#5sos5

One arm hangs off the side, fingers barely grazing the floor, sticky from something he doesn’t remember spilling. His head tips back against the cushions, eyes open but unfocused, fixed somewhere above the ceiling like there’s something written there he has yet to figure out. 

There are still people in his house.

Too many, honestly.

Someone laughs in the kitchen, loud and unfamiliar. A bottle clinks against the counter. A couple disappears down the hallway like this is normal, like this is his house but not really his space.

Everyone he’s ever known.

And somehow not a single person he’s actually looking for.

The front door creaks open.

Steve’s eyes flick toward it instantly.

Hope is quick. Reflexive. Stupid.

Stupid, because It’s not you.

Just another guy-someone from school, maybe-dragging his feet in at this ungodly hour, talking too loudly about nothing. 

The door swings shut again, and with it, Steve’s brief, flickering expectation dies just as fast as it came.

He exhales through his nose, slow, reminding himself. 

Right.

You don’t come anymore.

It hadn’t been like that before. You used to show up late. Always late.

The memory hits him out of nowhere, uninvited and too clear, like everything from before somehow survived the blur of everything now.

The door opening. You stepping in, already half-smiling, half-annoyed.

“You know you could not invite half of Hawkins, right?”

He remembers your voice, teasing him with a truthful smile. And Steve—God—Steve would feel it instantly. That shift. Like the night finally made sense.

He’d push himself off whatever wall he was pretending to enjoy leaning on, weaving through people just to get to you with a grin that spread across his face like a reward. 

A reward to the hours he spent doing nothing but wait for you at every party, not even listening to anyone’s words because all he could think about was you. 

“You came.” He’d said. Like he wasn’t sure you would. Like it mattered more than it should.

You’d roll your eyes, brushing past him. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

But you’d stay. That was the thing.

You weren’t a party person. Never had been. You hated the noise, the mess, the people who got too close, too loud. You’d hover in the kitchen, or sit on the counter with a drink watching everybody mush into one another, or disappear into quieter rooms and somehow, Steve always ended up there with you.

Not hosting. The thought that it was his party completely left his mind the moment you showed up. 

Now the kitchen is full, and he doesn’t step foot in it. Now the quiet rooms stay empty. Now he doesn’t even try to look.

“Steve!”

He barely reacts when someone drops down beside him on the couch, too close, too energetic for the hour.

A girl. Familiar, but not familiar enough. Her hand lands on his arm like she’s done it before.

Maybe she has but he can’t remember, too lost in the thought of that it should’ve been you. 

It shouldn’t feel wrong. But it does.

Because it should’ve been you.

You, reaching for him like that without thinking.

You, nudging him when he drifted too far into his own head.

His brain does this cruel thing. 

It expects you. It always does.

You never even had to say his name.

You’d barely get the first sound out—“S—”—and he’d already be there, turning, stepping toward you like it was instinct, like he was tuned to you in a way he couldn’t explain.

“This party’s insane,” the girl says, laughing, leaning into him like they’re sharing something.

Steve glances at her, blinking slowly.

Her words take a second to land. He forces a smile. It’s automatic at this point. “Yeah.” He agrees. Not bothered. 

She keeps talking about someone in the backyard, something that happened earlier, something that probably would’ve been funny hours ago.

He tries to listen. But it all blurs together.

Her voice fades into the background, mixing with the music, the outside noise of people chatting. 

And all he can think about is how you would’ve reacted.

You would’ve made a face. You would’ve leaned over and whispered something sarcastic in his ear.

You would’ve pulled him away after thirty seconds because you knew he wasn’t actually listening.

His jaw tightens slightly.

The girl laughs again, nudging him. “Are you even listening right now?” Not really. 

He huffs a quiet, humorless breath.

“Yeah. Just tired.”

She doesn’t believe him, but she doesn’t push, either. Just shrugs, already half-distracted by something else.

That’s the thing about these people. No one looks twice. But you would. In fact, you wouldn’t look away the first time in the first place. 

You would’ve kept him company all through every party. 

At some point, he ends up in the bathroom. He doesn’t remember walking there. The door clicks shut behind him, muffling the noise just enough that it feels like stepping underwater.

