#working my way from outside the school to inside his study

[dayasfilms]

Ahhh I’m obsessed with your writing!!! Can we pls have Star and Steve’s first time together?

Your First Time With Steve

Summary: You and Steve have your first time together after you decide to take a little break from studying for your chemistry exam.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Year: Around September-October of 1982 (Star and Steve are in their sophomore year of high school)

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fingering, oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv (don’t do this), fluff, bad dirty chem jokes, mentions of Y/N, feeling insecure, losing virginity (both f and m), it would make a lot more sense to read my ST series Reticent (click the Series Masterlist below) before reading this to know more about the part regarding protection and the scar but it’s not absolutely necessary

Word Count: 4.1k

Note: Thank you for your request! Funnily enough, I was already writing this before I even got this request so this is perfect timing. Enjoy a little smut one shot about Star and Steve’s first time together. Also, if you want to get added to my ST taglist, scroll all the way to the bottom of this post and click on the green link!

Series Masterlist

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The amount of notes on your desk was enough to drive anyone insane. But even though you were in desperate need of a break, you didn’t stop. You kept flipping through flashcards, reviewing every homework assignment and highlighting the mess of topics that would be on your Chemistry exam in two days.

The house was quiet. Your mom was working late in the city, which meant you had the whole day to yourself with no disruptions. Not that your mom was a disruption, of course she never was. You just enjoyed having some peace to cram.

Though maybe you’d jinxed it. Just as you reached for the next flashcard in your stack, a light tapping sound came from the window. Your head snapped toward the glass, heart skipping just slightly. Cautiously, you stood and stepped closer, unsure what, or who, you’d find outside.

At first, there was nothing. You just saw the trees outside and the faint reflection of your bedroom in the afternoon light. You were just about to turn around when another knock made you jump, and a face appeared at the window.

You shrieked. A hand flew to your chest, trying to calm your racing heart as you exhaled sharply. Outside the glass, Steve Harrington stood with a sheepish grin, waving at you like he hadn’t just shaved a year off your life. You opened the window and stepped back as he climbed through carefully, brushing his jeans before straightening up.

“Steve!” You hissed, hands on your hips. “You scared me! You could’ve fallen!”

He gave you an unapologetic grin as he shut the window behind him. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry.”

You rolled your eyes and returned to your desk, pulling out your chair and flopping back into it. “What are you even doing here?”

He sat on the edge of your bed, watching you with soft eyes. “I missed you. Haven’t seen you since…uh, yesterday.”

You turned just enough to raise an eyebrow. “Wow, a whole day?”

“Exactly. Tragic.”

You laughed under your breath and turned back around, flipping open your textbook again. “Why not use the front door like a normal person? My mom’s not even home.” That made him pause. You turned to look at him again. “You didn’t notice her car wasn’t in the driveway, did you?”

He opened his mouth, then scratched the back of his neck. “Okay, in my defense, I was too busy thinking about you. I didn’t really notice anything else.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder, but your smile betrayed you.

“Also,” he added quickly. “Sneaking through your window? It’s super romantic, if you ask me.”

“Oh, is that what that was?” You teased.

Steve stood up and walked over to where you sat, leaning over your shoulder to glance at your pile of notes. His brows raised. “Jesus. How long have you been at this?”

You glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost three PM. You chewed the inside of your cheek. “…Since about ten? After breakfast.”

His eyes went wide. “That was five hours ago!”

You deadpanned. “Yes, Steve. I can count.”

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he gently spun your chair toward him, his hands resting on the armrests as he bent down to your eye level. “Hey. You need a break.”

You shook your head. “I need to pass Chem.”

“You also need a functioning brain, and I’m pretty sure yours is melting right now.” You smiled a little despite yourself, leaning back in your chair. “And I’m sure you don’t even need to study anymore. You’re the smartest person ever.”

You hesitated. “I don’t know…”

“Come on,” he coaxed, brushing a hand down your arm. “Just ten minutes. I’ll even quiz you first. I promise.”

“You’re gonna quiz me?”

“I’m very qualified,” he said, grabbing a flashcard dramatically and clearing his throat. “What’s the atomic number of carbon?”

You rolled your eyes, yet you still had a small smile form on your lips. “Six.”

He flipped the card. “Correct. I’m a great tutor already.”

You crossed your arms, amused. “One question and you’re giving yourself a gold star?”

“Absolutely.”

He grinned, tossed the card aside, and asked you a few more. For a little while, it actually worked. You were laughing and forgetting about the pressure. But eventually, Steve stopped reading, just watching you quietly with a look that made your stomach do a slow flip.

He gently placed the flashcards down and stood up straight, motioning for you to do the same. “Come on. Just ten minutes. Take a real break.”

You let out a dramatic sigh and stood, and Steve didn’t waste a second before sliding his arms around your waist, pulling you toward him.

You smiled up at him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You’re relentless.”

“I just want you to breathe,” he murmured. “And maybe make out with you a little.”

You laughed. “Of course you do.”

You didn’t protest when Steve gently tugged you away from the desk and toward your bed. You let him fall back onto it first, laughing when he exaggerated the flop, then climbed up after him. He reached for you immediately, pulling you down beside him.

“You’re warm,” he murmured as you settled into his chest.

You snorted softly. “You dragged me away from my desk. This is your fault so stop complaining.”

“Who said I’m complaining?” He said with a grin, then tilted your chin up toward him. “You’re so cute when you’re mad at me.”

You rolled your eyes, lips already curving as he leaned in. His kiss was soft at first, teasing and slow. But as your lips continued to move, it grew heavier. His fingers brushed along your jaw before sliding into your hair, and your hand found the hem of his shirt, fingertips curling slightly against the fabric.

The kiss deepened as you shifted, Steve sitting against the headboard while you straddled him, your body pressed to his. His hands moved to your waist, holding you steady.

It was easy to lose track of time like that. It was easy to melt into the feel of him, the way he kissed you like he’d never get tired of it. The way he always made you feel like you were the most important person in the world.

You shifted slightly, and the pressure of his bulge against your thigh made your breath hitch. He let out a quiet whine that was barely audible, but he quickly deepened the kiss to cover it up. The sound still lingered in your mind, sending a flutter through your core as your fingers curled tighter into his shirt.

At some point, you pulled back just enough to catch your breath, but you didn’t move far. Your forehead rested against his, and both of you were quiet for a moment, just listening to the sound of each other’s breathing.

Your heart pounded and not because of the kissing, but from the thoughts that formed the longer he held you. “Steve?” You asked softly.

His eyes blinked open. “Yeah?”

Your voice wavered, trying to figure out how to say it. “Have you ever, you know…done the thing before? Like, actually?”

Steve blinked up at you, surprised. “No. I haven’t.”

You nodded slowly, not quite meeting his eyes. “Me neither.”

He was quiet for a second, searching your expression. “Why do you ask?”

You paused, fingers fiddling with the collar of his shirt. “I was just…thinking. About us. Being with you like this.” His brows softened as he tilted his head, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. You glanced at him, and though your cheeks were warm, you pushed through your shyness. “I think…I think I want to. I want my first time to be with you.”

Steve’s eyes widened, the boy stuttering. “I–I, uh, wha–really?”

You wanted to hide, thinking that maybe you shouldn’t have said anything. “Yeah. I mean, we don’t have to. If–if you don’t want your first time to be with me, I understand. But…I–actually, never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“Hey, no.” He shifted a little, cupping your face gently, his thumb brushing along your cheek. “Of course I want my first time to be with you. But are you really sure about this?”

You nodded, your voice a whisper. “Yeah. I mean…I’m nervous. But I trust you. And I want this. I want to do it with you.”

Steve let out a quiet breath and smiled, like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have you. “Okay. We’ll go slow, alright? If you change your mind at any point, you just tell me.”

“I will,” you promised, your heart fluttering.

He leaned in to kiss you again, gentler than before, like he was memorizing every second. His hands stayed put on your waist, always patient with you.

Slowly, he lays you back on the bed, his body covering yours. He peppered kisses along your jawline and down your neck, his lips leaving a tingly sensation on your skin. You arched into his touch, your hands gripping his shoulders as he continued his exploration of your body.

He stopped, pulling back a little to check on you. “Are you okay?” He asked, his voice gentle.

You nodded, giving him a small smile. “Just a little nervous,” you admitted, your cheeks turning warm with embarrassment.

He reached out and took your hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay, I’m nervous too,” he confessed, his thumb tracing small circles on your skin. "But I promise, we’ll take it slow. We’ll only do what you’re comfortable with.”

His words eased your anxiety, and you found yourself relaxing a little. You tilted your head up and captured his lips in another passionate kiss. He responded immediately, his hand cupping your cheek as he deepened the kiss. You moaned softly against his mouth, your tongue tangling with his.

Your hands began to roam, going up and down his chest. He groaned, his fingers tangling in your hair. You could feel his erection pressing against your thigh, and it sent excitement through your body.

When he reached the hem of your shirt, he paused, his eyes seeking permission. You nodded breathlessly, eager for more. He took it off, revealing your bra-clad breasts. His gaze darkened with desire as he took in the sight of you.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice deep.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the swell of your breasts, his fingers swiftly unhooking your bra. As he took off the material, he gazed upon your exposed flesh, his eyes filled with awe.

Suddenly, his eyes landed on a scar near the side of your stomach. He paused, looking up at you. “Wait, what’s this?”

You immediately covered it with your hands, shying away from him. “Um, it’s nothing. It was from a car accident when I was younger.”

His eyes softened, and he went down to the scar, pressing soft kisses on it. The contact made you shiver.

“Steve, you don’t have to—”

“Shh…” he shushed you, continuing to pepper kisses along the faded edges. “Just let me.”

You didn’t say anything else as he loved on you, pressing his lips to make you forget about what happened to you in the past. You wanted to tell him, but not yet. You weren’t ready to open up about that part of your life. You just watched him, your heart full of warmth and love as he put so much care into you.

He then brought his head up and took one hardened nipple into his mouth. You cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair as he sucked and nibbled gently. Waves of pleasure coursed through your body, making you squirm beneath him.

As he lavished attention on your breasts, his hand slid up your thigh, caressing you through your sweatpants. You tensed for a moment, unsure if you were ready for this. But as his hands went higher, you found yourself aching for more.

When his fingers brushed against your core, you knew there was no turning back. This was really happening. You were about to give yourself to him completely.

He pulled away briefly, his eyes locking with yours. “Is this okay?” He asked, his voice quiet.

You nodded, biting your lower lip as you gazed up at him. “Yes,” you whispered. “Please, I want this. I want you, Steve.”

A smile spread across his face, and he leaned down to capture your lips in another searing kiss. As he did, his hands helped you take off your pants and then panties, before his fingers glided through your slick folds.

You gasped at the contact, your hips lifting off the bed to meet his touch. He stroked you gently, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you moan with pleasure. Your head fell back against the pillow, your eyes fluttering closed as you lost yourself in his touch.

But as he continued to pleasure you, you couldn’t help but feel a little worried. You couldn’t stop thinking about how maybe you weren’t good enough to do this, that you would only disappoint him and make a fool out of yourself. Your insecurities threatened to overwhelm you, and you found yourself tensing up under his touch.

Sensing your sudden hesitation, Steve pulled back, concern etched on his face. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked, his fingers stilling.

You bit your lip, unable to meet his gaze. “I’m just...I’m worried that you won’t like it,” you admitted, your voice small.

He cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. “Hey, there’s nothing to be worried about,” he assured you, his eyes soft. “This is both our first times, remember? We’re learning together. There’s no right or wrong way to do this, all that matters is that we’re honest with each other and communicate what feels good. I want to make sure you feel good.”

His words helped calm your nerves again, and you felt yourself relaxing once more. You leaned into his touch, your lips brushing against his in a tender kiss.

“Thank you,” you whispered against his mouth. “For being so understanding.”

He smiled, his thumb caressing your cheek. “Of course, honey,” he murmured, before capturing your lips in another deep kiss.

As the kiss intensified, you found yourself losing yourself in the moment, all thoughts of nervousness and self-doubt fading away. You were here with Steve, the boy you loved, and nothing else mattered.

With newfound confidence, you began to explore his body, your hands moving under his shirt to touch his bare skin. He groaned at your touch, his hips pressing against yours. You could feel his bulge growing, straining against his jeans.

Unable to resist any longer, you reached down and palmed him through the denim, earning a sharp intake of breath from him. He bucked into your hand, his fingers digging into your hips.

“God, Y/N,” he gasped, his head falling forward to rest against your shoulder. “You’re driving me crazy.”

Satisfied with his reaction, you began to unbuckle his belt, your fingers trembling slightly. He helped you push his jeans and boxers down his legs, kicking them off the side of the bed. He then took his shirt off, throwing it to the side as well.

Now fully naked before each other, you took a moment to appreciate the sight of him. He was lean, subtly toned from years of sports, with a faint trail of chest hair that made your breath catch. His cock made your eyes widen, and you couldn’t help but feel nervous again.

Sensing your gaze, Steve looked down at you, eyebrows furrowing. “Hey, we don’t have to do this, honey. Just say the word and we can stop,” he told you softly.

You shook your head, bringing your hand to his cheek. “No, no. It’s not that I don’t want to do it. It’s just…” you looked back at his cock. “How is that supposed to, um…fit?”

Steve couldn’t help but almost let out a laugh at the nervous look on your face. He tried to remain composed, grinning at you instead. “It’ll be okay. And if it hurts too much, we can stop, okay? You just have to let me know. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

You nodded, biting your lower lip as you gazed up at him through lowered lashes. He leaned down and kissed you deeply, his tongue delving into your mouth as his hand slid between your thighs once more. This time, when his fingers brushed against your folds, you were ready for him.

He stroked you slowly with one finger first, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you writhing beneath him. He then added a second finger, and then a third. Your moans filled the room as he explored your slick folds, his touch driving you closer and closer to the edge. He pumped his fingers in and out, making sure you were ready for him. He wanted to make this as painless as possible for you.

A soft moan escaped your lips as his fingers kept moving inside you, the wet sound of it only making the ache between your legs increase. Your eyes dropped to watch the motion of his hand, mouth parting at the sight. It was too much but in the best way. You let your eyes flutter shut, head falling back against the pillow as you let him continue.

You suddenly felt Steve lick a stripe up your pulsing heat. You gasped, opening your eyes to see his head between your thighs. He looked up at you as he stuck his tongue inside, lapping at your soaked core.

“You taste so sweet,” Steve murmured against you, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. The vibrations made your hips move on their own, grinding against his mouth. Your hand flew to his hair, fingers tangling as you tugged him closer. He groaned at the feeling, trying to match your pace as he continued exploring you with his tongue. When his nose bumped a particularly sensitive spot, a sharp whine escaped your throat. He froze instantly, lifting his head with concern etched into his features. “Did I hurt you?” He asked softly, eyes wide and apologetic.

“N–no,” your voice was quiet, and you could feel your cheeks grow warm. “It felt good.”

His frown turned into a relieved smile when he realized you were okay. He brought his fingers back, pressing gently against the spot that had made you gasp. This was all new for both of you, but Steve was determined to learn, to make it good for you. And now that he’d found what made you fall apart, he wasn’t about to let it go. He lowered his head again, his lips wrapping around your clit. When he began to suck softly, your back arched, a moan slipping out as your hand tightened in his hair, keeping him close.

The pressure in your core was building fast, your breaths coming out in soft, stuttering gasps as Steve’s mouth moved against you. He held you steady, his hands gripping your hips as if he didn’t want to let go. Your fingers were still in his hair, tugging him further into you as that wave of pleasure crept faster.

“Steve,” you whimpered, barely able to say his name. He didn’t stop, he just kept going, and it finally sent you over. Your eyes squeezed shut, head pressing back into the pillow as your body tensed, then melted beneath him. The sound of your moan filled the room, shaky and breathless, as the release swept through you. Steve looked up at you, his lips still parted and glistening with your slick. His eyes were wide, completely in awe. You opened your eyes slowly to meet his, still dazed.

“Was that okay?” He asked softly, his hands gently tracing along the insides of your thighs as he brought you back down to earth. You gave him a lazy, content smile and nodded, your heart still fluttering from the high. He leaned up to kiss you again, and you could faintly taste yourself on his lips, a reminder that made your cheeks flush and your legs instinctively press together at the image of him between them just moments ago. He then pulled away from your lips, leaving you aching for more. You whimpered in protest, your lips chasing him.

“Shh, just wait,” he murmured gently, his voice soothing as he settled between your legs. Just as he was about to continue, he paused, eyes going wide as he pulled back slightly. “Shit–I don’t have a condom. I never thought we were going to do this today.”

You stayed quiet for a second, your heart racing. You debated telling him the truth, but now wasn’t the time. Someday, when you were older and ready, you’d open up about everything. For now, a small white lie would have to do.

“We…don’t need one,” you said softly, watching his head snap up in surprise. “I’m on the pill.”

Steve blinked, confused. “Wait, really?” His brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of it. “I mean–is that, like…safe?”

You almost laughed at the look on his face, but you held it back. Shifting slightly, you closed your legs, suddenly feeling too exposed. “Yeah, it’s safe,” you reassured him, meeting his eyes. “My doctor put me on it…to help regulate my cycle.”

He still looked a little uncertain. Steve had never claimed to know much about girls’ bodies but he was still trying to learn. He didn’t push you though. What you said made enough sense for him and he trusted you with everything in him. His gaze dropped to your now closed legs and then back to your face. Gently, he placed a hand on your knee.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked sincerely.

You nodded slowly, your cheeks warm. As he carefully parted your legs again, you swallowed your nerves and whispered. “Yes. Please.”

His eyes searched yours before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead, his thumb brushing your cheek. “I promise I’ll be gentle,” he whispered. “We’ll go slow. If it’s too much, you just tell me, okay?”

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you prepared yourself. Slowly, he entered you, inch by inch until he was fully sheathed inside your tight heat. The sensation was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. It was a mix of pleasure and discomfort that made you tremble. You were grateful he had taken his time to prepare you. You gasped as he began to move, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you tried to adjust to the new feeling.

As he continued to thrust into you, the discomfort began to fade away, replaced by a building sensation of pleasure that threatened to consume you whole. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him to go deeper and faster.

He obliged, increasing his pace as he tried to get you to come before him. The room was filled with the sounds of your moans and the slap of skin against skin as he drove into you with more speed. His fingers went to your clit, gently rubbing the sensitive bud, making you cry out in pleasure.

You could feel your orgasm building again, your body tensing as the pleasure became almost too much to bear. You clutched at him desperately, your nails scratching down his back as you were so close to reaching your high.

“Don’t stop,” you gasped. “I’m so close.”

He groaned against your neck, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he neared his own climax. “F-fuck, where do you want me?”

You tried to answer but another moan fell out of you. Your hands clenched tightly on his shoulders, barely getting the word out. “I-inside.”

That one word was all it took for him to push into you one last time, sending both of you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body shaking beneath him as wave after wave of pleasure washed through you. He followed at the same time, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he found his own release, spilling inside you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, content to just stay wrapped up in each other’s arms. Finally, he rolled off you and pulled you close, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“That was incredible,” he whispered. His eyes stayed locked on your face, full of longing.

You smiled up at him, your finger tracing lazy patterns across his chest. “Yeah, it really was,” you murmured, nuzzling closer.

He wrapped you tighter, tangling your legs together so there was nothing between you. He kissed the top of your head as your eyes fluttered closed.

He knew he’d have to leave soon since there was no telling when your mom would get home, but as he took in your peaceful face, all he wanted was to hold you like this forever.

After a while, you glanced at the abandoned flashcards across your desk. “Great. Now I’m definitely gonna fail this test.”

Steve shifted beside you, grinning as he trailed his fingers along your waist. “Impossible. Like I said, you’re literally the smartest person I know.”

You rolled your eyes. “Tell that to my chem grade after Monday.”

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “Honey, if tonight proved anything, it’s that our chemistry’s explosive.”

You blinked, then groaned. “Oh my God, Steve.”

“What?” He said, feigning innocence. “I’m just saying, we definitely bonded.”

You shoved his shoulder, trying not to laugh. “Stop!”

