy at all about your arrival in the Italian industry. You have settled in too quickly. You are getting the roles she used to get. The magazines are calling you the "new star," replacing her name.
You call her feelings fear… maybe envy. Perhaps a mix of both.
However, you are not going to let your pride win. You are not that kind of person. You do not want to start a fight in the middle of a party.
So, showing how polite you are, you slowly tilt your head down in a respectful greeting. But you don’t blink. You never take your eyes off her.
You don’t get the same polite greeting back.
Josephine looks at you for a long moment, her face totally blank. Then, she quickly turns her head away to whisper something into the ear of the person standing next to her.
That is when you finally notice that she did not come to the party alone.
You look at the man she’s whispering to. Even from far away, you can recognize him. It’s her closest friend and guide, Rufus Priori. Seeing his face makes your stomach turn. You can’t deny that you have had more than a few ugly fights with him back in the crazy American film industry.
He was a producer on your second movie. He did nothing but try to cut your lines, make you look bad, and you had to fight him every single day on set just to be respected.
Seeing him here, standing next to your new rival, makes perfect sense. Snakes like to stay together.
But your eyes do not stay on Rufus for very long as your gaze quickly moves to another young man standing on Josephine’s other side.
You search your memory, but you can’t recognize his face from anywhere. Still, his presence is impossible to ignore.
He’s tall, standing high above the Italian men in the room. His dark hair is perfectly combed back and shiny under the lights. His black tuxedo fits his body so perfectly it looks like it was painted on him.
By the way he stands, with his hands in his pockets, looking around the room with relaxed, but fascinated eyes, two things are undeniable to you:
First, he’s American. He has that classic, careless Hollywood look. Second, he’s just another lapdog for Josephine. Another pretty boy she brought to carry her bags and tell her how beautiful she is.
How boring, you think to yourself. You take another drink of your gin, ready to turn back to the gossiping women and ignore the new arrivals.
But the night is not going to be that easy.
—
“And that, fundamentally, is how the entire machinery turns.”
The guy finally finishes his endless monologue, his lips curling upward into an almost mocking smile that suggests he believes he has just imparted the secrets of the universe to a mere mortal.
You offer nothing more than a shallow, mechanical nod. Your lips stretch into a polite, practiced smile — the kind you have perfected while navigating the shark-infested waters of the Italian social elite.
Without a word, you raise your crystal glass to your lips, taking a slow, measured sip of your… third gin? Fourth? You have completely lost count of the drinks, just as you have lost count of the minutes you’ve been trapped in this corner.
Antonio. Or was it Oliverio? Honestly, the name evaporated from your memory the moment he introduced himself. He has spent the better part of the last half-hour cornering you against a marble pillar, meticulously detailing the inner workings of his father’s publishing house.
According to him, it’s the most prestigious, groundbreaking publishing empire in all of Italy. A titan of literature.
But you are fairly certain your brain shut down and went on vacation somewhere around the fifteen-minute mark.
You could not possibly care less if his father printed the Bible itself.
As if dictated by some unspoken, strictly timed Italian social cue you have yet to master, the atmosphere in the grand hall shifts.
People begin to drift away from the velvet sofas and the buffet tables, gravitating toward the polished parquet floor in the center of the room. The band strikes up a lively, bouncing rhythm.
“Do you dance?”
The voice breaks your trail of thoughts. You blink, turning your gaze back to the boy. Lucas? No. You’ve officially surrendered to simply not knowing his name.
You shake your head, the polite smile returning like a mask snapping into place.
“No, thank you. I think I’ll just watch for now.”
His perfectly groomed eyebrows knit together. He opens his mouth, clearly preparing to insist, likely armed with some terrible line about how a beautiful woman shouldn’t stand alone. The dread pools in your stomach.
But before he can utter a single syllable, a heavy, reassuring warmth settles onto your left shoulder. You are gently but firmly guided to turn around.
“What an absolute joy to see you here.”
The voice is deep, gravelly, and laced with a rich, unmistakable Roman cadence. You don’t need to look to know who it belongs to.
“Mr. Agnelli,” you say, the genuine relief in your voice completely unfeigned. “Thank you so much for the invitation. It’s a breathtaking evening.”
You turn fully toward your host, a genuine smile finally breaking through your fatigue.
Mr. Agnelli stands tall, an unlit cigar caught between his thick fingers.
However, the warmth of your smile dies a sudden, icy death the very second your eyes drift past him and register the figure standing elegantly at his right side.
“Please, my dear. There is absolutely no need to thank me,” Agnelli booms warmly, oblivious to the sudden drop in your internal temperature. “My wife and I truly wanted you here tonight. We are celebrating the future of cinema, after all.” He steps slightly to the side, gesturing broadly to the woman beside him. “You know Josephine, don’t you?”
She doesn’t just look at you; she assesses you. Her gaze starts at the hem of your gown, slowly raking its way up your body, cataloging every stitch, every perceived flaw, before finally meeting your eyes.
Her lips curve into a slow, mocking smirk — a micro-expression of pure, unadulterated condescension that makes every muscle in your jaw tighten. You have to actively bite the inside of your cheek to suppress the overwhelming urge to roll your eyes.
“I haven’t had the pleasure, no,” you say, your voice perfectly even, betraying none of the acid bubbling in your chest.
Her smirk falters for a fraction of a second at your cool dismissal, but Josephine is a professional. The smile instantly solidifies into something brilliantly, terrifyingly fake. She tilts her head, her dark, perfectly coiffed hair catching the chandelier’s light.
“Well, we certainly have heard each other’s names floating around the studios,” Josephine purrs, her voice meticulously controlled, every syllable dripping with faux sweetness. “Ultimately, the film industry is quite a small world, isn’t it?”
You can’t argue with the facts.
At the end of the day, two ambitious American girls fiercely clawing out a space for themselves in the male-dominated Italian film industry of the 1950s do not go unnoticed.
You are constantly compared in the trades, constantly pitted against one another for the same roles, the same magazine covers, the same oxygen.
You simply smile back, a mirror of her own dangerous sweetness.
“Indeed it is.”
“So,” she continues, taking a deliberate step closer as Mr. Agnelli suddenly turns away, distracted by a passing politician and leaving the two of you stranded in each other’s gravity. “I heard the news. You secured the lead for the new project shooting just outside the city.”
Now that Agnelli’s watchful eyes are gone, the heavy veil of pretense drops slightly. Your smile dissapears, morphing into a look of quiet challenge. You hold your ground.
“Yes. It’s a fascinating script,” you reply, your tone clipped. “Easily the best project set up in Rome this entire season.”
Josephine lets out a breathy, dismissive laugh that sounds like breaking glass.
“I highly doubt that,” she says, her words razor-sharp and delivered with deadly precision. “If it truly were the best project in Rome, darling, they wouldn’t have settled for casting you.”
Your brow furrows. The insult hits its mark, a quick, stinging jab to your pride.
You open your mouth, a sharp retort already forming on your tongue, but before you can unleash it, a glass materializes in the space between you.
“Your drink.”
The voice is male, surprisingly soft, but carrying an underlying resonance that demands immediate attention.
You glance up. It’s the man who had walked in a few steps behind Josephine earlier — the one you had initially dismissed as just another member of her endless entourage.
Up close, the impact of his presence is startling.
His hair is flawlessly styled and he wears a dark suit that fits his broad shoulders so perfectly it looks as though it was tailored to his exact musculature just this morning.
Josephine immediately breaks her venomous eye contact with you. Her entire demeanor shifts as she looks at the guy. She smiles — a genuine, almost predatory smile — and reaches up, lightly trailing her manicured fingernails down the sharp angle of his jawline.
“Thank you, my angel,” she coos, her voice dropping an octave.
For a microsecond, the guy looks entirely captivated. His eyes soften, locked onto hers, completely enchanted by the breadcrumb of affection she just threw at him.
But the spell is brutally, violently brief.
“Lucas! Darling, it’s been ages!” Josephine suddenly screeches, her attention violently snapping to someone across the room. Without a second thought, she pushes past the suited man, her shoulder bumping his chest as she abandons him entirely to chase down a more useful connection, leaving him standing there holding the empty air where she had just been.
You watch him carefully. You don’t miss the subtle, almost imperceptible way he reacts.
He shakes his head slightly, as if trying to clear a sudden ringing in his ears. His lips press together into a tight, hard line. He takes a slow, deep breath, his broad chest rising and falling beneath the expensive suit, until he manages to reassemble his composure.
He locks his emotions away into a neat little box.
And then, his eyes find yours.
They are dark, intense, and startlingly observant. For a long moment, the roaring noise of the party around you seems to dial down to a low hum.
“I do believe it is going to be the finest project in all of Rome,” he says.
His voice is smooth, carrying a hint of an American accent that hasn’t quite been erased by his time in Europe.
You frown, taken aback by the sudden intrusion. You had assumed he was merely part of Josephine’s scenery.
“Excuse me?” you ask, your tone laced with genuine confusion.
He laughs softly. It’s a warm, surprisingly self-deprecating sound.
He straightens his posture, and suddenly you realize just how tall he really is.
“How terribly rude of me,” he murmurs, stepping forward and extending a large, scarred hand toward you. “Lockwood. Sean Lockwood.”
Hesitantly, you reach out and take his hand.
The moment your skin meets his, the physical contrast is startling. His hand easily engulfs yours. Despite the immaculate tailoring of his suit and the high-society setting, his palm is rough, marked by calluses, and his grip is firm, commanding, and decidedly masculine.
It completely contradicts the pathetic, lapdog image he projected just moments ago while standing beside Josephine.
“Good evening, Mr. Lockwood,” you reply, trying to ignore the sudden flutter of heat in your chest. “I am—”
“I know exactly who you are,” he interrupts smoothly, his voice dropping slightly as he pronounces your full name with a reverence that catches you completely off guard. “I’m a big admirer of your work, truthfully.”
To your absolute horror — and it is something that almost never happens to you anymore, not after years of hardening your heart to the industry’s superficial flattery — you feel a sudden, betraying heat rise to your cheeks.
You are blushing.
His hand gently squeezes yours one last time before he slowly lets go. The loss of contact leaves your fingers feeling strangely cold.
You let your hand drop, curling it into a loose fist at your side, trying to preserve the phantom sensation of his touch.
Desperate to regain your composure, you clear your throat and take a quick, defensive sip of your gin.
“So,” you start, attempting to project an air of casual indifference. You nod your head toward the other side of the room, where Josephine is currently laughing dramatically, throwing her head back for an audience of captivated producers. “Are you a... friend of Miss Esperanto?”
Sean turns his head slightly, following your gaze. The look that washes over his face is incredibly complex, a heavy mixture of emotions that are impossible to fully decipher. There is pity there, yes. But also a deep, lingering ache.
It’s the tragic, universally recognizable expression of a man hopelessly trapped in the gravitational pull of a toxic star.
He looks like just another poor casualty standing in the endlessly long line of suitors waiting on the venomous actress.
“Something like that,” he says quietly, lifting his own crystal glass and taking a long, slow drink.
But almost as quickly as the melancholy appeared, it vanishes.
He turns back, his attention snapping away from Josephine and returning fully to you — or rather, to the ornate velvet wall just over your left shoulder. He reaches a hand into the inner pocket of his jacket, pulling out a sleek silver cigarette case and a matching lighter. With practiced ease, he flicks a cigarette to his lips and lights it.
He offers the case to you. You shake your head silently.
Taking a deep drag, he turns his head sharply to the side, forcefully exhaling a thick plume of gray smoke away from your face to ensure you aren’t caught in the cloud.
You can’t deny it — it’s a surprisingly thoughtful, gentlemanly gesture in a room full of men who usually blow smoke directly into your eyes.
You study his profile.
He doesn’t seem like a bad guy.
There is a quiet intelligence in his eyes, a grounded reality that is severely lacking in this room. But you are not naive. Considering he runs in the inner circle of a viper like Josephine Esperanto, you know that survival dictates you keep him at a safe, guarded distance.
He turns back to you, parting his lips, clearly about to say something else, when a sudden, jarring force grips your arm.
“Come on, enough talking. Let’s dance.”
It takes your startled brain a full second to register the face attached to the hand pulling at your arm. It’s the same annoyingly persistent boy from earlier. Lucas. Antonio. Whoever. He has returned, smelling strongly of whiskey and unearned confidence, and he’s attempting to literally drag you toward the jazz band.
Before you can even open your mouth to formulate a sharp rejection, a sudden movement blurs in your peripheral vision.
A large, heavy hand lands squarely on your waist. With a swift, fluid motion, you are pulled backward, away from the boy’s grasp, and your back collides gently but firmly against a solid, unyielding chest.
“She’s with me.”
The voice resonates through the chest pressed against your back. Sean’s tone no longer the soft, deferential voice of the pathetic little puppy dog who was carrying drinks for the starlet. This voice is dark, heavy, and absolute. It’s a voice that imposes immediate authority — the voice of a man accustomed to commanding a room, a man whose name, whatever weight it holds, demands instant respect.
The annoying guy freezes. His drunken bravado shatters instantly as he looks up at Sean’s imposing frame. His face pales, and he lets out a low, frustrated sound before he sharply turns on his heel and scurries away toward the opposite side of the dance floor, disappearing into the crowd like a frightened rabbit.
The sudden silence between you and Sean is deafening.
You clear your throat softly, your heart hammering against your ribs. You take a cautious half-step forward, creating some space between your back and his chest, though you are careful not to move too far away.
“Thank you,” you say, looking up at him over your shoulder. “But really, that wasn’t necessary. I can handle myself.”
Sean shakes his head, a genuine, almost boyish smile breaking across his face and completely changing the hard landscape of his features.
Without taking his eyes off you, he leans over, crushing his half-smoked cigarette into a nearby crystal ashtray. He then gently pries the gin glass from your tight grip, setting it down on the table beside you.
“I know you can,” he says smoothly. “But unfortunately, now you are actually going to have to dance with me. Otherwise, he’s going to realize it was a lie and come right back to bother you.”
You let out a breath of disbelief, shaking your head.
“No, no, I am not—”
But before you can finish your protest, his large hand completely envelops yours. His grip is firm, leaving absolutely no room for argument, and with a surprisingly gentle force, he pulls you directly into the sea of bodies on the dance floor.
The band is in the middle of a frantic, swinging crescendo. As soon as you hit the floor, Sean doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you into frame.
Almost immediately, his movements reveal the truth: he’s not a dancer.
His steps are a bit too fast, a little jerky, and entirely lack the fluid, practiced elegance of the wealthy Italian men you have danced around here. He’s rough around the edges, stepping slightly off the beat.
But what he lacks in technical grace, he violently overcompensates for in pure, unadulterated confidence.
He spins you outward with a sudden, dizzying force. You gasp, but before you can lose your balance, his hand yanks you right back. The momentum sends you crashing gently against his solid chest. The sheer audacity of his clumsy, confident maneuvering catches you off guard, and a loud, bright burst of laughter escapes your lips before you can stop it.
You look up at him, your guard finally beginning to lower. The tension that had been coiling in your neck all night begins to dissolve.
Under the flashing lights, surrounded by the blaring horns of the jazz band, you allow yourself to surrender to the rhythm. Your body begins to move in sync with his, finding a strange, chaotic harmony in his erratic steps.
For a brief, intoxicating moment, the suffocating atmosphere of the Agnelli party fades away. It is just the music, the heat of the room, and the startling warmth of Sean Lockwood’s hands on you.
He spins you out again. You smile, ready to be pulled back into the warmth of his chest.
But as you turn back to face him, the smile dies on your lips.
You look at his face, expecting to find those intense, dark eyes looking down at you.
Instead, you find his gaze completely detached.
His eyes have drifted away from your face and are locked onto something far over your left shoulder. You don’t even have to turn around to know what he is looking at. You can feel the exact trajectory of his stare.
He’s looking at Josephine.
A cold, heavy stone drops into the pit of your stomach. A visceral, twisting sensation ripples through your entire body. It’s an ugly, uncomfortable feeling that takes you a second to identify.
It’s absolutely not jealousy. You scoff at the very idea. How could you possibly be jealous of a woman like her? You wouldn’t trade your soul for her hollow life in a million years.
No, it isn’t jealousy. It’s pride.
Perhaps you have grown far too accustomed to being the center of attention. Perhaps the ego of being an actress has corrupted you more than you care to admit. But whatever the reason, it infuriates you to your very core to realize you are sharing this moment.
It sickens you to realize that this incredibly handsome, enigmatic man holding you in his arms is not actually present with you.
His body is here, his hands are on your waist, but his mind and his focus are tied to another woman across the room.
You are nothing but a placeholder.
A prop in whatever tragic, twisted game he’s playing to capture the attention of a woman who treats him like dirt.
The song reaches its final, explosive climax. The drummer crashes the cymbals, the brass section blares a final chord, and the room erupts into polite, gloved applause.
Sean blinks, as if suddenly waking from a trance. He looks back down at you, a charming smile automatically returning to his lips as he reaches up to smooth a stray lock of perfectly styled hair that had fallen across his forehead.
His lips part, clearly preparing to say something charming, something to keep you on the floor.
But you don’t give him the chance.
Before the first syllable can leave his mouth, you pull your hands free from his grip. You don’t say a word. You don’t offer a polite smile. You simply turn your back on him and step into the sea of bodies.
You move quickly, your heels clicking sharply against the parquet floor as you weave your way through the crowd, desperate to put as much distance between yourself and Sean Lockwood as humanly possible. You don’t look back. You refuse to give him the satisfaction.
But as you disappear into the shadows of the grand hall, slipping past the velvet curtains and the oblivious socialites, a chill runs down your spine. Even hidden among the hundreds of people, you are absolutely certain of one thing.
You can feel his eyes burning into your back.
And as you push through the grand oak doors, stepping out into the cool Roman night, you know with a terrifying certainty that it will not be the last time tonight you feel the phantom weight of Sean Lockwood’s stare.
—
The Agnelli Palace is not called a palace for nothing.
In less than half an hour of wandering away from the crowd, you find yourself completely and utterly lost. You had originally walked away from the main ballroom just to get away from the loud music, the fake laughs, and the suffocating crowd of rich people, but now you are paying a heavy price for that choice.
There are simply too many rooms in this place.
Every corner you turn reveals another long corridor, another dark hallway, or a set of secret wooden doors that seem to lead absolutely nowhere.
