#walter mckey

His vision vignettes as he pours another sugar into his styrofoam cup of coffee. He only likes two, but now he’s lost count, opening packet after packet just to give himself an excuse to stay here.

Morning light pours in through the open windows on the east side of the office building, bathing you in gold. You’re so bright and beautiful, Keys can hardly even look at you. 

Briana’s voice filters through his thoughts, tuning him back into the conversation. “I like him and everything, but the sex is just—I don’t know—”

“Bland?” you offer. 

Briana pauses, giving you a weighted look before correcting. “Silent.”

You make a sympathetic sound, oblivious to your eavesdropper, whose cheeks are turning a charming shade of pink. 

“There’s nothing worse than a silent man in bed,” you say, stirring your coffee. “I mean, we want to hear what we’re doing to them, you know? Like, moaning a little won’t kill them. And add in a little dirty talk? God, that shit never fails to get me off.”

Another sugar packet rips in his fingers and he pours without really thinking. Good lord, this coffee is going to be undrinkable.

But the cup of joe is the literal least of his worries, since he’s shoving his hips up against the edge of the table just to keep from getting a boner at hearing you talk like that. You’re his co-worker. You sit across from him every day.

He can’t be getting hard at work. And especially, not right next to you. 

“Exactly!” Briana groans, enthusiastically. “So, I don’t know what to do about it.”

Keys’ head turns towards the open office floor, but his feet feel like they’ve grown roots, planting him right there in the dingy carpet, forcing him to listen. 

You hum, a familiar sound that means you’re thinking. “Well, if he’s into it, maybe listen to some spicy audios together? There are some really talented creators out there that can give you both some inspiration.”

He glances up just in time to watch Briana’s dark eyes cut over to you mischievously as she takes a sip. 

“Good idea,” she says, “I’m going to…” 

Somehow, Keys finally uproots himself and slips away with his cup of sugary bean water. 

He barely registers the rows of cubicles and windows swirling around him in colors of gray, blue, white, and black, too busy replaying your words over and over in his head.

…nothing worse than a silent man in bed.

…add in a little dirty talk?

…never fails to get me off.

His office chair squeaks under his weight and his glasses land on his desk with a clatter. Planting his elbows on his armrests, he breathes a deep sigh and scrubs his hands over his face. 

Focus, Keys. 

He replaces his glasses, and shifts forward in his chair, forcing his eyes back to his waiting code. The predictability of numbers—those never changing zeros and ones—usually settles him. But, not today. 

He tries hard to force all thoughts of you from his head but—oh, it’s useless. 

There you are, spread out on his navy sheets, writhing underneath him. His mouth trails soft kisses down your throat, over your shoulder, and lower…

You let out a needy whine, hands twisting up in his hair, legs parting for him on instinct. And in his imagination, he opens his mouth to say something hot—anything—but no words come. He wouldn’t know what to say. 

He has a few trademark moves in bed. I mean, who doesn’t? And the girls he’s been with always leave happy. 

But…is he silent? He doesn’t really know, actually. Never recorded himself…or anything…maybe he should—

“You good?” 

The world whips back into focus, and Keys jumps in his chair. Suddenly, the overhead light’s too bright, and the AC feels like an icy blast, and you’re there, standing over your desk, staring at him with concern. 

“What?” he squeaks, then clears his throat. “Y-yeah. Yeah, of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

You shrug, and take your seat across from him. “I don’t know, you just look…tired, I guess.”

He just grunts and returns his gaze to his computer screen. “Just…work stuff.”

You hum in agreement and turn back to your screen as well. 

As much as he bitches about being shoved up in the corner of the floor, the only space with a huge window immediately to his left, the spot really does have its perks. 

It’s annoying because it’s so bright he has to squint to see his screen most of the time. But the way the sun shines through the blinds, painting you in thin lines of shadow, lighting up your eyes and lashes?

He wouldn’t trade this spot for anything. 

Shit. Now he’s staring. 

Irritated, he forces his gaze away and pushes his glasses up higher on his nose. 

His hand finds his mouse and he navigates to his work, but for one fleeting second, his curser hovers over the new tab button. 

Now, Keys is a complete and total nerd, so, of course he’s no stranger to the internet. Especially the deep, dark parts of it. He’s fallen victim to those late night deep dives on reddit pages more times than he can count. And somewhere, in the back of his mind, he remembers coming across those ‘spicy audios’ you gushed about earlier. 

What did you call them? Talented creators? Which ones were you talking about? What things did they say? What did you like about it?

All it would take is a few clicks on his keyboard, and he’d get all those answers to his questions. But he quickly shakes his head to clear it and pulls up his code with a guilty look over his shoulder.

The white wall stares at him, disapproving. 

What the fuck has gotten into him? He cannot be looking this shit up at work! 

He really has it bad.

When he’s back home, in the comfort of his own gaming desk, only then will he let himself investigate this newfound scrap of information on you. 

Later, he promises himself. Later. 

Well, it’s later. 

And Keys hasn’t got a single fucking line of code done yet. 

Which is why he’s stuck at work late, miserably trying to catch up on his project after everyone else has left for the day.

Everyone, that is, except for you.

Apparently, you also got behind, and you can’t afford to. Not with the new launch coming up.

Vinny came by to collect the trash a while back, and he didn’t see you in the back corner, so he turned off the lights, plunging you both into darkness. Neither of you have gotten up to turn them back on, choosing instead to work by the dim lights of your computer monitors. And even though the two of you keep saying you’re going to leave “any minute,” those minutes turn to hours, and you’re both still here. 

Alone.

The printer hums in the corner, and that blinking blue light on the side is driving Keys crazy. It keeps catching in the edge of his glasses, and the clicking of your mouse fills his ears. 

It’s constant. Unlike his. Which means you’re actually getting work done. Unlike him. 

Finally, your voice breaks the silence. 

“The street’s kinda loud tonight, isn’t it?”

Keys makes a noncommittal sound in this throat and doesn’t look up. 

Honestly, he hasn’t noticed the traffic humming far below the window, and he’s trying so hard not to look at you, not to think about you, that he doesn’t notice when you reach across over and grab his headphones by accident. 

It’s easy to get them confused. They look exactly the same, tangled up together at the edge of where your desks meet. Black. Standard issue. Company logo on the side. 

When Keys glances up and sees you with the headphones on, he sighs quietly in relief. 

It’s ridiculous, but up until this moment, he was hyper-aware of everything he was doing. Was he breathing too loudly? Could you hear his heartbeat? Was he readjusting himself too much when every thought of you in his bed gave him a hard-on? 

He tries to focus, he really does, but the numbers blur together on his screen. 

Music. 

That’s what he needs. 

He grabs the other pair of headphones, and when he settles them over his head, all he can hear is his own heartbeat slamming in his ears, reminding him of what a fucking loser he is. 

He should just ask you out. Like a normal person. But no. 

The foam cuffs press into the ear piece of his glasses, reminding him why he usually prefers the wired earbuds. But he’s lost them somewhere, and he can’t afford to go looking at the moment. 

The click of his mouse is silenced as he maneuvers it to pull up his music library. But, his cursor gets distracted on the way, hovering over that damn new tab icon in the corner.

He risks another peek at you. 

Your brows furrow and you readjust your headphones, eyes still on your screen.

Resisting the urge to scrub a hand over his face in frustration, he turns his gaze back to his computer. If he’s honest with himself, he won’t be able to get any substantial work done until he satisfies his curiosity.

It’s risky, doing this at work. But there’s no way you can hear anything, and Keys is getting desperate. 

After a few hasty searches, he’s navigating the depths of…erotic audios. 

His eyes widen as he scrolls past the sprawling inventory of tropes and storylines. There are so many different kinds of fantasies, how would he know what you’re into? He leans in closer, scrolling carefully down the list until he hesitates on one in particular. 

Talk Nerdy To Me. 

The small blurb underneath catches his eye. 

Your tutor tries a new tactic to get you to study for your big test. Just how sexual can his acronyms get before you decide to study anatomy a different way?

His cursor hovers over the LISTEN NOW button. 

This is harmless enough, right? There’s even a little story. Like an audio book. Just way shorter. And way more explicit. And…yeah, this is so wrong, on so many levels. 

Beneath his conscience, however, sits a burning curiosity. Keys is analytic at heart. If there’s a question, he wants to find the answer. And, if listening to this will help him figure out what to say in bed…

Fuck it. 

The silenced click of his mouse through his headphones is as loud as a gunshot.

He waits, breath caught in his chest, heel tapping restlessly on the carpet as the little blue progress bar starts to move. 

But he doesn’t hear anything. 

He frowns and readjusts his headphones. 

Nothing. 

On impulse, he skips to the middle. Just in case there was a silent lull there at the beginning. 

Still nothing. 

He leans towards the screen nervously, and as he shifts, he glimpses you from behind your computer screen—and freezes. 

You’re staring at him, cheeks flush in the dim lighting, chest fluttering with every breath. And small smirk begins at the corner of your mouth. It’s rueful and sinful, and… 

His stomach drops. 

Oh no. It’s in your headphones, isn’t it?

Oh, no, no, no, no—

His heart leaps in his chest as his hand flies to his mouse, scrambling to turn it off. 

Oh, God, where’s the stop button? 

There. That’s pause. Oh—he accidentally presses it twice. Now it’s playing again. 

HOW DO YOU CLOSE THIS FUCKING THING?

You chuckle breathlessly, watching your genius coworker—who can code literally anything, by the way— flail around like a fish out of water when all he has to do is simply push the little red X on the top right of his screen. 

The mouse starts to slip around in his sweaty palm and Keys gives up, slamming the power button on his computer, and enveloping the both of you in silence. 

You stare at each other over your desks for a long second. 

Then, Keys rips his headphones off and rakes a hand through his hair. 

See? This is what he gets for being fucking curious. It gets him in trouble. He just needs to stick with what he knows—

He opens his mouth to apologize, to explain, to—beg for his dignity back? But you just slip the headphones down to hang around your throat and level his gaze with a soft smile. 

“Was that Bennett Brooks?” 

“W-what?” Keys croaks, shoving his glasses further onto his burning face. 

“I recognize the voice actor. Haven't heard his stuff in forever, though. He’s good—voice is a little raspy for my taste,” you shrug prettily. “But good.”

He swallows. “Oh.” 

The silent office presses in around you, so quiet he can almost hear your lashes click together when you blink at him. Suddenly, you whip his headphones off your neck and thrust them onto his desk. 

They land with a clatter. 

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to take yours. By all means, don’t stop on my account.”

Keys lets out a choked sound, caught somewhere between a laugh and a cough. This is definitely making it into the top three most embarrassing moments of his life. 

“I’m n-not...” he stammers, “Not into that. Like…that.”

You shoot him a knowing look. “No?”

“No! Listen, I just—” he scrambles for an explanation as you just fucking sit there watching him. Smiling at him. “It was just research. Okay? Not a big deal—” 

The words barely escape his lips before he realizes his mistake. 

“Research?“ Your eyes light up and you lean forward in your seat. His eyes drop to the white V-neck button down you’re wearing—that third button you leave unfastened haunts him every single day. “Research is my specialty, Keys.”

Yes, he knows that. You’re a data analyst for the company. One of the best in the region, actually, wasting your time at the desk next to his. He should apologize again, or confess he overheard your conversation at the coffee bar. 

But the embarrassment burns hot, so instead, he clears his throat and hooks a finger in his shirt collar that’s currently suffocating him.

“It’s stupid, really,” Keys says at long last, and he hates how it comes out crackly. He clears his throat again, like that will help dislodge the panic in his chest. 

It doesn’t. 

You shrug, tilting your head in that cute way you do. “Didn’t sound stupid to me.”

You’re being so nice about it. Why are you always so nice?  “You know, I could help.” Your eyes linger on him and the air seems to grow ten degrees hotter. Then softer, you add, “…if you want.”

And just like that, all thoughts of project and deadlines glitch and vanish from his mind like a crashed browser. 

He’s nodding before he’s even really given it much thought.  

You smile and sit up in your chair. God, you’re radiant. “Okay. Let’s start with what exactly you want to research. Is it audios, specifically? Or—”

“No, no, it’s just…I think I…” Keys’ bottom lip catches between his teeth before he heaves out a heavy breath. “I want to get better. I guess.”

“Better at what? Sex?”

This time, Keys doesn’t hesitate. “Dirty talk.”

“Oh.” Your eyes flick to his lips for a split second before meeting his again. “Well, you’ve come to the right place.”

Keys adjusts in his chair, his dick is already twitching in his pants. “Yeah? So, you like this sort of thing? Guys’ voices dirty talking you and stuff. That…” He swallows hard. “Gets you off?”

You shrug again casually, like you’re talking about the weather. “It’s one way, yeah.”

Keys nods again. Too fast. Way too fucking fast. 

“So, do you have anyone in mind?” You ask. 

His pulse leaps. “What?”

“Well, you’ve got to be researching this for a reason, right? I mean, curiosity is a valid enough, don’t get me wrong. But is there someone…?” you trail off, unsure of how to finish. 

A silent moment stretches out between you as Keys decides how to answer. The digital clock on the wall, the rise and fade of the passing lights, all seem to look between you—waiting for something. 

Finally, Keys sighs. “Well, there is this girl.”

“Aha!” You lean your elbows on your desk, eyes brightening with interest. “Tell me.”

“It’s new. Like—” he chuckles, averting his gaze. “Really new. So.”

“It’s okay, Keys. We’re friends! We can talk about this kind of stuff.”

“I know!” he says defensively, although he’s not really sure why. “She’s just…into this sort of thing. Dirty talk. I think.”

“You think.”

“Yeah.”

You nod slowly, encouraging, if not a little teasing. “Okay…so, give me the rundown here. When’s your next date?”

“Uh. First one, actually. And…it’s…Thursday,” Keys stammers. 

“Thursday? Okay.” You look out the window. A passing car’s headlights shine across your face for a second before the computer light consumes you again. “Lucky girl. Where are you taking her? I mean—before the inevitable trip back to your place.”

 You swallow hard and busy yourself with re-organizing your pen cup as he scrambles for an answer. 