For the first time all night, it’s quiet.

Steve grips the edge of the sink, staring at his reflection. At his messy hair due to being run through one too many times, red rimmed eyes and his hollow expression. 

One of the memories hits him again, sharper this time. 

You, sitting on the counter, legs swinging slightly, watching him with that look, half amused, half something deeper. He knows you’re about to say something that’s been bugging your mind. 

“I think you’re trying too hard.” You say, firmly, shrugging like this wasn’t the sentence that has been washing up your mind every time you get Steve in moments like these. Away from the crowd, without anyone to impress. 

“What?” He answers, obviously a little confused. 

“This,” you’d said, gesturing vaguely. “The whole…King Steve thing.”

He’d frowned.

“It’s just a party.” But you both knew it was’t. 

You shook your head, softer now.

“I like you better when you’re not like this.”

Not like this. Steve swallows, looking back at himself now. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath. Because you were right. And worse because he knows it.

He stays in there longer than he should.

Long enough that the party starts to feel distant. Long enough that the silence becomes heavier than the noise ever was.

When he finally steps back out, it hits him all over again. The mess. The people.

The version of himself he slipped back into without even realizing it.

Someone calls his name from across the room again. This time he ignores it.

Instead, his eyes drift—slow, searching—toward the front door. Like they have all night. Like they keep doing without his permission. And the door? It’s closed. Of course it is.

After everyone has left, Steve ends up back on the couch. Same position. Same spot. Like he never moved.

Except now the house actually is empty.

Cups litter the floor. Something sticky clings to his shoe when he shifts. A chair is knocked over near the kitchen. The air smells stale, heavy with everything the night dragged in and left behind as a reminder of what’s left to clean  up. 

He stares at the door again. One last time.

Again. It’s stupid, at this point. Really stupid. 

He knows you’re not coming. You haven’t in weeks. Maybe longer.

He just… didn’t want to admit it.

His throat tightens slightly, something uncomfortable settling in his chest. Because for the first time all night, there’s no distraction left. No noise to drown it out. No one to pretend in front of.

Just him.

And the quiet realization that’s been waiting for him to stop running long enough to catch up.

His gaze lingers on the door a second longer before finally dropping, his head tipping back against the couch.

A slow breath leaves him.

Another memory hits him. 

It had never been about the parties for you.

Steve knew that.

You didn’t show up for the music, or the people, or whatever reputation came with being seen at his house. Half the time, you barely spoke to anyone else.

But you always stayed for him.

That was the part he didn’t understand at first.

Not until he started noticing the way your eyes tracked him across the room. Not in a clingy way. Not like you needed him.

More like you were making sure he didn’t lose himself in it.

There were nights you’d catch his wrist as he passed, just for a second.

Not to stop him. Just to ground him a little. 

“Hey,” you’d say, softer than the rest of the room.

And that was enough.

Enough to cut through the noise. Enough to make everything else feel distant. He’d lean in without thinking, like your voice existed on a frequency meant only for him.

And you’d always notice. Always.

The second his smile stopped being real. The second his laugh went a little too loud.

You’d actually listen. 

At least when you were there.

The house is quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that feels peaceful yet—just empty. Hollow. Like something’s been taken out of it and nothing’s replaced it since.

Steve doesn’t move from the couch. He hasn’t for a while.

The clock still blinks. The floor still sticks. The air still feels too thick to breathe properly.

And the door— The door is still closed.

He lets his head fall back, eyes slipping shut for a second, exhaustion finally starting to settle into his bones now that there’s nothing left to distract him from it.

This is it. This is what’s left.

A trashed house. A quiet morning. And the realization that he spent the whole night waiting for someone who was never coming.

A knock breaks the silence. Barely there.

Steve’s eyes snap open. 

For a second, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.

Because his brain, still stupid,hopeful and desperate—won’t let him believe it.

Not yet. The knock comes again.

Still quiet and still unsure.

He’s on his feet before he fully registers standing, crossing the room faster than he means to, heart racing something sharp and uneven in his chest.

His hand hesitates on the doorknob for half a second. Then he pulls it open.

And it’s you.

You look out of place.