Here, the noise of the party has faded into a very quiet, distant hum that you can barely hear. The laughter, the clinking of champagne glasses, and the jazz music sound like they belong to a completely different world.
Just when you are about to give up entirely and turn around to find a servant to help you, you see a faint, cool light at the end of a narrow, dimly lit passage. You walk toward it, your heels clicking faster against the floor.
At the end of the hall, there is a heavy wooden door with large glass panes. Through the glass, you can see the deep, dark blue of the night sky over Rome.
You walk a little faster, your heart feeling a bit lighter than it did a moment ago. You press your palm against the cold metal handle and push the door open. It moves with a soft, slow creak, letting in a sudden rush of air.
When you take your first step outside, the cold air of Rome immediately wraps around your bare skin. It’s a sharp, freezing wind that hits your exposed shoulders like a shock to your system.
Instantly, you regret leaving your expensive coat back in the main ballroom.
The chill makes you shiver, but despite the cold, you do not turn around to go back inside. The freezing air is much better than the hot, stuffy air of the party. It feels real. It wakes you up.
You walk over to the edge of the balcony and lean forward, resting your elbows on the cold stone railing. It’s a massive, beautiful balcony, carved with old, detailed designs that must have cost a fortune to create.
You look down at the private gardens below. They are absolutely beautiful, even in the dark of night. The green hedges are cut perfectly into clean geometric shapes, forming a beautiful pattern on the ground.
The peaceful silence of the night is wonderful, but you know it can’t last long in a place like this.
Suddenly, you hear the clear sound of footsteps coming from behind you. They are heavy, slow, and deliberate steps, breaking the quiet air of the balcony. Instantly, your body goes completely stiff. Your professional habits and defense mechanisms take over before you can even think about it. You straighten your back, lift your chin, and put on your well-practiced social smile.
It’s the exact smile you use for the cameras on the red carpet, for the big studio producers, and for anyone at these parties who comes up to tell you how amazing, how talented, or how beautiful you are.
It’s a shield.
You prepare yourself to look charming, to say the right words, and to play the social game perfectly, just like you always do. But when you turn your head slightly and see who is actually walking through the doorway onto the balcony, your fake smile disappears completely from your face.
A wave of genuine annoyance washes over you.
But at the exact same time, a strange, unexpected feeling of relief settles deep in your chest. You realize that with him, you don’t have to pretend.
You let out a long, heavy sigh, turning your back to him completely and looking out at the dark gardens once again, letting him see your irritation.
"Did your owner leave you off the leash?" you say.
Your voice is dry, cold, and incredibly sharp. It cuts through the quiet night air like a knife, showing absolutely no warmth or kindness.
Sean does not get angry at your harsh, insulting words. Instead, he just lets out a soft, low laugh. The sound is warm and relaxed, a direct contrast to the freezing Roman air around you.
He walks over to the edge of the balcony, moving with a slow, confident stride that shows off his tall frame, and stops right next to you.
He leans his hips against the stone railing, looking down at the dark garden just like you were doing a moment ago.
"I guess I deserve that..." he says quietly.
You do not answer him right away.
You keep your eyes fixed on the marble fountain below, watching the water rise and fall under the dim lights of the palace grounds.
For a few long seconds, neither of you says a single word. The silence between you is incredibly heavy, filled with an unspoken tension that has been building up between you all night inside the ballroom, every time your eyes met across the crowded room.
It’s a strange mix of deep irritation and weird comfort.
You kinda hate him, but you also feel somehow drawn to him.
Then, you hear the familiar, sharp click of metal. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch him pull his silver cigarette case from the inside pocket of his expensive designer jacket.
He opens it with a smooth, slow motion and holds it out toward you, offering you one.
This time, you accept it. You reach out your hand, your cold fingers accidentally brushing against his warm skin for a brief, electric second, and you take a single cigarette from the silver case, bringing it to your lips.
Sean matches your movement perfectly, taking one for himself. He pulls out a heavy lighter, flicks it open with his thumb, and a small, bright yellow flame appears between your faces.
He steps a little bit closer to you, using his broad shoulders to block the cold wind from putting out the flame. He brings the fire to the tip of your cigarette. As you inhale, the tip glows a bright, hot orange, lighting up your face.
During those few seconds, neither of you looks away. You look straight into his dark eyes, and he looks directly into yours.
The light of the flame reflects in his eyes, making them look incredibly intense, focused, and deep.
You take a slow, deep puff, letting the warm smoke fill your lungs before you delicately remove the cigarette from your mouth with your fingers. You turn your head away from him, looking back out into the cold night, and blow the smoke out into the air.
Even without looking directly at him, you can see his face through the corner of your eye. He is smiling again. It’s a small, knowing smile that makes you want to shake your head in annoyance.
He lights his own cigarette, the sudden flame illuminating his sharp jawline for a brief moment before he closes the lighter with a sharp, metallic snap that sounds loud in the quiet night.
"I wasn’t lying when I said I am a big admirer," he says, his voice smooth and calm as he blows a cloud of smoke to the side, away from your face.
You shake your head, a small, sarcastic sound escaping your throat.
"Don’t ruin it," you reply, keeping your eyes fixed on the dark trees in the distance. "We were actually getting along well for a second there. Don’t start with the fake compliments."
Sean turns his body slightly toward you, lowering his head a bit so he can try to catch your eye. He wrinkles his forehead, looking confused by your reaction, but you can see the clear amusement hiding beneath the cigarette resting between his lips.
"Why would that ruin it?" he asks, his tone genuinely curious about your thoughts.
"Don’t say those kinds of stupid things just because you want to get someone into your bed tonight," you say bluntly, turning to look at him.
You don’t try to be nice or polite about it. You know exactly how men like him operate, especially the handsome actors in this industry who think they can have absolutely anyone they want with a few nice words and a charming smile.
You have seen it a thousand times, and you refuse to be another one of his games.
Sean pauses, taking the cigarette out of his mouth. He leans his elbow back on the cold stone of the balcony, turning his entire body to face you now, letting the cold wind hit his back.
He looks at you with an expression that is half hurt and half challenged, as if he can’t believe you just said that to him.
"Do you really think that low of me?" he asks, his voice dropping a bit lower, sounding softer and more serious than before.
You look over at him, your eyes meeting his.
For a split second, a real, genuine smile tries to break through your serious expression. You find his frustration slightly funny. But to hide it from him, you bring the cigarette back to your lips and take another long, slow puff. You let the thick white smoke hide your face and your emotions from him.
"Well, if that is the case... thank you," you say after a moment, your voice dripping with heavy sarcasm as you blow the smoke out.
Sean stares at you, studying every single detail of your face as if he’s trying to solve a difficult puzzle that he can’t figure out. The heavy silence stretches between you again, but this time it feels different. It feels much tighter, filled with his growing frustration, his confusion, and his deep curiosity about you.
He takes another quick drag of his cigarette, the tip glowing red, then speaks up quickly, breaking the quiet before you can turn away from him again.
"How do you do it?" he asks, the words coming out fast, as if he couldn’t keep them inside anymore.
You wrinkle your forehead, genuinely surprised by the sudden change in his tone and the question itself.
You turn your head to look at him properly, removing the cigarette from your lips.
"Do what?"
"This," Sean says. He moves his hands away from the stone railing, opening his arms wide to gesture at the massive, glowing palace around you, the expensive party happening inside with all the powerful executives, and finally, he points a finger directly at you. "Everything. It’s like... everyone just falls right at your feet the moment you walk into a room. It doesn’t matter what you say to them, it doesn’t matter what you do. You always manage to get the absolute best projects in the business. You work with the most powerful people in the entire industry. How do you do it? What is your secret?"
There is a real note of desperation in his voice now. The confident, charming Hollywood actor persona has completely disappeared, replaced by something much more raw, honest, and deeply insecure. He looks like a man who is lost in a world he can’t control, looking to you for answers.
You look away from him, turning your gaze back to the dark gardens below. You take a long, slow puff of your cigarette, letting him wait for your answer in the cold.
"You are here tonight too, Sean," you answer quietly, pointing out the obvious truth.
You’re reminding him that he is also standing in the Agnelli Palace, that he also has access to this exclusive world of extreme wealth, fame, and power. You’re telling him that he is fully capable of all of it too, if he just realized his own worth.
But Sean just lets out a frustrated, heavy sigh. He shakes his head, clearly unhappy with your answer, thinking you are just dismissing him.
"It’s not the same," he says, his voice dropping an octave, sounding incredibly tired and defeated.
"Why isn’t it?" you ask, turning your head back to look at him, your curiosity growing as you see his vulnerability.
"Because it just isn’t!" he says, his voice rising a bit, sounding a little frantic and desperate in the quiet night. He stops himself, taking a deep breath of the cold air to calm his racing thoughts before anyone inside can hear him.
He looks down at his expensive leather shoes for a second, then looks back up at you, his eyes wide and completely open in the dim light of the balcony.
"Because... because I will never be like that. You all have so much real talent. So much hunger inside you to win. So much natural charisma that makes people look at you. So much—"
"You all?" you interrupt him, cutting him off right in the middle of his sentence before he can finish his list.
He stops talking, blinking at you in surprise, caught off guard by your interruption. "You and… Josephine"
A soft, sharp laugh escapes your throat. It’s a bitter, sarcastic sound that echoes slightly against the cold stone walls of the balcony.
"Right... of course," you say, your voice turning cold as ice.
Josephine.
It always comes back to her, doesn’t it? She is the big star, the shining light of the movie, the one everyone wants to talk to, and he’s just the handsome man by her side, the guy who tags along to the big parties.
You can see how much it hurts his pride, even if he tries to hide it.
You take one last, deep puff of your cigarette, watching the red tip glow bright one final time in the darkness. You turn around, pressing the glowing tip firmly against the cold stone of the balcony railing, crushing it until it is completely dead and black. You drop the leftover filter into a small glass tray nearby. Then, you turn back to face him completely, your eyes locked onto his.
This time, you do not stay at a safe distance from him. You take a deliberate, slow step forward. Your feet move quietly until your body is almost pressed right against his. You can feel the intense heat radiating from his large frame, a sharp contrast to the freezing Roman air around you.
It feels dangerous, but you don’t care.
You look up into his eyes, your faces now only inches apart, close enough that you can see the dark color of his pupils.
"Has anyone ever told you that you act like a little lapdog?" you ask.
Your voice is incredibly low, steady, and completely brutal. You don’t try to hide the harsh truth from him.
Sean’s face changes instantly. His jaw tightens so hard you can see the muscles move, and his forehead deepens into a heavy, angry frown. He looks shocked, insulted, and deeply hurt by your words, his pride taking a massive hit.
"Excu—" he starts to say, his voice sharp and defensive.
"You are afraid," you say, interrupting him again, your voice full of absolute certainty. You don’t let him defend himself or make excuses for his behavior. "You are terrified. You are scared of what people might say about you if you fail. You care way too much about what people think, about their opinions of you and your work. And it shows, Sean. It shows the very second you walk into a room. Everyone in this industry can smell the fear on you from a mile away. They know they can control you."
As you speak, you raise your hand slowly between your bodies. Your fingers are cold from the night air, but you place them gently on the edge of his expensive suit jacket.
Slowly, deliberately, you begin to move your fingertips along the fine fabric, tracing the lines of his broad chest, moving down toward his heart.
You can feel his heart beating incredibly fast beneath the layers of his clothes, reacting to your touch.
"It is a very fine line, you know?" you say, tilting your head to the side, keeping your eyes locked onto his dark ones, completely controlling the moment. "It is a very fine line between having them eat out of the very palm of your hand and at the exact same time, letting them believe that you are just an object for them to use for their own games. You don’t know how to walk that line yet. You just let them use you because you are too afraid to stand up."
The physical closeness between you is intense, almost suffocating.
Neither of you moves away or breaks the connection. In fact, without even realizing it, your faces have drifted even closer together in the darkness.
You’re standing so close now that you can feel his warm, heavy breath hitting your face. It carries the smell of the expensive alcohol mixed with the bitter, rich scent of the cigarette smoke you both just shared. It’s an intoxicating, dangerous mix that makes your head spin a little.
Your eyes drop down to his lips for a brief second, noting the shape of them. He notices your gaze, and by pure instinct, his tongue darts out to wet his dry lips, his breathing becoming heavier.
"It’s not about talent, Mr. Lockwood," you whisper, your voice so soft that your breath brushes against his mouth, teasing him. "It’s about being in the right moment, with the right person, in the absolute perfect place. And knowing how to take what is yours."
Sean looks completely dazed, caught entirely in your spell, unable to think clearly.
He tilts his head down slightly, closing his eyes a bit, leaning in to close the tiny remaining gap between your lips.
But just as his lips are about to touch yours, you place your open hand firmly against his chest and give him a sharp, firm push backward. It’s not enough to hurt him or make him fall, but it forces him to take a sudden, clumsy step back away from you.
He blinks rapidly, his eyes flying open, looking confused, stunned, and completely dizzy from the sudden rejection. He looks like a man who was just woken up from a deep dream.
"Stop acting like a lapdog," you say coldly, looking down your nose at him, re-establishing your distance. "Maybe then you will actually start getting what you want for once in your life. But let me tell you something right now: if you keep following behind her like a good boy, you are never going to be anything more than her eternal shadow. Everyone will just see you as Josephine’s… friend, not as Sean Lockwood."
Before you can say another word to him, and before Sean can even try to find his voice to answer your heavy insult, a loud, cheerful voice calls out from the end of the long hallway inside the palace, breaking the spell completely.
"Just the person I wanted to find right now!"
The thick tension between you and Sean breaks instantly, like a piece of glass shattering on a hard stone floor.
You turn your head away from him immediately, looking toward the open door of the balcony. A wide, bright smile quickly appears on your face, completely replacing the cold, harsh expression you had just a second ago. You put your mask back on in an instant.
Walking down the hallway are the Agnelli twins.
"If it isn’t the two people who cause the most trouble in all of Rome!" you call out to them, your voice filled with a playful, teasing energy that matches theirs perfectly.
The twins laugh out loud, clearly loving your description of them. They don’t deny it; they are incredibly proud of the chaos they bring wherever they go in Europe.
The brother steps forward, a mischievous, wild grin on his face. He looks past you for a second, noticing Sean standing there looking frozen, angry, and confused in the shadows, but he quickly turns his full attention back to you, ignoring him. He raises his hand and points toward a dark wooden door further down the corridor, a door that leads to one of the private, hidden rooms of the massive palace.
"We are about to go inside," the brother says, his voice low, private, and highly suggestive. "Do you want some?"
Your eyes slide back to Sean for a brief moment. He’s watching the scene with deep curiosity, but there’s also a look of complete confusion on his face. He seems completely disoriented, trying to figure out who these two young people are and what exactly they are offering you.
"Are you coming?" you ask him, your voice smooth, inviting, and just a little bit mocking.
You don’t wait for him to give you an answer or make up his mind. You turn around on your heel, the sharp sound of your shoes immediately echoing off the stone balcony.
Your heels click loudly against the cold marble floor of the long hallway as you follow them toward the private room. You don’t even bother to turn around to see if Sean is actually following you.
You don’t need to check.
You know that he’s coming right behind you, drawn in by the strange, powerful pull you have over him now, unable to stay away.
The twins lead you into the smaller, dimly lit room down the hall, away from the main areas of the palace. The walls are covered in a dark green silk fabric that absorbs the light, and heavy velvet curtains block out any light or sound from the outside world, making it feel like a secret bunker.
Inside the room, there are two other young people sitting down on expensive chairs. You don’t know their names, and you don’t care to ask, but you recognize their faces from other high-society parties in Europe.
Honestly, it doesn’t matter to you at all. To you, they’re all the exact same. All part of the same rich, dirty scum that runs this circus.
"Come on, hurry up and close the door. Our father is already looking for us out there," the sister twin says quickly, looking toward the hallway. She moves over to a large couch, sliding to the side to make space for you. She hits the empty green cushion next to her with her open hand, signaling for you to sit down right there next to her.
You take a seat, smoothing down the fabric of your expensive dress with an easy, elegant motion, acting completely at home in this environment. Then, you look up at the doorway.
Sean enters the room a second later, just as you expected.
He closes the heavy wooden door behind him, but he stays close to it at first, looking unsure of what to do next or where to stand.
As you look at him standing there in the dim light, a sudden, intense shiver runs straight down your spine. It’s not a normal feeling at all. It’s sharp, hot, and electric, taking your breath away for a second.
You can’t explain it, but in that exact moment, something between the two of you just clicks perfectly. It’s a strange, sudden understanding that passes between your eyes across the room, even when you only met a few hours ago at the start of the party.
Sean takes a slow, deliberate step away from the door, his eyes locked onto yours. He walks across the small room toward the couch, his movements a bit looser now, as if he has made a final decision to join your world. He sits down right next to you, his large, heavy body sinking deep into the soft, dark green velvet of the cushion.
You don’t hesitate for even a single second.
You know exactly what move to make to keep your control over him.
Without losing an ounce of your elegance or your cool, calm control, you shift your weight, slide over, and sit down directly onto his right thigh. You don’t look at him when you do it, keeping your face calm. But even then you can feel his intense reaction.
You can feel his eyes on you, his gaze burning into the side of your face and neck. It’s a look of absolute, pure devotion, like a man looking at a queen or something holy that he shouldn’t be allowed to touch.
His body goes a bit stiff under your weight, but he doesn’t move away from you — he holds his breath, letting you sit there on top of him, accepting your dominance.
"This batch is much better than the last one we got in Milan," the brother twin says, breaking the quiet of the room with a laugh.
He reaches forward over the table and extends a heavy silver tray toward you. In his other hand, he holds a small tube used for inhaling. On top of the polished silver tray, there are several perfect, neat white lines of powder. They sit there under the dim lights of the room, looking clean, sharp and dangerous.
As you look down at the silver tray, you can feel your mouth instantly watering from the sight. The craving hits you fast and hard, a familiar rush of excitement, but you don’t show any sign of desperation to the people around you. You keep your elegant posture.
Quickly, with the smooth, calm movements of a professional who has done this a hundred times before at these kinds of secret parties, you take the small tube from his hand. You lean forward over the silver tray, your dress shifting slightly, place the tube gently against your right nostril, and inhale deeply. You move quickly along the line, taking it all in one smooth, continuous, and perfect breath.