Chinese. 

You love that. 

He knows because the one time he picked you up for work when your car was in the shop, he caught a glimpse of your apartment through your front door. Your coffee table was littered with little takeout boxes, and he filed that away like a crow picking up a shiny screw and calling it a treasure. 

Yeah, he has it bad. 

“Uh. I was thinking that Chinese joint on the corner of Cross and Elm."

Your jaw drops. “I love that place!”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, raking a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I know.”

When you look up at him again, there’s a hint of a smile on your lips.

“Okay, so, we have three days to prepare you. What questions do you have?”

Leave it to you to make this sound like a standardized research paper. Well, now’s a good a chance as ever. He might never get this chance again.

Keys straightens in his chair, heel tapping the carpet so fast his leg is bouncing. 

“What do you—do girls,” he quickly corrects himself, “—want guys to say?” 

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Heat rushes to his face. “I mean, like, do they tell you how to…touch yourself? I don’t—I can’t even—”

“You’re overthinking it. There’s no magical combination of words to use." You gesture to his computer. "Here, let’s listen to the audio, it’ll help me explain—”

“Oh, no! We don’t have to do that!” Keys squeaks. 

You shoot him a look. “You said this is for research, right?”

“Yeah! Obviously. Totally.”

“Then you can’t half-ass it. If you really want to learn how to dirty talk for this girl, you gotta commit.”

He hesitates. 

“C’mon, Keys.” Your teeth close over the end of your pen and you gesture to his computer with your eyes, smirking as you settle into your chair. “Press play.”

Fuck. 

Your coworker, Keys, has been acting weird as fuck all day, and now you finally know why. 

He totally overheard your conversation with Briana at the coffee bar, earlier. 

Maybe it had something to do with the way you raised your voice on purpose, hoping to get through that head of hair and those brown eyes that seem to see everything except all the signals you’ve been dropping his way since you first started here. 

From behind your desk, you watch him eye the power switch on his computer like it’s some gigantic red button that says ‘don’t touch’ or else it will somehow World War III. 

Come to think of it, you might start World War III if it means getting your oblivious-as-he-is-cute-coworker to finally make a real move. 

Still, though, there’s a part of you that feels for the guy. He’s so nice, and good, and sweet, and fuck if you don’t want him to corrupt him a little.

Only in the ways he wants to be corrupted, of course. Which, apparently, involves digging into ancient audio porn on reddit after work hours. 

Oh, you are so into it. 

“Why are you so embarrassed, Keys?” you say gently. “Look, this is normal, okay? Being curious. And you want to make this girl feel good, right?”

The girl has to be you.

After all those coffees he’s brought you from that fancy place that he insists only adds three minutes to his commute, but in reality, probably adds, like, twenty? And the way his hand accidentally finds ways to brush yours, and then he acts as if he’s not jumping out of his skin at the contact?

If this girl is not you, then this crush you have on your nerdy, hot co-worker is about to be devastating. 

Keys blows out a breath. “Okay, fine.” 

His computer powers up with a familiar hum, and blue light cascades over his features again. 

God, he looks nervous. Why is that such a turn-on?

He looks so alone over there behind his desk as one lock of brown hair falls over his eyes, brushing the rim of his glasses, and suddenly, you get an idea. 

“Wait, actually, no—” you mutter, standing up from your chair. 

Keys jumps like you’ve shot him. “Yeah,” he says, scrambling to turn distract himself with something else on his computer. “Yeah! No, we don’t—this is—”

“—I’m coming over there.”

“What?” Keys’ gaze snaps to yours. Then, he gestures to the space beside him in his workspace. “Here?” 

But you’re already rolling your chair over the carpet and behind his desk. It’s a tight fit, with these ergonomic chairs. Their wide armrests knock together as you slide in beside him. 

Keys’ cubicle is different. 

Technically, it’s the exact same as yours. The dimensions are the same, as well as your surroundings, but it smells like his cologne, and there’s that stack of board games he keeps hidden under his desk. 

“Okay,” you sigh, settling back in your chair. “If we’re going to do this, we do it right. Which means, starting from the top. Clearly, you know nothing of the subject—”

“I—” he starts, but you shoot him a look that has his jaw snapping shut. 

“Now, dirty talk is a broad subject, so, what kinds of things are you into?”

Keys shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess, it depends on what she’s into. I mean…” He threads his fingers behind his head and leans back in his computer chair in an obvious attempt at casualness. “What are you into?”

Smooth. Real smooth. 

You decide to go along with it. 

“I like a little of everything. Praise, instruction, degradation, fantasizing…but not every girl is the same—”

“Okay, let’s just do that, then,” he cuts you off, nodding once like it’s been decided. 

You have to bite your lip to keep from smiling. “Okay, I’ll press play.” 

You shift lean forward and your palm closes over his mouse. It’s slightly damp, like Keys’ fingers were clammy when he last touched it. 

“Wait!” His hand shoots out and grabs your wrist. “Like…out loud?”

You gesture to the darkness beyond. “Keys, no one is here.”

“No, I know, but…” his eyes sweep the empty floor, shoulder hunched to his ears. “Okay fine, just do it.”

You nod and turn back to the monitor. “We’ll just pick up where you left off, okay?”

“Oh. I didn’t—”

Bennet Brook’s voice cuts him off, filtering through Keys’ computer speakers with that deep, raspy voice of his. 

“—was pretty good. Okay, now let’s do the carpal bones. I have a mnemonic for this, actually, you want to hear it? Okay. Some Lovers Try Positions That They Can’t Handle. Yeah, it’s a little…suggestive? It just—it helps people remember okay? Yes! The sluttier the better. Look, it goes from thumb to pinky proximally, then pinky to thumb distally. Here, I’ll show you…”

You risk a glance over at Keys. He sits perfectly still, breath bated as Bennett leads the listener through the scene. 

“Now you’re getting distracted,” Bennet laughs breathlessly. “What positions do I—I’m trying to help you study. Oh my god, you’re so annoying. Look. If I answer, will you study? Yeah? Okay, fine. My favorite is—”

You reach forward and press pause. The silence in the office rushes in to fill the empty space, and your stomach swoops as you turn to Keys. 

“What’s your favorite sex position?” you ask abruptly. 

He looks at you, eyes wide. You don’t miss the way his knuckles whiten around his arm rest, clearly doing that thing where he resists the urge to push his glasses up again out of habit.

“What does this have to do with—”

You sigh. “Just trust me, and answer the question.”

“Uh…missionary?”

“God, okay.” You roll your eyes and reach over to hit resume again. “That’s such a lie, but whatever.”

Keys stops you with that hand on your wrist again. “Wha—lie?”

“Yes. Lie.”

He finally turns to face you, incredulous. “Oh, and you’re suddenly an expert on what I like in bed?”

Heat shoots down your spine at his words, but you just scoff. “You play as a fucking stripper cop in Free City. Now, tell me the real answer.”

After a moment Keys groans, then looks away. “I don’t know the word for it. Like, the name, or whatever.”

“Oh! That’s not a problem.” 

You reach for his keyboard, and before he knows what’s happening, you’re opening a new tab, and then, right in front of him, is a list of sex positions. 

With pictures. 

“Jesus!” He hisses, looking over his shoulder as if the wall behind you is somehow going to open up and reveal your boss or something. “I’m going to have to scrub my search history clean after this.”

“Relax,” you say, settling back in your chair. “Now, point.”

Keys lets out a heavy, resigned sigh and sits forward, squinting at the screen. Ten seconds later, he shakes his head. 

“It’s not there.”

When he looks over at you, he immediately rolls his eyes, because the look on your face is the clearest I-told-you-so look he’s ever received. 

“God, with how freaky you are, Keys, it’s a wonder you’re silent in bed—”

“Hey!” He interjects, glaring over at you. “I never said—woah, okay, why are you standing up? What are you doing?”

You plant hands on your hips, looking down at him. “Look, just maneuver me into whatever position it is, and I’ll find the name of it for you.”

“This is ridiculous.”

You huff. “This is a part of the research. If you don’t want my help, that’s fine, we—”

Without looking, he reaches out and grabs your waist. The warmth of his skin bleeds through your thin work shirt and a surprised squeak escapes you as he tugs you down.

You land in his lap with an undignified plop, facing him. Your stomach plummets as his knee presses against your core, but he makes a disgruntled sound, and grabs your thigh, pulling one leg up and over until you’re straddling him. 

Your pulse hammers in your ears as you steady yourself with your hands on his shoulders and peer down at him. 

The dim blue glow of the computer reflects in his glasses and as his gaze meets yours, his expression makes your chest ache. There’s something so sweet there. Soft. Like flower petals against your skin. Fragile, too. 

“This is it?” you whisper.

A small smirk crosses his lips. 

“Okay, so, this is just straddling…” you say, but your voice trails off as his hands spread over your waist. They’re so big. How have you never noticed how big his hands were before?

You swallow hard. “Or, I think, it’s technically called seated cowgirl.”

“Really?” he asks, squinting up at you with a hint of cockiness you could get drunk on.

In your next breath, Keys’s fingers dig into your hips, and he spins you around on his lap. His chest is warm against your back, and his computer desk digs into your belly. You wiggle your hips back slightly to get away from the sharp edge, but still when his hard length presses into your clothed core. 

“What’s this one called?” His voice is deeper now, threaded with heat, and it makes your hands clench against the cool metal of his desk. 

“Reverse seated cowgirl,” you say, fighting to keep your tone even. “So, this is your favorite? Tell me why.”

His breath stalls in his chest, you can feel the way he hesitates against your spine.

The printer hums in the far corner of the office, and a car horn blares distantly from the street below. 

After a long moment, he exhales, and his breath ghosts over your ear, making your lashes flutter. 

“I like the view,” he admits softly. “Painted in blue-light, all needy—” Then, he lets out a quiet, “Fuck.”

Heat pools deep in your belly. He sounds…wrecked. Already. And you’re just sitting in his lap fully clothed. 

God, you could make this man beg. 

You tilt forward and look over your shoulder. His eyes lift to yours, then drag down to your mouth, your hips, and his bottom lip disappears between his teeth.

“What else?” you whisper.  

He doesn’t hesitate this time. “I like the control of it, you know? Like—” he huffs out a quiet laugh, like he can’t believe he’s saying these things. “Like maybe I’m just playing a video game, and making you keep my cock warm. And you just… just have to sit there and take it.”

His words—so filthy and shy—stir hot embers of arousal between your hips. 

“Shit, Keys,” you say with a breathless laugh. “That was so good!”

His eyes meet yours again. “Really?”

“Yeah! Okay, I’m pushing play again. I’ll skip forward a little, too, just so we get to the good stuff.”

He clears his throat. “You’re going to stay right here?” He taps your leg and his fingers linger on your skin. 

You pretend to jolt in his hold. “Oh! Sorry, I can move if you—”

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “It’s fine.” 

‘It’s fine’, he says, as if he’s not raging hard underneath you, holding onto your leg like he might die if you slid off him right now. 

He’s too easy. 

You press play. 

Immediately, sounds of kissing and rustling fill the room. Keys inhales sharply, his erection growing against your ass, and you barely resist the urge to grind down on him. 

“That’s it,” Bennet croons. “You take it so good for me, baby. Fuck, you’re incredible.”

The wet sound of hips meeting has Keys’ mouth dropping open. His eyes dart off the screen, like watching the loading bar is somehow equivalent to seeing these imaginary people fuck. 

“That’s praise,” you whisper over your shoulder. “Obviously.”

Keys looks at you, then. Really looks at you. You can feel the way he takes in the slight shift of your hips as you try to find some friction to release the building ache. 

He’s reading you. Analyzing the data. Recalculating.

Classic Keys. 

The sight pulls at something in your chest. Truthfully, that’s the reason you like him so damn much, the reason you’re pulled to him like a ship to a lighthouse. 

Because with Keys, you would be fully, and utterly known. 

“…always so needy?” Bennet groans. “Just wanna be bent over a desk and fucked, huh, baby? This what you need? So dirty, I swear to God.”

“Degradation,” you murmur, turning back to the computer. 

Bennett keeps going. “Oh yeah, just like that? C’mon, baby. Tell me what you want. Use your words.”

 “Instruction,” Keys says, beating you to the punch. 

You’re grateful your back is to him so he can’t see your self-indulgent smile. 

“…thought about this a lot,” Bennet groans, the sound effects growing faster and louder. “Like in the library on campus? When we’re trying to study but you’re sitting across from me, and I can’t focus…”

Your breath catches at the exact same second Keys goes still beneath you. 

“…I see it, you know. The way your hand brushes mine when you hand me a pencil. You think I don’t notice? Fuck—of course I’ve thought about you. Are you kidding? Every time I jerk my cock I think about you. How you’d sound when I’m fucking up into you like this. Oh, you like that, huh? Get you so cock drunk— oh, baby, that’s it—”

You swallow hard, mouth suddenly gone dry. 

That’s fantasizing.

But for some reason, you can’t even bring yourself to repeat it. To solidify it. To make it any realer than it already is. 

Can Keys tell how much you relate to Bennett's words? That every time you’re in bed at night, thoughts of him keep you up late, you’re rubbing your aching cunt, whining his name into the empty ceiling?

You’re soaking through your underwear now, but mostly from listening to Keys’ uneven breathing behind you. His fingers flex over and over against your work skirt, like he can’t quite get up the courage to slip them under the hem that’s riding up your bare thighs. 

In an effort to relieve his aching erection, Keys shifts in his chair. It’s a small enough movement, but it’s just enough to send his elbow into a cup on his desk. It falls with a dull thud, the water inside instantly soaking into the carpet.

You smack the space bar on his keyboard, cutting Bennet off mid-moan, and leap to your feet. 

Keys cringes and moves to stand, but you disappear behind your desk before he can blink, and reappear a second later with a roll of paper towels. 

“Here,” you say gently as you kneel in front of him. “Let me.”

Keys reaches down at the same time you raise up on your knees, and when you lift your chin, you find your faces only an inch apart. 