Not because you don’t belong there, but because the night has already ended, and you weren’t part of it this time.

Your eyes flick past him, briefly taking in the mess behind him; the cups, the overturned chair, the remains of everything.

Then you look back to him.

There’s no smile this time.

Just something careful still settled on your face. 

“Hey.”

His throat feels dry. Unsure. Like his brain is still catching up, too much happening all at once. 

“Hey,” he echoes, quieter.

For a second, neither of you moves and it feels awkward in a way it’s never been before.

Like you don’t quite know where you stand anymore.

“I, uh—” you start, shifting your weight slightly. “I think I left my jacket here. A while ago.” 

It’s a weak excuse. You both know it. But Steve nods anyway, stepping back to let you in.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s probably…somewhere.”

You walk past him slowly, more cautious than you used to be, like you’re not sure what version of him you’re walking into.

After all it has been weeks and you never know what to expect with Steve. Or with you. The last few weeks you’ve spent avoiding him because facing your feelings with the fact that Steve the hair Harrington could never like you.

Even if you always saw right past that persona. He didn’t.

He closes the door behind you, watching as you move through the space that used to feel familiar to you. During evening, at least. 

You don’t head for the kitchen. You don’t make yourself comfortable. You just look around taking it all in. 

“This is new,” you say quietly.

Steve huffs, but there’s no humor in it. He knows what you mean. 

 “Not really.”

He lets silence overtake everything for a quick pause, hoping that what he says next won’t mess up the moment even more. 

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

You glance at him, something flickering across your face, searching for his eyes like there’s a right answer and that’s where you’ll find it. 

“I didn’t,” you admit. “Not for that.”

Not for him. The words hang there, unspoken but understood.

Steve nods slowly, looking down at the floor for a second. “Yeah.”

He clears his throat, the sound too loud in the quiet house. “Where do you think you left it?”

Another dumb excusable question you’re both aware of. 

You shrug slightly, arms crossing, bracing yourself against a feeling you can’t explain yet.  

“I don’t know. Your room, maybe.”

His jaw tightens a little at that. You haven’t been up there in weeks. Not since the last party you came to. 

“Yeah. Okay.” He nods once, not letting another memory flood both of your minds this time, then he gestures vaguely toward the hallway with a head shake. “It could be there.”

You hesitate before moving. Just for a second,  deciding if this is a mistake, like you’re giving yourself the chance to turn around and leave.

Steve notices. Of course he does. He notices everything about you.

“I can check,” he rushes. “You don’t have to-“

“No.” You shake your head, cutting him off, softer this time. “It’s fine.”

You step past him before he can say anything else.

He follows, a step behind, like he used to, but it feels different now. Less certain. As if he’s not sure he’s allowed to be that close anymore.

You reach his bedroom door first, pushing it open slightly, surprised it wasn’t locked.

Even more surprised when you see how untouched it is compared to the rest of the house. He didn’t let anyone in here.

You scan the room again, slower this time, like you’re giving yourself something to do.

“It’s cleaner in here,” you say, glancing back at him. “That’s new.”

Steve huffs a quiet laugh from the doorway. 

“Yeah, well. People don’t usually make it this far.”

“Wow,” you deadpan. “I feel special.”, you joke, with a laugh, but the words had more weight to it. The word joke not holding it’s meaning anymore. 

He shrugs, but there’s the smallest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “You are.” Like he’s not even thinking about it. 

You chuckle, hoping he doesn’t take it the wrong way and look away first, stepping further into the room, crouching slightly to check the side of the bed still holding onto the story. “If I find it covered in something gross, I’m leaving it here.”

“That’s fair,” he says. “Honestly, I’d probably do the same.”

You glance up at him. “You would not.”

“I would,” he insists, pushing off the doorframe a little, stepping into the room. “I have standards.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You threw a party for half the town.”

“Hey,” he points at you, mock-offended, “those are unrelated issues.”

But you don’t know the parties aren’t for half the town. They’re not for his neighbours, for his classmates or anyone he ever knew.

They’re for you.

Why would he keep throwing them and pretend to thrive someplace that didn’t include you. Even if that place included you for the last few hours only. 

You stand back up, brushing your hands together like you actually found something, even though you didn’t.