The sharp, bitter burn hits the back of your throat instantly, making your eyes water slightly and your nose tingle with the chemical heat.
You pull back slowly, your eyes closing tightly as the powerful chemical rush begins to hit your brain, making your heart beat much faster in your chest and washing away the coldness from the balcony.
"Holy shit," you mutter after a moment, your voice sounding a little raspy, deep, and breathy as you open your eyes and look around. "I believe you. This is incredibly good stuff."
The twins let out loud, messy laughs, clearly pleased with your high praise of their supply. They immediately take the tray back toward themselves and start doing their own lines, their movements practiced, quick, and completely careless of the risks.
You lower your head, your eyes finding Sean again. He’s sitting right beneath you, his thigh supporting your weight, watching the entire scene with a look of pure, dark fascination.
He looks a bit shocked by how casual and open everyone is about it, but his eyes are wide, glued to the silver tray in front of him, watching the powder disappear.
"You don’t have to take any if you don’t want to, Sean," you tell him softly, leaning down so only he can hear your calm voice. You want to give him an out, to see if he will try to act pure or if he will join in to impress you and the twins.
Sean seems to shake himself out of a deep trance, his eyes moving from the tray up to your face. He blinks quickly, shaking his head as if to clear his mind.
"No, yes. Yes, I want to do it," he says quickly, his voice suddenly determined, firm, and surprisingly deep.
He reaches out his large hand, his fingers steady, and takes the silver tray and the tube directly from your hands.
You smile slightly, enjoying his sudden change in attitude, and lean in a bit closer to his face, your breath hitting his cheek.
"Okay, well, you need to place the tube gently inside your—"
Before you can even finish your sentence of instruction, Sean leans down over the tray, showing he doesn’t need your help. With a fast, incredibly smooth, and highly practiced movement that shows he’s no stranger to this lifestyle, he makes his portion disappear without leaving a single trace of white powder behind on the polished silver surface.
He pulls back quickly, his head snapping up, his fingers moving to wipe his nose with a smooth motion, and then he reaches out to hand the silver tray back to the brother twin without saying a word.
You stare at him, a bit stunned and completely speechless for a moment. You didn’t expect him to be so fast, so clean, or so experienced with this kind of stuff after how nervous he looked before.
You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised — he is a famous Hollywood actor, after all, and that dark world is completely full of these expensive, secret habits. But still, seeing him do it with such confidence, ease, and raw power makes your cheeks flush with a sudden warmth. A soft pink color creeps up your neck under your skin, and you look away for a brief second to regain your composure, feeling a shift in the power dynamic between you.
The powerful drug hits his system quickly, and you can see the physical change in his body almost instantly. His posture becomes much more relaxed, losing all of his previous stiffness, nervousness, and fear.
He leans back against the green velvet cushions of the sofa, stretching his left long leg out in front of him.
As he settles back into the couch, he raises his large, warm hand and places it firmly on your lower back, your fingers pressing into your skin, almost touching your glute through the fabric of your dress. It’s a bold, possessive touch that claims you completely in front of the others in the room, showing he’s no longer acting like a shy boy. But you don’t move away from him. You don’t complain at all about his touch.
The sister twin looks up from the table, her eyes bright, wide, and fully dilated from the drug. She looks directly at Sean, a curious, knowing smile spreading across her face as she notices where his hand is placed on your body.
"You came here with Josephine tonight, right?" she asks, her voice sounding loud, sharp, and clear in the quiet, enclosed room, trying to stir up trouble.
Sean nods his head slowly, his voice sounding a bit deeper, rougher, and more relaxed now as the drug takes full effect.
"Oh, yeah... yeah, we came together."
The brother twin chimes in, leaning back in his chair as he tries to wipe down the silver table with a saliva so there is absolutely no evidence left behind of what they just did in the room.
"Are you staying here at the palace tonight, or are you going back to a hotel in the city center?"
"Yeah, I’m staying here tonight," Sean answers, his eyes fixed entirely on your face now, ignoring the twins completely. He pauses for a second, trying to remember the details they gave him at the front desk. "Room 15, I think? That’s what the servant told me when we arrived."
The sister lets out a sharp, amused laugh, her eyes darting over to your face to see your reaction to the news.
"Oh, so you two are going to be really close tonight then. Josephine has Room 18, right down the same hall."
You glare at the sister twin, giving her a sharp, angry look with your eyes. You don’t want Sean thinking about Josephine right now. But the sister just smiles wider, biting her bottom lip, clearly enjoying the little bit of drama she’s causing.
Sean doesn’t seem to notice the angry look you gave her, or maybe he just doesn’t care anymore. He turns his head to look up at you, his face very close to yours once again, his breath warm against your skin.
The drug has made his eyes look completely different than they did on the balcony. There is a dark, heavy, and dangerous intensity in his gaze now, a completely different feeling that you can’t fully explain with simple words. It looks like pure, raw hunger, but also like something deeper, something permanent. He looks like a man who has finally decided to take what he wants.
"Are you staying tonight too?" he asks you, his eyes locking onto yours. His voice is incredibly rough now, a low, sexy growl that vibrates right against your skin and makes you feel a sudden wave of heat inside your body.
You look down into his dark eyes, feeling the powerful, fast rush of the toxic in your veins and the heavy heat of his large hand on your lower back. You don’t say a single word to him out loud. You just nod your head slowly, keeping your eyes fixed on his.
Suddenly, he raises his other hand toward your face. His movements are gentle and careful. He brings his hand to your cheek, his fingers warm against your skin, and his thumb moves slowly, softly across the skin just beneath your nose, gently wiping away a tiny bit of white powder that you had missed when you inhaled.
The feeling of his rough thumb against your sensitive skin makes your breath catch completely in your throat, your lungs freezing. Your heart skips a heavy beat. You freeze in place on his lap, looking straight into his dark, intense eyes, unable to move, breathe, or look away from him.
"Alright, let’s go. Our father is going to absolutely kill us if we aren’t out there soon to greet the final guests," the brother’s loud voice suddenly breaks the quiet of the room, snapping you out of your deep trance and breaking the moment.
The sudden noise forces you to move away from him.
You stand up quickly, stepping off Sean’s warm thigh, and reach down with your hands to fix the skirt of your dress, smoothing out the fabric to look perfect again.
Your heart is beating incredibly fast in your chest from everything that just happened in this dark room.
You look down at Sean one last time, watching him sit there on the green velvet couch, looking up at you with that same intense, hungry, and confident expression, before you turn around and walk out of the private room, stepping back into the long hallway to face the party once more, not knowing exactly what will happen later tonight.
—
When you finally close the heavy wooden door of the hotel room behind you and rest the back of your head against the surface, you feel like you could faint right then and there.
Your knees feel weak, your muscles ache, and a deep, heavy exhaustion seems to have settled directly into your bones.
The moment you both came back at the grand ballroom of the Agnelli palace, Sean had vanished. He didn’t even have the decency to make an excuse or ease his way out of your presence. And you knew perfectly well who he left with.
You had watched them from across the crowded room, catching glimpses of Josephine’s bright laughter through the sea of tuxedos and diamond necklaces. You saw the way Sean leaned in close to hear her speak, the way his hand brushed against her arm.
In that moment, you made a conscious choice: you decided not to care. You told yourself it didn’t matter. Why should it matter? Sean was an adult, free to ruin himself or chase whatever illusion of high society he wanted.
You had no claim on him, and he certainly had none on you.
But repeating it didn’t stop the dull ache in your temples. Right now, your head is throbbing violently from the sheer volume of empty conversations you had to endure. You had spent hours trapped in corners with wealthy investors, distant aristocrats, and critics who praised your work with hollow words.
To survive it all, you had clearly taken a few too many drinks. The alcohol is currently humming in your veins, making the world tilt just a fraction when you move your head too fast.
Slowly, deliberately, you begin to strip away the armor of the evening.
You reach behind your back, your fingers fumbling slightly with the long zipper of your gala dress. With a soft rustle of expensive fabric, the heavy gown slides down your hips, pooling at your feet like a dark wave. You step out of it, leaving it on the floor, not caring that it costs more than most people earn in a year.
Next come the jewels. You unclasp the heavy diamond necklace that had felt like a collar all night, dropping it onto the vanity table with a sharp click. The matching earrings follow, along with the bracelets.
Finally, you reach up and begin to pull out the dozens of hairpins holding your styled hair in place. As the pins drop onto the table, you run your fingers through your scalp, shaking it out, finally letting out a breath you feel like you’ve been holding since eight o’clock in the evening.
You reach for your silk robe, sliding your arms into the wide sleeves. You tie the belt loosely around your waist. The cool, incredibly soft fabric wraps around your bare skin, hugging your body perfectly. It’s a relief compared to the tight, suffocating structure of the dress.
Seeking a moment of quiet, you walk over to the large glass window that overlooks the estate. You press your forehead against the cool glass and look outside. The party is truly over. There are no more black cars lined up in the grand driveway of the Agnelli palace, and the long, manicured gardens are completely empty. Not a single soul is walking down the stone paths under the moonlight.
The world out there is completely still, completely silent.
Then, a sudden, sharp knock on your door cuts through the quiet of the room.
You jump slightly, your head snapping quickly toward the door. Your heart gives a sudden, hard thud against your ribs. You frown, looking at the clock on the bedside table. It’s well past three in the morning. Who could possibly be knocking at this hour of the night?
For a second, panic flares up in your chest, but you quickly force yourself to calm down. It’s probably just a maid, you think. The Agnelli staff is famous for their round-the-clock service. It’s likely just someone coming by to check if the room needs fresh towels, or perhaps to leave a bottle of water on the nightstand for the morning hangover.
Letting out a long, tired sigh, you pull the edges of your silk robe tighter against your chest, ensuring you are covered. You walk slowly across the plush carpet toward the door. You don’t even bother to ask who it is through the wood. You are too tired for caution, and you fully expect to find a polite, quiet woman dressed in a neat black-and-white uniform, offering a servile smile.
Instead, you swing the door open, and the sight on the other side completely steals the air right out of your lungs.
Sean is leaning slightly against the doorframe, looking completely different from the perfectly polished man who had walked into the gala hours ago. His thick, brown hair is beautifully messy, far looser than it had been during the party. A few stray locks have fallen damply across his forehead, shadowing his eyes.
The formal black bow tie that had been tied so neatly around his collar is completely undone, hanging loosely around his unbuttoned neck like a discarded ribbon.
His expensive tuxedo jacket is wide open, the white shirt beneath it wrinkled, with the top three buttons undone to reveal the base of his throat and the hint of his chest hair.
Looking at him standing there in the dim light of the hallway, your mind feels entirely split. Part of you thinks he looks like an absolute angel that has fallen from grace. The other part of you knows better — he looks like sin itself, wrapped up in a ruined suit, waiting to drag you down with him.
Suddenly, the reality of your appearance hits you. You are wearing nothing but a thin sheet of silk, your hair is wild around your face, and your skin is completely bare of makeup. You feel incredibly exposed beneath his gaze.
Instinctively, your arms wrap tightly around your own waist, a defensive wall built to protect yourself from whatever he’s bringing to your door.
"Mr. Lockwood," you say, your voice cutting through the silence of the corridor. You try to sound cold, distant, and professional, but there’s an undeniable edge of playfulness underneath it. "Are you lost? Did you forget the way to your own bedroom?"
Sean doesn’t answer immediately.
Instead, a slow, lazy smile spreads across his face, and he bites his lower lip just enough to hide the full width of his grin. His dark eyes don’t stay on your face.
Slowly, deliberately, his gaze travels down from your tangled hair, over the exposed skin of your collarbone, down the length of your silk robe, and all the way back up to meet your eyes. It’s a thorough, heavy analysis that makes your skin flush with sudden heat.
He lifts his right hand, which had been hidden slightly behind his back. In it, he’s holding a green bottle of expensive champagne. It’s covered in condensation, large drops of icy water dripping down the glass and splashing onto the floor. In his left hand, he holds two crystal glasses, the stems clicked neatly between his fingers.
"I was wondering if you wanted to celebrate," Sean says. He shakes both of his hands gently, making the crystal glasses clink together with a soft, ringing sound.
You raise a single eyebrow, leaning your shoulder against the edge of the open door, refusing to let him in just yet.
"Celebrate what, exactly? The party ended an hour ago, Sean. In case you didn’t notice, everyone has already gone to sleep."
He shrugs his broad shoulders, a completely relaxed, carefree gesture that irritates you just as much as it charms you.
"Let’s celebrate life. Isn’t that enough of a reason?"
You roll your eyes dramatically at his ridiculous, empty answer. Yet, despite yourself, you can’t completely hide the small smile that tugs at the corner of your lips.
To keep him from seeing how much he affects you, you bite the inside of your cheek, forcing your expression back into a hard, challenging look.
"What’s the matter, Sean?" you ask, your tone dipping into pure mockery. "Did Josephine reject you again? Is that why you’re wandering around the hallways at three in the morning like a sad, abandoned dog looking for a place to sleep?"
The lazy, confident smile on his face instantly falters. It doesn’t disappear completely, but the corners of his mouth tighten, and the warmth leaves his expression for a split second. Your words hit exactly where you wanted them to.
Inevitably, his eyes flicker down the long hallway, turning toward the distant wing of the palace where Josephine’s luxury suite is located.
There is a brief, raw shadow in his eyes when he looks away — a flash of quiet pain, a bruise to his massive ego. It tells you everything you need to know. He had tried to be with her tonight. And she had turned him away, or perhaps she had simply chosen someone else with a higher title and a bigger bank account. Seeing that look in his eyes makes a sharp spike of jealousy and satisfaction twist in your stomach.
But as he turns his gaze back to you, something shifts in the air. The vulnerability vanishes, replaced by a dark, intense focus. He looks at you with a hunger that makes your breath catch.
There is something inside you — something loud, angry, and deeply desperate — that screams at you to act. You don’t want to be his second choice, but more than that, you want to completely erase Josephine from his mind. You want to make him forget her name, her face, and everything else.
You want him to want you, right now, so intensely that he won’t be able to breathe.
Letting out a loud, dramatic sigh — as if letting him into your room is the absolute heaviest, most exhausting chore in the entire world — you step back from the door. You turn your back on him and begin walking slowly into the center of your room, leaving the door wide open behind you.
It’s a clear, silent invitation. You are telling him exactly what you want without saying a single word.
A second later, you hear the sharp, distinct click of the door closing and locking behind him.
He understood perfectly.
Within moments, the quiet space of your bedroom is completely invaded by his presence. The smell of the night air, the sharp scent of expensive alcohol, and the heavy, intoxicating fragrance of his cologne fill the room.
You don’t even have to look back to know exactly where he is. You can feel the heat of his body, the rhythm of his footsteps walking slowly, steadily, right behind you.
You walk over to the massive king-sized bed and sit down lightly on the very edge of the mattress. As you settle into the sheets, you deliberately cross one leg over the other. The movement causes the thin silk of your robe to slide apart, revealing a long line of your bare thigh. It’s a calculated move, a subtle display of skin, and it does not go unnoticed.
Sean stops walking the exact moment your robe parts. His eyes lock onto your exposed leg, his throat moving as he swallows hard. A heavy silence fills the room for a few seconds before he clears his throat, breaking the spell.
He steps over to the low coffee table in the center of the seating area, setting the two crystal glasses down with a quiet clink.
He places his palm over the cork of the champagne bottle. With a firm, practiced twist of his wrist, he forces the cork out.
Pop.
The loud, sudden sound echoes sharply against the high ceilings of the room. Even though you were expecting it, the noise makes you jump slightly, your shoulders twitching upward.
Sean lets out a soft, low chuckle at your reaction, his eyes crinkling at the corners. You roll your eyes at him again, but you can’t stop the genuine smile that spreads across your face this time.
The tension between you is thick, but it feels familiar, like a game you have played a thousand times before.
He lifts both glasses from the table, his movements slow and steady. He walks over to the bed, stepping directly into your personal space until his shiny leather shoes are nearly touching your bare toes.
He leans down slightly, extending one of the glasses toward you.
You stand up from the edge of the bed, rising to meet him face-to-face. As you reach out to take the crystal stem from his hand, you ensure your fingers brush deliberately against his. The skin-on-skin contact sends a sharp, electric jolt straight up your arm.
Neither of you breaks contact. Your eyes are locked onto his dark, intense gaze, refusing to look away, refusing to show any weakness.
You raise your glass just a fraction of an inch between your faces.
"To success," you say, your voice steady and smooth.
Sean’s eyes darken further at the word. A small, knowing smile touches his lips, and he nods his head once.
"To success."
You bring the glass to your mouth, tilting it just enough to let the cold, crisp champagne wet your lips. You don’t drink much, keeping your eyes fixed on him over the rim of the glass.
Sean, however, doesn’t hesitate. He tilts his head back and takes a long, heavy swallow, his throat moving rhythmically as he finishes half the glass in one go.
He lowers the drink, letting out a hot, heavy breath. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, suddenly looking a bit restless. He clears his throat again, his fingers tightening around the fragile glass stem.
"You know," he begins, his voice dropping into a quieter, more serious tone. "I’ve been thinking..."
"About what?" you ask. You step past him, your shoulder brushing lightly against his chest as you walk over to the coffee table. You set your glass down on the wood, then turn around slowly, crossing your arms over your chest to look at him.
"About what you said to me earlier," Sean says. He turns around to face you completely, his expression intensely serious now. "About being in the perfect moment, with the perfect person... and how that’s the only way to truly achieve success."
You tilt your head to the side, pretending to be deep in thought, a playful, amused look on your face.
"Did I say that? Wow. I must be far wiser than I look."
You say it with a clear laugh in your voice, treating it like a joke.
But Sean doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even smile. The playful atmosphere in the room vanishes in an instant, replaced by an intensity so thick it feels hard to breathe. He stares at you, his eyes burning with a wild, hungry light. His knuckles turn white as he grips his champagne glass with immense force.
"I think this is the perfect moment," he says softly.
Slowly, deliberately, he begins to take a few steps toward you. His movements are smooth, predatory, and completely focused. He closes the distance between you until he’s standing right in front of you.