He doesn’t jerk back like you expect. Instead, he just finds the paper towel on the ground and gently pries your fingers off it, resuming the blotting himself. 

Your hands find purchase on his knees for balance, and they spread wider under your touch, almost subconsciously. 

Almost. 

You swallow. “Keys?” 

His shoulder muscles flex under his T-shirt as he works. “Yeah?”

“Do you want to keep listening to the audio…or…do you want to practice?”

“Practice?” He doesn’t look up, but his voice cracks. 

“Only if you want.”

Keys sits back into his chair, tossing the wet paper towel into the nearby waste basket. Then his eyes settle on you for what feels like the first time all night. 

Through his work khakis’, his erection presses an angry imprint. God, it looks so hard it probably hurts, confined like that. The air between you shimmers with that unsaid tension, the kind that releases butterflies in your stomach and in the chambers of your heart. 

But while exciting, it’s equally terrifying, putting yourself on display like this. You feel strangely vulnerable, even though you were just teasing him a few seconds earlier. 

“What are you thinking about right now?” you ask, voice soft. 

Keys looks away, jaw clenching. 

Suddenly, you wonder if you’ve misread this. Have you made him uncomfortable? What if there actually is a girl, and it’s not you, and you’ve just—

“Your mouth,” Keys says, cutting off your thoughts. 

Hope renewed, your gaze snaps to his. 

“Where?” 

He rakes a hand through his hair, and his glasses slant adorably on his nose with the motion. His chest rises and falls once, twice, and then he whispers, “My cock.”

God, just hearing him say that makes your panties slick. 

“Good,” you breathe. “Now, put it together.”

He huffs, a surprised laugh slipping from him before the heat returns to his gaze.  “I’m thinking about your mouth on my cock.”

The damp carpet fibers dig into your knees as you watch his Adam’s apple bob on a swallow.

“Do you want me to do that?” you ask carefully. 

There’s a certain irreversible tension sitting between you right now. It feels a little like waiting behind an ancient door, not sure if it will creak open and invite you in or vanish into a cloud of dust. 

After a long moment, Keys nods.

A triumphant thrill zips through you, but you keep yourself together and hold his gaze. “You have to say it—”

“Fuck, I want it.” The words rush out of him in a gasp, like they’ve been sitting behind his teeth, waiting their turn the whole night. “I want my cock in your mouth. Please.”

He’s barely got the words out before your fingers fly to his zipper. 

“Forgot about begging,” you mutter more to yourself, but he hears you anyway. 

How could you have forgotten that very important category of dirty talk? It’s one of your favorites, and it flew from his lips unprompted. 

He’s perfect. 

“W-what about the—cameras,” he protests weakly, even as his hips lift from the chair to help you slide his pants down his thighs. 

“The cameras don’t reach back here,” you assure him.

Hooking a finger in the band his underwear, you pull them down and reveal his cock. It sits hard and heavy against the happy trail on his lower stomach.

He sputters. “W-what? Wait—really? How do you know that?”

It’s only natural, digging into dark spots in the security systems at a new job. Especially when you have a coworker as hot as Walter McKeys.

Instead of answering, though, you shuffle forward and take him in your hands. His head tips back on a ragged groan and you relish the hot, velvety feel of him. It’s long and hard, and somehow, you always knew Keys would have a big dick. 

It’s always the nerds. 

Your pussy throbs, fluttering around nothing as you imagine him easing his length inside your slick core, whispering in your ear, telling you how well you’re doing, how much he’s wanted this. 

Keys sits ramrod straight, breathing sharply through his nose as you let your hands explore him. You stroke him from base to tip, fondle his balls, then reach down and palm his thighs. His stomach flexes beneath his shirt, and on impulse, you reach up and lift it until the fabric bunches just below his ribs. 

Soft tummy with muscles flexing underneath. A dark happy trail leading down. A glimpse of thicker hair littered across his chest. 

God, he’s delicious. 

What you wouldn’t give to have this man naked in your bed right now. Saliva builds in your mouth at the thought.

Can you die by horniness? Better research that later. 

You stroke him firmly a few times, and when you lean down, he groans softly.  

Glancing up, you search for any sign to stop, but his eyes aren’t on yours anymore.  They’re glued to your chest. 

You tilt your chin down to see what he’s looking at. 

The three unfastened buttons of your work shirt give him a clear view of your cleavage, and the glow of the computer monitor illuminates the dips and valleys prettily.

A relieved gasp escapes him as your hands start undoing the rest of the buttons. He nods as if you read his mind when your shirt falls open, revealing your black bra. 

Thank God it’s your cute one. Not lingerie by any means, but your nipples harden under his gaze, poking against the fabric. 

You keep your shirt hanging loosely over your shoulders, just in case someone were to walk in. Although very unlikely, the thought of getting caught with Keys still shoots a wicked jolt of pleasure through you. 

Wordlessly, you run your hands up his legs again until your fingers find his cock and resume your attention. 

Keys says something—more like whines it—but it’s too quiet for you to hear. The carpet presses into your knees as you lean in. His thick thighs bracket your shoulders, and when your breath ghosts across the head of his cock, they go hard as rocks. He makes a muffled sound in the back of his throat, then clears it roughly. 

You lean back to catch his eye. 

“Whatever your voice, or breath, wants to do…just let it happen,” you say. “Don’t worry about being loud, there’s no one here.”

He nods, drunk on the sight of you, desperate for your mouth. 

Those big hands reach down and gather your hair, and you scoot even closer, close enough to tap his dick against your lips with a soft smack. When you blink up at him, Keys curses under his breath, then stops himself. 

“Stop swallowing it down,” you chide. “Let me hear.”

Before he can say—or do—anything, you lick a broad, wet stripe up his length. His hips jerk in your hold, a ragged moan tumbling from his lips, unabashed. Your eyes shine with pride when you look up at him. And fuck, he’ll do anything to see that look again. 

You stroke him lazily. Like you have all the the time in the world here in the office after hours. Like you’ve been thinking about it for a long, long, time. 

Drool pools in your mouth as you coat him with your tongue. Then, your lips wrap around him and you slowly work your way down, inch by inch, listening to his whimpers, feeling the way his body vibrates underneath you. 

He’s still holding himself back, so you draw back up and suck gently on his tip before popping off him.

“Sorry,” he gasps. “Fu-forgot I was supposed to talk.”

You nod. “That’s okay. How do you like it?”

He starts to respond, but you envelop him in your warm, wet mouth again, and all words die on his lips. 

“Feels so good, I can’t—can’t—mmmph,” he groans as you relax your jaw and take him deeper, then whimpers pitifully when you come off him again. “My brain’s fried. Like, actually short circuited. I can’t think—”

You press your tits together and tilt your head. “It feels good, right?”

He chuckles, a ragged soft sound. “Fuck—yeah.”

“Just talk to me, then,” you murmur, fluttering your tongue along the ridge of his cock as it twitches in your hold. 

Something seems to click in his mind at those words, and his eyes harden as he stares down at you.

“You want to know why I’m always so tired?” he says, chest heaving. “I stay up all night, trying to get the work done I should be doing when I’m sitting at my desk. But I can’t. Because I’m—fucking hard—all the time. Because of you!”

You decide to reward him for that little speech—a great example of fantasizing and degradation—and relax your jaw again, sliding him deep into your throat. Deeper than before. Keys throws his head back on a groan. The stretch brings tears to your eyes, but you blink them back so you can look at him properly. 

His hair looks so pretty illuminated in soft streaks of blue from the computer, and gold from the street far below. Like a painting. 

Arousal floods your core, coating your underwear, and you can feel your clit pulsing in time with your heartbeat. 

You slide up and off of him to let your lungs expand and he inhales with you, like that took his breath away as much as it did yours. 

“Can’t stop thinking about what you’d feel like under me,” Keys pants. He watches you with heated eyes as you suck on his tip, stroking the rest of him steadily with both hands. “Or—or on top of me. What you’d t-taste like.”

Without thinking, you shove two fingers past your waistband, and straight through your soaked folds. The contact has you moaning around his cock, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure down his spine. 

Then, you slowly withdraw them. They glisten in the glow of the monitor as you raise them up to his face, and Keys wastes no time leaning forward and capturing them in his mouth. His tongue strokes up to your knuckles eagerly, and as the first taste of you floods his mouth, it seems to unlock something in him. Some rusty, spider-web filled, creaking lock shoves open. 

“Aghhh yeah,” he moans when you withdraw your fingers and suck him deep again. “That’s how I like it. However you do it, that’s how I like it, baby. Holy fuck.” 

Your eyes actually roll back at that, and your hand flies down to circle your clit without thinking. 

His eyes track the movement and he chuckles darkly. “Oh, you like that? You like hearing how well you’re doing?”

You whimper. Fuck, yeah, you do.

He bucks underneath you, like your mouth is just the best thing he’s ever felt in his life. “Just—fucking—on your knees for me? Shit."

Your eyes slide shut, lost in the salty taste of him as his precum mixes with your spit. His hand leaves your head and reaches down to tap your chin. 

“Eyes on me, baby,” he rasps. Your eyes flutter open in surprise.

You swallow around him in response and his jaw drops. He grips your hair again on instinct and you moan in encouragement as he starts to push you gently up and down his shaft. 

“Is t-this okay?” he asks, breath ragged. 

You nod, lashes fluttering as he hits that soft spot at the back of your throat. 

Truth is, you love this. 

Taking your rigid, calculating co-worker and turning him into something needy and honest. He’s wild, but with an edge of control. And somehow, you just know Keys could take you to the brink and keep you there like no other. 

You hollow your cheeks as he grinds in and out of your wet mouth, pulsing against your tongue and spitting out the filthiest words you’ve ever heard him say in your months of working across from him. 

You rub your throbbing clit faster, and he blinks down, watching you touch yourself to the feel of him in your mouth for all of three seconds before he’s yanking up on your hair. 

Your scalp tingles as you disobey his silent order, determined to have him come in your mouth. His base is slick against your puffy lips, and he damn near chokes on his tongue when your nose hits his stomach. 

“Holy—I’m gonna come,” he grunts, hips bucking. “Shit—baby, you’ve gotta—do you—”

He breaks off with a ragged moan as you grip his thighs and swallow around him—and then he’s spilling down your throat. 

His abs tense and release over and over in your view, and the view is so intoxicating, you’re only a few seconds away from your own release when he finally slips from your drooling mouth.

You don’t know what you expected him to do when he finished. Maybe probably crawl back into that shy, nice-guy, missionary shell of his. Instead, when his chin falls to his chest, his soft brown eyes have gone molten. He reaches down and pulls his pants back up, tucking himself back into his briefs, but he doesn’t bother with the zipper. 

“C’mere,” he demands, grabbing you by the wrist and yanking you up. Your legs wobble, but he catches you easily and pulls you down into his lap. “Ride my thigh.”

Your mouth drops open. “Ride your—”

“You heard me.”

In one smooth motion, he plunges a hand under your skirt and yanks your panties down your legs. His knuckles brush your wet folds and you gasp against him, grinding down instinctively against his knee. 

“Look at you,” he whispers. “Taking instructions. Soaking through my pants like that? Fuck yeah.”

Your breasts heave as you try to catch your breath, but now, you start to wonder if maybe you’ll just be in an oxygen debt forever at this point. Because with the way he’s looking up at you right now, there’s no way you can breathe. 

Your hips roll smooth and fast, and when he shifts his leg up slightly, meeting your movements, sparks shoot up your spine. Your head drops back, eyes slipping shut, but Keys is quick to pull your gaze back to his with a hand around the nape of your neck. 

He clicks his tongue. “No, I want to watch you. Wanna see you fall apart for me.”

“God, Keys,” you pant, “you’re a quick learner, I’ll give you that—”

He cuts you off by pinching your nipple through your bra, and when he grabs a handful of your bare ass under your skirt, your lungs officially forget how to expand. 

“Please,” you beg. “Keys—”

His hands fly to your hips, helping you rock back and forth on him. “What is it? What do you need? Need me to touch you?”

You whimper. “Yes.”

“Tell me where.”

You grab his hand and guide it under your skirt, but he pulls back at the last second. 

“That’s not telling me.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you laugh, breathless and irritated. 

He smiles, then. And it’s positively radiant, white teeth winking in the dim light. 

“C’mon, use your words, or else I’ll have to stop,” he warns. 

But you’re not listening, because at that moment, he dips his head and captures your aching breast in his mouth, pulling a deep moan from your throat and putting an arch in your back. 

Your thighs burn, hips slowing to devastatingly desperate swivel in order to keep his mouth on you. The threads of his pants are warm and completely soaked through underneath you, and he’s licking and sucking your breasts through your bra like he’s trying to find a way to imprint his smell, his taste, onto your body.

The duel stimulation feeds that sprawling drive for more. Tremors start to run through your hands, making them claw restlessly at his shoulders and dive into his hair as your orgasm grows closer. 

Suddenly, Keys pulls back. He ignores your whine of protest and blinks up at you from behind his glasses. Your tongue darts over your bottom lip as your eyes drop to his mouth. 

His perfect…perfect fucking mouth. Soft lips, parted just slightly as he breathes heavily beneath you. The timber of his voice reverberates against your stomach as he talks. God, it’d be so easy just to lean in and press your mouth against his, feel that gentle glide of his tongue against yours…

Wait, is he saying something? You can’t fucking think—

“…not going to tell me, I have to stop.”

It’s only when his hands leave your body that the world slows to a stop. 

Cold air rushes in where his hands just were. Now you’re just needy and wet, grinding down on his pants leg in the middle of a dark office. 

“W-what?” you ask dumbly.

He shrugs. “I told you what would happen if you didn’t use your words.”

Your brain feels foggy, like your thoughts are traveling through a cloud, all the blooding your body pooled in your clit instead. 

“But I...” you whimper, “But, what—”

He rolls his eyes. 

“But I—but Keys—I just—” he mocks you, voice going higher on his register, and your mouth drops open in shock. 

He smirks at the look on your face and tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “What? you thought I wasn’t serious? You made me do all this—and don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it. I watched you getting off on the power trip of it all, and now it’s my turn. So, go ahead. Tell me what you want me to do to you."