“Come on,” he said with a wink. “Don’t act like I didn’t rock your periodic table.”

You gave him a look. “Okay, now you’re banned from speaking until my exam is over.”

He gasped. “What?! That’s, like, two whole days!”

“Exactly. Suffer.”

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•• @kirriririririri @djospresso

get added to my ST taglist

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[gracieheartspedro]

Lessons in Art History

my main masterlist - eddie munson masterlist

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 10.5k (tehe sorry not sorry)

description: eddie needs to graduate. a stupid summer art class is getting in his way. luckily for him, his neighbor and childhood crush is an art history major. and you're ready to make a deal.

warnings: 18+ content, MDNI, no use of y/n, reader is in college, both parties are 18+, mention of abusive parents, drug use, consumption of alcohol, mentions of relying on alcohol, mentions of body mutilation, eddie is a doesn't understand art and you really do, smut, lots of tension, no mention of specific body type, dubcon (both are under the influence, they are tipsy/high), oral (f recieving) unprotected p in v, body worship, dirty talk, eddie cums 'quickly', eddie finishes inside. eddie just really loves your body. aftercare.

authors note: this has been sitting in my docs forever. i finally finished it on a whim. enjoy me combining two things i really love! art history and eddie munson <3 if you guys want to see more of these two, pls don't hesitate to pop in my asks. also thank you to my beta's aka @pedgito and @amanitacowboy! kisses to the both of you! MUAHHH!!

how to help palestine ~ dividers by @cafekitsune

Eddie did not understand art. 

The fact that he even had to take the stupid art history course in summer school aggravated him. When the teacher would blab on and on about different mediums and their importance to history, he found himself almost dozing off. Sure some of the paintings they were studying were cool, but it seemed very… pretentious. 

But he’s failing and he can not be failing. 

As soon as he saw your old Chevy pull into the driveway across from his, he knew he was in for a treat this summer. Seeing you again would only send his heart racing, he knew that for sure. When he sees you in passing, mainly when he’s heading to the school in the morning, you always offered a passive wave and pleasant smile. You had only gotten more beautiful since you left for college. 

Luckily for him, his childhood crush and next door neighbor was in college studying Fine Arts and she was home for the summer. Finally. 

You had just concluded your freshman year at Indiana State University. It had been a dream of yours since you were a kid to go to school for art. Saving all your money made from the diner downtown helped with a good chunk of your first semester and your second semester was proudly sponsored by your rich aunt. Lucky you. 

You had plans to spend your summer working on some art pieces to build your resume. Your preferred medium was watercolors and oil paints, so your small bedroom was littered with canvases and cold-pressed sheets. You have lived in this trailer your entire life and it was by far the messiest it’s ever been. Not just from you, but from your mom and younger sister. You spent most mornings picking up after them, and you soon realize that’s all you have ever done your entire life. The reason the house was this bad was because you were now gone and not slaving to keep the base boards dusted. 

You needed to get out of the house. 

So you started spending time outside, occupying some lawn chairs on your back porch. The shade was limited to one corner of the broken down rotted wood, so you positioned the chair there and set up your easel. 

There had been a couple occasions in the time you have been home where you had seen your neighbors and had very basic conversations with them. You said hello to Max Mayfield when she skateboarded past your driveway, but you do not believe she actually heard you. Wayne Munson had waved to you one day when he was leaving for work. And then of course the moments you saw Eddie. 

He had not changed one bit, that boy. You had a sneaky small crush on him when you two shared a couple classes together your senior year. You had lived right across from him for practically your whole life, yet when he sat next to you in English class, you felt yourself stealing glances and sharing hushed jokes together. You were not sure if the crush was loosely based because you two were always in close proximity to each other, but he was cute. 

One particularly hot afternoon, you hear the crunching of your dying grass on the side of the house. You glance up from your canvas only to see him.

Eddie was supposed to graduate alongside you but between all his absences, bad grades, and mischievous behaviors, he failed. Twice. 

You put your paint down on a rusted out table, wiping the excess colors on your shirt with your elementary school mascot on it. 

“Hey,” You say lightly, shooting him a gentle smile. You could not lie that your stomach did a bit of a flip when his eyes locked with yours. And just like that, Eddie is reminded why he used to like you so damn much. 

Your smile was enough to make a man halt in place, and that’s exactly what he did. 

You seemed disheveled, which Eddie found oddly attractive. Your shirt was covered in dry and wet paint, looking like you just wipe whatever paint you’re not using on yourself. It was an array of colors, but mainly different hues of blues and yellows.

He quickly starts to regret his initial plan. Originally he was going to catch you leaving your house one day, asking how college was going, and see if you were interested in helping him study for his next test. But you never left your house at the same time, and he could not just casually hang out outside 24/7 waiting for you. That would be weird. Stalkerish. 

So after one particularly bad quiz, he worked up enough courage to walk straight up to you while you sat and worked magic. Problem was, he did not plan what to say, only thinking of it as he approached you. And of course, when you say ‘hello’, he quickly realizes you stole his voice with your gaze.

You just look at him, sensing he must be lost or something. 

He finally finds his voice after clearing away some phlegm, “I need your help.”

Your eyes flicker to your canvas, inspecting your work from another angle as you hop off the edge of your deck. Eddie starts to get nervous as you approach him, your eyes still firmly planted on your art. 

Eddie used to ask you for the dumbest favors when you two were kids. He used to knock on your door and ask for random ingredients, to walk with him to the mini mart down the street, just anything to get you out of your house and talking to him. 

Looking back now, it was kind of sweet he even thought to invite you, but you were not interested in helping with housework or walking along the back roads of Hawkins with him.

You finally look at him, pursing your lips in faux contemplation, “Eddie… I’m not helping you mow the grass-” He waves his hands in the air, halting you from talking. “No… it’s not that. I am in summer school-”

It was your turn to cut him off, planting your hands on your hips, “Again!?”

He exhales, bringing his ringed fingers over his face and dragging his lower lids down in frustration. 

Eddie was a lot of things, but he was not stupid. You knew he was smart if he applied himself. Problem was that he was bad about caring about school. You remember the days of sitting behind him in 10th grade Algebra and you almost failed with how much he interrupted class to laugh with some friends in the last row. He was the very opposite of yourself. 

He crosses his arms over his Metallica shirt that he’s been wearing for two years, using his fingers to fold his lower lip as you stand like a scolding mother.

“I need to pass this Art History class and I failed the first quiz already. I need it to finish out my credits. Please-” You roll your eyes, matching his stance by crossing your arms. Art History was the easiest subject to you and you adored learning more about it. And Eddie knew that, too. You realize you’ll have wet paint all over your arms as soon as your arm sticks to the front of your shirt. 

“What’s in it for me?”

Eddie’s eyebrows raise, surprised that you are open to tutoring him so quickly. You watch him nod his head, dreaming up how he can repay you. “I’ll smoke you up whenever you want. And… whatever else you want, I guess.”

“Smoking me up whenever I want?”

You like the sound of that. You were just like every other art student at your college. Using substances to get you through each day. Lately, it’s been wine you get from the gas station down the road. But drunk painting is not as productive, so you mainly use it to numb all the other depressing things in your life at night. 

You missed smoking weed, but you have not had the budget to buy. 

But if tutoring Eddie Munson in your favorite subject would get you free weed, you could not say no. 

Eddie nods quickly at your response, desperate to pass. And if it meant hanging out with you, too, it was a win-win-win all around. “Yeah, I just need to pass this class-” You cut him off again, “Okay, fine. But we have to do it at your house.”

You did not need him seeing your hoard of paintings and messy house. And now you had an actual excuse to leave your house. 

Eddie shakes his head, blinking at you curiously. 

“Yeah, no problem,” He claps his hands in front of his body, twisting his foot a bit like a child would, “When can we start?” The wind picks up, and you watch his hair fly across his face. You giggle, watching him brush his locks away from his mouth. You could not deny how cute and endearing he could be occasionally. “What days do you have class?”

“Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.”

This would be a breeze, you think to yourself. You assume immediately that you would only need to see him two days a week. No big deal. 

You head back up to your deck, taking your canvas off the easel, “Then I’ll see you on Tuesdays and Thursdays.” You stop in movements as he simply states, “Today is Tuesday, sweetheart.”

Your head shoots around, seeing the cheeky smirk playing on his lips. The nickname he called you sends a slight shiver down your spine. It sounded nice coming from him. 

You roll your eyes, though, assuming he means you had to start today.

“Let me grab my notes and change,” His face brightens up at your words. “I’ll be over in 15 minutes.”

-

You soon realize two days a week was not going to help Eddie. You added Monday evenings to the equation pretty quickly when you realized he did not even have the proper textbook. 

“Emerson gave it to me! He told me it was the one he used last year!”

You just rolled your eyes and read his syllables to him, out loud, obnoxiously. He giggled the entire time, commenting about how you should have been a school teacher. 

You two would sit in his bedroom from five in the evening until 8 at night, mainly on his unmade bed, going over different texts and art pieces. Around 7, he would offer you to smoke, which you always agreed to. By 8:30, you were high as a kite and ready to go home. He would send you off with a ‘goodnight, sweetheart’ and watch you walk back over to your front door.

You notice pretty quickly he was always fiddling with his hands, tapping his pencils, biting his fingernails. He could not sit still and it drove you insane. You gave him one of your stress balls one day, hoping the silent squishing would ease his jitters, but instead he started throwing it up and the air. You took it from him soon after, scolding him. 

He was virtually impossible to teach.

You finally get him on track when they start studying Van Gogh. You would simply help Eddie interpret the art, as well as give him the basics information on the artist. 

He thinks it’s funny when you explain how Van Gogh cut off his ear, laughing hysterically when you show him the self portrait.

“Look at his goofy little hat! And the bandage around his head?”

You could not help yourself today. You roll your eyes and sit back against the edge of his bed, trying to redeem your resting easygoing expression. It was becoming too hard, but you distort your smile back on and pivot to him. His face is twisted in amusement, knowing his comment has you reeling.

It was only Monday and you had two more evenings explaining art to him. You could not get him to love the subject, but you try to place the ideas into his day to day life. It seems to stick better when you put it in those terms. It’s hard to do with Van Gogh, sadly, so you just listen to him cracking jokes until it’s time to smoke.

-

He hands you the joint, his lips pursed in contemplation as you take the hit. You are sitting back against his wall, crossing your legs vertically across his bed. You look more relaxed on his bed than he does. 

You exhale, handing him back back the roll. You really needed this high to bring the tension away from your shoulders.

“So, what did you learn today?” You probe, seeing if he actually learned anything. You would not be surprised if he said something about Van Gogh’s ear again. Instead, he just smirks at you, tilting his head back on his wooden headboard.

He takes a drag of the joint, his jaw ticking as he blows out the smoke. “That you’re very patient with me.”

You bite your cheek, preventing yourself for smiling. He could see right through you, no matter how hard you tried to disguise your annoyance with him. 

“You’re giving me free weed and all I have to do is explain basic concepts to you,” you explain, reaching over to him, brushing your arm across his knee and thigh. The physical touch leaves goosebumps all over your arm.

“Like 40 times, over and over again.”

You smirk at that, “Again. Free weed.”

“And the company, of course,” He says as he leans forward, poking your thigh with his pointer finger.

The comment makes your stomach flip, butterflies sprouting as you watch his smile get wider. 

You honestly would not have done this if it was any other guy from Hawkins High. You hated most of the people you graduated with, knowing they were all assholes or weird. Or both. 

And while Eddie was an oddball, he had manners and knew where to draw the line with you. He never made you feel unsafe or awkward. He was just so shamelessly himself and somehow that meshed well with your personality. 

“Yeah, you’re alright I guess,” You sneer, trying to act as coy as possible. You could feel the heat burning your cheeks and Eddie noticed it, too. He would not say anything though, just trying to rid his mind of the feeling of your arm brushing across his leg earlier.

-

“I just don’t get the point of big red squares on big black canvas.”

Week 4 proved to be the week where they throw high school summer school students into the deep end. You curse the teacher as soon as Eddie comes home with print outs of Mark Rothko’s abstract paintings.

You really enjoyed Rothko’s work, having seen it in person in Chicago on a school trip. You almost felt protective over his art. 

So when Eddie goes on his normal rambles about how silly art really is, you cannot help yourself.

You grab the print out of the unnamed yellow orange piece, “There’s nothing to get Eddie, it’s just…”

“You said this Rothko guy was this infamous artist and all he does is paint shapes,” He looks at the paper over your shoulder. He’s currently sprawled across his bed, while you sit on his floor with all the dust bunnies. His head is right next to yours and you can feel his curls laying on your bare shoulder. 

Why did you wear a tank top today?

You huff, sitting forward a bit, “Eddie, it’s not about what he wanted it to be, it’s what you interpret it as.” “Well it’s squares. That’s all I interpret, sweetheart.”

You inhale a deep breath, the anger rising within you turning quickly into how you could break down the kind-of pretentious pieces. You had to admit that Rothko’s ideas were pretty out there. You also knew that they seemed very grandiose to an average person, but he had his intentions in the right place.

“Can I explain it to you,” You look up at him, your faces inches away. It causes your breath to hitch in your throat. “Cause you’re just… so wrong.”

A smile crosses his face, waiting for you to go into detail. “Go on, princess.”

You look back at the print, cocking your head to the side. You had explained his art to other people before but you knew you would have to phase it down a bit for Eddie.

“Rothko is not telling you to feel one way or another,” You point at the orange part of the pieces, “You may see those squares, but it’s more about the colors. The paint strokes. You see them in person and they are like… all consuming. His point was not to make something for himself, it was so that observer could reflect inward and use his art to their advantage. To grieve. To be happy. To reminisce. So it’s not about the squares. It’s about what the colors evoke.”

His finger points right beside where yours sits on the page, “What does this one say to you?”

You smile as you reflect on the painting. It’s not exactly where it needs to be. Rothko does not need to be a printed flimsy piece of paper, it needs a huge canvas, but it still evokes something in you. With Eddie over your shoulder, the ideas flowing within you sends goosebumps across your neck and back. His closeness only adds to the slowing of your heart rate.

“The yellow and salmon color make me hopeful. Like I can actually get somewhere and be something. It reminds me of some beautiful sunrises I’ve had the privilege of watching. Makes me feel like I’ll be alright.”

Eddie’s eyes search your face, watching your lips twitch as you observe the piece. It kind of spilled out of you. You try not to get too into your perceptions of art with him, simply just giving him information and making him write and conclude his own opinions. But art is the only thing in the world you felt held by and on rare occasions, you had to bare your soul. Eddie was just the unlucky bastard to hear about it.

The gentle way you describe things, every word sounding so precious, made Eddie’s whole head explode with adoration. He spent so many evenings watching you, quietly admiring the way you moved, the way you spoke, and while he knew the crush he harbored was major, it only got worse spending these last few weeks with you. He got to see your little unique quirks up close and he was hopelessly in love with you. 

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispers, his voice a bit strained. You glance up at him, completely whiplashed by his response. 

The way he’s looking at you makes you believe he does not even realize he said that out loud. His eyes soften, as you scan his face. Your gaze falls to his lips before you finally speak up, your heartbeat in your ears.

“What?” 

His eyes widened, realizing his mistake. He sits back and snaps his gaze away from you. Your cheeks heat up as you come to realize you had read the situation correctly. He rubs his hand over his face in embarrassment, trying to gain his bearings.

“I’m.. I didn’t mean to… say that out loud.”

He’s fumbling over his words, which makes a smile creep across your face. You knew what it was to blunder like this, having done it one too many times with guys you liked. You wanted to reassure him without making it seem like too big of a deal. But boy, was it a big deal. 

“It’s okay,” You manage to say, trying not to giggle. You cannot help yourself, though. As soon as the breath leaves your mouth, he groans.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

He is standing up now, rolling off his bed. His tall frame starts to pace his bedroom, his hands never leaving his face. He could not bear to look at you.  

You pull your knees into your chest, trying to ease his nerves with a simple, “Don’t be sorry, it’s completely okay.”

He stops in his tracks, placing his hands on his hips. You cannot help but find him charming, his face all red, his hair untidy, his shirt twisted from the way he was laying. You had to admit, in a not-out-loud-way, that he was beautiful, too.

“You just got on that whole tangent and the passion you had for the art put me in a trance and…” He starts to pace again when he sees your lips curve up, “I just… yeah.”

You giggle, his words sending your heart racing even more, “I put you in a trance, huh?”

He slaps his hand over his forehead, realizing he can not stop saying stupid things. “Studying session over. ‘M rolling a joint.”

-

It was final day. 

The last couple weeks with Eddie consisted of a lot of him really diving in head first into the topics they were discussing in class. While he still needed your guidance on dissecting certain pieces and how they related back to the artists, he was coming home with quizzes that had red scribbled ‘B’s’ on the top of the paper. That’s all he needed to pass. 

You had settled with the fact that Eddie was never going to bring up what he said to you again. After that evening, he was hesitant to even sit a foot away from you, always residing on the opposite side of the room. 

It hurt a bit. You do not know if he actually meant it or not, and the mystery of it all was eating you alive. When you would let your eyes linger on him for longer than usual, you wanted to crawl out of your skin when he would intentionally look away from you. He was avoiding it, and you knew it.

But Eddie was not avoiding it. God, he wanted to. You were consuming every thought in his head. When he was in class he was thinking about you, because you were teaching him even more than the teacher was. When he was driving home, a song would play and he would somehow relate it to the way your eyes twinkled at him or how your smooth voice would send tingles down his spine. When he was home, trying to have some down time, he would catch himself staring out his bedroom window, wondering what you were doing in your room across the street. 

He was officially losing it. 

On final day, he got in his car, his fingers nervously tapping his steering wheel, hoping to the heavens and angels that he would pass so he could race over to your front door and leap into your arms in excitement. He just wanted to be near you, always.

-

When he gets the bubble sheet back and sees a 89/100, he jumps up out of his chair and hoots like a banshee. He could not believe his eyes as he gripped the paper with an iron fist, waving it around to all 4 of his classmates. “I’m graduating, fuckers!”

He could not get home fast enough. With the paper sitting on his dash, he flew over curbs, unable to maintain his excitement at passing the stupid class. 

When he pulls into Forest Hills and fails to see your car in your driveway, his heart skips. 

Had you left to go back to school early? Without saying goodbye? Were you just out? Maybe you had just gone to the grocery store?

As he parks the van, he snatches the sheet up and takes his time getting in the house. He glances back at your place a couple times, failing to see any signs of life through the slightly drawn open windows. His mind was spinning with all the possibilities, all of them equally making him spiral. He places his test down his record player, swipes up his rolling tray and starts to get as high as he possibly could. He would check your driveway practically every fice seconds, willing you to appear, but after an hour, he ashes out a joint and lays back on his bed, defeated.

-

You pulled into your driveway, noticing Eddie’s van haphazardly parked in his driveway. You were tempted to pull in front of his house and knock on his front door to ask how the test went, but you were up all night getting drunk and wallowing. A fight with your mother really took everything out of you and you had next-to-no energy. 

You waste no time getting inside and throwing on your comfiest pajamas. You cuddle up in your bed, soaking up the quietness of your trailer as you have it completely to yourself tonight. Sleep eventually finds you after a bit, only to be interrupted by a knock at the door. You take your time getting up, wandering through the house to the front door. On your way there, you stop and grab the half drunk wine glass on the counter. You had left your current self a little gift last night, it seems.

You get to the front door, slamming the wine before you turn the handle. As you open it, you see his curls first. You wipe the dribble of red liquid away from the side of your mouth, puckering your lips. 

“Hey,” You say simply, trying to hide the wine glass behind your back. He knew you drank, but you did not want to look completely disheveled in his presence. You already had bed head. “Hey, uh… I passed,” Eddie mutters, his hands gripping onto his test sheet. He holds it up, a small smile expanding across his face, “I got a B on my final, so… I’m on track to graduate this year.”

He looks nervous, but your heart jumps in excitement for him. This is the best news you have heard all day. You put the wine glass down on the wooden entry table and fly out the door. You wrap your arms around his neck, jumping up and down as you congratulate him. “That’s awesome, Eddie!”