He reaches out, his arm moving over your shoulder as he leans in to place his own glass on the coffee table behind you. The movement forces his chest to press almost entirely against yours. Your bodies are so close you can feel the radiating heat of his skin through your robe.
Your eyes inevitably drop to his lips. They’re still wet from the champagne, glistening in the dim light of the room. You can see the slight movement of his tongue as he wets them again.
"And am I the perfect person?" you whisper, your voice barely audible in the quiet room.
Sean doesn’t give you a direct verbal answer.
Instead, his right hand moves with incredible speed and firmness, wrapping tightly around your waist. He pulls you forward, locking your hips against his. The sudden movement forces you to bring your hands up, placing them flat against his broad chest to keep your balance. Beneath your palms, you can feel his heart beating like a wild animal trapped in a cage — fast, hard, and loud.
His left hand rises slowly, his long fingers gently moving a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His touch is surprisingly soft, a sharp contrast to the tight, bruising grip on your waist. His palm settles against your cheek, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.
You look up at him, forcing a slight frown onto your face, though your heart is racing just as fast as his.
"So, is this what this is about, Sean? Are you just going to use me to get what you want? To reach your precious success?"
"Can I?" he whispers back against your skin. His hot, alcohol-scented breath hits your face, making your senses reel.
"What?" your gaze defies him
"Use you," he murmurs, his eyes dropping to your mouth.
The two words completely steal the air right out of your lungs. For a second, you are entirely speechless, your mind spinning.
To hide how deeply his words have shaken you, you force a soft, mocking laugh from your throat. You shake your head, looking away to the side, trying to regain your control.
"You are completely out of your mind, Sean—"
Before you can even finish the thought, before you can figure out how to push him away or tell him to go to hell, his hand moves from your cheek down to your jaw. His fingers grip your jawline firmly, stopping your movement.
With a sudden, heavy pull, he twists your face back to him and slams his lips hard against yours.
Any thought completely vanishes from your mind the second his lips touch yours.
Your hands, which had been resting flat against his chest to keep him away, instinctively ball into fists, grabbing the fabric of his white shirt and his open tuxedo jacket. You pull him closer, burying yourself in his warmth, trying to eliminate any remaining space between your bodies.
The kiss isn’t sweet. It isn’t gentle or polite.
It’s a hungry, violent collision of lips and teeth. It’s a kiss born from a deep, aching need for attention, for power, for success, and for glory. Both of you are fighting for dominance, each trying to impose your will on the other in your own way.
He sucks at your upper lip, and you pull him closer by the hair, refusing to give an inch, matching his intensity.
His mouth slides away from your lips, moving down the sensitive line of your jaw, his breathing incredibly ragged. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his lips pressing hot, wet kisses against your skin as he moves up toward your ear.
"Let me be with you..." he whispers, his voice shaking slightly against your skin. He presses a hard kiss just beneath your ear. "Tonight... every single night... forever."
Each word is punctuated by another heavy, desperate kiss against your throat.
You tilt your head far back, resting it against his shoulder to give him completely free access to your neck.
His hands slide down from your waist, his palms moving over the smooth silk of your robe until they reach your backside. His fingers dig firmly into your flesh, squeezing tightly, lifting you slightly off your feet as he presses his hard arousal directly against your lower abdomen.
A soft, broken groan escapes your lips, a sound that is half a sigh and half a moan. A wave of pure heat takes complete control of your body.
You begin to move, forcing him backward. Your steps are slow but determined, driving him across the room until the back of his knees hits the hard edge of the mattress.
With quick, efficient movements, your fingers fly to the buttons of his white shirt. You push the tuxedo jacket and the shirt off his broad shoulders, letting the expensive clothes slide down his arms and drop carelessly onto the floor.
You trace the lines of his muscles, your fingertips moving through hair on his chest, traveling down over his abdomen until they reach the stiff waistband of his dress pants.
You lift your eyes, meeting his gaze in the dim light. What you see there makes your heart stop.
There is an expression in Sean’s eyes that is completely indescribable. It’s a look of absolute, terrifying devotion. In your entire life, no one has ever looked at you that way. Not the people who claim to be your biggest fans, not the executives who kiss your hand at parties, not the lovers who have filled your bed in the past, and certainly not the people who spend their days talking loudly about your immense talent.
None of them. Nobody. Ever.
Sean is looking at you as if you are the only source of light in a completely dark universe.
Before you can lose yourself in the realization, before you can regain control of your emotions, Sean moves. He grabs the back of your neck, his fingers tangling deep into your messy hair, and pulls your mouth back down to his.
With a sudden, powerful shift of his weight, he twists your bodies. Before you can even figure out how he did it, you are falling backward onto the soft mattress. You catch yourself on your forearms, your back arching slightly off the sheets, while Sean moves instantly to position himself directly over you.
He drives one of his heavy, fabric-covered knees directly between your thighs. The movement sinks deep into the soft mattress, forcing your legs wide apart and creating a sharp, heavy friction directly against your most sensitive area. The sudden rush of pleasure makes a loud, high-pitched gasp escape your throat. Sean moves instantly to silence the sound, slamming his mouth over yours and swallowing the noise whole.
One of his large hands moves up, wrapping firmly around your left breast through the thin silk of the robe. He squeezes gently, his thumb moving with a slow, deliberate stroke over your nipple, which is already completely hard and erect beneath the fabric.
Slowly, without breaking the deep kiss, his other hand travels down to your waist. He finds the loose knot of your silk belt and pulls it free with a single, sharp tug. He slides his warm palm directly beneath the open fabric, touching your bare skin for the first time.
"Tell me," Sean whispers fiercely against your lips, his mouth moving down to trace your jawline before returning to press a hard kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Tell me right now."
"Tell you... what?" you gasp out, your hands gripping his bare shoulders as his knee moves again, rubbing heavily against you.
"Tell me you’re going to make me the best actor in the world," he demands, his voice a low, rough growl.
You let out a frustrated, needy groan at his words. The man is completely obsessed with his ambition, even now. But before you can give him a real answer, he silences you again with another deep, bruising kiss.
"Tell me," he commands again, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. "Say it."
"You already are..." you pant out between heavy breaths, your head rolling back onto the pillow. "You’re already... the best actor."
You aren’t just saying it to please him; your mind is completely fuzzy from the pleasure.
His knee is continuing to rub steadily against your center. The thin, wet silk of your night robe is the only thing separating his trousers from your skin, because you got rid of your underwear the second you took off your gala dress an hour ago. Every movement of his leg sends a wave of intense electricity straight to your brain.
"Don’t lie to me," Sean growls, his teeth biting lightly at the soft skin of your neck, making you shiver violently.
"I’m not... lying to you!" you shout back, your voice tight with a mixture of pleasure and sudden irritation at his stubbornness.
Instead of answering, Sean grips your hips with immense force. His fingers dig into your skin as he pulls your body down the mattress with a sudden, heavy jerk, bringing you right to the very edge of the bed. The sudden movement makes a loud sound of surprise fly from your lips.
Sean drops off the bed, landing on his knees on the floor right between your wide-open legs. In that position, with your robe completely pushed aside, he looks down and notices the complete lack of underwear. He realizes instantly that there is absolutely no fabric covering your most sensitive, wet area.
His dark eyes, now looking almost completely black in the shadows, snap up to meet yours.
"You are so beautiful," he whispers, his voice shaking with genuine awe.
"Sean—"
Before you can even say his name, before you can tell him to move or to hurry up, his hands grip the insides of your thighs. He pushes your legs even wider apart, pinning them down. He leans forward, burying his face between your legs, and begins to leave a trail of wet, heavy kisses and sharp bites along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.
You let out a loud, unrestrained moan, your eyes closing tightly as you abandon any attempt to stay upright. You fall completely flat onto your back against the mattress, your fingers clutching the expensive sheets.
The moment his hot breath hits your center, he stops for a single, agonizing second. He looks up at you one final time, his eyes burning, before his face completely disappears between your legs.
Your teeth clamp down hard on your lower lip to keep from screaming. Your hands fly to his head, your fingers tangling desperately into his messy hair, pulling him closer, holding him against you.
His tongue is incredibly warm and wet, exploring every single inch of your skin with an intense, steady rhythm. His lips wrap gently but firmly around one side of your outer folds, sucking lightly before moving to the other side.
As he slides lower, the bridge of his nose rubs heavily against your clitoris. The sudden, intense contact makes your entire spine arch completely off the mattress, your body trembling from the shock of pleasure.
You can feel the slight movement of his cheeks — you can’t see him, but you know with absolute certainty that he’s smiling against your wet skin. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you.
One of his large hands presses down firmly on your right thigh, holding it wide open so you can’t close your legs around him, while his other hand settles flat against your lower stomach, pressing down slightly to anchor you to the bed.
You yank on his hair, a silent, desperate gesture of approval. Sean lets out a deep, vibrating groan into your skin, a sound that travels straight through your body, making your core tighten around his tongue.
He focuses his attention entirely on that single, electric button of nerves. His tongue moves over it with incredible speed and perfect, heavy pressure. It was clear that Sean is going to be exceptionally good at this, too.
He changes the rhythm, his mouth creating a perfect vacuum as he suctions down on you with the exact amount of force you need.
The pleasure is so intense you literally see bright spots of light behind your closed eyelids.
"S-Sean..." his name tears out of your throat, sounding incredibly broken and embarrassed.
But Sean seems to absolutely love the sound of his name in your mouth. Hearing you cry out makes him increase both the speed of his tongue and the pressure of his mouth, understanding exactly what your body is begging for.
It doesn’t take long at all. Within minutes, the tension in your body tightens into a hard, unbearable knot.
You have to bite your own wrist to keep from screaming his name at the top of your lungs. You are terrified that the entire Agnelli family, and all their wealthy guests down the hall, will hear exactly what is happening inside your room.
With a final, violent shudder, your body explodes into a heavy, pulsing climax.
Slowly Sean pulls his face away from you. He stands up. His chin and his lips are completely soaked with your wetness and his own saliva. He doesn’t look bothered by it at all; he simply runs his hand through his face and wipes his mouth dry.
You push yourself up, sitting up on your elbows, your breathing heavy. You reach down and push your silk robe completely off your shoulders, letting it slide under your hips. You are completely naked now, sitting on the bed.
You look up, and your eyes connect with his once again. Sean reaches out, his fingers finding your jawline, sliding delicately up to cup your cheek.
While he holds your face, you stand up.
Your hands move down his bare chest and you slide your palms over his stomach, moving down past his waist until your fingers find the massive, heavy bulge trapped inside his dress trousers.
It’s completely impossible for him to hide his arousal now. He’s incredibly hard, thick, and large. The moment your palms begin to massage him through the black fabric, his jaw tightens, and his teeth sink deep into his lower lip as a sharp gasp escapes him.
Your fingers move to the button of his trousers. You undo it slowly, teasingly, before pulling the zipper down. You reach inside, grabbing the waistband of his underwear along with his pants, and push both garments down his thighs.
The moment he’s free from the tight fabric, his heavy, thick member bounces outward against his lower stomach. You can see a small, clear drop of pre-cum glistening at the very tip of his length.
Despite how much you want him, you don’t touch him with your hands just yet. Instead, you lean forward, your lips approaching his lower abdomen. You press a series of slow, wet kisses across his stomach, your tongue darting out to lick his skin. Sean lets out a loud, guttural growl, his head tossing far back as his hands fly up to grip his own face in pleasure.
You look back up into his eyes, keeping your gaze steady. Slowly, you wrap your fingers around the base of his shaft, your grip firm and warm.
Sean’s breath hitches. He reaches down, his fingers tangling tightly into your hair, holding you in place. You look at him with pure intensity, and just as you are about to take him into your mouth, you stick your tongue out and slowly, deliberately lick the drop of wetness from the very tip of his member.
You look up at him through your lashes and flash a sharp, wicked smile.
Instead of taking him into your mouth completely, you let go of him. You begin to crawl backward across the massive bed, never once breaking contact with his eyes.
Sean stands frozen for a single second, his mind trying to process the tease.
Then, his eyes narrow with a dangerous, hungry light.
He understands the game perfectly.
He drops his knees onto the mattress, balancing himself, and begins to crawl after you, tracking your movements like a predator cornering its prey.
You lay your naked body completely flat against the expensive, dark bedspread, your arms opening wide. Sean moves instantly, sliding his body directly between your wide-open legs, his chest hovering just inches above yours.
He stares down at you, his eyes completely dark, his breathing heavy and hot against your face. His hands move slowly over the curves of your waist and your hips, his touch filled with a strange, deep reverence.
With a final, heavy look that says absolutely everything, he aligns his length with your center. You can feel the thick, blunt tip of his member beginning to push slowly, steadily, inside your wet warmth.
Your fingernails instantly dig deep into the hard muscles of his shoulders. You grip him tightly, needing something to hold onto, needing an anchor to keep you from losing your mind as he fills you up.
It’s completely impossible to keep your back from lifting off the bed. Your spine arches violently as the sheer size of him stretches you open, filling you completely until there’s absolutely no space left between you.
You expect him to slam his mouth over yours to quiet your noises, but he doesn’t. He keeps his upper body lifted on his hands, his eyes glued to your face. He watches every single flicker of your eyelids, every twist of your lips, completely fascinated by the fact that he’s the one making you feel this way.
He drives his hips forward one final time, burying himself to the absolute base, his pelvis slamming hard against yours. Both of you freeze in that position for a long, agonizing moment, your breath catching in your throats.
"Are you okay?" Sean whispers, his voice trembling with an intensity that surprises you.
You can’t even speak. You simply nod your head against the pillow, your lips parting as a soft sigh escapes you. Sean takes the opportunity to lean down, his mouth capturing your upper lip, sucking on it gently as he begins to move.
The rhythm starts out slow, but it builds with terrifying speed. His hips begin to slam against yours with a steady, punishing pace that sends a wave of heat straight through your lower body. Every single thrust is perfect. He enters you completely and pulls out almost to the tip, hitting the exact right spot inside you every single time. It feels so good it makes you lose all sense of time and place.
"My star," Sean gasps out against your mouth. "My beautiful, perfect star."
"God, Sean..." you scream out, your hands sliding up to grip his hair.
"You are perfect. Absolutely perfect," he groans.
He reaches down with his left hand, grabbing the back of your right thigh and lifting your leg high, opening you up even deeper. His right hand flies to your jaw, his fingers gripping your face tightly, forcing you to look directly into his eyes.
"Swear it to me," he whispers fiercely, his words broken by a loud, deep growl as he thrusts into you again. You can feel the muscles of your walls tightening around him, squeezing him with immense force. "Swear to me that you’ll let me stay beside you. Always. Every single day. Forever."
Hearing the word forever brings a sudden flash of reality back to your mind. You look at his desperate, sweating face, and despite the intense pleasure, you slowly shake your head on the pillow.
Sean’s movements instantly stutter. His smooth rhythm hitches, and his tight grip on your jaw loosens slightly. A deep, confused frown wrinkles his forehead.
"Why not—"
Before he can even finish the question, before he can let his ego get in the way, you cut him off.
"Show me," you pant out, your eyes flashing with absolute fire. "Show me that you actually deserve it."
You take advantage of his split second of confusion and doubt. With a sudden, powerful movement, you place your hands flat against his chest and push him hard. Sean doesn’t fight it; his body rolls over to the side, falling flat onto his back against the mattress.
Before he can even move, you scramble across the bed and climb directly on top of him. You sit on his thighs, your hands reaching down to grab his hard shaft, aligning the tip with your wet center without losing a single second.
"Is this what you want, Sean?" you ask, your voice dipping into a dangerous, challenging tone as you look down at him.
Sean nods his head desperately against the sheets, his hands reaching up to grip your waist with immense force.
Slowly, deliberately, you lower your hips. His thick length slides perfectly, deeply inside you, the sensation so intense that Sean’s head instantly tosses back against the mattress, a loud, agonizing groan tearing from his throat.
"And if I say yes..." you begin, starting to move your hips in a slow, torturous circle above him, "are you actually going to be a good boy for me?"
"I’ll be good," Sean groans out, his eyes closed tightly as his fingers dig bruises into your hips. "I’ll be so good for you."
The wet, slapping sound of your bodies colliding begins to echo loudly through the quiet, high-ceilinged room of the Agnelli palace. Sean’s hands tighten on your body, his hips lifting off the bed to meet every single one of your downward movements, helping you ride him, guiding your pace.
"I’ll be the best," he gasps out, his chest rising and falling violently.
It takes only a few more heavy, chaotic movements. You can see the sudden, sharp change in his face — the way his jaw tightens, the way his breath stops.
“I’ll make you the greatest of all time” your words leave your mouth with a soft moan.
And those words are enough to finish him.
His hands hold your hips tight as his own hips rise to trust one final time inside you before you feel his hot and tick cum fill you completely.
A second later, your own body tightens into a final, massive wave of completion.
You fall forward, your sweaty, exhausted body collapsing flat against his bare chest as both of you release everything into the night; an his large arms wrap loosely, tiredly around your back, holding you tight against him as the sound of your ragged, heavy breathing fills the dark room.
With a slow, careful movement, you slide off his torso, rolling onto your side on the damp mattress, feeling his hot fluid sliding between your legs.
Sean lets out a low, guttural sigh as the weight of your body leaves him. He doesn’t try to pull you back. Instead, he keeps staring up at the dark ceiling, his eyes reflecting the pale moonlight filtering through the glass.
You prop yourself up on your elbow, your tangled hair falling over your face as you look down at him.
"So," you whisper, your voice rough and dry. "Did you get what you came for, Mr. Lockwood?"
Sean’s jaw tightens in the dark. He doesn’t look at you immediately. He swallows hard, his throat moving rhythmically before he finally turns his gaze to meet yours. The wild, hungry intensity is gone, replaced by a quiet, brooding shadow that you can’t quite read.
With a heavy sigh, he shifts his weight, turning onto his side to face you fully. He reaches out, his fingers hesitant before they finally brush against your bare shoulder, tracing the smooth line of your skin down to your elbow. His touch is light, almost apologetic, a silent truce in the dark.
You don’t say more. You simply lay your head back down on the pillow, turning your back to him.
A moment later, you feel the heavy warmth of his body sliding closer, his chest pressing gently against your back, his arm looping around your waist to pull you against him. It feels comfortable, it feels safe, but the underlying tension remains.