Where the fuck did your nerdy, shy coworker go? And who have you turned him into? Your breasts heave in his face as you blink down at him, but he doesn’t so much as glance at them. 

“I’m right here,” he urges. “Go ahead. Ask for it. Anything you want, I’ll give it to you.”

After a moment, you finally find your voice. 

“I-I want you to touch me.”

His hands instantly resume their place on your hips and your breath shutters in relief. 

Then he leans in, lips ghosting over your jaw. “That wasn’t so hard, huh? Where do you want to come? On my fingers?”

“Yes!” The word leaves your mouth broken and desperate. 

He hums. “Put it together.”

You exhale sharply, panting towards the ceiling in frustration. “Walter, I want you to finger fuck me until I come.”

He smiles against your throat. “Good girl.”

His hand finds your clit immediately and he rubs tight, hot circles that have your back arching.  

“Oh, God, don’t stop!” you beg. 

Your shirt slips from your shoulder and then his mouth is there, kissing the soft skin like he’s trying to memorize the shape of it. 

The muscles deep in your core flex with your impending pleasure and you writhe against him desperately. Through it all, his hands stay steady, never wavering. Constant, and grounding. 

You raise up on shaky legs as his two middle fingers circle your entrance and your pelvis tilts, eagerly seeking that internal friction. 

He presses in, just a little, and your body welcomes him greedily. The sound of his fingers disappearing inside you making him groan out a slurred curse. 

“Shit, baby—both at once? So wet for me, oh my God.” 

When his fingertips brush that spongey spot that makes you see stars, your chest vibrates with your moan. The pressure on your clit is too much, and not enough, and everything all at once—it’s overwhelming. It's perfect. 

Your hips snap into his palm, driving his fingers deeper and he lets out a choked sound as you whine, needy and breathless. 

“There you go. That’s it,” he murmurs into your neck. His glasses knock into your throat as you tip your head back to give him better access. “Take what you need.”

That white-hot band of pleasure finally snaps as you clench around his fingers, and your orgasm rushes through you in a torrential wave of bliss. Keys slowly withdraws his fingers and helps bring you back to each with soft kisses to your chest, thumbs tracing circles into your thighs as you collapse on top of him. 

“Holy shit,” you gasp, running a hand through your hair, gazing down at him through heavy lids. “That was…”

“Good?” he asks eagerly. 

You smile. “Perfect.”

And you mean it. You really do. 

His fingers brush over your bare shoulder and your breath catches again as your eyes connect with his. The stoplight on the street below turns green, reflecting in his glasses, and because you can’t help it, you smirk down at him. 

“So, about this girl...” he murmurs. 

Your stomach flips. “Yeah?”

“This date—”

“Yeah?” you say again, eagerly, cutting him off. 

As you stare at each other, chests heaving, faces flush, a laugh builds behind your ribs. 

He clears his throat. “I was kinda hoping…you’re free Thursday? I was thinking about that place on Elm and Cross—”

“Fuckin’ knew it,” you murmur, and the rest of his words die against your mouth as you lean down and kiss him. 

a/n: Oh, hi. So, the way I feel about this fictional man, is actually pretty close to the actual definition of feral. Also, I just want to say, there are many more kinds of dirty talk out there, but these categories just fit the plot lol

Also everyone blame Jules (@tellcherhesgone) for putting this idea in my head, because she posted one thing about Keys definitely knowing what GoneWildAudio is, and that shit stuck with me lol

keys taglist: @emotionallyaslut , @subtlesposts, @oliviaharrington, @drifting-daydream, @dracomalfoypilled , @mysticfluffyness

you were barely finishing your first cup of coffee of the morning when he got up from his chair across yours. until then, you’d barely been able to see him as the big computer screens that separated you both blocked the view.

good, you thought. that way you wouldn’t have to endure his insufferable, bitchy face each time you pointed out a flaw on his code.

your eyes followed him until he disappeared down the hallway, cursing him under your breath as tomorrow’s deadline stared back at you, why the fuck does he think this is a good time to take a break, you knew it wasn’t like him.

but the thought of him flew from your mind the moment you heard your phone ping, the notification on your screen pulled a smirk on your lips that you didn’t even try to fight back.

smashingkeys69: r u free right now?

without meaning to you were already pressing your thighs together. the idea of locking yourself in one of soonami’s bathrooms made you swallow hard as you felt heat rushing to your cheeks.

you scanned the room before answering, everyone was locked in in whatever it was they were doing.

you: no but i can make myself free

you: give me 2 mins

it didn’t take you long to get from your shared desk to the women’s bathroom. you felt your skin prickling in response to how cold the room was. thankfully, all the cubicles were open, meaning you were completely alone and free to lock yourself inside the one farthest from the door, too scared to be heard.

you: okay

you: now i’m free

his reply came instantly.

smashingkeys69: what r u wearing

you sighed when you realized your work outfit was probably the least sexy thing in the world and for a moment thought about lying to him, but what was the point. he knew you were probably at work just as you knew he also was.

if only you were aware of the one digit meters that separated you from him in that moment.

you: the most boring work clothes

smashingkeys69: work clothes can be sexy

you: ur not helping set the mood w that

smashingkeys69: and ur not helping w the attitude

smashingkeys69: cmon tell me

you: a band tshirt and jeans

smashingkeys69: what band

you: srsly is it important

smashingkeys69: tryin to get to know you

you: why

smashingkeys69: cause no ones ever gotten me as hard as you do

you loved how with just some words he had pulled you in and made the heat on your cheeks travel to your stomach, sitting down on it with anticipation at what you knew was about to go down.

you: blur.

on the other bathroom, right next to the one you had settled in, keys fumbled with the button of his jeans, trying to get it open onehanded, knowing that your short answer to his stupid question was a sign that you wanted to get off as much he did. when the fabric hit the floor along with his underwear he shivered from the cold, the crash of sensations between the air and his hot skin adding on to the pleasure he was feeling.

smashingkeys69: take it off

you: im in my works bathroom

smashingkeys69: can u work w me

you: fine

smashingkeys69: take your bra off too

you knew he would like your next message.

you: im not wearing any

smashingkeys69: fuck

you: its off

you: tell me what youd do with em

seeing him texting and stopping, texting and stopping, felt like torture every single time.

smashingkeys69: touch them

smashingkeys69: think bout my hands instead of urs

smashingkeys69: id grab them both and kiss and bite down ur neck

you felt your free hand sliding up your bare stomach and stopping over your breast, cupping it and sighing.

keys remembered the picture of them you had sent him once and imagined yourself squishing them slightly, both free and full against your hand. he moaned.

you: id let u mark me wherever u wanted

smashingkeys69: good

smashingkeys69: id start on ur neck and make my way down slowly

smashingkeys69: taking my time just to torture u

you: youd love that wouldnt u

smashingkeys69: id love to hear u moan my name when i play with ur nipple

you followed his orders, pinching one of your nipples between the pad of your thumb and index finger and rolling it. if you knew what his name was, you’d whisper it for yourself.

keys took the lack of answer from you as asking him to go on, he was sure you were playing with the hard bud just as he had said.

smashingkeys69: i suck on it and flick my tongue over it as if it were your pussy

your thumb brushed over your nipple slowly once, twice, before you flicked it and gasped at the sudden impact.

on the other room keys was fighting hard not to start jerking himself off, his dick already hard and hitting his stomach, begging for attention that it would get soon.

smashingkeys69: my hand goes down ur body and and sneaks under your pants feeling you warm and wet

smashingkeys69: do that for me now

smashingkeys69: touch yourself

smashingkeys69: r u wet

you don’t waste time and let your jeans fall to your ankles just to shimmy your panties down your legs, completely naked now, shoulders resting against the wall. your fingers slid down from your tits, circling slowly on your pussy as soon as they touched it.

you: m so wet

you: youd slide in so easily

smashingkeys69: dont get ahead of urself

smashingkeys69: fuck urself w ur fingers

smashingkeys69: 2 of them

smashingkeys69: pretend that their mine

smashingkeys69: that its me holding u open

smashingkeys69: pumping them into u until ur shaking under me telling me how good i make u feel

smashingkeys69: tell me how it feels

you: it feels so good

your movements got faster and your back arched as you approached your peak and a whine left your lips, trying to shut yourself up with the hand holding your phone. but it didn’t last long before it vibrated on your hand, the need to read what he was saying was stronger in your fuzzy head than the fear of being heard.

smashingkeys69: go faster and play with ur clit

smashingkeys69: tell me how close u r

you: m so close

you: im waitin for u to tell me

smashingkeys69: ur waiting for my permission to cum?

you: yes

it was all you managed to write through your blurry vision and knees about to buckle, forcing you to hold yourself upright by resting your free forearm against the wall in front of you as two of your fingers were still getting in and out of your cunt.

smashingkeys69: good girl

smashingkeys69: make urself cum thinkin of me

you: m

smashingkeys69: i know

you curled your fingers inside of yourself and your rhythm faltered when you felt your climax approaching. “fuck. fuck. fuck” you whispered. it only took three more seconds for your thighs to tremble and your arousal to coat your fingers as your curses were replaced with a cry you weren’t able to hide. the cold of the bathroom had turned hot long ago and it wasn’t helping you catch your breath and took your fingers out, shinny under the white lights.

you: holy fuck

smashingkeys69: how do u feel

you: amazing

you: but we arent done yet

smashingkeys69: wasnt expecting to

smashingkeys69: have u cleaned ur fingers yet

you: i was bout to

smashingkeys69: suck them

you: what

smashingkeys69: if they were mine id suck them clean as soon as id gotten them out of your pussy

smashingkeys69: so put them in your mouth and suck them clean

compliant, you let your two digits past your lips and rested them against your tongue, savoring your own cum before sliding them out and swallowing. you attempted to dry them off against the skin on your sides, ready to type again and give back the favor.

you: get ur dick out

smashingkeys69: its been out

you were thankful for past you that had sent him a picture of your boobs, it had gotten you one of his length back, even if you usually hated dick pics. ‘cause now you know what it looked like. you know about how it tilts slightly to the right when it’s hard, about the big undervein that runs along it, and of course you also know about his dick being big compared to his hand that you were sure was not small.

you: good cause idk how much longer i have

smashingkeys69: u in a hurry?

you: i should be doing the work my coworker isnt doing rn

smashingkeys69: sounds like an asshole

you: he is

you: whatever

you: where were we

smashingkeys69: my dicks out

you: yeah right

you: r u hard

smashingkeys69: if i dont start jerking off rn i might die

you: dramatic much??

smashingkeys69: youve no idea how u kill me

you: show me then

smashingkeys69: help me then

smashingkeys69: dyou think u could handle it

you: ur big dick?

you: u know id take it so well

you: but id have to prep u for that first

smashingkeys69: mhm how would u do that tell me

you: i would trail my tongue from ur belly all the way to ur base

you: over the pretty happy trail ik u have

keys dropped one of his hands from his phone and skimmed it over his chest, through the hair he had gotten to learn you loved and stopped right above his pubes, waiting to read what you’d tell him to do.

smashingkeys69: u like the happy trail

you: i love the happy trail

you: id leave sloppy kisses all over it

you: and youd beg me to put your dick in my mouth

smashingkeys69: id grab u by the hair and pull u up

smashingkeys69: id kiss u and bite down on ur lip before telling u to suck me off if u want to cum again later

you: thats hot

smashingkeys69: ik u like it rough

you: id let u guide me down on my knees

you: i wouldnt want u to let go of my hair

smashingkeys69: i wouldnt

smashingkeys69: id use it to guide u to my dick

you: i wouldnt start easy

you: id kiss ur tip first and then get all ur dick inside my mouth til my nose touches ur skin

they didn’t have much time and keys knew it. she had to get back to work just as much as he had to get back to his before he was murdered, funny enough, by you. so he set a quick and rough pace instantly, using the precum that had already been leaking from his tip from making you cum and his own spit as lube. his hand was pumping fast and the wet sound it made mixed with his low groan, jaw clenched and eyes locked on his phone screen, watching the typing bubble laugh at his eagerness.

you: r u jerking off

smashingkeys69: yeah

smashingkeys69: keep goin

you: id love to see ur face while u fuck my mouth

you: id never stop looking at u even when my eyes r watering

you: or when ur head hits the back of my throat over and over again and it gets too much

smashingkeys69: id make u gag on it

you: id love to edge you just to pin u down and climb on ur lap

you: sinking down on u slowly til ur so deep inside of me that we can’t think

keys found himself moaning yeah as if you were able to hear him, only to realize that you couldn’t. his hips slammed into his fist while he typed with practiced ease.

smashingkeys69: yeah

smashingkeys69: stretching u so good

you couldn’t help but taking your hand to your pussy and starting to play with yourself again, dragging your fingers over your folds and spreading them open to tease at your entrance while you whined.

you were still sensitive from your first orgasm so it wasn’t hard to get you high again.

you: im dripping

smashingkeys69: u playing w urself again

you: couldnt help myself

smashingkeys69: keep going

smashingkeys69: we’ll cum together

smashingkeys69: god id love to be tasting u

you: i want u to fuck me

smashingkeys69: i would baby

smashingkeys69: id open ur legs and bury myself inside ur cunt

smashingkeys69: youd be feeling me for days

you: i wish i could hear u rn

his messages stopped for a few seconds. at first you just thought he was too close to his orgasm to be able to text you. but when fifteen seconds went by and he didn’t reply you were about to ask him if he was okay when a bubble came through. but this time it wasn’t only a text.

it was a voice note, followed by a text.

smashingkeys69: cum to that

you pressed play on the 12 seconds audio and quickly took your phone to your ear.

the sound of skin against skin filled you, making you quicken the circles on your clit. you heard the wet sounds of what you thought to be precum or spit and ragged breathing. it was him, of course. and if hearing his panting was taking you to the edge, what sent you flying was the smallest whisper of fuck. one he had clearly tried to repress but gave up soon, letting his moans and whimpers out for you to hear.

your legs pressed together and trembled as you came to the sound of what had been his own orgasm just seconds before.

hand back on the wall to support yourself while you waited for your dizziness to leave you.

smashingkeys69: u okay

you: fantastic

you: u

smashingkeys69: never been better

you: i gotta get back to work

smashingkeys69: me too

smashingkeys69: ill text u tonight

you: deal

you looked at the time and realized you had been gone for almost twenty minutes, hurrying to get your clothes back on and arranging by looking at the bathroom mirror. once the front of your shirt was tucked a bit inside of your jeans you washed your hands but didn’t dry them with paper towels. instead, you pressed them to the back of your head, attempting to cool down.

over in the men’s bathroom keys had finished washing his hands and his face, ready to go back to his desk. only to open the door at the same time you walked out of the women’s bathroom. his eyes took in your flustered cheeks and dropped to your shirt.

blur.