His hand gently graces your waist, shifting your oversized t-shirt up a bit, revealing that there are shorts underneath. You hear a small chuckle escape his throat, almost reflecting some sort of relief. 

You really knew how to make him feel special, practically throwing yourself at him. “All thanks to you,” He whispers as you pull away from his grasp. You still have your hand on his neck, pressing your fingers into the collar of his jean vest. “Oh please…” You shift back, dropping your arm to your side. You giggle, watching him crumble the test paper and stuff it into his pocket. You move back a step, “I’m happy though. Truly. You earned it.”

There’s a pause between you two, both just staring at one another. You want him to say something back, unsure if your celebration was a bit too much. His face drops as if he’s remembering something. He digs in his jean’s pocket, hissing as he searches for something. He pulls out a small joint, the rings on his fingers sparkling in the sun’s rays. The sun is finally going down, shadowing a golden hue over Forest Lawn. “I uh.. Have a celebratory joint.. Do you want to smoke?”

Your smile gives away your answer. You push your elbow into the door, opening it wider for Eddie. Having the whole place to yourself would serve you some good tonight, but Eddie was not much of a bother. Plus, free weed.

“Yeah, I actually have the house to myself, if you want to hang here?”

His eyes light up, surprised that you are allowing him in your space, “Are you sure?”

You nod, gesturing him to join you inside, “Yeah, it’s cool. Mom’s working overnight, sister’s at Max’s.”

“Sure, yeah.”

-

Initially you decide to just hangout in the living room, but then you realize your mother would somehow smell the remnants of marijuana, so you offer Eddie the space of your room. He nods timidly, walking behind you through the kitchen. On your way through, you grab the already half drank wine bottle and walk to the end of the hallway. You push open your door, showing off your messy and cluttered room to Eddie.

“My room’s a mess, just a warning.”

You crack open the nearest window, before settling on your bed. Eddie stands there, taking in your room and art pieces. Stacked canvases take up most of the floor space, as well as a peeling easel. You pat your unmade bed, trying to get him to sit. He toes off his sneakers and plops down on your full-sized bed. 

He places the joint between his lips, something you hyperfixate on for a moment. Watching his mouth wrap around something so small makes you pause. His perfectly symmetrical pink lips were something that caught your attention often. 

You uncork your wine as he flicks his lighter and pulls some smoke. 

“You are gonna smoke, too, right,” He asks, handing over the rolled weed. You take a swig of the bottle, letting the cheap alcohol slide down your throat. 

You gesture him the bottle, offering him some of your own vice. He’s a guest, after all. “Yeah, I am. Want some?”

He shakes his head, scrunching his nose at the idea of drinking. “Not a wine guy. Thanks, though.”

You two sit there in a comfortable silence, passing the joint back and forth. When you feel enough of a buzz throughout your body, you stand up and decide to show off your newest pieces. 

You had never been one to show off your work. You did not mind if people looked or admired, but you’d rather not be in the room when it was happening. You were more afraid of failure, which to you, was someone not liking your work. Criticism. Such a scary thought. 

You grab a painting you created of the woods at the entrance of Forest Hills, a densely packed row of trees with the sun only slightly beaming through some breaks in the leaves. It took you a week to complete it, having spent most of your free time in the evenings with Eddie. 

You turn the canvas over with one hand as you grip your wine bottle at the same time. Eddie shifts on your bed, laying on his side and propping his body weight up on his elbow. 

The moment his eyes find the canvas, his jaw drops.

“Holy shit, sweetheart. That is incredible,” He sits up on his butt, his dark curls shifting around his shoulders as he does. “You could fill an entire museum with the amount of canvases in here.”

You beam at his words, a sense of unnerving weight that you carry around, suddenly lifting off your shoulders. You felt pride swirl in your stomach, watching him stand and approach one older stack of paintings. 

You place the piece of art down, feeling the tackiness of the clear coat on your fingertips. 

“That’s the dream, one day.”

He shifts some watercolors you did around, staring at them with the joint between his lips. He looks so focused and enamored with your work. It’s endearing seeing him able to admire art after dealing with him for weeks just poking fun at it. “Oh, you’ll get there,” he states with confidence, the bud wiggling between his teeth with his words. He takes it out of his mouth, finally looking back over to you. The rush of heat to your cheeks could be attributed to the alcohol, but he is sure it is because of his praise. “You’re incredible.”

And you can tell he means it. What you don’t know is he means it in every sense. Your artistic ability is just the tip of the iceberg. 

He swallows, letting the tension rise a bit as you muster up the courage to step closer to him. The joint is burnt out, now just a roach between his fingers. You place the almost empty wine bottle on your desk, practically invading Eddie’s space as you step one foot closer.

The weed has loosened him up a bit. His body feels weightless and his mouth is one of the muscles that has relaxed with the rest of his limbs.

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispers, looking down at you with a lopsided grin. The moment is reminiscent of the first time he told you that, but the energy in the room is more charged than last time. 

The whites of his eyes are red, his lids drooping a bit more. You can feel the heat flush your cheeks as his gaze falls down over your face and to your lips. 

“Thanks, Eds,” your voice not crawling over a whisper. This time when you acknowledge his compliment, he does not backpedal. His eyes don’t stray away, nervously finding a way to bring up a new conversation. No, this time, he’s confident and sure fire about telling you how he felt. 

He had been holding onto it for so long, and soon, you would be back at school. He knew your mind would stray to other places, other things, other guys. And he knew he would not be able to live with himself if he did not express his feelings for you. 

“Truly, I mean it,” He mutters, shifting on his other leg. You can tell by the way he’s fiddling with his rings, he is nervous. The only thing you can think of is his lips, especially when he licks them, “You are… probably the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

The statement catches you off guard at first. Maybe it’s the alcohol distorting your confidence, or maybe it’s the nerves of him getting an inch closer. You clear your throat, finally darting your eyes away from his mouth. “You are high.”

A smile spreads across his face which warms your skin, prickling tiny bumps scattering down your arms. “And right,” He emphasizes, placing the roach down by your wine bottle. Instead of putting his arm down, his hand inches towards the curve of your cheek. There’s a glint in his eye, something hinting at you to lean towards him. And you do. “You don’t think you’re beautiful?”

Your eyes flicker away, your vision falling onto your bedroom door. You had hung up a mirror there when you were 12 and became hyper aware of your appearance. Your mom was very good at making you feel inferior, so you would spend hours sitting on your bed and staring into your mirror with contempt. You had learned how to love yourself a bit more since you were not living at home, but coming back has only reminded you of all the things you hate about yourself. But the characteristics you did like about yourself seemed to shine a bit more as you stood next to Eddie.

“I think I have pretty traits,” You muster up, looking away from your own reflection. Eddie does not accept that. The moment your head snaps back in his direction, his fingers drifting down to your jawline, “No, baby, you are the whole package. Not just a couple things. You’re perfect.”

Perfect. You had never been appreciated by any guy like this. You did not know Eddie had it in him.

“Eddie, you’re just saying that-” He somehow forces you to look in his eyes. He levels with you, his eyes looking serious and bloodshot, “I’m truly not just saying it to say it. I… I have thought like this since like 8th grade, sweetheart.”

It feels like all the air has been pushed out of your chest. You choke out two words, “You what?”

And then Eddie cannot help himself. It’s like he had been gearing up his entire life for this moment. He just needed the push. And the way you are looking at him right now is enough for him. 

“The moment I realized I was completely beside myself into you was when you pushed that girl on the school bus for saying I was a freak for having longer hair. You literally pushed her into the aisle and stepped over her to get off the bus with me. I knew then I was a goner. You were all I could see.”

The day is so vivid in your mind. You even remember the t-shirt you were wearing that day. It was a memory that stuck with you, too. You did not realize you had made such an impact on him. It’s endearing to know he thought about you in that way. Endearing and… reassuring?

You try to break the tension, clearing your throat, “Well, she was being a bitch.” But he does not laugh, he just stares down at you. The rise and fall of his chest insinuates that he’s on the verge of panicking if you do not respond positively. “Yeah, she was.”

The silence eats away at you. The last part of his statement bounces around in your brain. 

“A goner?”

Your nose wiggles and Eddie cannot deny how much he just wants to lift you off your feet and ravish you in that moment. You did not know the effect you had on him just by changing your facial impression to something so disgustingly cute. But it was the way you shifted under his gaze, your hand trailing up to his side, toying with the hem of his raggedy band t-shirt.

He returns the touch, his other hand propping up on your waist. The warmth moves around to your lower back, pulling you closer to him. 

“Yes, princess. A goner.”

His eyes droop and his mouth stays ajar as you too creep closer and closer together. The energy is surging off the ways, striking you in the back and leaving goosebumps in their wake. His hand trails down to your neck, the coldness of his rings shocking your system further the moment they touch your collarbones.

You lick your lips, slowly. It’s enough to make Eddie groan.

“You still feel that way?”

He shakes his head, almost to say ‘duh’. “Abso-fuckin’-lutely. You sticking by me all summer and puttin’ up with me only confirmed that I am practically in love with you.”

Your heart could hammer out of your chest at any moment. You feel the chills only further drive your nerves. You shake your head, your hand now balling up his shirt. It’s almost like a threat. “I don’t believe you-” He cuts you off before you can continue. “Let me prove it to you.”

You watch his hands carefully drift down your chest, his fingers resting right on your breast bone. Your breath hitches and you slowly release the fabric between your fingers. You cannot help but trail your eyes back up to his lips, watching him teasingly lick them before leaning in further to you. 

His pupils are huge and you are almost positive it’s because of the weed. 

But it is not just that. Your scent alone is enough to make his cock swell in his tight black jeans. You have yet to notice, but once you do, Eddie knows his cheeks will go bright red. 

The smell of weed is slowly being pulled out of your room by the crisp evening air pouring in from your window. It brings in a chill that has you shifting closer to feel his hot breath on your face. He is suddenly your heat source. 

His head cowers down, his wet lips pressing hesitantly against your jaw. Your voice quivers as he drags his lips all the way to your chin. Your lips are so close, he could just press them together. But somehow that seems more intimate. 

“Is this okay?” He ponders, millimeters from your mouth. You swallow back a hasty hum. 

“Mhm.”

You were never shy of making the first move in situations like this, but your body has completely locked up. You are at his mercy and you are almost positive you would let him do anything to you right now. 

His hands move quickly, sliding down your curves and committing them to memory. 

You just close your eyes and wait. You feel it coming and seeing him get closer is going to send your heart beating out of your chest. When his lips finally grace yours, you two move slowly. Dragging out each movement, tongues slowly slipping past teeth. 

Your brain draws a blank for a beat, not fully digesting the fact that you are kissing him. After weeks of getting high with him, teaching him about a subject you're passionate about, and that slight tension in the air. Especially after he first called you beautiful. That night you went home and tossed and turned in your bed. 

Now he’s gently backing you up to the edge of the mattress, causing you to drop onto your bed with a bounce. He does not waste any time, connecting lips again and giggling as you lay on your back. 

Eddie cannot believe you are below him, so willing to do something like this with him. The moment he starts to get in his head about it, he slowly pulls away from you, almost not to alarm you in any way. 

But the way you look at him. He feels this pull in his chest, like a gravitational drift back to you. He hovers above you, eyes searching your face. 

“God, you couldn’t get any more perfect.”

The heat returns to your entire body. “Stop.”

“Never, sweetheart.”

It seems like he’s going back in for another kiss, but instead he’s pressing his lips against your cheeks. You cannot help the smile that takes over your face. Your hands find a good spot, raking your nails gently through his scalp. The groans that escape him send pulsating need to your core. 

The moment you wrap your leg around his, it’s like a signal for him to further his exploration. His mouth drags across your skin, leaving his saliva in its wake. When he stops at the base of your throat, your hips jolt forward. You feel his jeans straining to keep his cock in one spot.

“More,” You mewl, your shorts riding up with your t-shirt, revealing your thighs and hips to him. He cannot help the strangled chuckling that comes out when you start to beg for him. As if he could not get any harder. 

“More, huh?” His digits spread out, dragging up your oversized shirt and kneading your flesh. The motion has you grinding against his leg even more. He’s dragging it out and it’s so painful. You wish he would just rip the bandaid off and completely unravel you. 

He spares you the pleading and pushes up the fabric to reveal your bare chest. You had not planned to have guests and to be quite frank, you completely forgot you had no bra on. You thought he would have to fumble around to get the full display. He puts his weight on his one knee, admiring you for a moment. You get a bit nervous when he pulls away, only to quickly realize he’s brushing his hair up into a bun.

It gives you a better look at the beautiful smile on his face and his lust blown brown eyes. 

“Can’t let the hair get in the way of all the things I’m about to do to you,” He admits, pecking you over and over again until you are laughing. “I can’t believe we are doing this.”

“I can,” You quip up, watching him unhinge his jaw right above your right nipple, “I see the way you look at me.”

Eddie shakes his head, his stubble brushing your flesh. His giggles subsiding the moment his lips wrap around your areola. You knew you were sensitive but you never felt so overstimulated in your life. The way his hands feel scooping your flesh. The way he is practically trying to fit your entire tit in his mouth. His guttural groans bouncing off your walls and canvases. 

He consumes every one of your senses. 

“Been dying to see you like this. You have the prettiest titties I’ve ever seen,” His voice is so gravelly and dripping with desire. Eddie needs to break the tension in his jeans, so while you are slipping your shirt off entirely, he pops the button on his pants. The zipper practically unfastens itself when he presses into you again, ravishing every inch of your chest. One hand on your waist, the other kneading your boob, all the while your hips are gyrating against his thigh. 

“Need more of you, Eds,” You plead, hoping to whatever god existed that he would litter your floor with all of his clothes. You watch him free his hand from fondling you to pull his t-shirt off from the collar, only briefly coming up for air from feasting on your chest. “Take off my shorts.”

The moment you say that, his eyes bore into yours. “You sure?”

“Eddie,” You press, pushing stray hairs away from his face, “I need you so bad, I may explode.”

“Jesus, say that again.”

You cannot help but scoff, your reaction making your boobs jiggle in front of his face. You lean up to his level, pressing a long drawn out kiss to his neck before bringing your lips to his earlobe, “I need you. So bad.”

The animalistic groan that leaves his throat even takes him by surprise. He stands up, grabbing the waistband of your shorts and practically ripping them in half. You squeak, adjusting how your panties sit on your hips. 

“Listen here, pretty girl, I am going to eat your pussy until you cum at least two times. And I’m gonna take my time. Then, if I don’t cum from doing that alone, I’m filling you up and fucking you exactly how I’ve wanted to for the last… I don’t know how many years.”

His game plan makes your stomach do gymnastics. His confidence in his words is simply derived from his primal need to please you. 

Sure, he wants to get his rocks off, but he could live the rest of his days with blue balls, if it meant seeing you cum all over his mouth over and over again.

The creak of the bed makes Eddie giggle. You have had this bed since you were 11, it has seen better days. 

He positions himself on his stomach, throwing your legs over his shoulder. Your panties were perfectly disguising the wetness that’s been pooling since Eddie started touching you. It was the only article of clothing left on your body. You want to feel insecure, but all of Eddie’s reassuring words wash over you. He sucks in a deep inhale, taking in your essence. 

“Can I take these off?” He tuts, pressing his fingers perfectly between your fabric-covered folds. The pressure is almost enough to send you over the edge. The craving you have for him is borderline embarrassing.

“Please,” You whimper, shifting your hips a bit trying to feel any friction you can. He pulls his fingers away, lacing them around the hem of your blue panties. Instead of locking his eyes on your glistening core, his gaze follows the panties being pulled from your legs. Once they are discarded, he presses wet kisses against the inner part of your legs.

“You look like a dream, all spread out for me,” He admits, his face now hovering over your core, “You know I dreamt this before?” 

He had. Countless times. Last summer when he watched you pack up your car for college, you were wearing these dangerously short daisy dukes and he stroked his cock about it for two months straight. Late at night, when he needed a release, he thought of you. He did not get much actual action in his day-to-day life, so his mind was consumed by his soul shattering crush on you.

“Eddie, I need you to do something.”

He ignores your pleas, dragging his lips across the skin right above your slit. He slowly drifts down, running his tongue through your folds, tasting every bit of you. 

“Just me having my face buried between your thighs,” He slaps them gently before digging his nails into the meat of your thighs. “God, these thighs… just so perfect.”

You jut your hips down, practically forcing his mouth on you. As much as you loved his dirty talk, you needed action. “Eddie.”

He chuckles, pulling his arm from underneath you. He takes his own fingers in his mouth, lacing his own spit between his digits, “You are so pretty when you say my name, baby. You want me to touch this beautiful pussy, hm? She’s just leaking for me, huh?”

You grit your teeth, watching him spread your pussy lips apart and drag his fingers all along your weeping hole. “I swear to God-” “I’m gonna fuck you with my tongue, don’t worry baby,” He pushes your thighs open wider, “Just painting my own little picture first.”

Truth be told, he was trying to drag this out so he could commit everything to memory. You would be leaving for school again soon, so who knows if this will ever happen again?

In your head, with the way he’s treating your body like a canvas in the finest art museum in New York City, he would be packed in your suitcase and dragged back to school with you. You needed this, always. 

You are pulled out of your thoughts when his mouth returns to your pussy, his tongue vibrating against your swollen clit. His fingers make work at fucking your hole, all the while his loose-lips occupy themselves making you feel good. Sure, you got head by guys before, but Eddie creates a whole different category in your brain. Maybe it is because you liked him so much and your body moved in sync with his. You were consumed by his very being.

His hips grind against his underwear and your bed sheets with every movement of his mouth. As he’s dragging your first orgasm out of you, he completely halts his lower body before he’s cumming in his jeans watching your body jolt forward and thighs clench around his ears. The sounds that pour out of you is music to his ears. Just enough to send him so close to the edge. 

The mixture of your cum and his saliva on his lips is something you wish to harness in a painting one day. His loose curls falling around his profile as his tongue sweeps across his lips to gather everything onto his taste buds. 

“God, this pussy is heaven. Fuckin’ divine.” He rubs his fingers up and down your slit, giving it a quick swat before he peppers some kitten licks across your already sensitive clit. 

“You are so good at that, my God,” You breathe out, your hands raking down the sides of your body, meeting his right hand on your thigh.

“Yeah?” he giggles, shifting up onto his elbows to get a better view of your body from above, “I really want to make you cum again.”

You don’t hide how desperate you are, “Can you just fuck me already?”

He laughs even harder, crawling up onto your lower stomach. He kisses right below your belly button, “Can I be honest?”

“No, I want you to lie to me,” You joke, your nails drifting around his forearm. His eyebrows raise, questioning your response silently. You roll your eyes, swatting him, “Yes, of course.”

“If I fuck you right now, I will cum almost immediately,” He admits, his voice gravelly. 

“Well, we can go another round if you do.”

It’s like all the air leaves his lungs when you say that. He did not expect you to want to do this again. As much as he wanted to, he did not truly know where your mind was. You just drove the nail right into the coffin. 

He pulls himself further up your body, his hand shifting to cup your mound as his mouth latched on your nipple. Your body instantly reacts to him, practically holding onto him for dear life, moaning his name like it was the only word you knew.

“Fine, I’ll fuck you now,” He mocks, dragging his lower lip up to your neck, “Since you’re just begging.”

You scoff, your hands finally reaching the waist of his jeans and yanking them down with his boxers. You would ignore the fact that he’s wearing Batman boxers. It was fitting, but also hilarious. You are more focused on the fact that he was huge. 

Definitely the biggest you’ve ever held in your hand. 

He looks between your bodies, smiling at the way your hand cradles his length. “Are you sure I’m not dreaming right now?”

This only happened in his dreams. It was about to consume your dreams, too, when you were done.

“All real,” You say, languidly pumping him, “I’m not sure how you’re gonna make it fit.”

You are feeding his ego. You knew that. 

You are one of the prettiest girls to come out of Hawkins and you are saying he’s too big. He’s never going to shut up to Gareth and the guys about it. With your permission of course.

“Don’t you worry about that, princess. I’ll make sure it fits.”