You close your eyes, letting the exhaustion take over, drifting off to sleep with the smell of his cologne and your shared sweat filling your senses.
The morning light doesn’t arrive softly. It breaks through the gaps in the heavy velvet curtains like sharp golden needles, piercing straight through your closed eyelids and forcing you back into the waking world.
Your head wakes up with a dull, punishing throb behind your eyes — the inevitable receipt of the excesses from the night before.
For a few hazy, comfortable seconds, you keep your eyes closed, suspended in the warmth of the blankets. Your skin still feels incredibly sensitive, tingling with the memory of a heavy, burning touch.
Instinctively, you shift your weight, extending your arm across the wide bed. Your fingers reach out, searching for the firm, radiating warmth of Sean’s bare torso. You expect your hand to land on his broad shoulders, or to hear a low, sleepy growl of protest as he pulls you back against his chest.
But your hand finds nothing but smooth, flat fabric.
Your fingers press down onto the mattress. The sheet beneath your palm is completely smooth, completely flat, and entirely cold. There’s no trapped body heat left in the fabric.
Your eyes snap open.
You sit up quickly, a sudden spike of adrenaline cutting straight through your morning hangover. The heavy coverlet slides down your bare chest as you look around the massive suite.
"Sean?"
Your voice sounds incredibly small in the vast, quiet space. It bounces off the high walls, returning to you as nothing but a hollow echo.
There’s no answer. The only sound in the room is the distant, rhythmic ticking of the antique clock on the wall.
A bitter, cynical smile touches your lips as you swing your legs out of bed. You look down at the floor near the edge of the mattress. His clothes are entirely gone. The wrinkled white shirt, the expensive tuxedo jacket, the dark dress trousers — he has gathered every single item in the absolute dark, moving silently like a thief in the night.
Sean thought he could play his little games of ambition and escape.
He thought he could use your body to reach his own glory and then slip away before the sun revealed his weakness.
But as you stand up and tie your silk robe tightly around your waist, you look at the two empty glasses on the table and smile.
He has forgotten one crucial detail: the performance is over, but you are still the one holding the script.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ .
⭑ para val, te amo⭑
⋆⭒˚.⋆ likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated !! thank you for reading. ⋆⭒˚.⋆
BBY CRUSH IS SO GOOD OMGOMG. idk why it doesn't have more notes like its ethel cain and steve harrington tf?????? but you are TOO good girl omg im literally obsessed with ur writing i looooooovvveeeee it
pairing: gator tillman x fem!reader summary: a night out at a bar takes a turn when you overhear something gator says about you, changing the way you see what you thought you had with him. warnings: angst, miscommunication, toxic dynamics, emotional neglect, mentions of alcohol, hurt/comfort themes, emotional distress, reconciliation. english is not my first language. author’s note: this was kind of unplanned lol, i was working on something else but this came to mind instead. it’s a bit messy and emotional but i liked where it went, so yeah 😭 hope it makes sense and isn’t too chaotic. (this is also my first time writing gator so lmk what u think)
your eyes felt really heavy, and the glitching light of the led signs of the bar hurted more than usual. you kept chewing gum from two hours ago, even though it tasted like nothing.
you’d been trying to find an excuse to get gator to go home, but he seemed pretty involved in a conversation with his friend, and you didn’t want to interrupt. the night had already stretched too long, the kind of loud, hazy evening that left your head throbbing.
“i’m going to the restroom,” you said, reaching for his arm. he just nodded, barely glancing your way, still laughing at whatever story his buddy was telling.
it just happened. you didn’t really think much about it. what started as casual evenings at his house, late-night knocks, tangled sheets, and “you can crash here if you want”, had slowly become something domestic. you bringing him coffee after his shifts. him letting you leave a toothbrush at his place. the way you’d wait up for him or text him goodnight even when he was out. it felt natural.
until it didn’t, until that night.
you were washing your hands when you heard it through the thin wall separating the restrooms from the bar’s back corner.
“damn, she kinda follows you everywhere, huh?” his friend laughed. “i thought you two were just hooking up. what’s this whole thing now?”
normally, you would’ve rolled your eyes, brushed it off, maybe even teased gator about it later when you were alone.
instead, before you could even open your mouth to round the corner, gator snorted loud enough for the words to carry.
"yeah, she's kinda clingy sometimes. i feel like i need some air, man.”
the laugh that followed from his friend landed like a slap. your stomach dropped. you stood there frozen, water still running over your hands, the cheap soap stinging your eyes worse than the neon lights.
the word echoed louder than the shitty country song blasting through the speakers. you dried your hands slowly, walked back out, and didn’t look at him. when you reached the group, gator barely registered you at first, until he caught the flat look on your face.
he opened his mouth, something half-apologetic already forming, but you just shook your head.
“i’m gonna head out,” you said quietly. nothing else. you grabbed your jacket and left before he could say something in response.
he noticed, knew what you had heard, but didn’t say anything. “she’ll get over it,” he thought. assuming you would forgive him, that it wasn’t a big deal…
on some occasions, you had wondered what would happen. he wasn’t a man of relationships, and you knew that clearly. but at some point, that fear faded and disappeared, because there were little details or hints that made you believe you could change that, that you could make him feel like you weren’t temporary, that you really wanted to be there, every morning, noon, and night, whenever he needed it.
but it seemed the only thing you did was take for granted that he would feel the same about you.
this time was different, not like many others when he arrived in a bad mood and you just left him alone until he moved from the couch to the bed and slowly and shyly wrapped you in his arms.
that stupid laugh made you feel ridiculous, as if you would orbit around him until he decided to give you attention.
when you arrived home, you took a long shower to try to ease the headache. a few tears mixing with the water running down your face.
you just lay in the bed, ignoring the pressure on your chest until you fell asleep.
the silence that followed was worse than any fight you’d ever had.
no texts from him the next day. no “you up?” at 1 a.m. no knock on your door with that crooked, arrogant grin and a six-pack as a half-assed apology. at first, you told yourself it was fine. this was what he wanted, right? some “air”, space. you gave it to him in full.
you stopped by the places you used to overlap. you didn’t text good morning. you didn’t ask about his day. the domestic threads you’d accidentally woven into his life, you pulled them all back, one by one.
and gator? he got exactly what he asked for.
his phone wasn’t lighting up every few hours. there wasn’t a text waiting when he woke up asking if he slept well, if he was busy, or if he wanted to do something later.
at first, he barely noticed. if anything, a part of him felt relieved. “this is what i wanted” , room to breathe.
for the first couple of days, he framed it like that in his head. he told himself he didn’t need to think about anyone else, even though he kept remembering your favorite things. not someone he had to worry about, even though he’d gotten used to getting out of bed in the early morning for his shift without waking you. not someone he had to explain himself to, even though even talking to someone after a bad day at work felt nice instead. not someone he had to care about, even though he’d caught himself thinking about a necklace he’d seen and thought would look good on you as a birthday gift.
but also not someone he could hurt more than he did.
every now and then, he found himself reaching for his phone, expecting your name, and when nothing came, he’d toss it aside.
by day three, the relief curdled.
it wasn’t just the texts. it was the way people asked about you and he shrugged like it didn’t matter. the empty passenger seat. the quiet house that now felt too quiet. you’d become part of his routine without him realizing it, and now the absence of you was everywhere.
he kept expecting you to cave first. you always had before. but the days kept passing, and the hole in his chest grew teeth.
-
on the sixth night, he showed up at your door drunk and wrecked.
rain soaked through his black hoodie, and his eyes were red-rimmed when you opened the door. he looked like hell, hair plastered to his forehead, shoulders slumped, and a sadness on his face you had never seen.
“baby…” his voice broke immediately. you didn’t say anything at first. he stepped forward anyway, clumsy and desperate, hands hovering like he was afraid to touch you. “fuck—i’m so sorry.” his forehead fell on your shoulder.
“i didn’t mean it. i was being a fucking idiot in front of them, showing off, trying to look like i didn’t care. i’m sorry. i’m so goddamn sorry.” the words poured out, slurred and frantic. “i thought i wanted this, but it’s just… empty without you. please don’t do this to me.”
he wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in your neck like a man drowning. you felt him trembling.
“i’m such an asshole,” he whispered against your skin. “don’t leave me like that again.”
the tears watering his eyelashes just made his eyes look bigger. he looked at you, begging for an answer, answers that you weren’t ready to give, not right now, not with him like this.
so you let him stay the night. he clung to you in bed like you might disappear, murmuring apologies until his voice gave out and sleep dragged him under.
the next morning, the smell of coffee pulled him awake. his head was pounding, but the panic from last night had settled into something raw and honest.
he found you in the kitchen, back turned. you kept moving, trying to ignore his presence.
he walked up behind you and rested his forehead against your shoulder.
“i thought about leaving just now,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “it would be easier.” you turned around, scanning the prominent dark circles under his eyes, and stayed quiet, listening.
gator exhaled shakily. “i need you.” the words came out rough, like they hurt. “i was an asshole, insecure as fuck. i pushed you away because i keep waiting for you to realize i’m not worth it.”
it felt like words that had been sitting there for a long time.
“but when you actually listened and pulled back… i couldn’t stand it. i don’t want space, air, whatever shit i said. i want you. even if it makes me look stupid and weak. especially then.”
his arms slid around your waist, careful and unsteady.
“you weren’t too much. you were the only steady thing i had. i’m sorry i said it in front of them. i’m sorry i made you feel like you had to shrink yourself.”
“i need you,” he repeated, softer. “don’t disappear on me again. i’ll do better. just… let me stay.”
his hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing your skin like he was scared you’d say no.
this time, he wasn’t running.
you just melted into his arms. he hugged you tightly, feeling like he would fall if you let him go, like you would leave if he loosened his grip.
he kissed your forehead and inhaled deeply, as if he had been holding his breath and could finally breathe again.
pairing: steve harrington x preacher’s daughter reader
summary: the preacher’s daughter never expected steve harrington to notice her. after a chance meeting at the grocery store, he slowly becomes a constant in her quiet, sheltered life.
tw: MDNI, 18+. explicit sexual content, religious guilt, secret relationship, angst, preacher’s daughter trope, emotional neglect. slight emotional hurt/comfort. english is not my first language.
a/n: i genuinely wasn’t planning to post part 2 this quickly, but this idea wouldn’t leave my head and i had to get it out before i forgot the details! so… surprise! 😌
part 1
part 2
the engine sound woke you up earlier than you really wanted. you had fell after practicing the sermons for that day’s service.
the cold of the morning hit as soon as you got up to see what was going on through the window. what first you saw was your dad’s figure behind the open hood, thick car exhaust fumes making it hard to see clearly what he was doing there.
you stepped back and put some shoes on quickly, the sunlight already shining bright enough to make you want to crawl back into bed.
fifteen minutes weren’t going to make much difference anyways.
when you went downstairs the bitter smell of coffee comforted you, almost tasting it on your tongue. your mom’s steps wandering through the kitchen let you know breakfast was almost ready.
“morning,” you said almost announcing yourself when you entered the kitchen, otherwise she would’ve continued her activities with her back turned.
“hello honey, have you slept well?”
“yes, cant say the same about the way i woke up.” your mom turned around again making a scowling face, and you already felt judged.
“well, that’s because your father finally decided to get the car fixed,” she said with her hands on her waist. “you should be grateful instead of complain about it, at least knowing you have been using that car more than me and your father to get to work.”
you felt a chill down your spine, the same chill you got everytime one of your small lies was even slightly mentioned.
you had been using the car because it simply was the fastest way to get home after spending the whole evenings with steve. he had offered to drive you many times but you preferred not to risk being seen, so after begging him to let you go back home alone, he accepted. but he always watched you until you disappeared down the road.
you sipped the coffee, ignoring what your mother was yapping about. you bet it was something about the new arrangements of the church, something she couldn’t stop talking about since your dad gave her the green light.
the smell of gasoline filled your lungs, the engine still rumbling as an annoying background noise.
“how much is it gonna take,” you said on your way to the door. “i don’t know-“ she started but you stopped listening the moment you heard another voice apart from your father’s.
is that? can’t be.
what were the odds?you asked yourself, panic rising fast.
“are you listening to me?” your mother asked, louder this time.
“yes” you lied, but because you were stretching your neck to see who was behind the hood through the window. then, she repeated, “take this coffee to your father i said.”
she handed you the coffee with both hands. you got nervous instantly, because if there were even small chances that your father had contacted HIM to fix the car, you didn’t really want to know.
once you got out the door, your attention shifted from the full cup of coffee to the two men in front of you.
a hand appeared from above the hood and closed it instantly.
would it have been an exaggeration to say you recognized him from that simple gesture alone?
his brown eyes caught yours as if there was a magnet between them. you cleared your throat when your eyes moved from steve to your father.
“good morning darling, is that for me?” he said coming towards you to take the coffee. “yes” you answered. the small smile on your face faded when he went back to steve’s side.
“sorry, he is steve harrington,” he pointed to him, and you never felt more embarrassed in your life.
for some reason steve’s relaxed posture wasn’t helping at all.
why was he smirking like this was funny?
“say hello c’mon dont be rude.” steve took his rag out of his pocket and cleaned his hands before offering a greeting. “nice to meet you.” you were hating him so much right now you pressed your lips together while shaking his hand. you just nodded in response because otherwise you would have to sit through a kindness sermon later.
steve moved the toothpick in his mouth as if he was really enjoying the whole situation. to make it worse he scanned you, his eyes lingering on your bare legs a little too long. you were still in your pajamas, the ones he knew very well.
you took the edge of the dress in one hand and brushed your hair with the other, hoping he would realize he was checking you out in front of your dad, the preacher, right in front of your house.
he didn’t care. he crossed his arms, flexing his biceps hard enough to stretch his white t-shirt. you tried so hard not to look because your dad was staring at you, waiting for you to say something else.
“she’s still getting used to this town, and you caught her in the morning sorry,” said your dad apologetically.
“she is usually more talkative than it seems.”
“i bet she is” steve said fast, almost inaudible, but you heard it. “y’know i think i have seen her a couple of times.” you glanced at him discreetly, trying to scold him with your eyes.
“have you went to the church? didn’t see you yet.”
“oh nah, not for me” he said. your dad’s smile faded but he kept his posture. “well god has his time for everyone” he replied with that judgemental familiar tone you had heard too often.
“dear can you come here for a sec?” your mom called from inside the house.
your dad didn’t say anything, just whispered “excuse me” on his way in.
once steve made sure he was inside, glancing at the door, he came dangerously closer. “your house looks different during the day” he said, turning his back to you and leaning against the front of the car.
“what are you doing here?” you said as fast as your mouth allowed. “you know how much you are risking coming here without even telling me?”
“c’mon” he lit a cigarette from his pocket. “your dad could still be talking about how much you hate this town long enough for him to realize how much i want to take his daughter upstairs right now.”
“can you shut the fuck up steve im not kidding” you said, instinctively coming closer. “wow, are you allowed to say those words?” he asked, slowly placing his left hand on your waist. you rolled your eyes.
“he was telling me how much his daughter hates this place,” his hand running down and reaching your leg, “but, there is nothing you like about this place?” he grabbed you from the back of your thigh and pulled you against him.
“have you lost your mind?”, your hands landing on his chest.
you glanced quickly at the door and nothing.
your pulse raced, leaving you unsure whether the cause was the risk of being discovered or the warmth of his hands holding you close.
the smell of his cologne made it harder to focus on whatever was happening right now. “answer my question. there is nothing you like about this place?”
“no,” you said, grabbing the cigarette from his mouth and throwing it to the ground. “nothing,” a teasing smile tugging at your lips.
he smiled and started kissing your neck. you gasped, but couldn’t stop him. not when his kisses felt like a sigh of relief in your obnoxious life.
you kept your eyes on the door but didn’t pull away an inch. “steve-“ you felt his hand slide between your legs and grabbed his hair, gripping it harder when you felt his fingers inside you. he kissed your cheek, slow and teasing, his stubble grazing your flushed skin as his breath ghosted over your ear. you couldn’t hold back the low, needy moan that slipped out against his ear, the sound vibrating through his body. that seemed to snap something in him, he growled softly, pressing his hard body tighter against yours, his fingers speeding up, thrusting deeper, while his thumb circled relentlessly over your most sensitive spot.
you heard steps coming from inside the house and stepped back immediately.
steve stood up straight and looked back with that little smirk again. he positioned himself in front of you while you quickly fixed your hair and dress.
“well, sorry for that. h’much is it?” your dad asked. “oh it’s nothing, i have a rule that if it didn’t take more than an hour, the price is zero” steve said, picking up his tools.
you just observed him, trying to steady your breathing.
“oh don’t be like that man, here you go.” your dad took some money from his pocket and gave it to him. “well, i appreciated,” steve took it and nodded in thanks.
“goodbye, sir,” he added politely on his way out. then his eyes flicked to you.
“see you.”
he nodded with that same wicked little smirk that made your stomach flip.
“nice man huh,” your dad said, heading back to the house.
you stayed a little longer, watching him walk to his car, and saw him disappear inside it.
a secret smile tugged at your lips as you finally turned toward the house.
you have been dating joe for half a year now. even though you have been really careful and private about your relationship to protect both of you from the public eye, you two really wanted to try to be a normal couple and do couple things.
you were the most concerned about it, only because you weren’t a celebrity. joe understood that completely and always tried to protect you. but lately he had been talking a lot about the coachella lineup and how badly he wanted to go see the strokes with you, knowing you both loved them so much.
“i mean… we won’t stay too long if you don’t want to. just their set and then we go,” he said one random evening while you were lying on the couch. he had just come back from tour and you two had been stuck to each other ever since.
after thinking about it and getting completely melted by those doe eyes looking at you like a sad puppy, you finally said yes.
“i love you i love you i love you,” he repeated as he spread kisses all over your face and carefully got on top of you, supporting his weight on his arms. “you are such a dork,” you answered between smiles and giggles, just letting him because you love him.
now you were there, halfway through the strokes’ set. at first you were a little nervous, constantly glancing around to see if anyone was watching or filming you. joe noticed and started distracting you by hugging you and kissing you while singing the lyrics in a silly way in your ear. you relaxed instantly and began enjoying the music.
he hugged you from behind with his arms resting on your shoulders, gently swaying with you as a slow song played. you looked at him and he looked back. he instantly melted and gave you a warm and gentle kiss. he really was the most beautiful human you had ever met. his gaze went back to the stage but you just kept staring at him, at his messy hair escaping from under his balaclava and his beautiful face looking mesmerized by the sunrise.
once the set ended, the crowd started spreading out slowly and both of you felt more relaxed.
you turned around and hugged him with both arms. “don’t you think this is exciting in a way?”