“Still not seeing it.”

Steve nods slowly, looking around like the jacket might magically appear if he tries hard enough. “It’s probably..uh..” he gestures vaguely toward his closet. “Check there, maybe?”

You pull the closet door open, pushing aside a few hanging shirts without much hope. “I’m not digging through your entire house for one jacket.”

“Wow,” Steve says lightly from behind you.

“Didn’t realize it meant that little to you.”

You glance back at him. “It’s a jacket, Steve.”

“Cold mornings are serious,” he shrugs, looking away from you.

There’s barely anything there—just a couple of boxes, a pair of old shoes.

And then something small, half-hidden near the corner. You reach for it without thinking.

“…wait.”

Steve shifts a little. “What?”

You pick it up, turning it over in your hand, squinting at it for a second, then your expression changes.

“…no way.”

Steve already knows that tone.

“What?” he asks, a little more cautious now.

You stand up, holding it out slightly. “You still have this?”

It’s a keychain.

Cheap. Plastic. Slightly scratched. From one of those dumb arcade prizes.

Steve freezes for half a second when he sees it. “Oh,” he says quietly.

You let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Oh?”

“I mean-it’s just-” he gestures vaguely, already losing the point, “it was in there.”

“You won this for me,” you remind him, as if he needs any reminding, turning it between your fingers. “And then got mad when I said it was ugly.”

“It is ugly,” he defends, a small smile creeping in despite himself.

“You were so proud of it though.” you add.

“I worked hard for that,” he shoots back. “Those machines are rigged.”

You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head slightly. “I think I said something like, ‘Wow, I’ll treasure this forever,’” you recall.

“You were lying,” he says immediately.

“Obviously.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “I knew that.”

You look at it again, “I lost it like…two days later.”

“I know.”

That makes you glance up at him. “You do?”

Steve shrugs one shoulder. “Found it in my car.”

“…and just kept it?” you ask, searching for his eyes. 

He hums, then, even quieter, “Yeah.”

“You’re weird.” You rush, before you could let your mind think too much of it. This meant nothing, you and Steve were nothing. 

“Getting that a lot today,” he mutters in response.  But he’s smiling a little.

You step out of the closet, still holding the keychain, your fingers brushing over the scratched plastic absentmindedly.

“Still not my jacket,” you scoff, dramatically, feeling less out of place now. 

“Yeah,” Steve replies. “Guess not.” With raised eyebrows and a smile spreading into a grin already. Like he knew it wasn’t there anyway as much as you did. 

Neither of you moves much after that.

You’re closer now. Not on purpose, it’s just how it ended up.

You glance down at the keychain again, then back up at him. “You kept a lot of stuff like this?”

“No,” he says. “Just…some things.”

You tilt your head slightly. “Important things?”

He lets out a quiet breath, like he didn’t expect that question. “Something like that.”

Your breath catches, taken back deciding on what you’re about to do next. 

You shift your grip on the keychain, and your hand brushes his, this touching him on purpose.

Steve’s gaze drops for a second, then back up to your face like he’s searching for what this really means and the answer is on your face.

He takes a deep breath. 

“You still think it’s ugly?” he asks softly.

You hum, pretending to think about it. “…yeah.”

He nods. “Fair.” Then you add, just as quiet: “But I’d probably keep it now.”

You don’t move away after saying it. Neither does he. There’s barely any space left between you.

Steve lets out a small breath, deciding something again, knowing he didn’t give it a second thought. Not even a first one. “You can.”

You look at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confirms. “You can keep it.” He looks down at where your hands are still touching. “Was kinda yours anyway.”

You push harder against his hand, probing for one of his fingers, his hand, you don’t even know, just wanting to hold a part of him in some way as slick as you can be. 

“yeah?” You mutter, not losing your focus.

You settle on the finger closest to yours as quickly as you can, not wanting to make this more awkward than it already might be. He reaches for the keychain, both of you holding it tightly now.

But at the same time you’re scanning his eyes, scouring for any possible hint that says he doesn’t want this, blinking as a way to cue him and let him know he can still pull away. 

And instead of saying anything else, you lean your face closer, just slightly at first, giving him time to meet you there, if he wants to. 