“oh, fuck me” he said in disbelief.

you looked at him confused, but then your eyes followed his and you noticed the reason for his sudden distress. it was your shirt.

you looked back at him horrified as you connected the dots you now know you should’ve realized a long time ago.

smashingkeys69.

Being the first to walk into orientation four years ago and seeing 20 chairs neatly arrayed in a conference room was exciting, right up until the room started to fill. You found your chair on the end of a row, and stuck on the cheesy 'Hello, My Name Is' name tag that sat waiting for you, already displaying your name in black Sharpie. The minutes ticked by and the room started to fill with a steady trickle of 18-year-old boys, the majority of them boasting summer coding program t-shirts and basketball shorts you could tell they had owned since middle school. When the boy entitled to the name tag in the chair next to you walked in, it felt a little possible that you could actually have a friend in your program for the next four years.

Your first look at Walter McKey inspired a slight, and embarrassingly awed spark of hope. At least, more hope than the current crowd of your fellow developers instilled in you. His presence once sat in the chair next to you filled the surrounding air with the scent of clean laundry, his hair looked soft and curled slightly in a charming way around his ears. The lenses of his glasses were spotless, attributed to the practiced way he would push them up if they slipped with the pad of his middle finger, right on the metal bridge. He was wearing a short sleeved button up shirt over a t-shirt, jeans that fit him nicely, not too short around the ankles as was common with the male coders you knew, and black-and-white checkered Vans, that were marked with subtle scuffs only visible if you looked too close.

You politely told him your name and stuck out your hand, which he shook with a limp hold before finally speaking.

"I'm Keys." And then he was silent for the rest of the day.

Getting to know him was impossible. He was quiet, dutifully took notes during lectures, corrected professors under his breath, his portions of group projects were done on time and flawlessly. You were never quite able to pin him for anything, not even after working with him directly for an assignment with a few other coders during your third semester. When you met up to work on it, he was near silent. Engineered his designated sections, stood up with the group to present, helped get you a good grade. It didn't matter if he seemed different at first glance—Keys wasn't interested in anything that wasn't a 95 or higher on his transcript.

It was after your fourth semester of putting up with the verbal jabs and rolling eyes that you decided to devote every second of your college career to proving him and all of the other Mountain Dew guzzlers in your major wrong. If you couldn't prove yourself in class by being as good as them, you would simply have to be better.

Progressing through semesters of having nearly every class with the same crowd of 19 fellow developers gave you the nearly scientific ability to split them in half and classify them—the gawkers, who never totally got used to having a girl in their midst. They stared with parted mouths when you presented your work, blushed and stammered when you were forced to partner up for projects. Never quite mellowed despite the now four years of being in your presence. The other half wrote you off the second they laid eyes on you during that orientation. Reddit-frequenting, girlfriend-less, snickering and whispering to each other conspiratorially when you spoke up in classes. You assumed that Keys fit firmly in the latter category. He didn't exactly laugh like the others, but he was prone to eye rolling, and definitely didn't stare at you with looks of awe and astonishment like the former.

Truthfully, and totally unbeknownst to you, Keys wasn't in either category. He didn't like you because found something in you that he didn't get from anyone else—you offered him an actual challenge.

A glance up at the clock tower tells you it's time to get on your way to class, and you sigh, steeling yourself for another two hours of stares and shit-eating smirks. Maybe it was good for you. You were always going to be in the minority in this field, and while you still hope you would end up in a company that had at least a few women on staff, the future was going to involve an uphill climb if you were committed to making games. At least the walk to the CompSci building was peaceful. Campus was still sparse, the only sounds around being the gentle rustling of red and orange leaves and your footsteps against the brick pathway. You liked being early for classes. It gave you the best chance to get moments like this, and limited the number of heads whipping around to look at you as you pushed the classroom door open.

Your usual chair sat dutifully in the front row, and you slip your backpack off of your shoulders, sliding into the seat. As you push up the screen of your laptop and start to enter your password to unlock it, the door opens behind you, and the footsteps of nearly spotless checkered Vans make their way to the front row table to your right. Keys had a similar and infuriating habit of being early.

"Morning," he mumbles as his own laptop meets the table and your spine stiffens, surprised to hear him initiate any kind of conversation, let alone one where he isn't making backhanded comments on how "approachable" your demos are.

"Someone's cheerful," you tease. "What, did new sexy elf skins drop on World of Warcraft?"

"I don't play World of Warcraft," Keys rebuttals weakly, clicking his Bluetooth mouse on and testing it with a few back and forth swipes across the table. You look over and cock an eyebrow.

"Anymore," he adds through his teeth.

"Thought so," you smirk.

He breathes hard through his nose before he speaks again.

"So, you got demo of the week last Friday," he says, attempting to seem casual. "How are things looking this week?"

Demo of the week—a sought after title given by Dr. Howell, faculty chair of the Game Design program and professor of many of its classes. Extremely tough, and very withholding of praise outside of his designations of demo of the week. You and Keys have been alternating the title on and off since August.

"I think it's as strong as last week's," you say, scanning through your files to load your entry for this Friday. "Why, you scared?"

"No," he says, far too quickly and with a defensive sharpness. "I'm just saying, enjoy your title while you still have it."

Demo showcase passes as it typically does—everyone watches each other's entries with laser focus, cringing internally at any aspects that feel unfinished, and mentally jotting down impressive tricks or assets for later. You and Keys both present, watching each other's work with scrunched brows and teeth digging into bottom lips, eager for any kind of slip-up. Yours goes well—no obvious bugs, punctuated with a nod from Dr. Howell. A nod is alright, but a smile is best, and usually indicates that you've been chosen. Today, his face is blank. Shit.

Keys follows right after you do, and infuriatingly, his work is incredible. He's obviously proud, speaking with a little more confidence than usual as he shows off that he's mastered a new movement mechanic he's been working on the past few weeks. All ten minutes of gameplay were clearly coded meticulously—polished textures, zero lag, balanced camera movement. As much as you hate to admit to yourself (and you would die before admitting this to him), it's better than yours. The room applauds politely once he finishes, and his eyes catch yours as he detaches his laptop from the cable, twinkling mischievously and squinted a little at the corners from the satisfied smirk that spreads across his face. Your head snaps nervously to Dr. Howell, who wears a similar expression, arms crossed as he stands from the empty seat at the back of the room and makes his way back to the front of the lecture hall.

"Most of you were middling," he says, finally facing the class. "A few of you were bad, I'm assuming you already know who you are." As if on cue, a sniffle from a few seats over briefly resounds through the room. He calls your name, a sharp wave of nerves crashing over you as your eyes widen.

"You were fine this week," he starts. "About as good as last week, but the purpose of this exercise is improvement. Your bar is high, I ask that you please meet it."

Your stomach churns harder as you nod, mustering a wobbly smile that you hope expresses that you're internalizing the criticism. You aren't sure what feeling turns in you faster—disappointment in yourself, or your anger towards Keys.

"Walter," Dr. Howell says, turning to face him fully. "This was strong work from you. Very dynamic, and that new trick of yours has come very far. Almost ready for a full length project. Congratulations."

Keys beams, shifting in his chair a little, as if unable to physically contain how pleased he is. His excitement would be endearing if he wasn't so fucking infuriating.

"Thanks so much, Dr. Howell," he says a little breathless, running his hand through his hair, which only causes it to flop more over his eyes and the frame of his glasses. Dr. Howell starts another round of applause, and you briefly slap your hands together lazily, biting the inside of your cheek. No matter how many times you lost your title to Keys, it stung. It felt like a step back from your mission to rise and topple the others, a concession to the staring and laughing and backhandedness. With a sigh, as the little clock in the upper corner of your screen finally ticks to 10:00 AM, you close the lid of your laptop and pack it into your backpack.

"Excuse me," Dr. Howell says in front of your table, Keys flanking his left side with his messenger bag slung onto one shoulder. "I've asked the two of you to stay because I have something of an…additional project for you both."

Your eyebrows furrow inward, gaze briefly flicking over to an equally confused Keys.

"Additional project?" You ask.

"Yes," Dr. Howell confirms, gesturing for Keys to take the empty seat next to you, and he sits rigidly, folding his hands on the table and subtly fidgeting with his thumbs.

"You two come to every class, you see these demos. I'm assuming it's no secret to you both that you're the most evolved students in my program," Dr. Howell continues, and you hear Keys's breath hitch as your heart quickens. Maybe this is working, you think. This is paying off.

"You're both seniors, and we're inching closer to the end of the semester. That means bigger and bigger projects," he says, crossing his arms again. "Instead of creating an hour long demo for the showcase in November independently, I want to see one collaborative three hour long playtest."

Fuck. Your brain fills instantly and rapidly with one, big internal monologue of fuck. You'd prefer being kicked out of the program. You'd prefer being publicly shamed for plagiarism. Honestly, you might take being burned at the stake over spending nearly every evening with Keys for the next month. Shit, finally finding a single plot concept to agree on is probably going to take up most of that time anyway.

"Dr. Howell, I really think we'd both prefer making something on our own," Keys says, his voice quick and jumpy. Finally, some common ground at least. "We're pretty different types of devs, I don't-"

"That's exactly why I want to see what you would create when working together," Dr. Howell insists, turning to you. "You're a story developer. Fleshed out characters, making connections, but your asset work isn't always the cleanest. Walter, you're a mathematician. Your code is neat as a pin, but I can tell that you're more concerned with having perfect work than engaging work. That's where you two meet. Pick up each other's slack."

"I was already kind of shaping some ideas on my own," you say, feeling your palms start to sweat a little.

"Then share them with him," Dr. Howell responds, shrugging a little as if entirely unaware of the issue. "I'm not doing this to punish either of you, in fact, I'm giving you both a look into what working on actual game looks like. 99% of things on market right now are made by teams ranging from duos like you two, up to offices of hundreds. You've done almost all of your course work on your own to this point, and I chose you two because you're my strongest designers. I suggest you both stop inventing excuses and start thinking up some actual ideas. I'm not asking."

Dr. Howell turns to pack his own computer into his briefcase, then walks with long steps up the aisle of the lecture hall. You and Keys remain frozen—a little out of shock, mostly out of dread, and both afraid to say the first word. Goddammit. Buck up, he's literally just a nerd. A nerd that just so happens to be really, really good at coding. A nerd with a stupid handsome face and stupid, sexy, big hands. A sigh in your right ear brings you back to the present.

"Are you free tonight?" Keys asks begrudgingly, still staring straight ahead at the front wall. "I don't even know why I'm asking, it's Friday. You probably have some rager to grace with your presence."

"Awe," you coo condescendingly, turning in your swiveling chair to face him. "You know, Keys, usually girls liked to be asked out with flowers, not brazen insults."

"I'm not asking you out," he scoffs, knee bumping into yours as he turns to face you. "I'd actually like to get this over with. If we marathon for the next two weeks, we can avoid any unnecessary time together until the showcase."

"That I can agree on," you huff, pulling out a pen and notebook, ripping out a piece of paper haphazardly. The jagged edges and uneven shape make Keys wince.

"Despite the popular assumption around here that I spend my weekends blacking out and fucking random Boston College guys," you say through your teeth, scribbling your phone number and address onto the paper. "I'm free through Sunday. I don't have a roommate, so we can get work done at my place without bugging anyone but each other. Come by at 8."

"Fine," he sighs, trying his best to fold the paper into a neat shape before tucking it into the front pocket of his messenger bag. This was going to be a very, very long two weeks.

"He's not ugly," Valerie says, picking up a fry from the plate you're sharing and dragging it through ketchup.

Valerie was your freshman year roommate—a funny, carefree architecture major, whose voice was sometimes your only point of reason after spending all day in your classes. Every Friday since September of your freshman year, you and Valerie met at a cafe just off campus at 6—ranting, bitching, laughing, anything either of you needed after the week.

"Ugly isn't my problem," you explain, chin in hand as you drink your iced tea, chewing on the straw a little once you're satisfied with the sip. "He's a pain in my ass, that's my problem."

"Why does he specifically piss you off, though?" She questions, leaning back a little in her chair. "Everyone in the program in a dipshit, what makes Keys so annoying?"

"Because I can ignore everyone else's weirdness," you say, taking a fry. "But his is different, I don't know."

"Is the weirdness his shiny hair and big brown eyes?" Valerie teases.

"Shut up," you say with a laugh, leaning your elbows onto the table.

"I'm just saying," she shrugs. "He's cute, not even CompSci nerd cute. Like, a normal, good-looking guy."

She's right, and you hate it. It would be easy to totally write Keys off if he was exactly like the other people in the program, but much to your chagrin, as it only made it harder to make any sense of how you felt about him, he wasn't. He was attractive, he took good care of himself (relatively, a bulk sized bottle of ibuprofen did tumble out of his messenger bag once), and he was an undeniably excellent programmer. Turning this over in your mind, you glance down at your phone, seeing it was approaching closer to 7.

"I need to get going," you lament, taking a last drink and scooting your chair away from the table. "He's coming over at 8, and I still need to shower."

"Ooo, wear something skimpy," Valerie giggles. "You can borrow one of my club dresses."

"To sit on my own couch and code?" You laugh.

"Just brainstorming."