He shifts onto his knees, propping your knees up on his waist. You gawk at it for a moment longer. His tip is glistening with precum, which only adds to the silkiness of it's appearance. You also have the perfect angle to feel up his chest, touching each of his tattoos with your pointer finger, as if to map each of them out. You offer a cheeky grin as he appreciates the swell of your breasts. 

“Do you need me to get a condom?” He whispers, his cock probing at your inner thigh. 

“I’m on the pill. And I’m… I haven’t slept with any guys without one.”

His jaw drops a bit, “And you are okay with me going in raw?”

You are not sure why you are so sure about Eddie, but you just are. All of this felt just right. 

“Yeah. Only if you want to.”

Air escapes his nose dramatically as he uses his thumb to press down his shaft closer to your weeping hole. “Have I mentioned that you are perfect?”

“A million times now.”

“Gonna make it a hundred million by the end of this,” He sinks closer to you, his dripping tip diving between your lips, “And a trillion more times after.”

He drags himself over you, propping himself up right beside your head. The stretch starts to get more intense the more he slides into you. It is not a bad feeling, just something you would have to adjust to. 

And he would have to adjust, too. The way your spongy walls squeeze him is so overwhelming, before he’s half way in, he twitches. “You’re squeezing me so good.”

“I’ll try to relax,” You manage, the quick snap forward he does taking you off guard, “Fuck, Eddie!”

“I’m sorry! I-” He tries to explain, but you shut him up by propping yourself up to meet his lips. He stills inside you, filling you to the brim but not moving. You were eager to shut him up before he made things awkward, because they simply did not need to be. He felt incredible. And with his lips slotted between yours, you feel as if you may have died and gone to heaven. You take his bottom lip between your teeth playfully as you pull away, eyes locked onto his, “Do it again.”

He experimentally pulls back, the lack of resistance as he fucks into you only possible because of how soaked you are. He repositions himself so he’s back on his knees, eyes locked on the way your pussy just sucks him in. 

“Sweetheart, I’m not gonna last,” He reminds you, pushing himself in deeper. He throws his head back, staring at the ceiling for a bit. You cannot help but smirk at him, looking down as his hips snap to yours sluggishly. 

“Yeah? Pussy’s too good for you?” You pose, trying your very best to drive him even more insane. There was something about his eyes when he got all worked up. They become this deeper shade of brown that causes chills to spread over your arms. When he finally looks back at you, a cheshire grin spreading across his face, you knew you were in for it. 

He picks up his pace a bit, holding your upper thighs down. If he looks down at what’s happening below the waist, he will surely lose it. So instead, his almost carbon-black eyes bore into yours. With every moan and jolt against the bed, you are inching towards your own climax. “Yes, don’t stop. Don’t stop, please.”

His smile droops a bit, his teeth clenching as the pace he’s at is causing the headboard to slam against your wall, “Yeah? I want to hear you. Tell me how good it feels, sweetheart. You know how much I love hearing you talk.”

The words send you babbling. Your pussy is practically gushing around him, but your body has yet to explode. “You feel so fuckin’ good, Eddie. Why didn’t we do this sooner? Knew you’d treat me good. So fuckin’ good.”

“I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, baby. Gonna fuck you every day just to make it up to you. I promise,” He accidentally steals a glance at your messy cunt and his dick twitches, “Ah shit, fuck.”

He knows he’s a goner. The way you squeeze him when he says that makes him take action to put you out of your pleasurable misery. He presses his thumb against your practically pulsating clit. The mixture of his pistoning hips and his frantic fingers makes your orgasm slam into you like a freight train. You grab onto whatever is close and curl your fingers around it. It just happens to be his t-shirt and your bed comforter. 

With your mouth wide open, you keen endless curse words, trying your best not to alarm the nearby neighbors.

As your come down starts to soothe your buzzing nerves, Eddie’s hips still completely inside you. 

You had never seen him so ethereal. His curls wild, his brow furrowed in concentration, his pale stomach muscles tense, jaw slack. He was surely your next muse. 

“My god, princess,” He sighs, his body practically going limp over yours. 

His hair falls around your mouth and nose as his head rests perfectly between your boobs. The curls tickle your nostrils, causing you to blow out aggressively. 

“I love you, but please get your little hairs out of my nose,” You joke, pushing his hair down. The bun he put at the base of his head is practically completely undone, leaving his dark locks pooling all around you. 

While you are too focused on his hair, Eddie’s ears are ringing at the first half of the sentence. His head slowly shifts to look up at you, his eyes now that beautiful warm hue. “You love me?”

His voice is shaking, nervous over the possibility you did not mean to say that. But it was one of those things. Instinctual. You knew you did love Eddie, so those words leaving your mouth seemed natural. You felt no need to retract them. 

You nod, pushing some bangs away from his view, “Is that surprising? I don’t spend my precious summers with people I hate. I especially do not let them into my bedroom and let them look at all my paintings.”

The revelation is enough to make Eddie crawl up to your lips, pressing a chaste, eager kiss. His hand cradles your cheek as he pulls away, “I’m just that special.”

“You could say that.”

He laughs softly, “For the record, and I know we are keeping one, I love you, too.”

-

The goodbye always sucks. 

You did not love being home, but this trailer was truly all you knew. You secretly did not despise Hawkins. It was home. 

And now it was even more like home because it’s where Eddie was. So this goodbye is even worse than it was before. 

He pulls your last suitcase into your Ford, closing the hitch for you as you hug your sister goodbye at the door. You walk down your creaking steps, eyes glued to the way Eddie stands at the back of your car. You practically fall into his arms, squeezing him so tight that you swear he may just mold to your body. 

His hands do not want to leave your waist as his nose tucks into your neck. 

“I’ll come visit you in a few weeks, I promise,” He hums, kissing the spot right below your ear. A slight chill runs up your spine. You will never get sick of his kisses. You have gotten very familiar with them lately.

“And I’ll come to visit in October for that Battle of the Bands,” You say as you pull away to get a good look at his face. His sweet, blushing face. “I’ll join your hoard of groupies.”

He scoffs, shifting back as if he’s appalled, “Hoard? That’s a bit dramatic. We have like… maybe 2.”

You roll your eyes, pinching his bicep. “Yeah, me and that girl Jeff drags around.”

“Jennifer is his cousin.”

You shake your head, completely dumbfounded, “Even worse.”

He laughs dryly in his throat, “I think she has a crush on Gareth or something.”

From the few times you have hung out with his group of friends in the last two weeks of your summer vacation, you did not get that impression from the girl. She seems very into her cousin. 

“Right on,” You laugh, pulling him towards the driver’s side so you can get in, “Give me a grand kiss in front of the neighbors and let me go on my merry way.”

His hands lace around your back, groping your ass, “I’ll give ‘em an even better show if you want.”

You bring him down to your height, pressing a longing kiss to his lips. He deepens it, his groping now turning into him kneading your ass cheeks. You pull away the moment he does that, knowing your mom is probably watching from the kitchen window. 

“You are a devious one, Munson,” You snicker, weaving your way out of his arms and into your driver’s seat. You start the car, letting it warm up as Eddie leans his hands on the very top of the car doorframe. His entire body blocks out the blistering sunlight, his shadow casting over your eyes. 

“Yeah, maybe, but you love me.”

Your eyes flicker back up to him. God, you really did love him. 

He slants more towards you, placing one more kiss on your mouth. Your stomach starts to roll when it hits you that you will not get to see him for the next few weeks. It makes your chest tighten the more you thought about it. 

“I sure do.”

His nose crinkles, his eyes getting weepy, “I love you, too, sweetheart. Now, get on the road and call me sometime tonight? Let me know you made it safely?”

You lift your hand in a salute, “Of course, my art apprentice.”

np tags (love u guys and i gotta tag some of my fav eddie/steve writers): @mediocredreams @hockeyhughes @votel4dybird @minamoomoo @disabilitymissunderstood @the-unforgivenn @punkrockmlchael @keeryhours

[viperify]

oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⊹ ݁˖ Lesson Learned.

Short Summary: An unlocked door to the Restricted Section after curfew turns out to be a trap rather than an invitation. One that you, after all, don’t mind having fallen for.

Warnings: 18+ only! degradation, size kink, marking, Tom Riddle is actually decent at dirty talk?, unprotected p in v, creampie, weird sex position bc I am losing my sanity

A/N: Thesis defense on Monday. Send help.

wordcount: 1,5k

Saturday, 10 pm.

One hour past curfew—a time you’d normally be in your dorm, maybe studying, though more likely sleeping.

However, your routine has changed. It’s been a month or two since you needed a book. One single book to study for Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Curfew this, curfew that—you had never broken a single school rule before, and being pretty certain it was Gryffindor’s turn for patrols in that part of the castle, you figured you’d be let off with nothing but a reprimand if caught anyway. So, you decided to sneak out.

And you were right—until you made it to the library, nothing unusual had happened.

First, you couldn’t believe your luck when an unlocked door to the Restricted Section led you right where you needed to go, so without further hesitation, you took your chance. However, just when you found what you were looking for—footsteps.

Not faint footsteps in some other part of the spacious library—no, heading in your direction, and definitely not far enough to still make a run for it.

Turns out it wasn’t the Gryffindor prefect keeping an eye on the library that night but Slytherin’s.

You sighed.

Tom fucking Riddle.

After scolding you for what felt like hours, he finally concluded with his prefect-catchphrase. “What do you see as an adequate punishment for breaking curfew rules?”

You expected anything—detention, being reported to the headmaster, anything to humiliate you, knowing his ways of dealing with rule breakers.

You expected anything but what he actually wanted from you.

When you didn’t answer, his signature smirk crept onto his lips, the one that you knew oh-too-well. The one he used whenever he got exactly what he wanted.

“On your knees.” He said finally, voice strict and void of any emotion.

An order you, for whatever reason—back then, probably in fear—obliged.

And since then—let’s just say, it’s become a thing.

You and him.

Saturday nights.

The first time was part of his condition not to report you. “Come back next Saturday, and I might just forget about this.”

So you did.

And the Saturday after—out of sheer curiosity—too.

You remember his eyes, flashing faintly in the darkness of the library when he spotted you waiting for him that night—door again left unlocked. Just half a minute later, he had you bent over one of the wooden desks, skirt left pooling at your ankles, panties merely shoved to the side before he slipped inside of you with one singular, quick thrust.

He’s put you into positions you hadn’t even heard about. He fucks fast and carelessly, tightly gripping your hair, thrusting into you as if he has a point to prove.

Then, outside of your little rendezvous, he acts as though he doesn’t even know you. Doesn’t even spare you so much as a glance. He puts on this perfect mask that he wears so casually, the one that makes Tom Riddle seem like just any other student.

But he isn’t just any other student.

You know it.

He knows you know it.

—

Again, you are mindlessly strolling through the dark and empty library, collecting dust on your fingertips as you walk through the many aisles of the Restricted Section. Not particularly looking for anything but rather waiting—waiting for him to bend you over the next best furniture, to maybe even only push you to your knees to suck him off and then leave without another word.

You shouldn’t even fucking enjoy this.

Although, even when he doesn’t seem to prioritize your pleasure, he manages to give back each time. In these few weeks Tom has already learnt how your body works, what you need in order to feel good—and though he would never admit it, you do notice how his brows draw together whenever you clench around him, how he groans ever so quietly when you come undone around him—how your pleasure only heightens his.

Then—

“You are a desperate little slut, aren’t you?”

Your head snaps to the side as you hear a voice—his voice—from behind, torn from your thoughts as you turn to face him, his tall frame towering over you.

“Wh—“ you start, originally to complain about his choice of words, desperately trying to deny the feeling building in your lower stomach. But you are cut off by his lips crashing onto yours, stealing your breath away as he captures you in a fiery kiss.

The next second he’s got you pinned between him and the bookshelf behind you, your hands already fumbling with his belt. Tom’s hands meanwhile wander from your waist, giving your ass a firm squeeze that makes you yelp.

Trousers barely past his hips, and he’s closing the gap between the both of you again. You feel him pressed against you—through the fabric of his underwear, already hard and thick, throbbing in anticipation.

“Jump,” he urges, supporting you with his hands on the back of your thighs, helping you wrap your legs around his waist. He’s got you pinned against the bookshelf as he frees himself, eyes briefly locking onto yours, those beautiful, dark brown eyes that you swear have so many stories to tell. But he doesn’t waste time. A gasp falls over your lips as he splits you apart with one rough, harsh thrust, the stretch overwhelming at first—it always is.

“Fuck— you are tight like this—“ he rasps, groaning against your neck as his head dips, allowing you—and probably himself as well—to adjust.

“Not— wasting time today. Got another girl waiting for you already?” You ask half-heartedly, accompanied by a small wince, and although you don’t actually mean it, the words seem to draw his full attention to you.

His eyes darken slightly at your words, lips curling into a possessive grin.

“Just you today, darling.” He replies casually, giving you the slightest thrust. “Jealous?”

“Never— fuck—“

Another thrust—half of his length this time—cuts you off.

“You can take it,” he reassures, gaze briefly dropping to where you are connected. “You’ve always taken me so well.”

And then, he pulls out—almost completely, just to push back inside. You whimper-moan, sign enough for him to keep going—slow at first.

This position makes everything more intense—bodies pressed against each other, though still half-clothed, his cock stretching you in ways you weren’t sure you could handle. You swear he is bigger like this, if even possible—and fuck, the feeling of pain and pleasure slowly bleeding into one has your mind spinning, blanking out.

You cling onto him, nails digging into his robes, ankles locked behind his back as he starts to thrust deeper. He notices you tensing up. Of course he does. Tom notices everything, always. Every little detail. And it fucking infuriates you.

“Shh. I know. Breathe, you have to breathe for me.”

Instead of your usual witty comebacks, you for once follow his command.

Fucking hell.

His lips are all over your neck, sucking marks into your skin that you’d have to cover up for days to come, but you are too far gone to care. Only when you finally relax, walls fluttering around his length, he continues. Fast. Harsh. Unrelenting.

“That’s a good girl. You feel perfect wrapped around me like this, squeezing me so tight.” He murmurs against your lips, breathing heavily as his hips snap against yours, bookshelf creaking behind you as the sharp wooden edges bite into your back.

You can only do so much as nod, your own pleasure building rapidly in the pit of your stomach. His lips are on yours once more as he reaches between the both of you, thumb finding your clit—and you lose it. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire, white-hot pleasure coursing through your veins as your climax washes over you—walls clamping down tight around him—so tight that he also doesn’t last much longer.

With a throaty groan, he empties himself inside of you, painting your walls white with his release, hips flush against yours as he wrings out every last ounce of pleasure for the both of you.

Then, silence, apart from a few heavy breaths.

“Don’t your friends miss you?” You ask after a minute, sarcasm evident in your voice, wiping a dark curl from his forehead.

He huffs. “You offer quite acceptable company.”

With that, he helps you to your feet, his length slipping out of you, the sudden emptiness making you hiss.

“Fuck— but we are not— friends, Riddle.”

A smirk decorates his sharp features. “That’s right. You are my little toy, coming back to me despite knowing I am going to fucking ruin this cunt over and over again.”

You roll your eyes as you pull up your skirt, legs shaking, the ache between your thighs growing with each second—you just know you are going to be sore, so damn sore. “I fucking hate you.”

He laughs at that. Laughs.

“My dorm, next Saturday, same time.” Tom says, voice back to strict and controlled, his perfect little mask back in place as he turns to leave.

“I am running out of ideas how to fuck you in here.”

thank you so much for reading! <3 feel free to reblog and leave feedback! :3 — masterlist. | oneshots.

©2025 viperify. please do not copy, translate or claim my work as your own.

[hearts4johnwick]

— CASUAL.

SUMMARY. you’re mad at tyler after an argument, he decides to win you over by bringing in your favorite food and taking you to a rodeo, when you think that his charm was working, an EF-4 tornado strikes.

WARNINGS. angst (happy ending though), tornado attack.

WORD COUNT. 1.2k

you were lying down in your bed, attempting to go to sleep or at least take a nap given that it was 8:21 p.m. you found yourself staring at the ceiling, listening to the music and people singing outside.

you can’t help but toss and turn around as you overthink about the argument you had with tyler. tyler was your best friend, childhood neighbor, situationship, you don’t even know at this point. and although tyler and you were always risk takers, some risks are too hard for you to handle, but boone and tyler are a dangerous duo.

when you graduated high school you went straight to college and studied meteorology, you didn’t waste another second of your life and did everything that it took to where you are now. but, tyler and you were separated for college, you were halfway across the country while he stayed in his hometown. but when you graduated college, you went back home.

the both of you caught up on everything each other missed, and next thing you know, you ended up joining tyler’s storm-chasing team, the thing is, by something that happened to you in the past, you always rode alongside Dexter and Dani, there were moments where you rode with tyler, but you were always harnassed up even if you weren’t inside the tornado yet.

your train of thoughts were so rudely interrupted by the knock at your door. you sit up and take a breath before walking over to the door. before opening it, you were thinking to yourself that maybe it was going to be your mother, or your sister, not tyler owens. he sees the expression on your face and smiles, attempting to cheer you up.

“hey…” your nose flares, he notices and chuckles. “i brought your favorite… Tina Mae’s chocolate pie…” he hands it over to you and you take it. “maybe if you let me in we can sha—“ his words were cut off by the door slamming on his face. his eyebrows raised and he froze.

you put the pie on the desk next to your bed and open the bag, and it is indeed your favorite chocolate pie. you smile to yourself and head back to the door, as expected, tyler was still there.

“if you think you’re always gonna take me back with my favorite food, you’re wrong.” i inhale sharply and tap on the door.

“well, i wanted to do it another way if you’d let me show you…” you raise your eyebrows and cringe. “no—no, not like that, well…” he cocks an eyebrow and glances at you, you were about to close the door again but he stops it. “no, hey, i’m serious. get changed i want to take you somewhere.” he smiles. you hum and close the door gently so you can get changed.

“you can’t be serious. do you want me to forgive you or hate you more, tyler owens?” you say as you take your seats in the rodeo’s benches.

“bit of both.” he smiles, and you chuckle whilst shaking your head. “look, y/n, i’m sorry.”

“you’re apologizing here? rea—“ tyler touches your knee softly, cutting you off.

“i’m sorry, sorry for what i said earlier. i shouldn’t have said those things. you’ve been through so many things i can’t even begin to imagine, and it wasn’t my place to say anything about that. you know i would never do anything to hurt you, i am sorry.” the soft glow in his eye made you feel the truth he was saying. you nod and smile.

“and why would you ever think i wouldn’t forgive you?” tyler smiles at your words and so do you. “i think i should be the one apologizing, i tried to stop you from doing something you gave years of experience, and that was out of place and overprotective and unnecessary.”

“no, no, it’s okay. you of all people know about these stupid risks i take, i was a bull rider for God’s sake! I know you hated that.” you laugh.

“yeah, i think i hated that more than storm chasing.” he chuckles and glances at you, there was a small silence until you broke it. “i just… i don’t want to lose you, ty.”

“you’re never going to lose me.” you look over at him, your eyes stinging as you feel some tears coming. he wraps an arm around you and holds you. “you won’t.” he reassures you nod and after a while, let go.

“you and that stupid face…” you look away, trying to hide a smile.

“wait what?”

“every time i was cleaning blood off of you, whenever you got knocked off your bull, you would always make that stupid face, or like look at me some way like you were trying to get me to kiss you.” he raises an eyebrow and you look at him again.

“oh, you mean my charm? i already come with it, it’s not something i do on command.” you roll your eyes and click your tongue.

“well, “your charm” has never worked on me. never has, never will.” the two of you share a soft smile, all while maintaining that potent eye contact.

you don’t know if it was the tension, but you had sudden goosebumps and started getting chilly. although your hair was in a ponytail, your bangs were getting in the way, you never took your eyes off of tyler’s but you could see his hair starting to get messy too.

“well, i don’t know about you but, i think it’s working pretty well now.” he moves the strands of hair out of your face and tucks it gently behind your ear before cupping your cheeks.