For a second, nothing happens.

Your breath mixes with his, close enough now that you can feel the hesitation in it, not unsure but like he’s not entirely sure this is real and happening. 

His eyes flick between yours, searching, almost waiting for you to pull back, giving you every chance to.

You don’t. But you don’t get closer either, letting him decide what comes next. 

So he closes the distance.

It’s careful, barely there at first. His lips are brushing yours so lightly it almost feels accidental. 

Like a test. And you still feel his reluctance, waiting for you to make it go away and confirm that he can be resolute in this. 

And instead of stopping, you lean in just a little more. 

That’s all it takes for the kiss to settle, both his and your lips catching each other tentatively. Chasing the taste of one another.

Steve exhales quietly against your lips, like something in him finally gives in and his hand lifts, slow, almost unsure, before resting gently at your side, still grounding himself in the fact that this is happening.

You tilt your head slightly, deepening it just enough to feel real, not rushed.

His thumb shifts faintly against your arm, a small, absent movement, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

You try to think of how maybe this shouldn’t be happening, like your lips shouldn’t be so desperate and in seek of his the second he pulls back to breathe. 

You should be bothered by sweat building on his pinky from you gripping it so tightly, but you just want more, more and more. 

Because you know you’ve wanted this for weeks. Weeks spent away from him, the moment only living in your imagination.

When you finally pull back, it’s unhurried, neither of you moving far, both still hovering in it, wanting it to continue. Your breath is uneven.

Steve lets out a quiet, disbelieving exhale, his eyes still half on yours, like he’s afraid if he looks away it’ll disappear.

The keychain is still in his hands, pressed between his fingers.

Steve glances at it, then back at you, a faint smile pulling at his mouth. “..definitely not here for the jacket.”

You huff softly. “Don’t ruin it.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Don’t.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, still close. “Okay.” 

You wait by the door for him as soon as you finish working around the house. Dinner is made and plated, dishes are washed and put away, and two large glasses of wine sit on the table.

Despite living together, you and Luke hadn’t been getting much time with each other. It’s now a couple months after your engagement, work has picked up again and the number of Luke’s clients are increasing by the minute.

He apologizes profusely when he does see you. Sometimes, he’ll come home with gifts just to show how much he loves and misses you. Flowers, lingerie, jewelry. As much as you appreciate him for it, you just wanted him.

That’s why, when you received one of Luke’s check-in texts after taking out a load of laundry, you almost dropped to the floor.

“Finally all done. I’m home for the next week. Tonight after dinner I’m going to take you to bed and fuck you so hard you and our mattress will become one. See you soon baby ❤️”

After that kind of text, you couldn’t think straight. It now had you anticipating his arrival many hours before. You did everything: shaved your whole body, moisturized, even painted your nails and toes just because you wanted to be the absolute prettiest for him.

After you did that you began on dinner, and soon enough, it was time for Luke to come home.

You sat on the sofa in the living room, staring blankly at whatever sitcom reruns are on the tv. When you faintly hear the buttons of the security keypad beeping, your heart starts to race.

Luke walks in looking like a fucking God. He wears a simple black button down with some black slacks and black dress shoes. You might drool at the sight of him.

You stand and he walks right over to you. “My beautiful wife,” he breathes, before leaning in to kiss you. You blush and both your heart and core spasm at the comment.

“Hi,” You start off with a voice crack, “dinner is ready. I made some steak and there’s a bunch of sides on the table.”

“Mmm.. thank you baby,” he smiles down at you, “gonna go change and I’ll be right back okay?”

Your pursed lips turn into a smile, “Yeah.” He leans down to kiss you and you melt into him before he pulls away with a sly grin. What a tease.

He makes it quite quick, coming down the stairs in some grey sweatpants and some old band t-shirt.

You guys sit down for dinner and enjoy your meals with some small talk. You feel a bit uncomfortable, not because of Luke, but because he’s not really giving you any direction in how tonight is going to go.

“‘s delicious, baby.” He gets stands up with his plate, leaning down to kiss your neck, and then walking over to the sink. Your eyes flutter shut as you shake your head, trying your hardest to regain even a bit of your composure.