“i thought you were against this.”
“i could get used to it… a little. i mean, i look good in these,” you said, modeling your hat and glasses for him with a silly kissy face.
he laughed and kissed your forehead. “you do, baby. too good actually.” he leaned in to kiss you again.
“joe, not here,” you whispered, looking around.
“oh, because hugging me with your face literally this close to mine doesn’t look compromising at all,” he teased.
you rolled your eyes but accepted his kiss anyway.
“you know, i never told you this but sometimes i wish you would just post a picture of us making out on your account so everybody knows you’re my boyfriend,” you said, your fingers running through the hair at the back of his neck.
“wow, that came from your possessive side, didn’t it?” he grinned, clearly happy with your words.
“why don’t we just do it now?” he looked around, then back at you with a naughty smile.
“are you serious?” you replied.
“really serious.”
you bit your lip and glanced around. his hands felt tighter on your lower back.
he noticed you were actually into it, so he slowly took off your hat and glasses, then pulled down his balaclava.
you smiled nervously. and then he kissed you.
he started slow and soft, but quickly deepened the kiss. you let his tongue enter your mouth as he took control, guiding the rhythm and changing sides.
suddenly you forgot about everything else, just him and you, his hands all over your body.
you stood on your tiptoes and grabbed his biceps. you felt him smile against your lips.
the kiss grew warm and wet. your tongue started tingling and the breeze felt like a relief against your skin. your bodies pressed close felt almost suffocating, but in the most addictive way.
suddenly you pulled apart, both breathing heavily, chests rising and falling as you looked at each other and smiled. reality came back and you instinctively scanned the area, a mix of excitement and adrenaline hitting you along with the worry of someone filming.
joe gently held your chin and made you look at him. “hey, don’t overthink it,” he said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “let’s go or i’m going to make sure they get more than just a kiss.”
you laughed and followed him, holding hands. he always had a way of making you forget about everything else.
🚨 NEW COUPLE ALERT? 📸@ deuxmoi.
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user7282 THIS CANT BE REAL??
joeekrystan ?!-!/!!//!$/
liin72882 The police is in front of your house asking you to delete
includes: bf material, fluffy comfort, joe being the sweetest person ever, anesthesia silliness, teasing, soft cuddles, forehead kisses, clingy post-surgery affection.
the nurse had barely wheeled you out of the procedure room when the anesthesia hit its peak. your eyes were half-lidded, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk, and a little trail of drool threatening to escape the corner of your mouth. joe was already standing right there in the recovery area, arms crossed, wearing that fond, amused smile he saved just for you.
you blinked slowly at him, then your face crumpled.
“i want my boyfriend,” you mumbled, voice thick and lispy from the gauze. “where’s my boyfriend? i need him…”
joe’s eyebrows shot up, eyes sparkling with mischief even as he stepped closer and gently brushed a stray hair from your forehead.
“hey, sweetheart. i’m right here,” he said softly, voice warm like honey.
you squinted at him, clearly not computing. “nooo… my boyfriend. he’s tall… and has fluffy hair… and he smells really good. i want him.”
joe bit his lip to keep from laughing. he pulled up the chair beside your recovery bed and took your hand, thumb stroking over your knuckles.
“sounds like a great guy. what’s his name?” he asked, all innocent.
you made a little frustrated noise. “joe… my joe. he’s the best. he always brings me snacks and lets me steal his hoodies and… and he kisses my forehead when i’m sleepy.”
joe’s heart did a full cartoon flip. he leaned in closer, still teasing. “does he? wow. he sounds kinda perfect. better than me?”
you nodded seriously, eyes glassy. “way better. he’s mine. you’re nice but… i want my boyfriend.”
the nurse in the corner was pretending not to smile as she checked your vitals.
joe chuckled under his breath and pressed a soft kiss to your temple, careful around the swollen cheeks. “alright, baby. i’ll go find him for you. just rest, okay?”
you hummed happily, already drifting again, fingers weakly clutching his shirt like you knew exactly who he was even if your brain was currently offline.
—
a couple hours later you were home, tucked into bed after joe carried you in. you’d fallen asleep curled against him, and when you woke up you were completely tangled together—your leg thrown over his, face buried in his chest, one of his arms wrapped around your waist while his fingers played lazily with your hair.
you blinked slowly, wincing at the ache in your jaw. “how long was i out…?”
joe smiled down at you, voice warm. “a while. you feeling okay, baby?”
you nodded, then noticed the amused little smirk on his face. “what? why are you looking at me like that?”
he chuckled softly and brushed some hair away from your forehead. “you don’t remember anything from recovery, huh?”
“…no. what did i do?”
“you kept asking for your boyfriend,” he said, eyes sparkling with teasing. “told the guy holding your hand, ME, that you wanted your real boyfriend because he’s tall with nice fluffy hair and brings you snacks—”
your eyes widened in horror and you immediately buried your face against his chest with a muffled groan. “oh my god,” you mumbled again, careful of your sore jaw. “please tell me you’re joking.”
joe laughed quietly, his chest vibrating under your cheek as he wrapped his arms tighter around you. “baby, you literally looked me in the eyes and told me i was nice, but not as nice as your real boyfriend.”
“stop,” you whined, hiding even more. “i was drugged.”
“mhm.” he pressed a kiss into your hair. “and apparently very loyal.”
you let out another embarrassed noise while he grinned down at you, clearly enjoying every second of this.
“i’m serious, the nurse was trying so hard not to laugh,” he added. “you kept talking about my hair like i was some celebrity crush.”
that finally pulled a reluctant laugh out of you, even though it made your jaw ache a little. “okay, enough. i get it.”
“no, wait,” joe continued dramatically, tightening his hold when you tried to escape. “‘he brings me snacks,’” he quoted in a dreamy voice. “‘he kisses my forehead when i’m sleepy—’”
“joe!”
he broke into laughter while you hid your burning face against his neck again, and after a second his teasing softened into something gentler. his fingers slid slowly through your hair as he smiled into the top of your head.
“for the record,” he murmured, quieter now, “i liked hearing you talk about me like that.”
your expression softened immediately.
even half-conscious and completely out of it, you’d still reached for him first. and judging by the way joe was holding you now, warm, close, almost a little protective, it had clearly meant more to him than he was pretending.
you tilted your head just enough to look up at him, smiling shyly despite the swelling in your cheeks. “well… it’s true.”
something in joe’s expression softened even further at that, the teasing finally melting away completely. he leaned down and pressed a slow kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a second.
“i’m never recovering from this,” you groaned dramatically.
he laughed softly and pulled you even closer against him, like he couldn’t help it. “good. i’m gonna accept the title of real boyfriend from now on.”
“oh my god,” you muttered into his shirt, already smiling again while he buried another fond kiss in your hair.
i just wanted to post some fluffy content<33, let me know what you think:)
omg queen i loved your “i want my boyfriend post” like it was pure gold 😭
if you feel comfortable and don’t mind, could you do it again but where the roles are reversed and Joe is the one drugged up?😭💕
do you have a boyfriend?
joe keery x reader
includes: anesthesia silliness, flirting, clingy post-surgery joe, teasing, soft cuddles, forehead kisses, joe falling in love with you all over again while drugged, and you trying not to laugh through all of it.
the nurse had barely finished explaining the aftercare instructions when joe started blinking at you like he’d just discovered something life-changing.
his pupils were huge.
his curls were flattened awkwardly on one side from the procedure cap, and there was gauze stuffed into one cheek while he stared at you with intense concentration, like he was trying to solve a mystery.
you were sitting beside his recovery bed, already trying not to laugh.
“hey,” he said suddenly.
“hey, baby.”
his eyebrows furrowed.
“wow.”
you blinked. “what?”
he leaned closer very slowly, like the movement required all his remaining brainpower.
“you’re… really pretty.”
you immediately pressed your lips together.
the nurse coughed into her clipboard to hide a smile.
“thank you,” you said carefully.
joe kept staring.
then his eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“do you have a boyfriend?”
that finally broke you.
you laughed softly, reaching over to fix one of his flattened curls. “yeah, actually.”
his face dropped in genuine disappointment.
“seriously?”
“seriously.”
joe stared at you for another long second before shaking his head slightly like he disagreed with the information.
“that’s unfortunate.”
you laughed harder this time.
“unfortunate?”
“yeah.” his voice came out muffled and sleepy from the gauze. “because i was gonna ask you out.”
the nurse fully turned away now, shoulders shaking.
you bit down on your smile. “is that so?”
he nodded very seriously.
“you seem funny.” he squinted at you. “and nice. i like your face.”
“baby, you are literally on pain medication right now,” you laughed.
“and?” he asked immediately. “i still have eyes.”
you had to look away for a second before the grin on your face got completely out of control.
joe watched you like he’d just said the smartest thing in human history.
then, after a pause—
“your boyfriend sounds dumb.”
your eyes widened. “don’t be rude! he’s actually really nice.”
“where is he?” he asked, looking around the recovery room dramatically. “why would he leave you alone looking like that?”
“looking like what?”
he gestured vaguely toward you with sleepy determination.
“pretty.”
your entire face went hot instantly.
“okay,” you laughed, “you’re flirting with me while wearing a hospital bib.”
“is it working?” he mumbled confidently.
the nurse snorted loudly this time.
you shook your head, trying to stop laughing while joe kept staring at you with painfully affectionate concentration.
then his expression softened suddenly.
“seriously though,” he murmured quieter now, reaching clumsily for your hand. “your boyfriend should be here.”
your chest tightened a little despite yourself.
you squeezed his fingers gently. “he is here.”
joe frowned immediately.
“no, he isn’t.”
“yes, he is.”
“i think i would remember being your boyfriend,” he whispered very seriously.
you completely lost it after that, laughing so hard you had to cover your face with your sleeve.
joe looked deeply pleased with himself.
—
a couple hours later, you finally got him home.
which had been significantly harder than expected because joe had apparently lost all ability to walk in a straight line after the anesthesia.
now he was stretched across the couch in one of his hoodies, half asleep under a blanket while you brought him water.
his eyes followed you immediately the second you walked back into the room.
“there she is,” he mumbled.
you handed him the glass carefully. “how are we feeling?”
“much better. i think it wasn’t that bad.”
you choked on your own breath.
joe blinked slowly up at you.
“what?” he asked, suddenly looking nervous.
“what did i do?” he added quickly, starting to panic a little.
you sat down beside him, already laughing again while he grinned lazily against the couch cushion.
“you spent the last hour flirting with me like we were strangers.”
his eyebrows pulled together slightly.
“what do you mean?”
“you were literally calling me pretty and trying to ask me out even after i told you i have a boyfriend. aka you.”
he stared at you for another second before his eyes widened in realization.
“what?” he said, blushing slightly in embarrassment.
“yeah, baby. i couldn’t stop laughing because you were so committed to it.”
“oh my god,” he muttered, sounding genuinely horrified. “what did you answer?”
“i kept telling you i had a boyfriend, but you were really determined and kept calling him an idiot.”
he leaned back against the couch cushion, looking completely overwhelmed by the information.
“i was really loyal though, by the way. i didn’t give you my number even though you asked like ten times.”
“oh, shut up,” he said, dragging you toward him.
you settled carefully into his lap, still laughing.“i don’t know if i should be offended because you forgot about me.”
“i literally fell in love with you again while i was drugged,” he said.
a laugh slipped out of you immediately.
“that’s… definitely one way of seeing it.” you brushed your fingers gently through his messy curls, smiling when he immediately leaned into the touch without even opening his eyes.
“lets go to sleep.”
he smiled faintly.
“only if you stay.”
“i’m staying.”
“good,” he mumbled sleepily. “would’ve stolen your number if i had more time,” he added teasingly.
summary: you never expected steve harrington to notice you, but after one clumsy hallway collision, he starts showing up everywhere, quietly constant, patient, turning all your firsts into something soft, safe, and yours.
tw: MDNI, 18+. explicit sexual content. soft & sweet steve. no proofread. english is not my first language.
a/n: this is a really old post i had sitting in my drafts and i wasn’t sure about posting it… but since i haven’t been as constant as i want lately, it’s yours now🙂
you’d never really been the kind of girl people noticed first. you kept to yourself, spent more time with books than at parties, and liked it that way. getting tangled up with steve harrington was never something you expected.
it started after you overslept from staying up too late reading. you were hurrying down the hallway, half awake and clutching your books to your chest, when you ran straight into someone.
strong hands caught your arms before you could hit the floor.
“hey, easy there,” steve said with a small laugh, steadying you.
your face went hot instantly. “sorry,” you mumbled before slipping away as fast as you could.
you figured that would be the end of it.
except after that, steve started noticing you everywhere. he’d stop you in the halls just to talk for a minute. he started sitting beside you at lunch like it was the most natural thing in the world. your friends wouldn’t stop teasing you about it, but you kept insisting it didn’t mean anything.
until he offered you a ride home one afternoon.
until you found a folded note in your locker saying he liked your skirts.
until one night, with an uncharacteristically nervous smile, he asked if he could take you out somewhere real.
and somehow, you said yes.
after that, everything seemed to happen all at once.
first kiss
it happened on your front porch after he walked you home from the movies. the night was warm, crickets humming, and you were rambling about how the ending didn’t make sense when steve stepped closer, one hand gentle on your waist.
“you’re overthinking it,” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek.
“i overthink everything.”
his smile was slow. “yeah. i know.”
then he kissed you—soft at first, almost careful, like he knew it was your first and didn’t want to scare you. his lips were warm, tasting faintly of popcorn and mint. when he pulled back, eyes dark, you felt dizzy.
“was that… okay?” he asked.
you bit your lips, heart hammering. “do it again and i’ll tell you.”
he laughed softly and did.
first date (that actually felt real)
mini-golf, because steve insisted it was “classic.” you were terrible at it. he was annoyingly good, but he kept “accidentally” bumping your hip, whispering terrible tips just to make you laugh. when you finally sank a hole-in-one on the windmill, he cheered like you’d won the olympics and kissed you right there under the neon lights.
later, in his car, parked at the lookout, he held your hand across the console. his thumb traced circles on your skin.
“i like this,” he said quietly. “taking it slow. with you.”
your cheeks burned. “you don’t have to. i know you’ve—”
“hey.” he turned your face toward him gently. “i want this to be special. we don’t have to rush anything.”
first time he stayed over
your parents were out of town. you’d made cookies (burnt the first batch), and you watched a horror movie even though you hated them. steve pulled you into his lap when you hid your face in his chest during the scary parts, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.
when the movie ended, the air felt thicker. you were both on your bed, facing each other.
“you’re nervous,” he observed, brushing hair from your eyes.
“a little.”
“we don’t have to do anything.”
“i want to.” your voice was small but sure. “i really want you.”
he kissed you for a long time—deep, slow kisses that made your toes curl. clothes came off gradually. his hands were gentle, reverent, mapping every new inch of skin like it was sacred. when his mouth moved lower, you gasped his name, fingers threading through his hair.
“steve—”
“relax, baby. i’ve got you.”
he took his time. whispered praises against your thigh, your stomach, your neck. when he finally slid inside you, forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked, it stung for a moment. he stilled, breathing ragged.
“you okay?”
you nodded, pulling him closer. “don’t stop.”
he moved carefully, murmuring how perfect you felt, how beautiful you were, how he’d never wanted anyone like this. the pain faded into warmth, then pleasure that built until you shattered around him, clinging tight. he followed soon after, burying his face in your neck.
afterward, he held you against his chest, stroking your hair.
first time you initiated
weeks later, you pushed him back onto his bed in his empty house, straddling his lap with shaky confidence. he looked up at you, surprised and so turned on his eyes were almost black.
“you sure?”
you nodded, leaning down to kiss him.
you explored him with your hands and mouth, learning what made his breath hitch and his hips jerk. steve guided you gently when you needed it, voice hoarse with praise—“just like that, sweetheart… fuck, you’re so good.”
when you sank down onto him, taking control, his hands gripped your thighs, eyes never leaving your face. you moved together, learning the rhythm that made you both moan. he sat up halfway, wrapping his arms around you, mouths crashing as you came together.
all the firsts after that
there were so many more. first time in his car (rushed and giggling). first time in the shower (soapy hands and laughter turning into gasps). first time you told him you loved him—right after, when you were tangled and sweaty and he kissed your forehead like you were precious.
steve never made you feel behind. he made every new thing feel like an adventure you were sharing.
one night, months later, curled up together, he traced lazy patterns on your bare shoulder.
“all your firsts,” he said quietly. “i want them. but i want all your nexts too. and the ones after that.”
warnings: angst. emotional neglect. implied cheating. mentions of past trauma, alcohol, being drunk. english is not my first language. not proofread
includes: slow burn, hurt/comfort, mutual pining (eventually), s2 setting (w some innacuracies).
summary: things with your bf aren’t what they used to be. somewhere in the middle of all that, steve harrington starts showing up more than he should.
a/n : ok finally i knowwww 😭 thank you for your patience. i've just been really busy with uni, and whenever i have free time, literally the only thing i want to do is sleep. i swear i'm gonna finish this seriesss (could never abandon her because i love it), and i don't think we're too far from the ending. so thank you for waiting, and i hope you enjoy it! ❤️
part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6
the music is too loud. not loud enough to drown out your thoughts, but loud enough that the edges of the party blur into something you can almost ignore.
talia’s house is packed, half of hawkins crammed into the living room and spilling out onto the back porch, string lights flickering over the plastic cups.
you lean against the kitchen counter, nursing the same drink you’ve been holding for twenty minutes, the cold seeping into your fingers.
you've just started wondering why you accepted the invitation. instead, you could be sharing a movie night with max, cozy on your couch right now. you wonder if she’s already in bed like you told her to be when someone interrupts your thoughts. “you look thrilled,” talia says, sliding up beside you.