“about time.” you manage to let out seconds before his lips are on yours. your heart was racing the whole time, but you felt it could come out of your chest any second now.

the kiss started slow and gentle, but the moment you smiled into it, tyler deepened the kiss, you placed your hand behind his neck and ran your fingers through his hair, which made you notice how much his hair was moving around, as much as it pained you doing it, you pulled away and saw people walking away from the stands. you look around and pick up a leaf from the ground.

tyler notices and the two of you exchange a look. you both stand up and head for shelter, you feel the winds get stronger and that’s when you start to run, helping some people who have tripped along the way, but not wasting more than a second.

tyler and you managed to find a motel and in that motel an empty pool, where you sought shelter until the tornado passed over you. at that moment tyler had to help a man that had twisted his ankle, and a vending machine was blocking his way, due to the man panicking, he was gone.

tyler hid with you and another family of a mother and her daughter. the grip you had on tyler and that he had on you was like no other. you felt tyler plant kisses on your head to calm you down as you felt the tornado right above you, you held onto some pipes and his arms tightly, fearing for your life at that very moment.

when the tornado passed, you didn’t even want to let go of tyler, you hugged him and stayed with his arm wrapped around you the whole night, even when you shared your bed with him.

❛i know, “baby, no attachment.” but we’re… ❜

[crescentofthegods]

ALL TOO FAMILIAR!

pairing: harry potter x fem!reader

request: cormac gets a little too touchy, but harry finds you just in time.

word count: 2,084

warnings: FLUFF, angsty bc cormac is a DOUCHE, cormac being weird creepy touchy etc, few swear words, not proofread!!, (lowkey suck at warnings pls tell me if i've missed anything)

author's note: OH MY GOODNESSSSS i haven't uploaded anything for like two years straight i sincerely apologise to all of my followers please forgive me. i also apologise to the anon who sent me this request bc i took so long to freaking answer it😭😭😭 feel like this is RUBBISH but i hope you all enjoy! xx

taglist: @floweringrott ♡

more harry potter | masterlist | navigation

THE GREAT LIBRARY had always been a solace to those who required it. Especially to you, who found comfort in the smell of parchment since Hogwarts’ supply seemed to always be fresh. The quiet lull of the area managed to put you in a state of peace too, the way everyone’s voices resounded to whispers and murmurs rather than loud babbles of laughter. There was nothing wrong with laughing, of course—it just happened to be distracting. You were actually waiting for someone, both of you having the intention to study. In front of you was your Potions revision; you were simply making notes on Everlasting Elixirs, taking your ideas from your copy of Advanced Potion Making. Crumbs of strawberry cheesecake lingered on your tongue since you had come straight from lunch, eager to get these done for Slughorn so you could finally rest. Your fingers were clasped around your favourite quill, your spare hand keeping your parchment still as you quickly wrote down every thought your mind was firing at you—

            “There you are!” a voice snapped you out of your reverie, your body going slightly rigid, reluctantly lifting your gaze to see the last person you wanted to converse with. “I’ve been looking all over for you…”

            He never gets the hint, McLaggen. Always stalking following you, always standing outside every room you exit, always loitering too close whenever you’re trying to get back to your House—never taking no for an answer. Everyone knew you as the quiet girl, rarely taking part in things like extracurriculars or school clubs. For the life of you, you could not figure out why Cormac had suddenly become… interested.

            You kept to yourself just because it was a personal preference, you barely had any friends—you were a loner.

            And that was how you liked it. Being a people person had never been your thing entirely.

            But, Cormac didn’t seem to get that.

            “Really?” you replied, your tone almost resembling the bored purrs of your very own tabby cat, who was probably lounging around in your dorm, messing up your pillows…

            How you wished you could be in her position right now.

            “Yeah…? You sound so unsurprised,” he bit his bottom lip, the light of his green eyes dimming when he noticed how quickly you stood up. You almost felt bad… Though, you remembered the way he disgustingly pursued Hermione Granger a few moons back and, fleetingly, shook all feelings of regret from your body; Cormac McLaggen was a creep.

            “Haha, right…” A half-assed chuckle escaped you, clearing your throat as you shoved the remnants of your work into the new satchel messenger bag you bought before beginning sixth year. Discerning the dire, hardened gaze of Cormac falling upon you never failed to make you shudder inside; his eyes were always so intense. So scrutinising. So… unnecessary?

            “So, uh… Potions,” Cormac began, attempting to look unbothered at the sight of you slinging your bag off your shoulder. “Wait—are you leaving already?” A sigh stumbled from your lips, your fingers moving to tuck the shorter strands (the ones that fell from your ponytail) behind the broad space of your ear, praying to Merlin himself for an escape route.

            “Yeah, um, my cat—well, she…” Kill me now. “She’s… alone in my room,” you tried to explain, pushing your chair under the desk you sit at on a regular basis, refusing to even glance Cormac’s way. “And she probably misses me—” His scoff interrupted you, your eyes flitting towards his expression, seeing the smugness in his bemused smile—what the fuck?

            “Your old, moody cat, the one that slumps around every window seat she can find, misses you?” Cormac laughed, his hand cradling his chest like he found himself funny. “This is the first time I’ve heard an excuse like that.” All you did was furrow your eyebrows, confused as to what he was implying.

            “Are you… insulting my cat?” You asked, genuinely perturbed because of his peculiar behaviour. Perhaps you were being a little peculiar yourself, but was this Cormac’s way of flirting? It made no sense whatsoever. Anyhow, your words seemed to knock some sense into the Gryffindor, regret latching onto his countenance. You were quick to turn away, murmuring an almost noiseless ‘excuse me’, speeding walking out of the library like nothing had happened.

            Legs moving as fast as they could, Cormac was right after you—he, annoyingly, had quite the Beater’s build. 

            “Wait! I’m sorry—I wasn’t insulting your bloody cat!” He always seemed to persist, much to your misfortune; Merlin, he was thick in the head. When you turned your head back around, you almost tripped, unable to comprehend how he caught up to you in seconds. “I-I was just saying that your excuse for leaving was rubbish—”

            “I’m just busy, alright, McLaggen?” you brushed him off, trying to muster up a polite smile, but it vanished from your face immediately when Cormac grabbed your arm, roughly pulling you back—a spasm of pain shot up your arm and whilst it only lasted for a moment, it still caused you to freeze, the light in your eyes disappearing entirely.

            The light in his brightened.

            “You don’t seem busy,” Cormac mumbled, his digits firm and enclosed around your flesh like a vice, your gaze lifting to his once again. Why were you always looking up? It made you feel… wrong. Like you were submitting yourself to him. McLaggen.

            He would like that, wouldn’t he?

            “McLaggen,” you said his name, your voice quiet; an eerie sort of quiet. He didn’t say anything, studying you for a moment. Suddenly, you wanted the laughter of those pestering first years, the bellows of the fourth year boys, the giggles of the third year girls to wrap around you like a blanket—you would prefer any sort of noise over the gratingly abnormal silence wafting over the empty hallway.

            The one time I don’t want to be alone.

            “You’re still calling me McLaggen? I thought we were way past formalities,” he uttered (moreso questioned), the Gryffindor’s expression changing to one of irritance, his jaw ticking as he tried to maintain his smile. He looked like he was about to barf all over his new fancy boots his father got him.

            Whatever his father’s name was.

            “Uh… No,” you retorted quite bluntly, irritation overwhelming your expression in response. Who did he think he was? “Now, if you could please let go—”

            “I don’t understand what the problem is, though,” he interjected, again, his perplexity at the situation making you want to explode as you opened your mouth to speak, but Cormac was faster. “I just want to talk. We’re having a conversation and you just walk away?” His grip tightened minutely, but it was enough to make you wince, pain submerging your irritation away.

            “Ow—Cormac, you’re hurting me,” you struggled to remain confident, feeling a sense of dread engulfing your body, your mind, your soul.

            This position was all too familiar. That same thundercloud hovering over your heart, waiting to strike where it hurt the most. Even though it was protected by your lungs, your ribs, your flesh—the thunderclaps were enough to compel the chambers of your core to quake.

            “Oh, don’t be daft,” he mumbled, rejecting your plea. “You’ll live.”

            “Listen, we can talk, but can you just let go—”

            “She said let go.”

            An abrupt, deep voice broke the uncomfortable tension between you and Cormac, his grasp loosening perceptibly since he was caught. Inhaling sharply, you took your chance to rip your arm away from him completely, stepping back, rubbing your arm as your eyes stayed downcast.

            Calm down, calm down, calm down—

            “Potter.” What? Hearing Cormac’s one-word mutter led you to look towards the source of the original voice, your eyebrows crinkling in relief when you saw him.

            Harry.

            You were supposed to meet someone in the library… That someone was Harry. During the course of the year, you had been struggling to keep up with Slughorn’s lessons and Harry, kind as always, offered to help you (you didn’t know about his little cheat notes from the Half-Blood Prince and he intended to keep it that way). However, you had left early because of Cormac… prompting Harry to go look for you.

            “Thank Merlin,” you breathed, your lips pressing together when Cormac turned towards him.

            “We were just talking,” he ‘clarified’, but his words fell on deaf ears.

            “Didn’t look like it,” Harry said simply, and you took this moment to actually examine your friend. He was still in his school robes, of course, the infamous Gryffindor crest plastered upon it. His glasses rested on the crook of his nose, his blue eyes unblinking, fixed on Cormac. Jaw clenched, as was his fists. Lips pressed together in annoyance, unlike yours which were pressed together in embarrassment.

            Embarrassed because you couldn’t believe Harry had found you in this position—unable to fight back.

            You could’ve sworn there was a glint of murderous intent within the emerald hues of his eyes; even from a distance, you noticed everything about Harry.

            “Well, we were,” Cormac stated in his matter-of-fact tone, angering you further—but, Harry had it covered. It genuinely baffled you that they were both in the same House.

            “Oh, just—come off it,” Harry scoffed, pushing past him to get to you—he had been the person you wanted to see at the Great Library.

            Not Cormac McLaggen, but Harry Potter.

            But, why? Even now, as he approached you, you felt those thunderclouds morph into wisps of the sun, warmth blooming in your chest as his fingers delicately brushed over your arm, specifically the bit where Cormac had grabbed you so roughly. For some reason, Harry’s touch didn’t disgust you like Cormac’s did.

            It was because he was your friend… right? You didn’t know Cormac like you knew Harry.

            You didn’t know anyone like you knew Harry.

            “You alright?” He asked softly, his tone changing so he didn’t frighten you further; you weren’t frightened per se, but he knew situations like this made you uncomfortable. Conflict. Arguments. Loud voices…

            All too familiar.

            “Fine,” you murmured in return, grateful for how the pads of his fingers massaged your flesh, the pain which had formerly bloomed now beginning to dissipate. Lowering your gaze, Harry turned his head to see if Cormac was still standing there like a fool.

            Thankfully, the creep took one look at Harry’s six-foot-form and fled the scene, probably wanting to maintain his golden boy reputation. He may have been taller, but Harry—

            Everyone knew what Harry was. Who he was.

            A few moments passed. Both of you just stood in the vacant hallway, your expressions paired with… serenity. You preferred silence. As did Harry, especially with the Dark Lord penetrating his mind every damned hour. You didn’t know when you developed this dynamic with him out of all people—others, girls to be precise, would wonder how you ‘bagged’ the Chosen One, how you managed to get him to pay attention to you.

            But, that was the thing. You didn’t do anything.

            “We were supposed to meet at the library,” Harry spoke, his voice synonymous with the stillness of the atmosphere, his lovely eyes trying to meet yours.

            Eventually, your eyes left the floor, trailing up his uniform—his broad chest; the Adam’s apple of his throat; the sharp contour of his jawline; his rosy-coloured, heart-shaped lips; his hawk nose—and then, finding his two orbs. They reminded you of the sea, his eyes. His black pupils were like jagged basalts, a form of rock, fixed within a circle of the Atlantic. They were quite pretty, actually.

            You preferred them over the dull green of McLaggen’s eyes.

            “I got… sidetracked,” you murmured in return, nibbling your bottom lip as Harry’s hand left your arm—you almost swallowed your disappointment, but you thought too soon, his fingers finding yours instead.

            Intertwined they became.

            “I know,” he whispered. “Sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

            “You couldn’t have known,” you were quick to reply, a little surprised that he was apologising. Yet, Harry simply shook his head, a small, soft smile finding his even softer lips.

            “Actually, I think I did.” You furrowed your eyebrows, having no choice but to follow him as he began the journey back to the library, where you were supposed to be all alone. “I just… had a feeling. You know—when your chest gets all clouded and… your heartbeats start sounding like thunderclaps.”

            Oh.

            Merlin.

            “Mhm…” you hummed, looking away, your cheeks flourishing with delightful shades of red. “All too familiar.”

thank you for reading!

[meinii]

“lads boys as your classmates”

content: mentions of food, use of nicknames (pretty)

୨୧･｡｡･♡･∴･♡･｡｡･୨୧

Sylus

being Sylus’s classmate meant dealing with his cocky smirks and sharp remarks on a daily basis. he was the guy everyone either admired or avoided—top of the class without trying, always dressed like he just stepped out of some underground fashion magazine, and never one to back down from a challenge.

“you’re staring again” he’d murmur without looking at you, pen lazily twirling between his fingers. it was infuriating because you weren’t staring—at least not intentionally. but he always caught you when you did. worse, his red eyes would flick to you, that grin tugging at the corner of his lips, and your face would heat up

despite how he acted, sylus had this habit of showing up whenever you needed help. struggling with an equation? he’d lean over your desk, his cologne and warmth entirely too distracting. “seriously? even a kid could solve this” he’d tease, but his voice softened as he guided your hand to the solution. “good job” he’d add under his breath, like he didn’t mean for you to hear

he claimed group projects were a waste of his time, yet he always ended up partnered with you—whether by chance or maybe something else. sometimes he’d walk you home under the excuse of “it’s dark, and you’d probably trip over your own feet.” other times, he’d toss an energy drink onto your desk during finals “don’t pass out before the exam. it’d be boring without you.”

one afternoon, you caught him waiting outside your classroom “what are you doing here?” you asked. he shrugged, gaze flicking away “I got bored” but then he handed you a small box—inside was your favorite snack “don’t read into it,” he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. “just… eat it.”

but the biggest giveaway was during a school festival

yet when your fingers brushed while reaching for the same trinket, he didn’t pull away. instead, his hand closed around yours, his gaze softer than you’d ever seen “don’t make me spell it out,” he murmured “just… stay by my side, yeah?”

Zayne

Zayne was the top student everyone respected but no one dared to approach. always dressed in neat, neutral-toned clothes, he seemed untouchable—glasses perched on his nose, pen moving smoothly across his notes

conversations with him were usually met with curt responses, unless you asked something related to class

even then, he’d sigh like you were inconveniencing him, though he always answered

but you noticed the small things—like how he’d pull out a chair for you without a word during group work or how he’d silently place an extra pen on your desk when yours ran out of ink

he’d claim it was “just practical” but the warmth lingering in his gaze said otherwise

“you’re hopeless with this,” he muttered one day during study hall, leaning over to correct your notes. his hair brushed your cheek, and you felt your heartbeat quicken

when you glanced at him, his face was close, brows furrowed in concentration

“focus” he said—but his ears were noticeably red.

despite his aloofness, he seemed to always be around. forgotten lunch? he’d quietly slide an extra sandwich your way

struggling to reach a book in the library? he’d grab it before you could even tiptoe “you’ll hurt yourself” he’d murmur, eyes softening just a fraction

one rainy afternoon, you forgot your umbrella. while everyone else had already left, you lingered under the awning, debating if you should run for it

that’s when Zayne appeared, holding out his umbrella

“you’re going to get sick,” he said flatly “I don’t need you missing class again. it’s… distracting”

walking home together, your shoulders brushed, and you caught him glancing at you out of the corner of his eye

after a moment, he cleared his throat “valentine’s day is coming up,” he said, gaze fixed ahead

“I don’t usually… participate in things like that, but—” he paused, clearly struggling “if you’re not busy… maybe we could go to the café near campus?”

his words were awkward, but the way his hand brushed yours—fingers lingering before slipping into your grasp—spoke volumes

Caleb

Caleb was sunshine incarnate—always grinning, always teasing. he was the guy who ruffled your hair when you did well on a test and draped his arm around your shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world

you’d known him forever, but lately… things felt different. his touches lingered longer, his smiles seemed softer when directed at you

“hey, pretty,” he greeted one morning, tossing a wrapped pastry onto your desk

“your favorite. don’t say I never do anything for you” he winked, and you rolled your eyes—but your cheeks warmed anyway

he had a habit of pulling you into his orbit—dragging you to late-night study sessions (where more laughing than studying happened), convincing you to skip cafeteria food for street snacks, or sneaking you into empty classrooms to show you something dumb but endearing

like the time he drew a ridiculous doodle of the two of you on the chalkboard

“see? us—conquering life. mostly me carrying you, though.”

but beneath the teasing, there were moments of quiet care. like when you dozed off during a movie marathon at his place and woke up with a blanket tucked around you—or when he noticed your stress and took you out for a spontaneous night drive just to see the stars.

one evening after a school event, you found yourself on the rooftop with him, city lights twinkling below

“hey,” he said, voice softer than usual

“you know how I joke around a lot? but… I’m serious about you. always have been.”

he reached out, gently tugging you closer. his grin was still there—but his eyes held something deeper

“so… wanna make this official? be my person?”

Rafayel

Rafayel was impossible to miss—tall, striking, with dusky purple hair and mismatched eyes that seemed to see right through you. his charm was effortless, his teasing relentless

“oh? blushing already? I haven’t even started yet” he’d say, flashing a grin that sent your heart into a frenzy

he often dragged you to his art studio, claiming he needed a “muse” it usually ended with you perched on a stool, cheeks burning as he sketched you with an intensity that made your breath catch

“hold still,” he’d murmur, gaze flicking between you and the canvas “every detail matters.”

sometimes he’d show up at your classroom door, leaning against the frame with a lazy smile

“come with me” he’d say, not really giving you a choice

those spontaneous adventures—sunsets at the beach, late-night walks where he’d hum tunes—became your favorite moments

but beneath the playful arrogance was a gentler side

when you mentioned liking a certain pastry, he’d show up with it days later. when you shivered in the evening breeze, he’d wordlessly drape his jacket over you.

one afternoon, you found him painting alone—colors swirling in passionate strokes. he beckoned you closer, revealing the canvas. It was you—captured in vibrant hues, surrounded by warmth

“you’re… important to me,” he admitted quietly “more than I let on.”

and when you turned to him, touched beyond words, he grinned softly

“so… how about you let me paint you forever?”

Xavier

Xavier was… different. quiet, calm—like a serene lake hiding unknown depths. he’d often be found napping in odd places: under a tree, on the library steps. sometimes you’d sit beside him, and he’d peek an eye open

“you’re warm” he’d murmur, resting his head on your shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

in class, he was sharp but never boastful. he’d pass you notes when you looked confused—neat handwriting explaining concepts better than the textbooks

“you’ll understand it,” he’d say softly, voice soothing “just take your time.”

he had this habit of appearing when you needed him most. Walking home alone? he’d suddenly be there, matching your pace.

feeling down? he’d silently offer you his favorite candy

you once asked why he was always around, and he simply said, “I like being near you.”

but the clearest sign was during a festival when you spotted a plushie you liked at a claw machine.

before you could attempt it, Xavier stepped in. “I’ll get it,” he said—and after a few tries (and an adorable furrow of his brow), he handed it to you “for you”

that night, as you walked under the stars, he quietly slipped his hand into yours

“I don’t understand a lot about… feelings,” he confessed “but I know I don’t want to be without you”

[ddejavvu]

please send me requests for the outsiders!

pairing: the outsiders x fem!reader, darrel curtis x fem!reader (ambiguous), sodapop curtis x fem!reader (ambiguous)

summary: you offer darry some help around the house

a/n: i just want to help him, those bum ass boys never did shit around the house i KNOW IT. i'll help you with dusting darry baby </333

You're trying to tamp down the silly pride in your chest that you've been invited to one of Sodapop's 'Bum Around at Home' days. You're casual friends with a few of the guys from their circle of friends, but Sodapop was one you hadn't thought you were too close with; not until he'd offered to bring you along to hang out at his house with the group. Plenty of his and Steve's stories have started out with, 'while we were bummin' 'round the house' and now you're eager to be included in the larger group dynamic.