Two sharp knocks sound on the front door of your apartment at 7:57, cutting through the soft music you had put on as you got yourself and your place ready for company, especially company as particular as Keys. You look over from the kitchen where you've been finishing clean putting dishes away (you figured tidying up would limit the amount of insult fodder available to him), and take a quick glance at yourself in the mirror. Despite Valerie's suggestion, you opted for a t-shirt, sweatpants, and fuzzy socks for tonight's session. You were in your own home after all, and Keys was decidedly not deserving of your usual routine before going out. Good enough for a little check in the mirror, though? Valerie's voice echoes in your head, so familiar to you that her commentary makes its way into your thoughts even when she isn't there. You physically shake your head, slightly damp hair whipping by your ears as you try your hardest to remove the thought from your conscience. Buck up. He's a programmer, for fuck's sake.

Keys has also dressed down for the occasion—he's traded his usual short sleeve button up for a worn, soft looking MIT sweatshirt and jeans. He steps inside and slips off his Vans before you can ask, revealing black socks covered in little stitched, colorful Tetris pieces.

"Nice of you to show," you say, locking the door behind him as he steps into your living room, taking in the atmosphere of your apartment, far cozier and more lived in than his. Furniture accumulated from years of risky Facebook Marketplace meetups and trips to thrift stores with Valerie, illuminated by string lights and a little sandalwood scented candle flickering weakly in the corner. Your music continues playing from the speaker on the coffee table.

"You know how to set the mood," Keys says, setting his messenger bag on the couch. "I'll give you that."

"Good to know it's cozier than your charging station," you tease. "Can I get you some water, or will that fry your circuit boards?"

"Let's just work, please," he sighs, pulling out his laptop. "You said you had some ideas?"

"Yeah, actually," you say, sitting on the opposite side of the couch. "I've never made a horror game before, so I was thinking of trying that out for my project back when it was still mine."

Keys rubs his eyes under the lenses of his glasses, then he takes them off, pulling up his sweatshirt a little to wipe them. The sliver of his stomach you can now see is lean and soft all at once, revealing a dark line of hair that travels from his waistband up towards his navel. Your instincts rapidly overtake your frustration with him—cheekbones stinging a little as your mouth waters, stomach starting to swirl with eagerness to see more. Keys lowers the grey fabric back over his abdomen and you snap back into focus, preferring a slow and painful death over the prospect of him catching you ogling like that.

"I actually haven't designed horror before either," he admits, his jaw tight like agreeing with you is physically painful. "It's big in the market right now, but we need an original idea."

Your tongue pokes inside your cheek, flip flopping between sharing the concepts you've been experimenting with over the last few weeks, and seeing if Keys has any competency outside of technically impressive code.

"You heard Dr. Howell, this is supposed to challenge your lack of storytelling skills," you taunt, reaching for your own laptop on the coffee table. Keys lets out a half hearted chuckle next to you, pushing up the sleeves of his sweatshirt.

"Oh, so we're actually sticking to this stupid challenge? Swapping roles and everything?" He retorts. "That's fine, I like cleaning up sloppy code anyway."

"Sloppy?" You challenge, sitting up a little straighter on the couch. "If I end up coding sloppy, it'll be because I'm working on some half-baked shooter with maybe two characters and no continuity! Plot courtesy of Walter 'Keys' McKey."

Keys's jaw clenches as he sets his laptop back on the coffee table.

"You know, on my way over here, I was actually looking forward to this a little," he says, voice gradually starting to raise, his hands starting to gesture sharply and without logic. "I thought 'her storytelling is actually decent, and maybe I have a few code tricks I can show her.' Now I see you have no interest in actually trying to grow as a developer, but I'm not too worried. I'm sure you'll make a great barista simulator someday!"

"What the fuck is your problem?" You lash out, standing abruptly to look down at him. The satisfaction of being able to do that doesn't last long, as Keys follows suit, standing face to face with hands stiffly balled at his sides.

"My problem is you," he spits. "For the most part, I really try my best to stay the fuck out of your way, which is seemingly impossible, considering you're my only actual competition! Seeing you, week after week, standing at the front of the class with that smile on your face, all of the attention on you, like you've already fucking won!"

"You're this mad because I actually like my own work sometimes?!" You shoot back, stepping closer to get in his face. "Maybe I should be just like you, Mr. Robot! I bet I could spit out perfect code too if I ran on batteries!"

"Yeah, I'm annoying about my code, but that doesn't give you the right to hate me!" Keys snaps, moving to close the distance even further, your chests nearly pressed together.

"What is it with you and the goddamn assumptions all the time, Keys?" You shout, feeling your heart thrum harder and harder against your ribs the closer you get, the more of his obnoxiously clean, stupidly charming scent filling your senses. "I don't hate you!"

"Then I would love an explanation of how you actually feel about me!"

Looking into those big brown eyes, wide and puppy-like behind his glasses, the growing flush in his cheeks, the way his chest heaves up and down, brushing against the front of your shirt as your sternum does the same, the swimming of hatred and frustration bundles and twists until it finally transforms into something else entirely—a spark. It would be easy to attribute the sudden and irrepressible urge to get into Walter McKey's pants to the fact that school had you wound tight as a vise, and you hadn't had a good hookup in over a year (let alone that the last one was bad, and seven months ago), but he's standing in front you—ridiculously cute, obviously worked up, and you want him. Before you can listen to your usually too loud voice of reason, your fingers are clenching the soft fabric of the front of his sweatshirt harshly, and your mouth is on his, eager and long overdue for a kiss.

Keys tenses for long moment before he gives into his own longing for your touch, buried and constrained beneath deadlines and code techniques—things that make sense to him. In the seconds that follow after you press your lips to his, Keys decides he's tired of making sense all the time. Soon, his lips are pliant and needy, messily reciprocating the kiss as his arms wind around your waist, closing any sliver of distance that remained between you two. He tastes clean and minty, probably now his natural state from the sheer number of Altoids he downs and sticks of gum he chews to help keep him focused. When you come up for air, both of you with warm cheeks and parted lips, Keys starts to smile, that same smirk from this morning, when he showed off his demo.

"So that's how you feel," he teases.

"You absolutely need to shut up or I change my mind," you warn, reaching down for his hand and pulling him down the hallway to your bedroom. Almost as soon as the door is open it's closed again, shutting under the pressure of your hands on Keys's chest until his back is flush to the wood.

"I have no idea why I'm doing this," you breathe before your lips are on his again, tongue swiping against the pretty dip of his Cupid's bow, the dip you now realize you've spent a good deal of time glancing at during lectures. Fuck, he's pretty.

"I knew my demo was good today," he says, words tumbling against your mouth. "I didn't know I was turning people on."

"Ugh, shut up," you huff, pulling Keys by the front of his sweatshirt over to your bed. He falls against it, bouncing a little as his back makes contact with your mattress. Your hips are on his, thighs falling to either side of his body before he can even align his head onto your pillows.

"You're so fucking annoying," you moan, as your clothed cunt makes contact with the annoyingly large bulge in his jeans, shuddering a little as his hands brace your hips.

"And yet you're here," he challenges, before pulling you down for another needy kiss. Your hips start to rock against him, the dull pressure of his body against yours only working you up more. "I should have known this would happen. I thought I saw you shifting in your seat during class. But hey, I'm flattered, really-"

Crack. The smack of your palm against his cheek echoes through your room, everything grinding to a stiff halt. In a panic, you tuck the hand that was just across his face against your chest, breathes growing shallow as you take in his bright red cheeks and his eyes, almost pitch black with pupils, big and round as planets, overwhelming the hazel.

"Fuck Keys, I'm sorry," you pant. "I don't know what I was thinking, I wasn't. Does it hurt?"

He sucks in a shaky breath through his open mouth.

"Do it again," he whimpers.

"I-what?"

"Hit me again," he pleads, fingers digging into the plush of your thighs. "Please, baby."

The same hand reaches forward, brushing over the little blotch that glows especially red against his already blushing cheeks before you draw your hand back, palm making contact again. Keys moans this time, pulling you down for another kiss when he recovers from the recoil.

"I think about you constantly," he confesses, reaching for the bottom of your shirt. Your arms lift upward on instinct, the soft skin of your torso dimpling slightly against the cool air. His hands reach up, cupping and feeling for your breasts through the cups of your bra. "You never smile in class, so I have to catch it across the library, when you're working with your friends. It's beautiful, and it drives me fucking crazy."

"So you're stalking me?" You tease, pulling his hands back to the hooks of your bra, which he manages smoother than you expected. His sweatshirt comes off soon after, finally revealing what had been cruelly teased on the couch—pretty constellations of freckles and moles all across his arms and shoulders and chest, thick hair that covers the broadest part of it, the full view of his tummy and happy trail.

"We go to the same school," he huffs, rolling his eyes. "What, you've never seen me outside of class?"

You had frequently, often enough that you picked up on the way his tongue would slightly prod the inside of his cheek when he was focused, the slight crinkle in his nose any time a bug would pop into his code lines, the constant hands in his stupid, perfect hair. But he wasn't winning this one.

"Some of us actually focus on out work and not trying to catch a girl smiling," you tease, dipping down to the long curve of his neck, kissing a trail down to his collarbone, where you gently nip and lick at the skin. Keys's back arches from his mattress slightly, little shockwaves of pleasure picking up speed in his veins.

"If I ever smiled in class, no one in class would take me seriously," you remind him, lips traveling across his collar.

"They're idiots," Keys sighs.

You lift your head from his chest, moving to be face to face again so you can quickly peck his lips. You smile sweetly as you pull away, lifting your hand to brush a stray hair from his forehead.

"So are you."

With your lips capturing his in another bruising kiss, Keys's hands grow bolder, traveling from the sides of your breasts down to the flimsy tie that holds your sweatpants around your hips, only needing a slight tug to unravel the knot.

"Can't wait to see what Pokemon you have on your underwear," you jab.

Keys lets out a huff before he pulls your chest flush to his, grunting next to your ear. In a heartbeat, he has you underneath him, glasses slipping down his nose and arms caging you in on either side of your head. Your heart beats harder than it has all night, eyes owlish and unblinking from the sheer shock of his strength, given the heaviest thing you've ever seen him carry is his ridiculous messenger bag.

"No comeback?" He taunts, tilting his head a little.

You manage to finally blink, attempting a scoff that comes out more like a measly clearing of your throat.

"You're exhausting," you say, with a little shake of your head for good measure.

"You're pretty."

The dreamy sigh that dares to escape from you is swallowed by another long kiss, Keys's hand wandering down your body from where it cupped your cheek to tug at the waistband of your sweats again, finally in the right position to tug them down. You're completely bare underneath him, thighs shifting together nervously as Keys sits back on his heels, eyes all moony again at the sight of you. He doesn't even look down at his jeans as he unbuttons them, clumsily pulling them down, leaving him in his boxer briefs. Much to your disappointment, they're just grey. You pull your lips into your mouth, biting back the giggle that threatens to escape at his lack of finesse, not that you anticipated much suaveness from him in the first place.

"You're," he breathes, kneeling between your thighs again. "I-I don't have anything stupid to say, you're so gorgeous."

"Really?" You muse, sitting up on your elbows. "I managed to silence Walter McKey. I'm taking that as a compliment of the highest caliber."

"But you are," he whines, settling on top of you again as he eagerly goes for a kiss, hand stroking tenderly at your side. You welcome his lips gladly, moaning as his tongue starts to slide against yours. Keys lowers his body further, nudging the tip of his nearly bare cock against your clit, puffy and aching for attention. His hips roll again, sending a deep and needed pulse of pleasure from your cunt to your belly, a little swell of warmth starting to build. You tap his chest a few times, needing to get out a breath, and a few (embarrassing) words. He pulls away, looking back at you eagerly.

"Despite what all of the losers in our courses like to say about me when they don't think I can hear, I haven't had sex in like, almost a year," you clarify, eyes trained on him to ensure he absorbs every word. "Disappointingly, I'm actually exactly like you guys, and I spend 99% of my Friday nights at my desk. I am under an insane amount of stress, and I feel insane for saying this to you, but I need to get fucked, Keys. At this point, you owe me that much."

He nods a little, all too eager and clearly from a place of understanding.

"It's been a while for me too," he agrees. "I'll try my best to last, really, I promise."

"You better."

The boxer briefs come off, and you no longer have the strength to pretend not to ogle. Keys is obnoxiously hung, veins prominent from the stiffness of his erection, pink tip curving upward towards his tummy, already glossy from drips of pre-cum. The hair that was teased by his happy trail is there, neatly trimmed for a guy in his demographic. You lick your lips. His cheeks go ruddy again as his weight settles on top of you again, hips slotted between your thighs, cock heavy on your lower stomach.

"See something you like?" He taunts.

"What did I say about shutting up?" Your arms wind around his shoulders, a hand traveling into the soft hair at the back of his head as you kiss him. Keys leans onto one elbow, his now free hand wrapping around the base of his cock, teasing up and down your cunt for a moment before he pushes in. The stretch is all pleasure, the curve of his cock fitting perfectly against the walls of your cunt, tip kissing just the right spot inside of you.

"Fuck," you moan, fingers digging into his shoulder as his hips grow closer to yours, cock filling you with unbelievable satisfaction. Keys lets out a precious whine as he bottoms out, head falling to your shoulder. The lenses of his glasses are cool against your skin, and probably smudging in a way that would send him spiraling under any other circumstances.

"You good?" You breathe, fingers giving his hair a gentle tug.

"Please be quiet, or I'll ruin this," he begs, voice muffled by your soft skin. "I-shit, I need a second. You feel so good."

The quip dies on your tongue as soon as it rises, and you opt instead to release the hold in your fingers, gently brushing through the strands as he adjusts. He needs this as bad as you do, after all. Keys's shoulders rise, the frame growing a little broader as he tries to calm himself down with a deep breath. He releases the air shakily against your neck, punctuating it with a kiss before his hips start rolling—slight, experimental movements to test how much he can handle.

Even with the tiniest of movements, the sheer size of him is enough to have you squirming beneath him, the warmth in your belly starting to pool even deeper, needing more motion, another kiss, something. His arms brace either side of your head, the veins in his forearms growing more prominent as he tries to keep his composure.