“having the time of my life.” you tip the glass back and finish it in one go anyway.
she rolls her eyes and steals a handful of chips. for a while, it’s fine, bearable. some sarcastic comments about other people’s clothes, a list of the things she bought during her time away. and you couldn’t feel more uncomfortable.
it’s not that you’ve never felt that way before. it was familiar, but it wasn’t jealousy. you just wished your biggest problem was deciding which pair of brand-new shoes to wear instead of worrying about whether you’d be able to get out of bed tomorrow.
you hear them talking but don’t really pay attention, the drink starting to hit because suddenly you don’t feel the need to rub your bare arms. now you’re just awkwardly grabbing the edges of your dress because you’ve never worn something that short, but talia said it was the only thing in your closet that fit the occasion.
you were looking for him when the conversation shifted the way it always did, back to her.
nancy’s name comes up. of course it does.
one of talia’s friends makes a comment about jonathan, and talia laughs, glancing your way with that sharp little smile. you don’t know if she’s drunk or if her mission tonight is to piss you off.
“well, it’s not exactly shocking. nancy has a habit of making things complicated.”
you tense and nudge her.
“what?” she shrugs. “i’m just saying.”
“no, you’re doing that thing again.” the words leave your lips before you can think.
“what thing?”
she turns to you.
you meet her eyes, your voice low but steady. “the thing where you blame everything on nancy.”
she doesn’t respond, so you continue.
“throwing it in my face every time her name comes up doesn’t make you a good friend, talia. your obsession with her is so fucking annoying.”
the words land heavier than you expected. a couple of people nearby go quiet and talia’s expression twists.
“come on.” indignation flashes across her face as if you’ve said the most unfair thing she’s ever heard.
then she hesitates, but finally says it, and you knew she would.
“jonathan practically threw your relationship away because of her.”
the room feels smaller. you stare at her, seeing something ugly flicker beneath the jokes, as if she really enjoys it.
“what? it’s true.” she says, searching for some sign of agreement.
you set your cup down slowly. “i think i’m leaving.”
she blinks. “over this? don’t be childish.”
“god, you really don’t get it, do you?” the words spill out, stumbling over each other. you shouldn’t have had those two drinks in a row. “because you’re a fucking horrible person when you want to be.” your throat tightens. “and i’m done.”
for once, she has nothing clever to say. the silence stretches. you turn and walk away before it can get worse.
you hesitate between heading for the entrance and leaving, or having another drink to try to ease the obnoxious feeling of guilt in your stomach. because even though you didn’t agree with most of what she said, you finally had a friend and pushed her away because you simply couldn’t stay silent.
so instead of leaving, you grab another drink.
then…another.
not enough to black out, but enough that the sharp edges of the night soften and the music feels less annoying.
when you’re about to drink from a glass you found on the armrest of a couch in the living room, a hand on your wrist stops you.
and of course it’s him.
as if he has a sixth sense that lets him appear at the most convenient moments.
but you wish he hadn’t seen you like this. especially not right now.
“whoa, leave that there,” he says, taking the plastic cup and setting it on a nearby table. “what are you doing?”
“just wanted something to drink.” you sway in place, fighting to keep your balance.
“and it appeared magically.” he smiles after hearing that, you smile back. his expression shifts slightly as he takes a better look at you. he notices your dilated pupils, the redness of your cheeks, and your hair, messier than usual.
“well, i think the best option for you right now is water.” he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.
your smile fades, because you don’t notice how close he is until your hand brushes his.
you get so nervous that the words leave your mouth before you can stop them.
and you feel embarrassed the second after.
“do you want to dance?!”
he looks at you, surprised, brows furrowing. but before he can say anything, you’re already dragging him toward where the music is louder.
the song is slower than you expected.
bodies move around you, but the space between you and steve shrinks until it feels dangerously small.
the warmth of him, the way he looks at you like the rest of the party has disappeared, makes it hard to remember why you were nervous in the first place.
your entire body stills at the contact.
he starts to pull away, always so careful, like you’re something he’s afraid to break.
that carefulness undoes you more than anything else.
you sway together, closer now. his thumb brushes lightly against your side, sending heat spreading beneath your skin. your hand rests on his shoulder, then slides slowly to the back of his neck.
the tension builds in the small space between you, and suddenly he's standing close enough to make it hard to think about anything else.
you find yourself relaxing into the steady pressure of his hand at your waist. when someone bumps into you from behind, his grip tightens just enough to keep you close.
for a moment, the rest of the room fades into the background.
but then the panic crashes in.
what were you doing?
what would people think?
what if someone got the wrong idea, or told jonathan?
and even if you let yourself feel…at least for once…
you already did this.
you trusted someone.
you loved someone.
and they left.
what if steve does the same?
what if you let yourself fall and he leaves like everyone else?
what if he saw all the parts of you that everyone else eventually got tired of?
the old fear wraps tight around your chest: the ache of being temporary, the terror of feeling too much and losing it all anyway.
you pull back abruptly.
“i need some air.”
steve’s hand lingers for a second longer before he lets go, concern flashing across his face.
you push through the crowd without looking back.
the night outside is cool and quiet.
the fresh air feels good at first. then the cold makes you wrap your arms around yourself.
you make it halfway down the block before footsteps follow, and of course it’s him.
“you can go. i’m fine.”
“what happened?”
his voice twists something in your stomach. maybe guilt. he did nothing wrong, every mess between you somehow starts with you.
steve falls into step beside you, hands in his pockets.
“you shouldn’t walk home alone.”
“i’m fine.”
you stop in front of a mailbox without realizing it.
“you’re tipsy.”
“i’m not.”
“you almost walked into a mailbox.”
“it was in my way.”
he laughs softly, the sound warm and familiar, easing something tight in your chest.
“c’mon. i’ll drive you.”
you stop and look at him.
he looks somewhat wrecked, the faint bruise on his cheek, a strand of hair falling right across his forehead, his nose and lips red from the cold.
you look at the street, covered in a thin mist, then back at him.
“okay.”
—
in the car, the radio hums low.
the alcohol loosens your tongue just enough.
you turn to him, a lazy grin tugging at your mouth.
“so, you’re not going to tell me what happened back there?”
“nope.”
you press your lips into a line.
he smirks.
“is everything okay?”
“you know… you’re stupidly handsome but really annoying sometimes.”
you keep staring out the window as if you just said something completely casual.
steve glances over, cheeks flushing beneath the dashboard lights.
he smiles, looking almost helpless, like your words hit somewhere soft.
“how many drinks did you have?”
“not enough, actually.” you fight to keep your eyes open. “you interrupted me.”
he doesn’t say anything and keeps glancing at you with a smile he can't quite hide.
the silence that follows feels comfortable.
he wakes you up when you arrive and waits until you get out so he can guide you to the door.
at your doorstep, the porch light casts a soft glow.
he reaches into your jacket pocket for your keys.
there he is again, too close.
it’s starting to make you dizzy, and you can’t blame the drinks you’ve had.
you step forward and hug him as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.
he wraps his arms around you easily, solid and warm.
you stay there longer than you should, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath.
when you pull back slightly, your gaze drops to his mouth.
he leans in just a little.
you swallow slowly, eyes on his lips.
but then he pulls away gently.
his hands rest on your arms. “not like this,” he says quietly, his voice rough around the edges.
he steps back.
something in your chest aches, and you clear your throat to speak.
“i—“
but the door opens behind you.
max stands there in pajamas, arms crossed, looking equal parts amused and maternal.
“hello? there are people trying to sleep here.”
you don’t even look at her.
“i waited for you, but i fell asleep on the couch,” she says, trying to get your attention.
“what?”
you turn your head toward max.
“is she ok?” she asks.
“she had a couple of drinks…”
“okay, can you come inside and stop dissociating? i’m freezing.”
you nod, still thinking about what just happened.
max leads you inside.
but before the door closes, you glance back at steve one last time.
he smiles, and some of the tension in your chest eases despite yourself.
“night,” he says.
“night,” you murmur, letting max guide you inside.
the door clicks shut, and you rest your head against it, trying to untangle the mess inside your mind.
no matter how hard you try to think about anything else, your thoughts keep returning to the same person.
pairing: steve harrington x preacher’s daughter reader
summary: the preacher’s daughter never expected steve harrington to notice her. after a chance meeting at the grocery store, he slowly becomes a constant in her quiet, sheltered life.
tw: MDNI, 18+. explicit sexual content, religious guilt, secret relationship, angst, preacher’s daughter trope, emotional neglect. slight emotional hurt/comfort. english is not my first language.
a/n: inspired by ethel cain, particularly the song in the title but has a little bit of everything from her albums because, well, i love her.
it had been a couple of weeks since your family moved to hawkins when you finally got a job. you took a shift at the grocery store just to have somewhere to go, something that felt halfway normal.
you didn’t need the money; your father being the preacher had its benefits. at the very least, a modest brand-new house was secured before you arrived, complete with impeccable furniture and everything. you couldn’t believe that something so far from a prison could still feel so obnoxious and depressing.
after finishing school, you thought you couldn’t feel more miserable. it felt as if everyone was making their own way in life: your friends from church were getting married, some classmates were moving to other states to study. but you were stuck here now, and even the most irrelevant thing outside your usual routine caught your attention.
the days had been so long. it was like an endless cycle. you couldn’t rely on your friends from church anymore to make the services more enjoyable. you didn’t feel guilty at all for being like this, for feeling bored, for skipping some days and lying about having a cold, or for having thoughts lately that you wouldn’t share with anyone else, even if they begged you to.
and the thoughts were louder this time. not because your situation had changed that much, but because of someone…
you remembered very well the first time you saw him.
dark chocolate hair, big hazel eyes, and hands so large they could hold more than four things at once. you bit your lip instinctively, then quickly shook your head, just in case somebody noticed. as soon as he dropped everything in front of you, you jumped, not realizing he was standing that close.
a faint scent of freshly smoked cigarettes and mint filled the room. you didn’t like people who smoked, nor had you ever found it attractive, until now, imagining the guy in front of you with one resting between his fingers.
“do you work here?” he spoke roughly. you felt ashamed of yourself for the simple thought of him seeing you blush just for him in this way. even more ashamed if someone could read your mind right now.
you wet your lips before talking. he noticed but you chose to ignore it for your own good. “it seemed like it,” you pointed at your apron and grabbed your pen and paper to start writing the count.
he watched you move around to look for the prices, counting the items, reading the type of product. you were doing your best to keep your attention on your job and your eyes off his, but he talked.
“did you just move here? didn’t see you around.” a little smirk left his mouth, and when you looked up you noticed how tight his white t-shirt was and the huge dark stains all over it. then you connected the dots: he possibly worked in that old filling station next to the road. it was a little too far so it made sense you never saw him before.
“i did yes, just a couple of days, i mean weeks, same—” you never felt so stupid in your whole life. “makes sense then,” he said. you put all the things in a bag after he paid and followed his way until his car, couldn’t help but look down at his jeans pressing against his thighs and his huge back muscles moving as he walked holding the bags.
you observed him put all the bags in the backseat, wondering how bored you could be to be watching every movement, flexing arms, the veins of his hands, every detail.
but it wasn't just a fantasy of the moment. you had flirted with some boys customers before, at least when you knew the owner of the shop wasn't watching, because you bet all your wage that she would tell your mother as soon as she could. she found nothing interesting except other people’s lives.
that night you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the little cross above your headboard catching the moonlight. you whispered a quiet prayer for strength, but your mind kept drifting back to his hands, the way his jeans sat on his hips, the easy confidence in his smile. you knew better, you had been raised on sermons. still, the next time he came in, and the time after that, you found yourself looking forward to the sound of the bell above the door.
“when you finish your shift?” you didn’t know what to respond. he opened his eyes wider and then you reacted. “oh, my shift? usually round 6:00.”
“so, in 30 minutes,” he replied. you nodded after seeing the clock on the wall.
“can i borrow your pen?” you gave it to him without questioning, his hand lingering on yours.
he left a note above the oil bottle on the table, and left chewing the mint gum as if nothing happened.
“see you tomorrow behind the store.”
your mind crossed a million thoughts at the same time. you had had some short secret relationships during high school, but nothing lasted because of your parents or your being scared of being caught. but this time felt different. he was different. you felt curious about him. did he really find you attractive? or was it just a stupid joke? should you have been scared?
unfortunately, all these questions didn’t appear, because you waited there playing with the edges of your apron until he appeared, in a brown letter jacket and hair fluffy as usual, but that time wet and styled as if he had just come out of the shower.
and you would say unfortunately because once he stopped next to you, leaning on the wall at the back of the shop, smirking and not too close but close enough for you to smell his cologne, you knew you were in big trouble.
“i’m steve, steve harrington. w’bout you?” he asked, then grabbed a cigarette from his pocket and lit it in front of you. you wondered if you had ever seen someone more attractive in your life.
all of it started with little chats. he asked about your day and talked little about him. it seemed like he didn’t really like telling you about himself, about his family, his old relationships. you slowly started noticing how he tilted his head before answering your questions.
every warning bell in your head grew quieter the more he looked at you like you were the only thing worth paying attention to in this suffocating town.
but then, the chats began getting longer. you were well aware of how problematic it could be for you to be seen for extra hours outside of your house but the excuse of staying longer to cover your nonexistent shift partner convinced your mom long enough.
when you realized, you were involved in something bigger than you two, bigger than your family, your beliefs; but it didn’t matter, not when it felt like this.
-
the old floorboards in your room creaked softly under steve’s weight as he climbed through the window, careful not to make too much noise. you had left it unlocked like always, heart racing every time until you saw his broad shoulders ease through the frame.
the mercury was parked far down the road so no one would notice, and he had walked the rest of the way through the back fields in the dark.
he smelled like tobacco and that faint mint he chewed to cover it. his faded denim vest hung open over his bare chest, hair messy from the wind and his hands running through it. he didn’t say anything at first, just crossed the room and pulled you into a hungry kiss, walking you backward until your thighs hit the edge of your bed.
your father had warned you about boys like him, especially ones with his reputation, but none of it mattered when he looked at you the way he did.
you were wearing the thin white lingerie pajama dress he liked, the one that barely reached mid-thigh and clung to every curve. his hands slipped under the hem, rough palms sliding up your bare skin as he pushed the fabric higher but didn't take it off.
he pressed you down onto the old mattress, the springs sighing quietly beneath you. one of his hands braced beside your head while the other gripped your thigh, holding you open. “see what you do to me, baby,” he murmured against your mouth, voice low and rough, “missed you so much.”
you felt him then, sliding against your slick heat in slow, teasing strokes that made your legs tremble. he rocked gently at your entrance, barely pressing forward before pulling back, eyes dark and locked on the place where your bodies almost joined. his free hand drifted upward, palming your chest through the thin fabric of your dress, thumb circling until your breath hitched. then he slid his thumb between your parted lips. you sucked lightly, whispering his name like a secret you weren’t supposed to speak.
“you like that?” he breathed, fingers moving with steady, maddening purpose while he kept teasing you with those shallow rocks of his hips. the pleasure coiled tight and fast, too much and not enough. your fingers dug into his shoulders as he finally sank deeper, steady and overwhelming, the delicate dress still bunched around your waist.
his lips were red from kissing and sucking at your chest through the fabric, leaving faint damp spots on the cloth. you bit his shoulder to stay quiet, breathing in sweat and smoke and the faint trace of mint. when the tension in him finally snapped, he pulled back, stroking himself until he spilled warm across your chest and chin in heavy pulses. then he collapsed against you, face buried in your neck, murmuring soft praises against your skin.
afterward you lay tangled together, the room quiet except for the slowing rhythm of your breathing. his fingers idly traced the delicate cross necklace resting between your breasts, twirling the small silver pendant around his fingertip with that faint smirk still tugging at his lips. you watched the moonlight cut across his face and felt the question rise before you could stop it.
and you knew this was the time when things started to get complicated. when your mind started to go faster than you wanted, and your heart beat faster with fear.
fear of losing, fear of feeling that maybe this, whatever thing between him and you was happening, could end.
and when you wanted to regret, to decide to put your words aside and just close your eyes and sleep, you whispered without thinking.
“steve… what are we doing?” voice barely there. “i mean, where is this going?”
he went still. the easy warmth in his body cooled in an instant. he shifted, pulling his arm back, eyes flicking toward the window like he was already calculating the distance. “don’t start that,” he said, low and flat. “you know what this is.”
the words landed heavy. you felt the familiar twist in your stomach, sharper now. regret bloomed fast, but underneath it something hungrier refused to flinch. she takes what he gives her, you thought. even if it’s only pieces. even if it leaves you starving after.
“sorry,” you said quickly, reaching for his wrist before he could move away. “stay. please,” almost holding back tears until a sigh of resignation left his lips. he dropped his jeans where they were.
“lock the door. no one will know if you leave in the morning.”
he looked at you for a long second, something unreadable in his eyes. then he stood up, and turned the lock with a quiet click. when he came back to the bed he didn’t say anything else, just pulled you against his chest like before. you curled into him, face pressed to the warm skin of his neck.
part of you hated how easily you folded. part of you already ached knowing this couldn’t last. but lying there wrapped in his arms, the cross cool against your skin and his heartbeat steady under your cheek, you let yourself have it anyway. at least one more day. at least this night you could sleep like this, pretending the morning wouldn’t pull him away again.
omg ik u posted this forever ago but 700 followers !!!!! omgomg im so proud of you bby and im so happy 700 other people can recognize how talented you are and i knowww its just gonna keep growing from there bc you are so amazing and cute and your wiriting is just perfect !!!! we miss you so muhc and i hope only good things are happing as of late i love youuuu <3
this is the sweetest thing ever 😭😭 thank you so much for the support and all your kind words, ilysm 🤍🤍🤍
and stoppp, you’re gonna make me cry 😭 i’ve missed you guys too. things have been a little busy lately, but messages like this genuinely make me so happy and remind me why i love posting. thank you for always being here <3
ok so part 7 of yspsfagsil is finally posted!!! and so is a fic i’ve been working on for weeks lol, i finally found the time to finish it 😭
sorry for disappearing, i’m dealing with exams right now, but hopefully i won’t be gone for that long again. thank you for waiting and i hope you enjoy!!!
pairing: steve harrington x preacher’s daughter reader
summary: the preacher’s daughter never expected steve harrington to notice her. after a chance meeting at the grocery store, he slowly becomes a constant in her quiet, sheltered life.
tw: MDNI, 18+. explicit sexual content, religious guilt, secret relationship, angst, preacher’s daughter trope, emotional neglect. slight emotional hurt/comfort. english is not my first language.
a/n: inspired by ethel cain, particularly the song in the title but has a little bit of everything from her albums because, well, i love her.
part 2
part 1
it had been a couple of weeks since your family moved to hawkins when you finally got a job. you took a shift at the grocery store just to have somewhere to go, something that felt halfway normal.
you didn’t need the money; your father being the preacher had its benefits. at the very least, a modest brand-new house was secured before you arrived, complete with impeccable furniture and everything. you couldn’t believe that something so far from a prison could still feel so obnoxious and depressing.
after finishing school, you thought you couldn’t feel more miserable. it felt as if everyone was making their own way in life: your friends from church were getting married, some classmates were moving to other states to study. but you were stuck here now, and even the most irrelevant thing outside your usual routine caught your attention.
the days had been so long. it was like an endless cycle. you couldn’t rely on your friends from church anymore to make the services more enjoyable. you didn’t feel guilty at all for being like this, for feeling bored, for skipping some days and lying about having a cold, or for having thoughts lately that you wouldn’t share with anyone else, even if they begged you to.
and the thoughts were louder this time. not because your situation had changed that much, but because of someone…
you remembered very well the first time you saw him.
dark chocolate hair, big hazel eyes, and hands so large they could hold more than four things at once. you bit your lip instinctively, then quickly shook your head, just in case somebody noticed. as soon as he dropped everything in front of you, you jumped, not realizing he was standing that close.
a faint scent of freshly smoked cigarettes and mint filled the room. you didn’t like people who smoked, nor had you ever found it attractive, until now, imagining the guy in front of you with one resting between his fingers.