You know the outside of the house from the times you'd walked Ponyboy home from school, a few years older than him but still friendly through outside studies. You'd also stopped by once to drop something off for Johnny, but that's only because his own house was not a fit place for guests. You've never actually been inside until now, and the soft, warm lighting makes up for what Sodapop had affectionately referred to as their 'lack of housekeeping'. He's not wrong, there's chores undone, dishes in the sink and laundry draped over the table, but it's homey, somewhere you can tell people live in. It's nice.

"Take a seat on the couch there," Soda gestures to it when he opens the door, "Two-Bit, move your ass, Y/N needs to sit."

"Woah, a lady guest today. Should've worn my fancy sneakers, "Two-Bit snickers, "Only got three holes in 'em instead of four. How's it goin', Y/N?"

You know Keith from school, he'd spent an equal amount of time doing his classwork as he did tugging on your hair from where it drapes over the back of your seat. But still you remember laughing with him at his immature humor, and you settle down beside him with a smile.

"Not bad. Are those all yours?"

An impressive smattering of empty beer bottles sits beside the couch by Two-Bit's feet, and he kicks one over with a shoe that does, in fact, have four holes in it.

"Some are from last night."

"He's been here for two days," Soda scoffs, taking the seat on your other side, "Surprised he hasn't started collecting dust yet."

"Hey, I move!" Two-Bit insists, "Gotta take a piss after all the beers I've been drinking."

Ponyboy looks displeased that he'd chosen that moment to walk out of the kitchen, a glass of water in hand. His nose wrinkles and you can't help but laugh, waving politely at him where he stands in the doorway.

"Hey Pony," You call, "How's school?"

"It's alright." The younger boy shrugs, settling tentatively across from the couch, leaning against the side of the television, "Walking home isn't as much fun without you, though."

You smile fondly at the kid, glad that you no longer had to deal with the perils of high school but missing his company all the same.

"I'm sure you get along okay with Johnny. Where is he, by the way? 'Thought you said everyone'd be here."

"He and Dallas went to get more cigarettes, I think." Pony hums, leaning his head against the TV, "Only one missing is Steve. I don't know where he is."

"He's working today." Soda sighs longingly, "Wish he'd gotten off, but there ain't enough of us to cover. We're almost the only employees."

"And your other brother," You hum softly, "Uh- Darrel?"

"He's heading to work soon." Soda props a leg up on the sofa, shoe still on and surely dirtying the fabric, "He works every day. He's just getting ready now, you can say hi before he leaves if you want."

You hum noncommittally, turning your attention to the grainy cartoon Two-Bit is enraptured in. It's white noise, but you itch to do something- perhaps you're not made for bumming around.

The screen door rattles with the entrance of Johnny and Dallas, and you share a less-familiar nod and smile with the latter than you do with Johnny. He's never bothered you- never crossed your path, really, but you've heard rumors and you're not keen to be messed with now. It seems your plan works: He stays a respectable distance from you, equally uncaring.

"Didn't know you were comin'." Johnny smiles, settling at your feet with his back to the couch, "Would've offered to grab you something from the store if we knew."

"I'm okay for now." You assure him, nudging his side with your calf where he sits beside your legs, "Thanks, Johnny. You doing okay?"

"Not bad." He shrugs, "Not worse than usual."

You nod, silent and understanding.

"Alright boys," Darrel makes his appearance from one of the back rooms, but when his eyes catch yours, he starts slightly, "Oh- uh. Sorry. Don't think we've met."

"I'm Y/N," You supply, reaching for the hand that he extends to shake, "I went to school with everyone for a bit, but I graduated last year."

Darry nods but Soda cuts in, "Yeah, and her car's a hunk of junk. She's been into the DX for repairs so much lately I know her serial number by heart."

"Hey! It's not junk," You elbow him, but a good-natured smile spreads over your face despite your offense; he's right - "It's got personality."

"The kind'a personality that won't let you brake while the windows are down."

You take the resulting unanimous snort from the men around you with grace, because admittedly, your car is ridiculous. But it's all you can afford, so you'll take their teasing in stride.

"Well it's nice to meet you." Darry sends you a smile, but it fades quicker than you'd have liked, "Maybe you can make sure none of these knuckleheads smoke more than a pack today. And maybe wash the dishes for once." Darry swats Ponyboy on the back of the head, and the boy's face twists into a scowl.

"We'll take care of it, Darry." Soda assures him, but stays firmly seated on the couch, and Darrel seems to know that it's a white lie by the way his face hardens again, exhaustion creased into his far-too-young face.

"Right. Well I'll be back after dark. And I'll take care of the laundry. And the vacuuming, just please- please, do the dishes, boys. That's all I ask."

Even Two-Bit hums noncommittally at the order, and you marvel at how Darry has 3 extra people in the house and somehow no hands for chores.

"I'll wrangle them," You tease, even if you don't plan on barking orders at anyone, if only to see Darry's brow smooth for just a second.

He chuckles at your tough persona, fitting a blue button-up over his white undershirt, "I appreciate it. Aside from the dishes all I want is for y'all not to burn the house down."

"No guarantees." Dallas sneers, a cigarette fittingly in his hand, "Pony smokes like a fuckin' factory. You'll be lucky if one'a his doesn't go up in flames."

You're sure if Darrel could get away with smacking Dallas upside the head, too, he would.

"Be careful." Darry warns, and you watch as he grabs a wallet off of the table, tucking it into his pocket, "I'll be back late. Don't wait up. Do the dishes."

"Bye, Dar." Soda calls, leaning his head sideways onto your shoulder as he props his feet up on the edge of the coffee table, "Don't pull a muscle."

Darry's only answer is the slamming of the door, and no one gets up to do the dishes.

You glance at the clock and see that Darry won't be home for several hours- probably more than ten. That's ample time, sure, but your hands itch to scrub food stains from the way Darry had emphasized the necessity of the chore. You know about the Curtis' situation; Darry had to take on the mangled role of brother and father, but you're realizing now that you hadn't understood how much of a workload he'd taken on.

You settle into your spot on the couch, fiddling with the loose strings on your jeans, trying to assure yourself that the dishes will be done.

--

"Turn it up, Two, if you're gonna talk through the whole damn thing," Steve chucks a bottle cap at Two-Bit where he's snickering in Johnny's ear. Steve had turned up not even an hour ago, and he's already spread out over the armchair in the corner, straight off of a shift at work so slow that he'd been sent home early. He'd shoved the clean laundry off of the chair to sit down, and it had only made it into a basket because the basket was sitting beside the chair.

No one has done the dishes.

Your legs are beginning to ache from not moving and in a sudden fit of energy you nudge Soda's arm away from where he'd been resting it comfortably against your thigh, chaste but comfortable. He's touchy, and it's typically nice, but you feel itchy sitting in someone else's home and not helping out with things that clearly need to be helped with.

"I'm gonna go wash those dishes." You announce, and Two-Bit snickers at your statement.

"Don't worry about that, Y/N."

"Yeah, sit down. I'll do 'em later." Soda waves a nonchalant hand towards the kitchen, "Darry don't get home until way after midnight, we have time."

"They don't have to sit there, though. I could just do them now." You bargain, "And then no one has to worry about them."

"You're a guest! Just sit and watch TV," Soda insists, "Really, Darry just loves talkin' about chores. It'll get done, don't sweat it."

You're sweating it.

You trust that Soda will do them, you know he doesn't mean to inconvenience his brother, you just wish they'd put 'bumming around' after helping out.

"Fine. But I'm tired of sitting. I'm gonna take a walk."

"Careful. Stay in the neighborhood, and if you see a car that's too nice to be one of us, beeline back for the house." Steve narrows his eyes at you, "Want someone to walk with you?"

"I'm fine." You insist, "I'll be careful. I'll be back soon."

No one notices when you snag the laundry basket from beside the chair; they're all too busy watching TV.

There's a worn-out picnic table in the tiny backyard that the Curtis' house offers, and it's the perfect place to set the basket. There's a decent amount of laundry inside- which you're sure Darry washed himself, and you mull over the constant tiredness in his eyes while you smooth and fold their laundry.

You can't imagine what he's going through- you can't imagine what any of them are going through. You're sure everyone is struggling in their own ways, but you wonder if the boys help him more than they've let on so far. You can't assume anything- you've only spent a few hours in their house, but Darry seems to be desperate for extra help. And you can't imagine working an entire day away only to return to a house full of undone laundry, so your fingers carefully tuck each undershirt into a neat square, and you brush away lint from the blue jeans that fill the basket.

It's a nice day outside, a little breezy, which makes it easy to get through the basket of laundry. You replace it with a freshly folded stack, and you're glad for the back entrance to the Curtis' house that lets you pass two bedrooms, one of which is clearly Sodapop's and Ponyboy's from the posters on the wall.

You duck into the other one and it seems about right for Darrel. It's sparse on decor, but it's got a secondary pair of work boots by the closet and it's the neatest of the bedrooms. The bed is made and you set the laundry basket on the comforter, venturing into Soda and Pony's room only to grab a pen and paper.

No one thinks anything of it when you slip back into the house, retaking your seat on the couch that, miraculously, no one has lounged into yet.

"Short walk." Dallas notes, scrutinizing you from his spot in the corner.

You shrug, "It was hot outside. Just needed to stretch my legs."

You slip back into the mind-numbing routine of watching cartoons and snacking on whatever someone offers you, and you let yourself enjoy hours slipping away like minutes as you finally relax.

Sodapop does do the dishes, far too late for your liking but still respectably before his brother returns. Darry is grateful for the empty sink when he gets home to the quiet house, and he beelines for his bedroom to shuck his work shirt before starting on the laundry he's sure got shoved unceremoniously somewhere.

It's late, and his tired muscles ache for respite especially considering he has to do it all over again tomorrow. But these things must be done, and he steels himself against the mundane chores he has to do to keep the house running. Somehow, keeping up the house is harder than his blue collar labor.

He's impressed that the laundry basket made it carefully onto his bed, but he's even more surprised when he peers inside and finds it full of folded clothes. There's a note on the top, and Darry squints in the low light of his bedroom at the unfamiliar handwriting.

Darry,

I hope you don't feel like I've invaded your privacy. That's the last thing I want. I just thought that you seemed a little overwhelmed this morning, and I'd hate for you to have to deal with something silly like laundry after a long day at work. If I've crossed a line, let me know and it won't happen again. I just hope I could help out a little. Anytime you need an extra hand, I can pitch in.

P.S - I made Soda do the dishes.

Y/N

Darry realizes he's been chewing on his tongue only after he's finished reading your name off of the page, and he lets up where his incisors had been gnawing into muscle.

It's- heartfelt. Casually so, but it's still hit the mark. 'Overwhelmed' doesn't begin to cover the way he feels, and even if his brothers do notice it, they've never outright said it. He glances down once more at the impeccably folded laundry and feels something in his chest simultaneously loosen and tighten, something relaxed and something tensed.

Setting the laundry basket aside reveals his bed, inviting after a long day of back-breaking labor. He mindlessly makes it all the way into bed- still in his day clothes, too tired to change, before he realizes he's still clutching the note you'd left him, and he lays it carefully on his nightstand. His exhausted body melts into the mattress as he settles, and he turns on his side to face the window instead of his typical stance towards the wall.

He drifts to sleep staring at the phrase 'Anytime you need an extra hand', taking solace in the fact that someone's finally brushing the fingertips of the hand he'd been extending, begging for help as his head sinks below water. He feels a lot like he's drowning, but tonight he can breathe.

[marauder-misprint]

Hello!! I’m your new follower and honestly your fics are so good 🥺 I love the “these damn stairs” one and I wonder if u could write part 2 because shy reader and gentle super friendly Remus trope is the best heh.

Thank youuu for following ❤︎

Here is part 2 to 'These damn stairs' and there will be a part 3 because I can't just let it end here :) Might be a few days before I'm able to post part 3 because I got some really good requests in my inbox that I want to get to! (part 3 is here)

'It's a date'

Remus Lupin x reader

2.2k words

cw: fluff

Talking to Remus still felt like you had the eyes of the school on you. This meant that it was Remus who talked first. You would give him a small smile or a wave when you passed him on your way to a different class, but it was always him who came up to your desk before or after a class you had together. It was him who still came to sit with you at lunch; your friends warmed up to him quickly and proceeded to tease you about him when he was gone. 

You continued to study with him too. He’d wait for you outside the library before walking with you back to the small table from that first study session. With every passing day, you slowly began to be more comfortable in his presence. You were able to hold a conversation with him. It was a slow growing friendship, but it was growing. 

“You’re sure you don’t mind studying with just me?” you had asked once, worrying that he missed all of the attention that he used to get in the library because he was smart and nice. 

He just smiled at you, leaning toward you to say, “I really don’t mind. I’d rather work with you over anyone else.” 

That left you blushing for the rest of your time in the library that evening. Remus always knew what to say to get that blush to reappear. More often than not, you would leave your encounters with Remus with a pink face and racing heart. 

You were thrown off when you showed up to study with Remus on Saturday and he wasn’t waiting for you outside the library. You considered waiting for him to show up but decided to check inside just in case. You found him sitting at a larger table with his friends. There were open chairs on either side of him with the other three boys on the opposite side of the table. The sight sent your mind spinning as you tried to remember the conversation when you discussed studying today. You didn’t recall him mentioning the rest of the Marauders would be there. Plans must’ve changed. 

You headed toward a different table, your usual before you started sitting with Remus. You didn’t want to interrupt their “Marauders Study Session.” 

However, as soon as he saw you, Remus called you over.

“You know James, Peter, Sirius, yeah? Hope you don’t mind they came today. I’m afraid they need the extra push to get stuff done.”

You do mind but god forbid you say something and make a scene. So you nodded and sat down next to Remus. You attempted to keep your things more consolidated than you usually do. You didn’t want to encroach on Peter’s or Sirius’ space. It took you longer to fall into your studying groove with the entirety of the Marauders at the same table as you; you’re positive that anyone and everyone passing by is confused by it. You felt like an outsider intruding on something sacred. It didn’t help that every time you looked up, you swore at least one of them was looking at you or Remus. You’re a bit uncomfortable. It’s not like you’ve ever really talked to any of them. 

“So, erm, how long has this been a thing?” Peter asked after you caught your eye from across the table. 

A thing? What on earth did that boy mean?

“Excuse me?” 

“We’ve been studying together for a little over two weeks,” Remus said, shooting you a quick smile.

Oh That’s all.

Remus’ answer made the question make more sense. You supposed it was a thing that Remus was studying with one person rather than a herd of girls and essentially playing teacher. You berated yourself for thinking that Peter had meant something more. 

“Right, studying,” Sirius said with a smirk. 

Nope. What?

You pursed your lips together and train your eyes on your assignment. That is what you had been doing with Remus. That’s all you’ve been doing.

“Shut it, Padfoot,” Remus warned. 

He glared at his friends. He had warned them ahead of time to be nice to you, to try not to scare you off. He knows you are shy and more reserved. He didn’t want to cancel studying with you so that his nimrod friends didn’t fall behind on their own assignments. But now, he was beginning to regret inviting them. 

Remus reached for a small scrap of parchment and scribbled on it, “Don’t worry about them” before sliding it into your view. You took notice of it and nodded. He lowered his head to get into your view as well. He raised his eyebrows as if asking that you’re okay. You drew a simple smiley face on the parchment. He nodded and returned to his own assignment. With both of your heads bowed in focus, you missed the shared look between the other three boys. You were able to get some work done. The lingering feeling of eyes on you was impossible to shake. You tried to think of a reason why they would be so interested in you, but you kept coming up short. Well, not completely. You had ideas, but each seemed more ridiculous than the last and one was just downright hopeful. 

“Is it true you started talking because you got your foot stuck in that damn step?” James asked as he closed a book he was using for his Herbology assignment.

“Prongs!” Remus hissed as your face turned beet red. 

“Uh, I guess?” you said meekly. 

You tried not to think about that embarrassing day, even if it did lead to your first real interaction with Remus. It wasn’t a moment you wanted to relive. 

“Must’ve been some fall though,” James continued, despite the glared daggers from Remus. “Certainly got our boy’s attention.”

Remus’ face was beginning to turn red as well at this point. He really, really wanted James to stop talking; it was at the point where he was debating Silencio. 

“Oh? What… what do you mean?” you asked, biting the inside of your cheek. 

Sirius snorted a laugh. “Sweetheart, you should hear how much he talks about you.” 

Your eyes went wide. You weren’t sure what you had expected but it wasn’t that. It took a second for the words to fully sink in. Remus talked… about you? Often? With enough frequency that his friends made note of it? Is that why it felt like they kept staring at you? They were just trying to figure out what Remus found so intriguing about you? 

You turned to see Remus holding his head in his hands. You gently placed your hand on his shoulder.

“Remus?” 

A horrible thought crossed your mind: What if this was all just a prank on you and Remus was collateral? What if he didn’t actually talk about you and now he’d have to admit that? 

He ran his hands through his hair before looking at you. His face was bright red, highlighting each scar that ran across his nose and cheeks brilliantly. 

“Can we talk privately? Before I murder these gits?” he asked you in a low voice with pleading eyes. 

“Yeah. Yeah,” you breathed, standing up and waiting to follow Remus through the shelves.

He led you further than you would’ve expected from the table. You assumed that he really didn’t want the boys overhearing whatever you were going to talk about. With each step, you felt your heart rate increase. Maybe he thought you were going to cry at what he was going to say and didn’t want to do that near them. 

“I think we’re far enough. No hearing extension charm they’re capable of reaches this far,” he said, leaning back against the wall with some kind of effortless allure. 

“Are you okay?” you asked. 

You stood a few steps away from him. If something was going to go down, you wanted to have some space between you. 

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’m fine,” he said as he watched you with cautious eyes. “Usually their teasing doesn’t get to me this bad.” He let out an awkward chuckle. 

“Are they teasing you about being friends with me?” you asked, your chest filling with dread. 

You wrapped your arms around yourself to brace for the worst. Remus was popular. He was so well-liked. He was so good with people. And you liked to stay out of the spotlight. Some people thought you were a little standoffish, but so be it. You could see where his friends were coming from. 

Suddenly, you felt hands on your shoulders. And you looked up to see Remus’ warm eyes. 

“They are teasing me about being just friends with you,” he said softly. 

You rolled your lips against each other. What did he mean by that? Just friends? 

“Because I do talk about you a lot. I practically only study with you. I go out of my way to cross paths with you so I can see your smile. I hope this doesn’t sound creepy, but I stare at you from across the Great Hall when I don’t sit next to you.” He paused for a moment to see if you had any reaction yet. “And this is going to sound mean, but I’m so glad you fell on those stairs. It brought you into my life.” He waited again. “Please say something, love.” 

“Okay,” you said as your cheeks tinged pink. “So they aren’t making fun of me? This isn’t some kind of prank?” 

“No. It’s not a prank. The only one being made fun of is me because I wanted to wait longer.”

“Wait longer for what?” 

“Listen. I meant it when I said you are pretty. I meant it when I said I don’t want to study with anyone else. I mean it when I say I can’t get you out of my head. I just wanted to wait longer to be sure… sure that you’d say yes. Sure that you like me.” 

You tilted your head.

“Of course I like you, Remus.”

“But as more than friends? Would you be willing to go on a date with me?”

Your breath hitched. Had Remus just said a bunch of sweet things about you? Yes, and it made your face feel hot. But it was the question that really sealed the deal. He wanted to be sure that you’d say yes. 

“I’d really like that.” You broke into a wide smile. “You thought I wouldn’t say yes?” 

Remus let out the breath he was holding and mirrored your smile. He pulled you into a tight hug before answering. 

“I’ve wanted to ask you out since the first time we studied together. I didn’t want to move too fast. I didn’t want you to think I was trying to jump you or something.” 

You laughed into his chest and he slowly let you go. 

“So all of that back there, that was them being tired of listening to you pine?” you asked.

“Seems like it. I told them to be nice to you, but I guess I didn’t tell them to be nice to me.”

“I mean, I’d say it was pretty nice of them to get you a date,” you said teasingly.