"I was promised a fucking," you remind him, pushing his slipping glasses up his nose with a single finger on the bridge, just as you had seen him do a thousand times.

"You can have it now or you can have it longer," Keys chides, giving another roll of his hips

"Come on, pretty boy," you taunt. "You've got good stamina for coding marathons, let's see if you succeed in other categories."

"I don't like losing," he says, finally pulling out a little more before he slides back in, a wet desperate sound from your cunt giving your true desperation away.

"Then pull it together."

Your hands fly up to his cheeks, pulling him down roughly for a kiss, disrupted by the sudden snap of his hips against yours, finally thrusting into you with his entire length.

"Shit-' you gasp,

"What, too much for you now?"

"I can't stand you," you say, voice shallow from the sudden fullness.

"Whatever you need to tell yourself," he grunts, leaning back with hands gripping onto the tops of your thighs hard, giving the right leverage for his cock to piston in and out of you at just the right rhythm.

Your orgasm starts to build embarrassingly fast, the months of last minute solo orgasms under your duvet right before you manage to sleep never quite scratching the itch that sits inside of you. The room suddenly fills with all manner of filthy sounds—the wetness of your cunt weeping at the pleasure, the slap of his hips meeting yours, desperate sounds tumbling from both of your mouths, chasing and rushing toward a once elusive satisfactory orgasm.

"Keys, baby, I'm-" you pant against his mouth, heels starting to dig against the mattress as the tightness in your belly becomes more and more taut, the once low heat now rushing hot throughout your whole body as your high comes closer and closer.

"Me too," Keys whines, the thrusts starting to stutter a little as his own orgasm creeps up on him. "Can I-fuck, um, inside?"

You nod frantically, thighs trembling as your walls start to pulse around his cock, tightness finally snapping and washing over you. Every nerve, synapse, and vein in your body filling with the pleasure you've been denied for too long. No thoughts about assets or source code rushing in you, no breaths stuttering from anxiety, just pure warmth that buzzes satisfyingly under your skin.

The high absorbs so much of your focus that you don't even notice Keys is flying on the same cloud, glasses finally dropping from his face and onto the mattress as his cock twitches against your spent walls, warmth pooling in you again from just how much cum he releases. Guess it really has been a while.

Keys's lips press to your shoulder before he lifts his head, thumb brushing at your cheekbone sweetly before he kisses your lips, a wordless thank you. He kisses again, easing the ache of him starting to pull out, releasing a little drop of your combined arousal.

"Do you have, like, tissues, or?" Keys asks, a hand fumbling next to the both of you for his glasses. You glance over and spot them, giving the lenses a wipe on the pillowcase before sliding them onto his face. He blinks a few times, smiling at the view of you beneath him, finally clear and in focus.

"Yeah," you let out, laughing softly. "In the middle drawer of the nightstand."

Keys stumbles onto his feet to pull on his underwear again, retrieving the little pack of on-the-go Kleenex before he sits on the side of the bed. He eases your thighs open sweetly, wiping the mess from your cunt as gently as he can, his other hand gently stroking your knee as you whine a little at the contact.

"I can get you clean clothes," he offers, wrapping the tissue in a clean one, then tossing it in the wastebasket next to your dresser. He points to the drawers. "Which one?"

"I'm good with just underwear," you say softly. "The top one on the left."

Keys pulls on the front, digging a little before he finds something that makes him chuckle—a pair of blue panties, covered in little red Autobot logo heads, TRANSFORMERS stitched obnoxiously loud all around the waistband.

"Those are a joke," you stutter out. "My friend Valerie, she gets me these joke gifts-"

"Is this why you haven't hooked up in so long?" Keys teases, sliding the panties up your legs as your face grows warm, arms crossing over your still bare chest. "You've been saving yourself for Optimus Prime?"

"No," you insist sharply. "I'm not a robot fucker, Keys. I have some pride."

"And yet here I am," he says, more endeared than smug as he slides into bed next to you, arms wrapping around you from behind, chest snug and comforting against your back. His lips press to the crown of your head before he tucks it under his chin.

Your eyes flutter shut with more ease than they have in months, sleep gently pulling you under as Keys never ceases the gentle stroke of his hand up and down your bicep, each brush helping to silence the usual nightly stew in the previous day's worries.

You sleep with more ease than you would ever expect with Keys's arms wrapped around you, his knees tucked too perfectly against the backs of yours until you start to stir around three a.m., turning over as your hand wanders lazily toward the side he was sleeping on. Except for you, the sheets are empty, and pool around your still naked hips as you sit up, wiping your eyes to get your bearings a little. He left, you realize as an unwelcome pang of disappointment fills your chest. He stuck around to hold you. Told you that you were beautiful. You thought about something other than programming for the first time in months because of him. And he left.

He didn't need to stay, you remind yourself, cringing at the coolness of the floor under your feet as you get out of bed. He didn't need to stay, over and over as you pull on sleep shorts and a sweatshirt. And it was true, what you and Keys had done was a mere exchange of services. A very passionate, satisfying exchange, but it didn't have to mean anything. It shouldn't. So what is the feeling swimming in your stomach right now? Not exactly regret, you did enjoy yourself, after all. Disappointment? A little closer, but not quite. Maybe a drink of water will help. Your mind is races against your heart so hard, so desperate for a single, logical answer that you don't even notice you've stepped over his jeans, still crumpled on your bedroom floor.

Keys has been sitting on the bench in front of your living room window for around an hour. He can't remember the last time he did something other than code or sleep for an hour straight, but right now, the hum of the night traffic and glow of the Boston skyline in the distance is more entertaining than any game he's played in months. Thankfully, he's the first thing you see when you step into the hallway, smiling softly with his head gently laid against the glass and one leg propped up, only in his boxers and those stupid, wonderful Tetris socks.

"You stayed," you say softly, more of a voiced thought than an attempt to start conversation.

Keys's face turns from the view out of the window to you, slight smile growing wider at the sight of you. He takes his glasses from the windowsill and puts them back on, gesturing with a relaxed hand for you to come closer.

"Did you think I was going to leave?" He asks, moving his legs from the bench to make room for you to sit, and you sink down across from him, knees tucked to your chest.

"You didn't have to stay," you shrug, picking at a loose thread on your sweatshirt cuff. "That was kind of…intense."

"It was," he agrees, his voice a little breathy with soft laughter. "I stuck around because I wanted to."

"I'm glad you did."

"Me too," Keys says, sitting up a little more. "I also realized that I'm long overdue to say something to you."

Your head tilts a little, eyebrows furrowing and signaling him to continue.

"I'm really sorry," he says sincerely. "I've been so wrapped up in trying to prove myself that I forgot you were just trying to do the same, and for you, it's a lot harder. You put up with so much shit from the guys in the program, and too much of it has been from me. And I didn't do it because you're the only girl there, I promise. It came from this awful, ugly jealousy because I didn't want to accept the truth."

A slow, grateful tear slips down your cheek as you look at him, all wide, earnest eyes and dimples impressed to his cheeks with the way he's frowning a little. You accepted a long time ago that you would never get an apology for the way you've been treated. Judgment and criticism is part of the career, Dr. Howell would say, as dismissive of your feelings as he was of the whining that came from your peers because ultimately, to him and to them, they were the same.

It's been such a long stretch of surviving—pretending you don't hear the whispering, trying to sift through whose opinions actually matter—you were starting to forget that it wasn't supposed to be like this at all. To finally hear someone say they're sorry for being apart of that pulls tears from you that you've neglected to shed for too long. You're glad they were still there, though. In your world of perfectly orchestrated numbers and impossible expectations, you were grateful for any reminder that you were still human.

"And what is the truth?" You ask, sniffling softly and wiping your cheeks with your sleeve.

Keys sighs.

"That you're better," he confesses, pushing his glasses up. "Better than all of us. And I think you always have been."

"You mean that?" You ask, voice wobbling.

"I do," Keys says, shifting a little closer to you. His hand reaches forward and softly clasps your ankle, thumb brushing from your ankle bone to your calf. "You know me, I don't say things just to say them. I'm envious of you."

"You should be," you say, letting out a watery laugh that sets Keys off too, his dimples reappearing as he chuckles with you. "Apparently I'm the best developer in my program."

"I mean it," he says, reaching to wipe the last of your tears with a brush of his knuckles. "You're good, but you're also, like, a real person. You go out, and you have so many friends. You're better than all of us without being a shut in."

"You don't have many friends?"

"Not good ones," Keys says, shrugging a little. "I don't like the guys in the program either, so I hang out with some other CompSci people, but they aren't great. They're…weirdly elitist about game design, like it's not serious work."

"That's tough," you console. "I'm lucky to have friends that pull me away from my computer."

"Maybe I'm lucky to have a friend like that now?" He asks, cheeks flushing a little.

A little giggle that you can't suppress escapes you, endeared and amused at his shyness—nervous at the thought of being friends despite the fact that you guys fucked mere hours ago, and that he was still in front of you in only his underwear.

"Yeah," you say softly. "That sounds good to me."

"I'm ready to have friends that are nice to me," Keys confesses, his own voice catching a little around the sadness in his throat.

"I'm sorry I smacked the shit out of you," you say, looking down at your lap bashfully. "That wasn't very nice."

"No, don't be," he insists, with a little dismissive wave of his hand. "I've had it coming to for a while. It was pretty hot, too."

You share another laugh with him, the shake of his freckled shoulders and wrinkle of his nose filling your chest with a long needed ease and warmth.

"The industry has been overrun by people like me for way too long," Keys muses, offering his hand with an upward palm to you, and you accept it gladly, melting at the way his thumb slides affectionately across your knuckles. "This world needs people like you, really. I can't wait to see what you make."

"You're not bad yourself, Mr. Robot," you say through a smile, gently squeezing his hand. "You made me this mad for a reason, you're good at what you do. I wouldn't mind having you look at my projects."

Keys laughs again, a little shy as his chin tips towards his chest for a moment.

"As long as I get a spot in the 'Special Thanks' once the credits roll."

His eyes meet yours again—warm, and soft, and eager for the chance at a place in your future. A future he's known would be bright as long as he's know you.

"Deal."

And in those three years he fell so deeply in love with you—and in turn, you fell in love with him—that Steve couldn’t wait for the day he finally got down on one knee and asked you to be his wife.

He decided he would do it during a week away. You had rented a lake house, just the two of you for once. Usually you went on trips with Robin and Nancy or brought along Dustin and a few of the other kids that affectionately called you and Steve ‘mom’ and ‘dad’. But this week it was just you and Steve and he couldn’t think of a more perfect time to propose.

He planned it for the third evening mostly because he couldn’t wait. He had cooked an amazing carbonara complete with garlic bread and a Sicilian lemon cheesecake for dessert. It was mouth watering and despite the fact you weren’t drinking the expensive wine he had bought, Steve was feeling good.

The ring was burning a hole in his pocket and he really couldn’t wait any longer. He led you to the dock so you could watch the sunset together. It was stupidly romantic and everything Steve had wanted it to be and more.

And so, he drops down on one knee and pulls out the ring box. He tells you how he had lied—that he had actually wanted to marry you from the very first date. He told you that you were his best friend, that he wanted to hold you through the good times and the bad. That he wanted you to not only be his wife but the mother of his children.

And when he finishes, he looks up at you.

And then—you burst into tears.

Steve’s heart dropped out of his stomach.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” He asks, trying not to panic as he slips the ring box back into his pocket so he could pull you into his arms. “Why are you crying? Do you—do you not want to marry me?”

You’re a blubbering mess, tears streaming down your face and shuddering breaths falling from your lips. “Of course I want to marry you, idiot.”

Steve laughs at little, one of his large hands cupping the back of your head while the other rubs your back gently.

“Then why are you crying?”

You sniffle, pulling away enough to look up at him. “B-because I really want to marry you but—”

“—but?” Steve repeats, alarmed. “There’s a but?”

You smile a little before nodding. “Yeah—because I think we’re gonna be a little busy for the next…9 months.”

Steve blinks, utterly perplexed.

“Why?” He asks. “Do you want to go backpacking or something—”

You let out a snort of laughter and shake your head. “Jesus—no. Steve—I’m pregnant.”

Steve doesn’t react. He doesn’t move. Hell—he may have stopped breathing and then—

He gets the biggest, dumbest smile on his face and before you could do anything except smile back, Steve arms are wrapping around your waist and he’s lifting you off your feet.

“Steve!” You yell out through a fit of laughter. “Be careful, I’m carrying precious cargo.”

“That you are,” Steve says, twirling you around once before setting you back down on your feet. He’s beaming. God—you had never seen Steve smile like that before. Like nothing—absolutely nothing—could have wiped it from his face.

And then he’s kissing you—kissing every square inch of your face and you’re holding back laughter, mixed with tears, as those kisses move down from your face, down your neck, over your chest before he’s finally kneeling in front of you. You squeal when he lifts your shirt but the warm kiss he places over your stomach makes you forget about the cold.

“I love you so, so much already, little one,” he tells your stomach, his voice so soft and gentle that you felt your heart double in size. This was all Steve had ever wanted.

He looks up at you then, those big hazel eyes that you prayed your child would get and the smile still has not left his face.

“So—is that a yes to marrying me or—”

“—yes,” you say through bright laughter. “Yes. A thousand times yes.”

𝜗ৎ gator tillman

Gator Tillman swore when he was seventeen he was never going to marry. He knew how Roy treated women, how he looked at them as though they were disposable. He saw how girlfriends he had as a teenager would tense at the mention of his father, how they would break things off with Gator not too long after being introduced to Roy.

He couldn’t blame them. In fact, he could only blame himself. He had just wanted them to meet his family. But Gator quickly learned that any women he bought home wouldn’t be safe from Roy Tillman.

And so, Gator made a promise to himself to never settle, never marry, never have kids and he intended to keep that promise.

Then you came along.

You were a nurse at Lehigh’s General Hospital and Gator being the Sheriff’s Deputy for Stark County meant that you ran into each other a lot. It didn’t take long for Gator to ask for your number, figuring you could keep him occupied for a little while until he found another woman to keep his bed warm. But you had laughed in his face and told him to fuck off. And Gator? He was hooked.