You stand up as well. You begin to clean the kitchen as Luke walks over to the living room, plopping down on the couch to do some last minute work on his laptop, and then flicking on the tv.

After finishing cleaning up the kitchen, you softly patter your feet over to Luke on the couch. Just as you’re about to sit, he shuts his laptop and mumbles, “Upstairs.”

You look at him, not quite sure if you heard him correctly. “Hm?”

“Go upstairs,” he says flat. You stare at him blankly for a bit before nodding and scrambling upstairs.

As you make your way upstairs and slip into your silk nightie, you anticipate what moves Luke are going to be making tonight. Your memory floods back to only a few months ago when you had lost your virginity to your fiancé. He was gentle, but also so deep and passionate with you that you didn’t know what he’d be like not under those circumstances.

You look at yourself in the large, full length mirror in the corner of your room. The black lace decorates your skin perfectly. As you smile to yourself, you walk until you’re standing at the foot of the bed. You slowly sink to your knees, your heels touching the backs of your thighs as you sit and wait for Luke.

“I always want you to wait for me like this,” he said to you a couple weeks ago as he stood tall over you, his thumb tracing along your lips watching you peer up at him. “Good girls wait like this, okay? And you’re my good girl… my good, perfect girl,” he trailed off, his thumb slipping into your mouth.

Your thoughts are soon interrupted as you hear the door open. You look at Luke, and he has a subtle smirk spread across his lips. “My pretty baby.. look at you all dressed for me. You remembered what I taught you, yeah?”

You nod, smiling softly, waiting for him to continue. “That’s very good, baby. And ‘m gonna teach you some more today before I absolutely ruin you…”

A blush sprawls across your cheeks as you nod up at him, and he smiles, before tugging off his shirt, and then his grey sweats. Your mouth waters at the sight of his bulge in his black boxers. “You wanna help me, baby? Make me feel good?”

You nod. How could you say no? Not when he was so thick beneath his restraint. “Words…” he speaks. “Yes, yes daddy I want to help.”

He grins. “Take them off,” he mutters, hissing as your fingers peek under the elastic. You peel off his boxers, eyes immediately darting to his angry erection, begging for your attention. You think about how he taught you to touch him the first time, spitting in your hand before wrapping it around him, stroking slowly. You look at him, waiting for his reaction.

He lets out a rough groan, his eyes finding yours as he lets out mumbles of praise. “Good girl. More, faster.” You stroke him faster, and your mind flickers back and forth whether you want to try using your mouth or not.

You slowly duck your head down to kitten lick the tip of his cock, precum immediately dribbling on your tongue. Your eyes widen, but you continue, licking at his head and teasing him.

Luke moans, “Naughty baby…” he slaps the tip of his cock along your lips.. “You wanna play? Open up then.” But, you refused, keeping your lips closed. He groans softly, and you finally open, sucking the head of him into your mouth. You go slow, unfamiliar with this type of performance, and you let him control the pace. His hands find the back of your head, slowly guiding you as moans and whimpers tumble from his lips. You only get to take him halfway before you start gagging, and he pulls you away.

“Perfect, baby. All done for right now… get up on the bed for me.”

You scramble to your feet, nodding and lying down on your back, moving upward until your head meets the pillows. He looks unreal, climbing atop of you and kissing down your chest.

“Can’t believe you’re mine, honey. Getting this dolled up for me…” he tugs at the edge of your panties, before leaving them and prodding down at the wet spot that formed in the center. “Baby girl made a mess? Want me to fix it?”

You nod, and he tugs your panties down, letting out a groan at the sight of you. “Just wanna fuck this perfect little hole baby.”

You whimper loudly, nodding fast as you reach out for him. “P-please daddy.”

You’ve always been fascinated by how big he was. His broadened shoulders, large hands, and massive cock. When you’d lost your virginity to him, you swear you felt him in your stomach. You were scared that he wouldn’t fit, but he got you to take him little by little till you were filled to the brim.

Luke stands before you, stroking his cock slowly, just watching you. While he prepares himself, you take off your slip, to which he lets out a groan. You subconsciously spread your thighs, inviting him. he growls, nodding at you, and settling between them.