“I’m still the one who asked!” he tried to defend himself.

You raised your eyebrows at him.

“Yeah, but would you have asked if they weren’t here?”

“Not today, no. Maybe in another week or so. I told you, I was waiting to be sure.”

“For a smart bloke, you really should’ve known that if you asked me out on the stairs, I would’ve said yes.”

“Wait, what?” He looked down at you in surprise. 

“Merlin, I’ve had a crush on you for a while. It’s part of what made falling into the stair so mortifying.”

“Those damn stairs, right?” he chuckled as you started walking back to the table. Then he cleared his throat. “So, Hogsmeade next weekend?”

“It’s a date.” 

The three boys were working when you returned. When they looked up, they had matching looks of anticipation on their faces. Neither of you said anything as you sat down and started to work. Without speaking, you seemed to agree that you weren’t going to say anything unless they asked. 

“So?” Peter asked. “Did Remus grow a pair?” 

“Always had a pair, Peter,” Remus said dryly. 

“Moony,” he whined before turning his attention to you. “Did he… you know?”

“Well, she might not know. Because if he didn’t, how would she know?” Sirius said. 

You rolled your eyes with a shake of your head. 

“What if he did and she said no? That’d be something,” James mused. “Although I don’t think they’d be so… content? Peaceful? Somber? Pleased-looking?”

“But wouldn’t they both look much happier if he asked and she said yes?” Peter asked.

“Oi! We are right here,” Remus interjected. “I asked. She said yes. You are to stay away from us in Hogsmeade. Now, work. I want to see finished essays.”

“Our boy became a man!” Sirius said, wiping an invisible tear from his eye. “We’re so proud of you.”

“Padfoot. Essay. Now,” Remus commanded before shooting you a wide grin. 

You could tell that he was pretty proud of himself too. 

tags: @allformoony, @oursweetmoony, @moonyswifee

[urrockstar-xe]

math test - p.parker x fem!reader

posted jan 27th, 2024 3:28 pm

came up with this cutesy idea the other day, hope u enjoy :)

summary: Peter's tired of allowing Spider-Man to be a shitty boyfriend, so he makes up for it the only way he can think of that wouldn't get you in trouble.

masterlist

not proofread

wordcount: 0.8k

It was nearing 2 in the morning when Peter slowly lifted his window open from the outside, not so gracefully falling inside once it was a wide enough gap, followed by him stumbling several times as he tried to close his window while simultaneously trying to take off the red and blue spandex suit that so badly needs a wash.

The sound of his old bed frame creaking caught Peter’s attention once he finally pulled on some sweatpants. 

He whipped around, his gaze immediately falling to your half-asleep figure in his bed, a familiar sight now, one Peter had adored. Your half-opened eyes tried to focus on his silhouette. 

“Shit, hey sweetheart I didn’t mean to wake you” Peter’s whispered apology was laced with a soft muffled tone as he pulled a hoodie over his head, not bothering to fix his hair as he made his way towards his bed. “Didn’t know you were sleepin’ over tonight” He said with a tired smile playing on his lips, the bags under his eyes failing to distract you from the beauty that was your sleep-deprived boyfriend as you merely scooted over for him to join you. 

“Supposed to help me study for that test” you mumbled, no malice in your voice, no hints of irritation, not even a slight sadness to your voice at the thought of him forgetting about your plans. All you cared about at this moment was your boyfriend cuddling with you, using all your energy to open your arms for him to slide into. 

Peter stopped dead in his tracks, looking down by the nightstand and seeing your backpack on the floor, a math book sitting on the floor beside it next to a few pens. So that’s what he tripped on when he came in.

“Oh, man. I’m sorry, doll. We can work on it first thing in the morning, swear.” Peter promised, giving into what you wanted and sliding in bed next to you, wasting no time in wrapping you in his arms. 

“It’s due tomorrow, and I have to leave early for that dumb field trip.” You mumbled into his shoulder, not meaning to but making Peter feel all the worse for forgetting as he softly smoothed his hand up and down your back.

~

By the time Peter woke up the next morning you had already left, leaving behind a note on his desk.

”don’t think too hard about that test, I’ll just ask if I can have extended time on it. I’m just happy you got home safe” 

The little hearts surrounding your name at the bottom and the emphasis on him getting back at all seemed to have the opposite effect on Peter than you had intended. 

As now, he just seemed more determined to fix this problem he had made.

~

You laughed as your friend lifted her arms into the air, taking in a big deep breath as you both finally got off the bus, “freedom!” she exclaimed. 

“We have that test in like 30 minutes” You reminded her with a smile, earning a glare in response. “Buzzkill”

You chuckled this time, before watching her lift her finger and point behind you, turning as you followed where she was pointing, “that’s geek charming, what’s he doin’ here?” she asked quietly, expecting you to have an answer as you watched your boyfriend hurry over to you, green folder in his hand. 

“No clue, I’ll meet you inside” You smiled at her, watching her nod and smile back in response, walking backward towards the school while she obnoxiously waves and says “Hi, Peter!” 

Peter waved back, finally in front of you as he turned his gaze to see you already looking at him, with a soft smile. 

“Hey,” Peter matched your smile, holding out the folder to you before you could respond. “For your test, you forgot your math stuff in my room, so” 

You smiled, taking it gratefully, “Thanks, Petey. Although I don’t know how much help it’ll be-” Peter cut you off, “I mapped out in your notebook exactly how you can find any answers for the test and explained it in notes how I knew you’d be able to understand” You looked at him in awe as he rambled, watching as he took off his backpack and fumbled with it before pulling out your math notebook and handing it to you. “Peter-” “I almost wish I could take the test for you, I’ve just had so much to do lately as you know who and that’s no excuse for ditching my best girl when she needed my help so I figured this was the least I could do” Peter continued, taking a breath once he had finished. 

You set the folder and notebook down on the grass, pulling Peter into a tight embrace. “This is nice” he mumbled into your shoulder, squeezing your waist ever so slightly. “I love you, Peter Parker” You mumbled back, pulling back just enough to set a soft kiss to his lips. 

“I love you more, now go pass your test and make me proud, you can do that, can’t you, sweetheart?” Peter smiled at you, chuckling as you placed one, two, three more kisses on his mouth before pulling away and grabbing your stuff. 

“When I pass, you’re buying me dinner, baby!” You said, beginning to walk away.

“Whatever you want, doll!”

[quadrantadvisor]

Pairing Off, in which the Waynes meet the Fentons, just not all at once. 2,443 words

-

Damian feels less than positively about the new girl in his grade.

Danielle Fenton has already garnered a bit of a reputation. Her uniform is clearly second hand, and rumors abound about whether she has joined them at Gotham Academy on a merit scholarship or as “one of Wayne's charity cases.” Neither is true; Father has offered no fiscal support to the Fentons, and yet both she and her older brother attend the Academy, leading Damian to believe they've somehow paid their own way.

Her lower class status and midwestern accent ought to make Fenton a target, but her response to being cornered or talked down to by other students was an unsettling combination of cheerful and aggressive. She is now mostly left to her own devices, despite her notoriety. 

Damian has no interest in the girl. While it is true that she excels in both mathematics and social studies, her performance in English and science are unremarkable, and she poses no challenge to his rank at the top of the class. If he finds himself pushing harder in certain classes this semester in order to maintain the edge, it's no one else's business.

Now if only she would leave him alone.

Damian preemptively slams his sketchbook shut, just as a brash, inconsiderate, annoying girl hops up to sit on his desk. “Hey Dami, what're you drawing?”

“It is none of your business,” Damian seethes. “Remove yourself from my personal space before I-” he isn't allowed to threaten classmates with bodily harm, imply that he has brought weapons to school, or use words that are derogatory to women “-do so myself. By force.” He would avoid her altogether if he could, but Fenton is annoyingly (suspiciously) sneaky. He can only ever seem to sense her when she's just about on top of him.

Fenton merely laughs, high, bright, and joyful, and Damian grits his teeth. “Did you draw me yet?” she asks, and doesn't move an inch.

“No, I have not drawn you. I never said I would, and I have no plans to. Stop asking me.”

She shrugs and kicks her feet. “Maybe you'll change your mind. Can I see what you're working on?”

Damian pulls the sketchbook a tad bit closer to himself (a protective reflex that shows his weakness, he should be better than that by now.) “Never, imbecile.”

Fenton sticks her tongue out at him like a child. “Mean,” she says, still smiling. “I wanna see your art. It's so good!”

Damian tilts his nose up at her. “Of course it is, plebeian, I have standards-” he starts, but is cut off by the teacher entering. Fenton slides off his desk and heads to her own seat. Damian stows his sketchbook in his bag and tries not to think of the unfinished work inside, featuring a girl with dark hair, light eyes, and a mischievous grin.

-

There's this brownstone on the outskirts of Crime Alley, an old townhouse recently converted into commercial space. There's a coffee shop on street level, a tattoo parlor down the stairs, some sorta wine emporium on the second floor, and on the third, a little second hand bookshop

It's outside the border of Jason's territory, but he feels sorta responsible for it, given that he frequents the place.

It's a little out of his way, but the atmosphere is nice, alright? Clean, with soft lighting, but not sterile or corporate like the bigger places downtown. The owners are an older couple who Jason has met a couple of times, and they seem pretty happy with the new location. They're collectors, really, who run the shop to make ends meet.

Mostly, Jason talks to their employee. Jazz.

Jazz works in the afternoons and evenings, after her classes. She goes to Gotham U, double majoring in pre-med and psych, on top of a full time job, because she's almost as insane as a bat. She assures Jason that she does alright, gets a little downtime to study on her shifts.

She always makes time to talk to Jason.

Jazz is an interesting person to talk books with. She cares less about plot and literary themes, and more about diagnosing every character with their own personal malady of the mind. She dissects their thought processes and behaviors, ruthless in her analysis.

She's gonna be a brain surgeon someday, open people up and see what really makes them tick. Jason doesn't doubt it for a second.

So maybe Jason is a little bit in love with her.

It's not a big deal. Obviously it's not going anywhere. It's just nice to have something normal, to talk to someone normal, about normal stuff like books and college and sibling antics.

Jazz's stories about her sibling, Danny, rival Jason's own, and his family is fucking disastrous. Jason isn't actually sure if Dan is older or younger than Jazz is, or, for that matter, what pronouns he should use for them, since Jazz mixes it up pretty regularly. He knows that Jazz absolutely adores them, though, and it's heartwarming, the way she smiles as she talks.

All of that to explain why Red Hood is keeping an eye on a brownstone that technically falls outside of his territory.

There's a girl inside that he needs to keep safe.

-

“Hey bud, late night?” Dick asks the man lying prone in an alley, a block away from the Iceberg Lounge.

The response is slurred with sleep and muffled by a cheek pressed hard into asphalt. “S'at you, Dick?”

“Sure is. We've got to stop meeting like this,” Dick tells him, and means it.

The guy's name is Dan. No last name offered, which was fair, since Dick hasn't mentioned his.

What was weird was that Dan didn't give Penguin his last name, either, when he signed his employment contract. Just Dan.

Penguin has been trying to expand his influence into Bludhaven, and Dick's been trying to figure out why. Cobblepot is a very Gotham sort of gangster, all wrapped up in the city's ideas of style and respectability; Dick honestly would've thought that Blud was beneath him. He needs to figure out who he's contacting and what they're offering him, and he needs to do it before Penguin can get a foothold on his turf.

Running into Dan was a side effect. Dick didn't mean to keep doing it. It's just that Dan has this weird habit of completely disregarding trivial concerns such as his own health and safety, and doing weird shit like, as a random example, getting tired, laying down, and passing out. In the middle of the street. In Gotham.

The main part of Dan's job seems to be bouncing at the club. It makes sense—if you wanted to hire a guy as muscle, you couldn't do much better than Dan. He's at least 6 and a half feet tall, with a chest wider than Jason's. 

But Dick has also seen Dan traveling with Penguin before. Add in the fact that it's almost impossible to dig up info on him, and that tailing him is somehow even harder, and a picture starts to come together. A very vague, very suspicious picture.

It's too bad that Dick sort of likes him, and that he's incredibly hot.

Dan has removed his face from the alley floor, and is in the process of pushing himself up. “Not your business, man,” he retorts. “What are you, a cop?”

Dick can't help a wry chuckle at that. “Not anymore.”

“No shit?” Dan asks, hauling himself to his feet. He towers over Dick like that, but it's hard to be intimidated by a man whose cheek is red and pockmarked by little bits of gravel. Dick is legitimately embarrassed that he finds it charming. He needs to get better taste in men. “Yeah, no, that makes sense,” Dan continues, looking Dick up and down. “No way they could keep your ass on the force.”

“Oh yeah?” Dick asks.

Dan snorts. “I can smell the idealism on you from here.” He starts walking, heading straight past Dick, who falls into step beside him. “You remind me of this kid I know.”

Dick gives an interested hum, hoping that if he doesn't interrupt, Dan will elaborate, but no dice.

“So, where're you taking me this time?” the big man asks, still leading, and Dick stifles a grin at how silly the whole thing is.

“Maybe if I take you out for coffee, you won't faceplant onto any more concrete,” he says, reaching up to brush off some of the little rocks. Dan stutters to a stop as Dick touches his cheek, letting him, then strides off again as soon as he's done.

“Don't care, as long as you're paying.”

Dick stops him with a tug to his arm. “Coffee shop's this way,” he explains, pointing, and Dan doesn't hesitate, pivoting to take the lead once again. Dick rushes to keep up with his not-date, a criminal who he literally picked up off the street and who has no idea where he's going. He can't see his own smile, but he knows from experience that it is both delighted and a little manic. He admits to himself, begrudgingly, that he likes his men with something wrong with them.

-

The biggest reason that Tim played so much Doomed with Ghost_Boy, a couple of years ago, was that they were the only player he knew who kept hours as weird as his were. There were worse reasons to form a friendship. Ghost_Boy was a great player, and was always funny in chat. They were upbeat when things went well, and they were sarcastic but not bitter when things went poorly. Playing for the game's sake eventually changed to booting up the game to hang out with Ghost_Boy. They talked about how different their lives were, with Ghost_Boy in the midwest and Tim in the crime capital of America, and they talked about the things they had in common, like falling asleep in class. It was Tim's favorite form of stress relief, back then, when being Robin was new and overwhelming.

Then Tim got busy. No, that wasn't true—Tim had always been busy. More like, Tim's life fell to shambles, over and over again, and he stopped making time for stress relief when the very concept seemed out of his reach.

That was over dramatic. Tim fell off the game, and didn't keep in contact with his friend. That's all there was to it.

That was all there was to it, until a few nights ago, when he booted up his old Doomed file for nostalgia's sake and found a message from Ghost_Boy, sent a couple months back, that said he was planning to move to Gotham and, if Tim wanted, he'd be happy to meet up.

Tim immediately replied in the affirmative, and then he freaked out that he'd done that and started cyber stalking the guy. He couldn’t be bothered to pretend to be embarrassed by this behavior. He knew who he was.

Daniel Fenton was, in fact, a real teenager from a real midwestern town (Amity Park, Illinois.) He had moved to Gotham right when his message said he would, and lived with his older sister, Jasmine (who had custody over him,) and his younger sister, Danielle.

And that was where Tim was planning to stop his research, for the sake of his friend's privacy. Once he confirmed that he wasn't being catfished by either a supervillain or a run-of-the-mill creep, he was going to stop looking.

But Danielle Fenton's situation was incredibly weird.

Apparently, she had never lived with Daniel, Jasmine, and their parents before. Instead, after she was born, she'd been adopted by the kids’ godfather, eccentric billionaire Vlad Masters, and he was still her legal guardian. It was only after the Doctors Jack and Madeline died that she moved in with her siblings and started attending Gotham Academy, states away from her adoptive parent.

Vlad Masters was a man of eclectic tastes. The stories about him in the news were always covering some weird investment he had made, like purchasing a cheese castle in Wisconsin, or buying up property in Green Bay just to have a stake in the Packers, or pouring money into experimental forms of alternative energy. He was always refined in his public appearances, but he had the desperate edge of new money wanting to fit in with the old. Tim knew of him, but had never given him much thought before. He'd never made a move into Gotham, after all.

But the whole story was bizarre. Masters had gone to college with the Fentons, the three of them creating their own field of study in “Ectology,” before Masters had been contaminated in a lab accident, bedridden and unable to finish his degree. Jack and Maddie had continued their research, garnering just enough interest in their work to receive the funding needed to keep afloat, until some sort of breakthrough a few years ago added validity to their theories. They were practically celebrities in the niche forums Tim skimmed through. Masters, meanwhile, stopped working directly in the sciences and instead turned to networking, gaining some generous help from the friends he made and playing the stock market like a fiddle, until he was one of the most well known and lucrative investors in the world. He owned a few companies publicly, and managed some others under the table (Tim had to snort at the ridiculous naming of Dalv Co.) 

And then the Fentons had kids, and they raised two of them (seemingly quite happily, if the photos on their memorialized facebook accounts meant anything.) And then, for some reason, they named the third one nearly identically to their second child and gave her straight to Vlad. Masters raised the girl in Wisconsin, until suddenly relocating to Amity Park and becoming the town's mayor. There he stayed, until the Fenton's recent passing in a lab accident of their own.

Tim doesn't know what it all adds up to. But there was something going on, with both Vlad Masters and the Fentons, and if there's something nefarious in Masters’ actions or his wealth, it could be entirely possible that Daniel was a plant—a way for him to get an in with the Waynes. Tim has to be cautious, and he has to get to the bottom of this.

That's why Tim is waiting in a coffee shop, pretending to be engrossed in his laptop while keeping an eye on the door, waiting for the appearance of a teen with black hair and blue eyes.

Tim idly thinks that Bruce had better not adopt this one.

[maudie-duan]

Summary: Who doesn't love a little hometown romance, a little spark to reignite something you thought was lost to the past, the boy, now a man, you had tucked away in the back of your mind, deeming it "not meant to be." Now you're both at the same bar on the same night after eight years. Is it fate or a coincidence? Word Count: 8.4k Warnings: xFem!Reader, Fluff, Angst Ever So Slightly, Mild Sex.

The streetlight illuminated his face after all these years. In the humid summer night, you stood transfixed, looking up at the guy who had once made your heart race—now a man who still had that same effect, a bittersweet reminder of feelings you thought were long buried but now threatened to overwhelm you completely.

And all it took was one look your way for all those old feelings to flood your mind, the feelings like muscle memory, each time his hand brushed yours. All night, you were hoping for this moment, for this chance to be alone, and now here you were, taking in his details as the light above cast Harry in a golden glow, highlighting the angles of his face that had sharpened with age. 

Eight years.

Eight years since you’d last seen him, since he’d packed up his life and moved across the ocean to England, leaving behind nothing but memories and the unspoken feelings that would haunt you both later.

“I still can’t believe we ran into each other,” Harry said, his British accent now more prominent than you remembered. “What are the odds?”

What were the odds, really? Your hometown wasn’t exactly tiny, but it wasn’t a sprawling metropolis either. You’d only returned for a short visit to see your parents, and Harry—well, Harry hadn’t set foot here since high school graduation.

“The universe works in mysterious ways, they say,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady despite the thundering of your heart. “First time back in eight years, and we end up outside the same bar on the same night.”

Harry laughed, and the sound wrapped around you like a familiar blanket, stirring something dormant inside you—a feeling you thought you had carefully packed away in the box of teenage memories labeled “not meant to be.”

“Maybe it’s fate,” He breathed.

Fate.

You didn’t want to think about fate.

Fate was dangerous—a silver thread weaving your lives together across time and distance, pulling you back to this exact moment under this streetlight. Fate meant this wasn’t a coincidence but destiny fulfilling a promise made long ago. You couldn’t afford to think that way, not when his presence alone transported you back to lingering hallway glances. The notebook margins filled with doodled hearts. At times, Harry’s name scratched out so no one would ever know your secrets. If you believed in fate in any capacity, you’d have to believe all those years of distant yearning played a purpose—a hope that would be too fragile to bear if it shattered.

But this was now and life was still happening around you.