It took a while for you to come around. But you eventually did and he fell in love with you despite his best efforts. And boy, did Gator Tillman fall hard.

And because he loved you so much—he had to keep you safe. He had to. And so, he had suggested moving out of Lehigh. Far away. It was his only option. And because you loved him so much, you said yes.

You left Lehigh under the cover of night with only three bags between you in the truck Gator had bought so his father couldn't track him. There was a small farmhouse waiting for you in Washington, it was a fixer upper but Gator was more than happy to get his hands dirty to build a home for the two of you. It took nearly two days to get there but it was worth it. Because it was the safest Gator had felt in a long time.

And so, it didn't take long for Gator to start thinking of how he was going to propose.

Marriage and Gator didn't seem to belong in the same sentence but he found himself imagining you with a ring on your finger, you in a white dress and god, the wedding night—

You didn't have much money, most of it was spent on renovating your house which Gator insisted on doing himself. But still, he went to a jewellery shop and bought the prettiest ring he could find for $200.

It was simple and he was sure you deserved more but he told himself he would replace it one day.

He decided to do it while out for a walk the forest nearby your house.

“You think we should try a pottery class together?” You ask Gator as you walk hand in hand down the path.

Gator hums by way of a response. The corner of your mouth twitches.

“Or maybe line dancing. Want me to book us in for a class?”

Again, Gator only hums in response.

“I’m thinking of starting an Only Fans,” you try next.

“Cool,” Gator murmurs, glancing over at the nearby river. “Cool.”

“Gator.”

He blinks and then turns to look at you as though he had only just realised you were there.

“What?”

“Were you listening to me?” You ask him, not annoyed just amused if anything. Gator was so rarely distracted.

“Yeah,” he lies as he gives your hand a gentle squeeze, tugging you towards the river. “Something about pottery or dancing and um—”

“Only Fans,” you finish for him. “You’d said it would be ‘cool’ with it if I started one.”

Gator’s head snaps in your direction and you know you have him then.

“Baby, if you think—”

“—I was just seeing if you were listening to me,” you say, leaning up to pinch his cheek. His jaw clenches but you see the way his eyes soften as he looks at you. “And you clearly weren’t. What’s up? You’re acting weird.”

“Am I?” Gator grunts, kicking a nearby stone into the river.

“Yes. You are.”

You step closer to him, your eyes flickering between his as though trying to read his thoughts. Gator looks back at you, trying to keep his expression as neutral as humanely possible and ultimately failing as he thinks about that ring in his pocket—

“You’re nervous,” you observe, head titled to the side as you look at your boyfriend. “You’re never nervous.”

Gator tries to think of an excuse, some lie but he just can’t. He’s too busy imagining a life with you—one that made him feel safe and everything he had never felt growing up. He didn’t even really register that he was getting down on one knee.

“Marry me?” He asks simply.

There was no big speech, no long, romantic declaration. Just Gator Tillman with a ring in his hand, looking up at you with a soft expression he had only ever given you. One that said it all—I love you, I trust you, I feel safe with you.

“Yes,” you say, holding back a smile that was so big it almost hurt.

𝜗ৎ walter "keys" mckey

Keys took his time to plan your proposal.

Like seriously took his time.

Eight months to be exact.

He started with the ring—which he had custom made from a jeweller he had found after days of extensive research. It was expensive and a lot of effort but he knew that you deserved something special and uniquely you.

Keys then did even more research, trying to find the very best holiday destination for the proposal. He then did months of overtime and even some freelance work to be able to afford the holiday to the Maldives for you both.

He then booked various activities for the two of you including a sunset dolphin cruise, couples massage, scuba diving and all culminating in a private sandbank dinner beneath the stars where he would get down on one knee and ask you to be his wife.

Keys really had planed it all.

But what he hadn’t planned was for you getting sick the day after arriving.

And you weren’t just a little bit unwell—you were really fucking sick. Like you couldnt keep down a meal without throwing up and couldn’t get out of bed kind of ill.

You felt awful—not just because of the illness but because Keys had worked so hard and spent so much money that you weren’t sure he would be able to get back.

“Just go without me,” you murmur miserably, face mushed against your pillow as you try and convince Keys to go to the sunset dolphin cruise without you.

“Absolutely not,” Keys says with a shake of his head, climbing into bedside you. “I’m not leaving you when you’re this ill, sweetheart.”

He couldn’t tell you, not for a while, but Keys was internally freaking out. Not because of how much he had spent but because he had spent eight months planning—eight long months so that he knew exactly what to do the moment he dropped down on one knee in front of you. And now? Now he didn’t know what to do.

And so, Keys did what he did best. He took care of you. He cancelled almost all the activities he had booked and dedicated his time to making sure you were drinking enough water, holding your hair back when you threw up and running down to the hotel’s pharmacy to find anything that might help.

The very last day of your holiday (if you could even call it that) you felt a lot more human. Human enough that you had decided to go to the private dinner along the beach with Keys (though he had made sure that any sea food was kept well away from you).

“I’m really sorry I’ve been so sick,” you say sometime after dessert as you and Keys sit side by side in the sand.

“Don’t apologise,” Keys tells you firmly, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and tugging you closer so you could lean your head against his shoulder. “You can’t help being ill. Besides—I don’t mind looking after you.” He tells you, pressing a kiss to your slightly warm forehead.

He’s hyper aware of the ring box in his pocket and angles his body away from yours to ensure that you didn’t notice a thing. He’s trying so hard to act normal but he was nervous—stupidly so—and he needed this proposal to go perfectly since the holiday itself had been—well, not so perfect.

It’s quiet between the two of you then—you’re looking out at the ocean, at the sunset that kissed the horizon while his gaze remains on you.

He opens his mouth to say your name—to ask you that big, life changing question but—

“Holy shit!” You yell out, eyes wide and gesturing wildly towards the ocean. “Keys! Look!”

“Huh?” Keys murmurs, still looking at you as he fumbles with the ring box in his pocket. He hadn’t been paying attention to anything beyond looking at you and he glances towards the ocean just in time to see a pod of dolphins out at sea. “Oh wow—”

It was a perfect moment—the beach, the dolphins, the array of flowers that still littered the sand from the dinner and Keys didn’t hesitate. He scrambles about widely and you barely have time to blink before he’s kneeling down on one knee beside you.

Keys says your name again. He continues looking at you as your eyes remain on the frolicking dolphins for a few more moments before you turn to look back at him and he watches how your expression changes in a few, quick seconds.

Keys had a whole speech rehearsed. Something about how wonderful this week had been and how he hoped you had a lifetime of wonderful vacations together but it felt redundant now. And so, Keys instead spoke of how despite how much he hated seeing you so unwell, it had only cemented the fact that he wanted to love and take care of you for the rest of his days. How he would do it all over again, even if you had thrown up on his nicest shirt the other day. He wanted to say more—he wanted to say so much more but he didn’t get the chance to because you were grabbing his face and kissing him all over, murmuring “yes” over his sun-kissed skin.

𝜗ৎ kurt kunkle

Kurt honestly could have proposed the first very week you were started dating. But he knew how insane that was. So he waited—eight months to be exact. You were his first kiss, first love, his first—well, everything. He had a ring picked out before you had moved in together and did a lot of really stupid brand deals to be able to afford it.

“But you don’t drink protein shakes, Kurt,” you had said when you saw the package he had received with a strawberry flavoured protein powder inside.

But he had just shrugged, tried to hide the pink flush on his cheeks by pressing a kiss to your forehead, murmuring something about wanting to get a new monitor.

You had no idea those damn protein powders would be paying for your engagement ring.

Kurt initially was going to do a big proposal. Like in Disneyland in front of a bunch of people kind of thing. He wanted to vlog it, wanted to get as many views as possible because he knew how well those videos did.

But as you both stood in front of the castle, your eyes shining with child like wonder and Kurt’s camera set up nearby without you knowing—Kurt began to panic. There was so many people. What if you said no? What if you laughed at him? What if other people laughed at him? What if someone filmed it and the whole world laughed at him some more?

He couldn’t do it. Not in the middle of Disneyland, anyway.

He considered doing it on a livestream but again—the thought of you turning him down and the whole world seeing made him want to throw up.

And so—when it happened in the quiet of your living room, there was no cameras. It was just Kurt, some candles, a ring and you.

You hadn’t been expecting it. Not at all. You had came home from work and was greeted by a nervous looking Kurt. He had a silk blindfold in his hand and figuring it was for a taste test video or something equally as silly, you very nearly rolled your eyes. In your defence, you had a long day at work and the last thing you wanted was to blind taste pop tarts again.

“Kurt—” you began to say but the look in his big brown eyes made you stop. He looked desperate, as though he might cry if you say no. And so, you sigh and allow him to tie the blindfold behind your head.

He guides you through the apartment, his trembling hands holding your hips as you stand in what you think might be your living room.

“Is it pop tarts again?” You ask Kurt, unamused.

Kurt blushes, though you don’t see it. “Something like that,” he murmurs before he unties the blindfold and you look—expecting to see his camera set up and an abundance of pop tarts flavours littering the dining table but instead you see a candlelit dinner waiting for you.

You can’t help it. Your jaw drops. “Oh, Kurt!”

It may not have been much—just some mild spice fajitas (since Kurt could not handle anything too spicy) and some incredibly cheesy nachos. But you knew it was made with love and so, you devoured it.

You notice how nervous Kurt seemed which wasn’t anything out of the ordinary since he had a nervous disposition but he seemed especially nervous tonight.

“You okay?” You ask him, nudging his calf with your foot and shooting him a gentle smile. It did nothing to help Kurt’s nerves. In fact, it made him feel all warm inside. As though his insides were made of goo and that smile on your face? Fuck—he loved you. He loved you so much. He wanted to wake up every morning and see that smile. Wanted to—

“Iwannamarryyou.”

The words fall from his lips before he could stop them. He immediately wants to curl up into a ball and die—did that even count as a proposal? If it was a statement rather than a question? Did he need to play it off as a joke before you caught on? Did he need to change his name and move to a different state? Did he—

“Are you asking me or telling me?” You ask him gently, smiling back at him. He can see the hopefulness in your eyes and it does nothing to help the situation. Absolutely nothing. Kurt’s face darkens to a bright red as he forces himself to nod.

“Yeah,” he finally stutters out. “I’m—I’m asking.”

And because he figures that he should probably prove that he was serious—he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the ring before he drops down on one knee in front of you.

You let outa a squeal of excitement that makes Kurt jump, he nearly drops the ring in the nachos.

“Yes!” You exclaim happily, jumping up from your seat and rushing round the table to shower his face with kisses. “Of course I’ll marry you, Kurt.”

𝜗ৎ travis "teacake" meacham

In the two years you had been together, Travis had never kept a secret from you. He had practically told you every waking thought he had since your first date. Mostly because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut but it was also because he loved you. So the thought of keeping anything from you felt inconceivable.

And so, when he began to think about proposing to you—Travis had a problem.

Because how was he meant to keep something this big from you?

The day he bought the ring, he immediately wanted to tell you about it. He wanted to tell you how it sparkled in the light, how he had it engraved with his and your initials. But he couldn’t. And so, he told his barber about it instead.

He did the same thing when he had finally decided how he was going to do it, he ended up telling his parole officer. And the postman, and the guy who came to fix the boiler in your apartment and his boss and—well, anyone who would listen really.

He had decided that a recreation of your first date was what he wanted to do. And so, he spent all morning preparing a basket full of food, bought a gingham picnic blanket he knew you’d love and grabbed the biggest bunch of sunflowers he found at the florist.

“You didn’t have to do all this, Tea,” you say with a smile after Travis had attempted to feed you chocolate covered strawberries.

“Oh, I did,” Travis insists before he leans in to lick some of the remains of chocolate from the corner of your mouth. “You tastes so good, baby.”

Your face warms and Travis laughs—especially when you playfully smack his arm in warning.

“There’s children around Tea,” you mutter, jerking your head towards a bunch of children playing football nearby.

Travis puts his hands up in surrender. “Alright, ruin my fun. No ravishing you on the picnic blanket.”

You try not to laugh but it’s impossible not to when Travis had that playful look in his eye. You lean in and press a kiss to his lips that he’s quick to return, his hand cupping your face as his other hands fiddles with the box in his pocket.

“I love you,” you tell him quietly when you pull away.

“I love you more.” He tells you.

“Not possible,” you say with a shake of your head.

Travis insists that no—he really does love you more. It’s back and forth for a while after that until you finally give in.

“Fine—we love each other equal amounts, how’s that?”

Travis considers it before nodding. “Okay,” he concedes. “But I love you that little bit more—”

You stuff a macaron in his mouth just to shut him up. And just like that—you’re both laughing again.

And Travis knows this is the perfect moment.

He says your name, pulling the box out from his pocket in what he hopes was a subtle move. You turn and before he could even open the box—

“Yes.”

Travis blinks, titling his head and furrowing his brow like a confused puppy.

“But I haven’t—”

“The postman told you,” you say quickly, your heart hammering as you look at Travis as though you could burst. “I’m sorry! I know you wanted it to be a surprise but he told me like two weeks ago—”

If Travis wasn’t on parole, he would have lost his shit at the postman.

“Ah shit,” he grumbles. “But I had this speech and I wanted to—”

“—and I’m sure it would have been amazing!” You say, your eyes flickering from his face to the damn ring box in his hand. “But you don’t need to do all that. My answer is yes.”

“But it was really good, like the perfect balance of romantic and funny and—”

You had truly never wanted Travis to shut up more. And so—you shut him up the way you only know how. You grab his face and pull him towards you. Your lips meet in a messy, slightly chaotic kiss. Travis manages to slide the ring on your finger before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you almost onto his lap.

“Tea—” you murmur against his lips. “There’s children—”

Travis groans and though you don’t see it, you know he’s rolling his eyes.

“Okay, okay,” he mutters, pressing several final kisses to your lips before finally pulling away from you. “Then let’s get home so I can ravish my fiancée in the privacy of our own home.”