He slides the tip of his cock along your soaked folds. “S-stop teasin’, daddy,” you whimper. He growls, “You take what I give you.”

After a few short seconds, he slowly slides into you. He makes it so you feel every single inch of him, eyes boring into yours as his mouth opens slightly and a whimper leaves his lips, to which you mirror.

“A-ah!” a near scream leaving your lips. He mumbles into your neck, settling inside you completely, “Such a tight fucking pussy. Gonna fuck the shape of my cock into it, only for me to take.”

You whimper and nod, “P-please,” before grabbing his free hand and pressing it into his lower stomach, looking up at him.

“Here? You feel me here baby?” He moans, molding his lips with yours and slipping his tongue inside.

You groan, “mmmhm… please move, daddy…”

He retracts his hips slowly, guttural noises leaving both of your mouths.

He fucks into you, lips suckling all over your body. “You feelin’ good on me baby? Yeah? Daddy fuckin’ you good?”

You whimper. “A-ah! Yes… yes daddy! Y-you’re so deep inside,” you squeal. “Gah! Don’t stop….”

Soft little uh uh uh’s fall from your lips repeatedly. The way he drills inside of you makes your mouth stay open, eyes fluttering shut as he pumps you full.

Your reaction ignites a fire within Luke, his movements growing more fervent yet still just as deep. "You okay?" he murmurs against your skin, his voice filled with a mix of desire, but he still needs to check in on his baby. You moan, letting him know you’re okay, and he continues.

Luke begins to deepen his strokes, each movement a promise and a declaration of his desire for you. His breath hitches with each motion, every caress a reminder of his love for you.

“Daddy… daddy please can I cum? I’m so close…” you whimper, arms reaching up to wrap around him, scratching his back.

As your words find Luke's ears, he can feel the tension growing between you both. His voice is hoarse as he whispers, "Together-"

His movements become more deliberate, his need for release a powerful force that fuels every touch and movement. And just when it feels like you're both teetering on the edge of something unreal, he whispers against your lips, "Let go for me, baby. "

You cum as soon as he gives you permission, your body spasming uncontrollably as he fucks you through it. Moans tumbling out of your mouth, body shaking under him, eyes fluttering shut, waiting for him to release.

“Fuck fuck fuck, such a good girl. I’m gonna fucking cum- gonna pump you so full… fill your tiny pussy to the brim.” And with a final, harsh thrust, Luke lets himself release, a guttural groan escaping his lips as he surrenders to you. His love. In that instant, time seems as though it does not exist, leaving only the raw feeling of being with you.

Luke holds you close, his body trembling with the aftershocks of your shared climax. As you clutch onto him, he murmurs soft reassurances against your skin, his hand gently stroking your back. His voice is a soothing, comforting whisper. “You okay baby? I know that was intense. You did so good for me, little girl.”

A tear slips from your eye. Not because you’re sad.. you’re actually not sure why. Luke could sense that you were in a subby headspace. He knew that words might be difficult right now, so he took a moment to simply hold you close and scratch along your scalp like he knew you loved. His touch was a steady, grounding presence, a comfort to soothe you back to reality.

After a minute, you’re able to regain composure. “I love you,” you manage to get out. Luke's arms tightened around you in a protective, loving embrace. His eyes searched yours as he responded in a soft voice. "I love you too, baby." He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his adoration for you evident in every word and gesture.

“I- I should go clean up…” you mumble, suddenly aware of the mess between your thighs and that Luke is still inside of you. “I’ll take care of you.”

As you nod, Luke slowly pulls out of you and withdraws from your body. He carefully maneuvers off of the bed and guides you towards the bathroom, his arm around your waist to guide you. Inside the bathroom, he switches on the light, ensuring that the warm, intimate ambience endures. Then, he retrieves a soft towel and dips it into warm water, wringing it out until it's just damp. "Let's get you cleaned up," he murmurs, his voice soothing and caring.

“Thank you, daddy,” you whimper, legs shaking as you sit on the edge of the tub from the aftershocks of your orgasm. Gently, Luke runs the warm cloth over your sensitive skin, carefully wiping away any of his cum left behind. "Of course," he whispers, his touch tender and loving. “Anything for my princess."