“do you work here?” he spoke roughly. you felt ashamed of yourself for the simple thought of him seeing you blush just for him in this way. even more ashamed if someone could read your mind right now.
you wet your lips before talking. he noticed but you chose to ignore it for your own good. “it seemed like it,” you pointed at your apron and grabbed your pen and paper to start writing the count.
he watched you move around to look for the prices, counting the items, reading the type of product. you were doing your best to keep your attention on your job and your eyes off his, but he talked.
“did you just move here? didn’t see you around.” a little smirk left his mouth, and when you looked up you noticed how tight his white t-shirt was and the huge dark stains all over it. then you connected the dots: he possibly worked in that old filling station next to the road. it was a little too far so it made sense you never saw him before.
“i did yes, just a couple of days, i mean weeks, same—” you never felt so stupid in your whole life. “makes sense then,” he said. you put all the things in a bag after he paid and followed his way until his car, couldn’t help but look down at his jeans pressing against his thighs and his huge back muscles moving as he walked holding the bags.
you observed him put all the bags in the backseat, wondering how bored you could be to be watching every movement, flexing arms, the veins of his hands, every detail.
but it wasn't just a fantasy of the moment. you had flirted with some boys customers before, at least when you knew the owner of the shop wasn't watching, because you bet all your wage that she would tell your mother as soon as she could. she found nothing interesting except other people’s lives.
that night you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the little cross above your headboard catching the moonlight. you whispered a quiet prayer for strength, but your mind kept drifting back to his hands, the way his jeans sat on his hips, the easy confidence in his smile. you knew better, you had been raised on sermons. still, the next time he came in, and the time after that, you found yourself looking forward to the sound of the bell above the door.
“when you finish your shift?” you didn’t know what to respond. he opened his eyes wider and then you reacted. “oh, my shift? usually round 6:00.”
“so, in 30 minutes,” he replied. you nodded after seeing the clock on the wall.
“can i borrow your pen?” you gave it to him without questioning, his hand lingering on yours.
he left a note above the oil bottle on the table, and left chewing the mint gum as if nothing happened.
“see you tomorrow behind the store.”
your mind crossed a million thoughts at the same time. you had had some short secret relationships during high school, but nothing lasted because of your parents or your being scared of being caught. but this time felt different. he was different. you felt curious about him. did he really find you attractive? or was it just a stupid joke? should you have been scared?
unfortunately, all these questions didn’t appear, because you waited there playing with the edges of your apron until he appeared, in a brown letter jacket and hair fluffy as usual, but that time wet and styled as if he had just come out of the shower.
and you would say unfortunately because once he stopped next to you, leaning on the wall at the back of the shop, smirking and not too close but close enough for you to smell his cologne, you knew you were in big trouble.
“i’m steve, steve harrington. w’bout you?” he asked, then grabbed a cigarette from his pocket and lit it in front of you. you wondered if you had ever seen someone more attractive in your life.
all of it started with little chats. he asked about your day and talked little about him. it seemed like he didn’t really like telling you about himself, about his family, his old relationships. you slowly started noticing how he tilted his head before answering your questions.
every warning bell in your head grew quieter the more he looked at you like you were the only thing worth paying attention to in this suffocating town.
but then, the chats began getting longer. you were well aware of how problematic it could be for you to be seen for extra hours outside of your house but the excuse of staying longer to cover your nonexistent shift partner convinced your mom long enough.
when you realized, you were involved in something bigger than you two, bigger than your family, your beliefs; but it didn’t matter, not when it felt like this.
-
the old floorboards in your room creaked softly under steve’s weight as he climbed through the window, careful not to make too much noise. you had left it unlocked like always, heart racing every time until you saw his broad shoulders ease through the frame.
the mercury was parked far down the road so no one would notice, and he had walked the rest of the way through the back fields in the dark.
he smelled like tobacco and that faint mint he chewed to cover it. his faded denim vest hung open over his bare chest, hair messy from the wind and his hands running through it. he didn’t say anything at first, just crossed the room and pulled you into a hungry kiss, walking you backward until your thighs hit the edge of your bed.
your father had warned you about boys like him, especially ones with his reputation, but none of it mattered when he looked at you the way he did.
you were wearing the thin white lingerie pajama dress he liked, the one that barely reached mid-thigh and clung to every curve. his hands slipped under the hem, rough palms sliding up your bare skin as he pushed the fabric higher but didn't take it off.
he pressed you down onto the old mattress, the springs sighing quietly beneath you. one of his hands braced beside your head while the other gripped your thigh, holding you open. “see what you do to me, baby,” he murmured against your mouth, voice low and rough, “missed you so much.”
you felt him then, sliding against your slick heat in slow, teasing strokes that made your legs tremble. he rocked gently at your entrance, barely pressing forward before pulling back, eyes dark and locked on the place where your bodies almost joined. his free hand drifted upward, palming your chest through the thin fabric of your dress, thumb circling until your breath hitched. then he slid his thumb between your parted lips. you sucked lightly, whispering his name like a secret you weren’t supposed to speak.
“you like that?” he breathed, fingers moving with steady, maddening purpose while he kept teasing you with those shallow rocks of his hips. the pleasure coiled tight and fast, too much and not enough. your fingers dug into his shoulders as he finally sank deeper, steady and overwhelming, the delicate dress still bunched around your waist.
his lips were red from kissing and sucking at your chest through the fabric, leaving faint damp spots on the cloth. you bit his shoulder to stay quiet, breathing in sweat and smoke and the faint trace of mint. when the tension in him finally snapped, he pulled back, stroking himself until he spilled warm across your chest and chin in heavy pulses. then he collapsed against you, face buried in your neck, murmuring soft praises against your skin.
afterward you lay tangled together, the room quiet except for the slowing rhythm of your breathing. his fingers idly traced the delicate cross necklace resting between your breasts, twirling the small silver pendant around his fingertip with that faint smirk still tugging at his lips. you watched the moonlight cut across his face and felt the question rise before you could stop it.
and you knew this was the time when things started to get complicated. when your mind started to go faster than you wanted, and your heart beat faster with fear.
fear of losing, fear of feeling that maybe this, whatever thing between him and you was happening, could end.
and when you wanted to regret, to decide to put your words aside and just close your eyes and sleep, you whispered without thinking.
“steve… what are we doing?” voice barely there. “i mean, where is this going?”
he went still. the easy warmth in his body cooled in an instant. he shifted, pulling his arm back, eyes flicking toward the window like he was already calculating the distance. “don’t start that,” he said, low and flat. “you know what this is.”
the words landed heavy. you felt the familiar twist in your stomach, sharper now. regret bloomed fast, but underneath it something hungrier refused to flinch. she takes what he gives her, you thought. even if it’s only pieces. even if it leaves you starving after.
“sorry,” you said quickly, reaching for his wrist before he could move away. “stay. please,” almost holding back tears until a sigh of resignation left his lips. he dropped his jeans where they were.
“lock the door. no one will know if you leave in the morning.”
he looked at you for a long second, something unreadable in his eyes. then he stood up, and turned the lock with a quiet click. when he came back to the bed he didn’t say anything else, just pulled you against his chest like before. you curled into him, face pressed to the warm skin of his neck.
part of you hated how easily you folded. part of you already ached knowing this couldn’t last. but lying there wrapped in his arms, the cross cool against your skin and his heartbeat steady under your cheek, you let yourself have it anyway. at least one more day. at least this night you could sleep like this, pretending the morning wouldn’t pull him away again.
warnings: angst. emotional neglect. implied cheating. mentions of past trauma, alcohol, being drunk. english is not my first language. not proofread
includes: slow burn, hurt/comfort, mutual pining (eventually), s2 setting (w some innacuracies).
summary: things with your bf aren’t what they used to be. somewhere in the middle of all that, steve harrington starts showing up more than he should.
a/n : ok finally i knowwww 😭 thank you for your patience. i've just been really busy with uni, and whenever i have free time, literally the only thing i want to do is sleep. i swear i'm gonna finish this seriesss (could never abandon her because i love it), and i don't think we're too far from the ending. so thank you for waiting, and i hope you enjoy it! ❤️
part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6
the music is too loud. not loud enough to drown out your thoughts, but loud enough that the edges of the party blur into something you can almost ignore.
talia’s house is packed, half of hawkins crammed into the living room and spilling out onto the back porch, string lights flickering over the plastic cups.
you lean against the kitchen counter, nursing the same drink you’ve been holding for twenty minutes, the cold seeping into your fingers.
you've just started wondering why you accepted the invitation. instead, you could be sharing a movie night with max, cozy on your couch right now. you wonder if she’s already in bed like you told her to be when someone interrupts your thoughts. “you look thrilled,” talia says, sliding up beside you.
“having the time of my life.” you tip the glass back and finish it in one go anyway.
she rolls her eyes and steals a handful of chips. for a while, it’s fine, bearable. some sarcastic comments about other people’s clothes, a list of the things she bought during her time away. and you couldn’t feel more uncomfortable.
it’s not that you’ve never felt that way before. it was familiar, but it wasn’t jealousy. you just wished your biggest problem was deciding which pair of brand-new shoes to wear instead of worrying about whether you’d be able to get out of bed tomorrow.
you hear them talking but don’t really pay attention, the drink starting to hit because suddenly you don’t feel the need to rub your bare arms. now you’re just awkwardly grabbing the edges of your dress because you’ve never worn something that short, but talia said it was the only thing in your closet that fit the occasion.
you were looking for him when the conversation shifted the way it always did, back to her.
nancy’s name comes up. of course it does.
one of talia’s friends makes a comment about jonathan, and talia laughs, glancing your way with that sharp little smile. you don’t know if she’s drunk or if her mission tonight is to piss you off.
“well, it’s not exactly shocking. nancy has a habit of making things complicated.”
you tense and nudge her.
“what?” she shrugs. “i’m just saying.”
“no, you’re doing that thing again.” the words leave your lips before you can think.
“what thing?”
she turns to you.
you meet her eyes, your voice low but steady. “the thing where you blame everything on nancy.”
she doesn’t respond, so you continue.
“throwing it in my face every time her name comes up doesn’t make you a good friend, talia. your obsession with her is so fucking annoying.”
the words land heavier than you expected. a couple of people nearby go quiet and talia’s expression twists.
“come on.” indignation flashes across her face as if you’ve said the most unfair thing she’s ever heard.
then she hesitates, but finally says it, and you knew she would.
“jonathan practically threw your relationship away because of her.”
the room feels smaller. you stare at her, seeing something ugly flicker beneath the jokes, as if she really enjoys it.
“what? it’s true.” she says, searching for some sign of agreement.
you set your cup down slowly. “i think i’m leaving.”
she blinks. “over this? don’t be childish.”
“god, you really don’t get it, do you?” the words spill out, stumbling over each other. you shouldn’t have had those two drinks in a row. “because you’re a fucking horrible person when you want to be.” your throat tightens. “and i’m done.”
for once, she has nothing clever to say. the silence stretches. you turn and walk away before it can get worse.
you hesitate between heading for the entrance and leaving, or having another drink to try to ease the obnoxious feeling of guilt in your stomach. because even though you didn’t agree with most of what she said, you finally had a friend and pushed her away because you simply couldn’t stay silent.
so instead of leaving, you grab another drink.
then…another.
not enough to black out, but enough that the sharp edges of the night soften and the music feels less annoying.
when you’re about to drink from a glass you found on the armrest of a couch in the living room, a hand on your wrist stops you.
and of course it’s him.
as if he has a sixth sense that lets him appear at the most convenient moments.
but you wish he hadn’t seen you like this. especially not right now.
“whoa, leave that there,” he says, taking the plastic cup and setting it on a nearby table. “what are you doing?”
“just wanted something to drink.” you sway in place, fighting to keep your balance.
“and it appeared magically.” he smiles after hearing that, you smile back. his expression shifts slightly as he takes a better look at you. he notices your dilated pupils, the redness of your cheeks, and your hair, messier than usual.
“well, i think the best option for you right now is water.” he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.
your smile fades, because you don’t notice how close he is until your hand brushes his.
you get so nervous that the words leave your mouth before you can stop them.
and you feel embarrassed the second after.
“do you want to dance?!”
he looks at you, surprised, brows furrowing. but before he can say anything, you’re already dragging him toward where the music is louder.
the song is slower than you expected.
bodies move around you, but the space between you and steve shrinks until it feels dangerously small.
the warmth of him, the way he looks at you like the rest of the party has disappeared, makes it hard to remember why you were nervous in the first place.
your entire body stills at the contact.
he starts to pull away, always so careful, like you’re something he’s afraid to break.
that carefulness undoes you more than anything else.
you sway together, closer now. his thumb brushes lightly against your side, sending heat spreading beneath your skin. your hand rests on his shoulder, then slides slowly to the back of his neck.
the tension builds in the small space between you, and suddenly he's standing close enough to make it hard to think about anything else.
you find yourself relaxing into the steady pressure of his hand at your waist. when someone bumps into you from behind, his grip tightens just enough to keep you close.
for a moment, the rest of the room fades into the background.
but then the panic crashes in.
what were you doing?
what would people think?
what if someone got the wrong idea, or told jonathan?
and even if you let yourself feel…at least for once…
you already did this.
you trusted someone.
you loved someone.
and they left.
what if steve does the same?
what if you let yourself fall and he leaves like everyone else?
what if he saw all the parts of you that everyone else eventually got tired of?
the old fear wraps tight around your chest: the ache of being temporary, the terror of feeling too much and losing it all anyway.
you pull back abruptly.
“i need some air.”
steve’s hand lingers for a second longer before he lets go, concern flashing across his face.
you push through the crowd without looking back.
the night outside is cool and quiet.
the fresh air feels good at first. then the cold makes you wrap your arms around yourself.
you make it halfway down the block before footsteps follow, and of course it’s him.
“you can go. i’m fine.”
“what happened?”
his voice twists something in your stomach. maybe guilt. he did nothing wrong, every mess between you somehow starts with you.
steve falls into step beside you, hands in his pockets.
“you shouldn’t walk home alone.”
“i’m fine.”
you stop in front of a mailbox without realizing it.
“you’re tipsy.”
“i’m not.”
“you almost walked into a mailbox.”
“it was in my way.”
he laughs softly, the sound warm and familiar, easing something tight in your chest.
“c’mon. i’ll drive you.”
you stop and look at him.
he looks somewhat wrecked, the faint bruise on his cheek, a strand of hair falling right across his forehead, his nose and lips red from the cold.
you look at the street, covered in a thin mist, then back at him.
“okay.”
—
in the car, the radio hums low.
the alcohol loosens your tongue just enough.
you turn to him, a lazy grin tugging at your mouth.
“so, you’re not going to tell me what happened back there?”
“nope.”
you press your lips into a line.
he smirks.
“is everything okay?”
“you know… you’re stupidly handsome but really annoying sometimes.”
you keep staring out the window as if you just said something completely casual.
steve glances over, cheeks flushing beneath the dashboard lights.
he smiles, looking almost helpless, like your words hit somewhere soft.
“how many drinks did you have?”
“not enough, actually.” you fight to keep your eyes open. “you interrupted me.”
he doesn’t say anything and keeps glancing at you with a smile he can't quite hide.
the silence that follows feels comfortable.
he wakes you up when you arrive and waits until you get out so he can guide you to the door.
at your doorstep, the porch light casts a soft glow.
he reaches into your jacket pocket for your keys.
there he is again, too close.
it’s starting to make you dizzy, and you can’t blame the drinks you’ve had.
you step forward and hug him as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.
he wraps his arms around you easily, solid and warm.
you stay there longer than you should, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath.
when you pull back slightly, your gaze drops to his mouth.
he leans in just a little.
you swallow slowly, eyes on his lips.
but then he pulls away gently.
his hands rest on your arms. “not like this,” he says quietly, his voice rough around the edges.
he steps back.
something in your chest aches, and you clear your throat to speak.
“i—“
but the door opens behind you.
max stands there in pajamas, arms crossed, looking equal parts amused and maternal.
“hello? there are people trying to sleep here.”
you don’t even look at her.
“i waited for you, but i fell asleep on the couch,” she says, trying to get your attention.
“what?”
you turn your head toward max.
“is she ok?” she asks.
“she had a couple of drinks…”
“okay, can you come inside and stop dissociating? i’m freezing.”
you nod, still thinking about what just happened.
max leads you inside.
but before the door closes, you glance back at steve one last time.
he smiles, and some of the tension in your chest eases despite yourself.
“night,” he says.
“night,” you murmur, letting max guide you inside.
the door clicks shut, and you rest your head against it, trying to untangle the mess inside your mind.
no matter how hard you try to think about anything else, your thoughts keep returning to the same person.
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