The bar behind you pulsed with music and chatter, but neither of you made a move to go back inside, not if this was where the night was leading, the moment too delicate to disturb. You had spent three hours catching up, sharing stories over drinks, laughing at memories, and filling in the gaps in your lives that had grown in the years apart. Each piece of his life he shared—his move to England, his career successes, his travels—felt like recovering pages from a book you’d started long ago but never finished.

“Remember Mrs. Holloway’s English class?” Harry asked, leaning against the lamppost. “When I fell asleep during your presentation on ‘The Great Gatsby’?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress your smile. “How could I forget? I worked on that presentation for two weeks.” What you didn’t add was how crushed you’d been that day, how you’d spent extra time on that presentation hoping he’d be impressed, only to watch him doze off halfway through.

“In my defense, I was up all night studying for calculus,” Harry said, his eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiled.

Those eyes—still the same deep green that had made your teenage heart skip beats in crowded hallways, the tiny moments you learned to conceal. It was disorienting how quickly your body remembered what your mind tried to forget—the flutter in your stomach when he looked at you, the heat that rose to your cheeks when he smiled. You had dated other people, had relationships that mattered, yet something about Harry had always remained the benchmark against which others were unconsciously measured, and somehow, it took until this very moment for you to come to this startling realization, and that scared you.

“Sure you were,” you teased. “I distinctly remember you bragging about beating the final level of that one video game you were obsessed with the next day.”

When Harry laughed, it echoed in the quiet street. “You always could see right through me.” There was something in his tone, something warm and subtle, that suggested he wasn’t just talking about the video game excuse. Had he always looked at you this way? Or was this new—this intensity, this focus, as if he was trying to memorize your features?

A comfortable silence fell between you, filled with the distant sounds of traffic and the muffled bass from the bar. You studied him in the golden light—the way his shoulders had broadened, how his once-boyish face had matured into handsome features, the slight stubble that lined his jaw. Different, yet achingly familiar. It felt like experiencing déjà vu and discovering something new at the same time—there was confusion in recognizing the echo of the boy you had once known in the man who stood before you now, you realizing there was so much more to discover.

All night, your hands kept finding excuses to touch—a playful push when he teased you, his fingers brushing yours as he gestured during a story, your knees knocking, both of you getting closer and closer in the booth as the night wore on. Each contact sent a hum through your veins, igniting sparks you thought had died out years ago. Part of you wanted to retreat, to protect yourself from the inevitable goodbye that you knew would come. Did that seventeen-year-old self still live within, or had you lost faith in the universe? Could the timing actually be right?

“It’s nice to see you,” he said softly, his gaze holding yours with a depth that stifled your breath. “Really nice, actually.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Harry.”

Your voice came out as barely more than a whisper, you now acutely aware of how close you were standing, how little distance separated your bodies. If you took even half a step forward, you could rest your head against his chest, feel his heartbeat against your cheek, and there was an urge to do just that—to close that final gap—the urge so powerful it frightened you, an embodied history of longing that without a doubt now you knew had been suppressed but never truly gone.

And here you were again. That inner voice questioning fate, scolding yourself. It’s been eight years. There’s no way you’re the same people anymore. He lives in England. You live in the States. This can’t be anything but nostalgia and alcohol and what feels like the magic of an unexpected reunion.

You had to be rational. You had to be an adult.

But what was rational when you couldn’t explain the magnetic pull you felt toward him or the way his gaze kept dropping to your lips? There was something about Harry that had always drawn you in—something that surpassed the physical attraction, something that made him stand out among all your other high school crushes, something more, something that beat deeper than the surfaced feelings that equate to the word “crush,” because what you felt with others than, never stuck, never emerged once the temporary flame fizzled out. And that something was still there with Harry. You could feel it, still palpable in the charged air between you, strengthened with time now like a slow-burning fire that oxygen had finally reached

“Do you remember senior prom?” Harry asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

And you laughed, the question catching you off guard. “Of course. What about it?”

“I wanted to ask you,” he admitted, looking slightly embarrassed. “Had the whole thing planned out. Was going to put a note in your locker with tickets to that indie band you loved.”

Your heart stuttered.

His confession transported you back in time to the hours you had spent daydreaming about Harry asking you, those wishful nights you had lain awake imagining the conversations where you finally told him how you felt, crafting each scenario as if you would have ever been bold enough to tell him. All these memories, tucked away for years, now bursting forth with such clarity that they steal your breath. Almost choking on the what-ifs with a new sense of longing.

“Why didn’t you?” you managed to ask, your voice steadier than you felt.

Harry shrugged, looking up at the stars peeking through the city lights. “Found out you were going with Matt Peterson. That really cute baseball player...you know, the one that all the girls liked?” Then Harry looked down at his feet, suddenly shy.

“Matt Peterson?” You laughed in disbelief, trying to get his attention. “It was a pity date. We went as friends. His girlfriend had just broken up with him, and he didn’t want to go alone.”

Harry’s eyes widened, his eyes searching your face like he could see the parade of what-ifs that were marching through your mind. “You’re kidding.” He laughs.

“Nope. It was really annoying. We took the obligatory photos for our parents, and then we barely saw each other the rest of the night. I spent most of the time just standing there. The only thing he seemed interested in was what would happen after prom...” You said, rolling your eyes.

His brows rose at this, and he straightened, “I mean, that dress was pretty amazing...” and you watch him lick his lips, “That’s the true pity.”

“Well, now I feel like an idiot,” Harry says, running a hand through his hair, drawing you in deeper. The gesture was so familiar that it made your chest ache with nostalgia as you stood there, hungering for a past that never happened and what now felt impossibly possible.

“You didn’t look half bad yourself...didn’t you go with Jessica Miller anyway,” you reminded him, trying to keep your tone light despite the revelation that was making your mind race. What if he had asked you? What if you had told him how you felt? Would everything be different now? Would there have been no eight-year gap, no ocean between your lives?

“Ah—Another just-friends situation,” Harry replied. “Though I think she was hoping for something more...” And as you watched the smirk spread on his face, you couldn’t help but picture what your bodies would have looked like together, how your night would have ended as you searched his eyes. Would you have been under him that night instead of Matt, who was only in it for himself?

The night seemed motionless around you, as if the universe was holding its breath. You found yourself hyperaware of everything—the distant sound of a car horn, the flicker of the streetlight above, the way Harry’s cologne mingled with the summer air, the short distance between your hand and his. Being with Harry felt both foreign and deeply familiar, like returning to your childhood home to find everything slightly rearranged but still vividly recognizable.

The same foundation, but with new dimensions you were desperate to explore.

“We were quite a pair, weren’t we?” you said softly. “Always just missing each other.”

Harry’s eyes met yours, and something in them made your heart race—not just desire, but a wistfulness, a shared grief for all the moments that could have been. “Are we still?” he asked.

The question lingered between you, loaded with intention and possibility. All at once, you were both you and that seventeen-year-old girl again, standing in the school hallway, watching him from the corner of your eye, wondering what it would finally be like to be more than friends, and there was danger in that, in this because you weren’t seventeen anymore. You were adults with separate lives, separate paths that had diverged long ago. You knew it couldn’t be casual. He was never casual, and here was that fucking thread that seemed still to be connecting you both, that invisible tether that stretched across continents and years, thin but unbroken, pulling you back together.

And yet, here you were, standing under the same streetlight, feeling the same flutter in your chest, and when he smiled, something shifted, layered with a deeper understanding of what it meant to want someone, to miss someone, to regret chances not taken.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly. “Are we?”

Harry took a step closer, close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. “I’d like to think we’re not missing each other tonight.”

Your breath caught in your throat. This was unknown territory. How many years had you spent convincing yourself that your feelings for Harry had been nothing more than a teenage crush, the kind everyone has to eventually outgrow? But standing here in this moment, with him looking at you like you were something precious, something found after being lost for too long, you couldn’t keep feeding the lie. It made you ache with that same hunger that had been simmering for eight years, kept at bay by distance and denial, but here it was threatening to consume you entirely.

“Harry,” you started, not sure what you were going to say, only knowing you needed to say something before the moment overwhelmed you.

“I know,” he said as if he could read your thoughts, as if the years apart had done nothing to diminish his understanding of you. “It’s been eight years. We live in different countries. We’ve built separate lives. It’s complicated...I know. I know—”

“Very complicated,” you agreed, even as you found yourself leaning slightly toward him, drawn by a gravity that seemed to disregard all reason and practicality.

“But I can’t help thinking,” Harry continued, his voice dropping to a near whisper, each word like a caress against your skin, “that running into you tonight wasn’t just coincidence.”

Again, you tried to be rational. You wanted to remind yourself that you were leaving soon, that he would return to England, that rekindling something with a high school almost-flame was the plot of a romantic comedy, not real life, not your life, and yet, your body still remembered what your mind tried to forget—the way your pulse quickened when he was near, the way your skin tingled with awareness, the way your heart seemed to recognize his even after all this time.

But when Harry’s hand found yours, fingers intertwining with a familiarity that defied the years apart, rationality seemed to fly out the fucking window. His touch ignited something primal and powerful, a connection that exceeded time and distance, that made those fucking eight years feel like nothing more than a brief intermission in a story that was always meant to play out.

“I had such a crush on you in high school,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them, years of carefully composed truth finally breaking free. “It was ridiculous, really. I used to make any excuse to pass your locker.”

Harry’s smile was soft, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made your heart ache, that longing becoming mutual. “I used to volunteer for every group project in English because I knew you’d always be the first to raise your hand.” he confessed.

And now he’s confessing too?

These silly little confessions.

But how could a silly little confession make your heart both soar and sink simultaneously? All that time, all those missed opportunities, all the ways you both seemed to circle each other, and you had no clue. The nostalgic ache of it—of discovering only now what might have been—was almost too much to bear. “We were oblivious, weren’t we?”

“Completely,” Harry breathed with a small laugh that did nothing to hide the regret in his eyes. “But maybe that’s okay. Maybe we weren’t ready then.”

The implication of his words made your heart sink even more—that perhaps you were ready now—sent a shiver down your spine despite the warm night air. There was something profound in the realization of it all that everything could have happened exactly the way it was meant to be—that maybe you needed those eight years to become the people standing here now, two adults who could recognize what they almost lost, people who might have the courage to finally reach for it.

“And now?” you asked, your voice barely audible over the distant sounds of the city and your booming heartbeat.

Delicately, Harry’s free hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering on your cheek, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. The pad of his thumb traveled along your lower lip, and you held your breath, waiting for his words, “Now I’m standing here wondering why I ever left without telling you how I felt.”

The world seemed to narrow to just this moment, this streetlight, this man, and dammit, the rational part of your brain was still screaming caution—reminding you of the hopelessness of it all, the potential for heartbreak, the fact that you barely knew each other anymore. But then there was something deeper; this other part of you—the part that had carried a torch for him all these years without even realizing it—knew that this wasn’t just about reviving an old flame. This was about the raw grit of it, the undeniable attraction that pulsed between your beings with each heartbeat, and you could feel it, there at the surface, the fear threatening to overwhelm your carefully constructed defenses.

But would you let it? Could you take the chance?

And then there was another part, the part that remembered the way he’d made you laugh in high school, the way he’d looked at you across crowded rooms as if you were the only person there. He always saw you, his words now enough to prove it—yet that part wasn’t listening to reason. That part was painfully aware of how his body had changed—broader shoulders, stronger jaw, the confident stance of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. And right now, he was looking at you as if you were the only thing he could ever need—and that in itself was tempting enough.

“This is crazy,” you whispered, even as you leaned into his touch, even as every cell in your body seemed to sing with recognition and want, and your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the solid warmth of his body beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. “We haven’t seen each other in eight years. We’re practically strangers.”

“Are we?” Harry asked, his voice dropping to a husky timbre that made your stomach dip. His thumb followed the line of your jaw like he was trying to map you, to memorize you. His other hand found the small of your back, pulling you scarcely closer, “Because it doesn’t feel that way to me. It feels like...”

“Like no time has passed at all,” you finished for him, the words carrying the weight of everything you’d been trying to deny—maybe some connections don’t diminish with time, maybe we carry the pieces of each other no matter how far apart we travel.

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours, serious despite the softness of his smile. The gold flecks in his eyes seemed to dance in the streetlight as his gaze dropped to your mouth, and he smoothed his lips together, “Exactly.”

In your heart, you knew you should play it safe, take a step back, create some distance, protect yourself from the inevitable goodbye that would come. That you would leave soon and you would have to return to your life, and he to his. Was this all he would want? This one night? Because you knew you would want more. What was the point of starting something that geography would end before it truly began? And yet the thought of walking away from this moment, from him, from the mouthwatering tension that had your skin tingling, your pulse racing with a want you hadn’t felt in so long, was slowly turning into a physical pain you couldn’t bear to inflict on yourself.

But as Harry’s eyes moved to your lips for the hundredth time that night, those concerns seemed far away, unimportant compared to the overpowering need to know, to finally know, what it would feel like to kiss the boy—now this man before you—who had occupied so many of your adolescent daydreams, and you let your body lean towards his, drawn by an invisible force that had been eight years in the making.

“I keep thinking about how many times I almost told you,” Harry said softly, his voice heavy with the consequence of all the years of unspoken feelings. His hand slid from your back to your waist, fingers splaying purposefully as he drew you closer, so close that your bodies were almost flush against each other. “Before graduation. Before I left. There were so many moments when I almost told you, And now, standing here with you, feeling how close you are now...” His words trailed off as his eyes roamed your face, pupils dilating as they skimmed the curve of your neck, the outline of your lips. “It feels like the universe is giving us a do-over, a chance to get it right this time. And I’m scared that if I don’t take it—if we don’t take it—we’ll spend another eight years wondering what might have been.”

You couldn’t help your heart from racing, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. This was Harry—your Harry from high school, the guy while, yes, he had occupied so many of those teenage daydreams, he was indefinitely a stranger, a man who had lived a life in England that you knew nothing about—A man, yes, a man, a really handsome man, beautiful then and now, a man whose scent was making it difficult to form coherent thoughts as it enveloped you, a man with strong hands that could roam your body, a man that would know what he was doing because that’s what the gift of time could bring, experience, right? That beautiful mouth that didn’t just say words you wanted to know—you wanted your curiosity to win.

So couldn’t you just do it? Couldn’t you just have this, him right now? Did it have to be more?

“Why didn’t you?” you asked, genuinely curious, your fingers absently playing with the top button of his shirt, aware of the steady thrumming of his heart beneath your fingertips.

And in his smile, you saw the regret as his hand moved from your waist to brush another strand of hair from your face, his knuckles grazing your cheek in a touch so light yet so deliberate it made your skin burn. “Fear, mostly. Fear that you didn’t feel the same way. Scared that even if you did, it wouldn’t matter because I was leaving. Fear that a long-distance relationship would be too hard, that it would end badly, that I’d lose you completely.”

And that was it, right? Always the fear of the what-ifs.

You understood those fears all too well—how they seemed to mirror your own hidden feelings from all those years ago, just like now, yet they seemed to be growing insignificant compared to the way your body was responding to his proximity, to his warmth, to his words, to the electric current that seemed to pulse between you wherever skin met skin, the low hum buzzing in the air as your gaze dropped to his mouth.

“And now?” you asked again, your voice barely above a whisper, eyes locked on his lips as you spoke.

Then your eyes met Harry’s, his stare filled with a determination that made your breath hitch as his thumb glided along your bottom lip in a gesture so intimate, so sure, that it began to reveal his want, now on the edge of need, more invasive than a kiss could ever be. “Now I’m thinking that some things are worth the risk.”

And in those words, the world seemed to still around you, the sounds of the city fading into the background. There was only Harry, only this moment, only the electricity that had been building between you all night—maybe even eight years, but it was there in the air surrounding you both, charged with a new energy, heavy with anticipation and a pleading promise for whatever was to come.

“I don’t think it’s that easy,” you said, your words one last desperate attempt to convince yourself more than him, but then your hands were betraying you, moving of their own accord to his shoulders, feeling the solid strength beneath your hold. “I don’t know. It feels weird. Confusing. It’s been eight years, Harry. We’re completely different people now, you know?”

“Are we?” he challenged gently, his hands sliding to your hips as his thumbs began to trace maddening circles against the thin fabric of your dress. “Or are we just more ourselves than we were when we were those kids before?”

The question struck a chord within you. Because despite the years of distance, being with Harry felt like coming home to a place you’d forgotten existed. There was something about him—something in his laugh, his eyes, the way his body fit against yours that felt natural, deeply familiar in the way that it seemed to be grounding you, yet thrillingly new.

“Is this even practical,” you tried again, even as you made no move to step away from him, your body arching almost imperceptibly into his touch. “You live in England. I live here. There’s an entire ocean between us. It could never be anything more.”

Harry’s face faltered slightly as he nodded, acknowledging the truth in your words, but his eyes never left yours as his hands slid up your back, leaving trails of fire in their wake. “I know. And I’m not asking for promises or commitments. I’m just asking for tonight. For this moment. For us to stop missing each other. We both know tomorrow will come. Can we just be here tonight? That’s all I ask.”

And as you stared up at him, you let the words echo in your mind, in your heart, letting his plea break down the walls of logic and practicality you’d been trying to keep. Because he was right—He was definitely right. How many years had you spent missing each other, passing like two ships in the night? And now, by some miracle or cosmic joke, you had been given another chance. Another night. Another moment under the stars with the one person who had always made your heart beat to a rhythm no one else could.

“I’m scared,” you confessed, but as you said the word it sounded hollow even to your own ears as your hands slid from his shoulders to his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heart, each beat matching your own.

Harry’s smile was gentle, understanding, but there was nothing gentle about the heat in his eyes as they traveled over your features with an unmasked want that had you weak in the knees. “Then don’t. Just be here, with me, now.”

And it was something in the simplicity of his request that captivated you.

Just be here now.

Be in this moment under the streetlight. No promises of forever, no complicated discussions of logistics and geography. Just two people who had once meant something to each other, reconnecting in the soft glow of a summer night, those eight years of unspoken desires finally finding its voice.

Then Harry’s hand was cupping your cheek, and you didn’t pull away. When he leaned in, closing the distance between you with excruciating patience, you didn’t step back. Then his lips were meeting yours, soft and questioning at first, then increasingly urgent, and you didn’t hesitate to kiss him back, your body melting against his as if it had been designed specifically for this purpose.

To your surprise, the world didn’t stop. The stars didn’t align. There were no fireworks or swelling orchestral music. But there was heat, and there was longing and a sense of finally, an unstated promise that made your heart soar in your chest even as desire drew low in your stomach.

Harry kissed you with a restrained passion that spoke of years of wanting, his hand sliding from your cheek to the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he drew you closer, and your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms before sliding up to his shoulders, pulling him more firm against you, needy, wanting.

And as the kiss deepened, years of wondering and what-ifs seemed to pour into the connection between you, and then Harry’s arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him until every curve of your body was pressed against the solid planes of his, your heart skipping a beat when you could feel the evidence of his bulge, unmistakable against your lower body as you stood on the tips of your toes, and the knowledge that he wanted you as desperately as you wanted him sent a thrill through your entire body.

You gasped against his mouth, a breath of wonderment slipping past your lips, and Harry took advantage of your parted lips to deepen the kiss further, his tongue meeting yours in a dance as old as time yet somehow brand new, and your fingers tangled in his curls, holding him to you as if you were afraid he might disappear if you let go.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and dazed, the world seemed to have shifted on its axis. Harry rested his forehead against yours, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts that matched your own, and fuck, when his eyes opened to meet yours, they were dark with a craving that made your knees want to buckle as his hands gripped your waist tight, Harry keeping your bodies pressed together in a way that left no doubt about the effect you had on him.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” he admitted with a small laugh that couldn’t quite disguise the tremor in his voice.

You couldn’t help but smile, your heart too full for words, your body still humming with the aftershocks of every one of his touches. Every nerve ending felt electrified, hyper-aware of his closeness and the lingering pressure of his lips on yours. “Was it worth the wait?” You breathed.

The intensity of his gaze said it all, his smirk making your stomach flip, the sensation making real what words couldn’t yet define between you. It wasn’t just desire you saw there, but wonder, as if he too couldn’t quite believe what was happening. “More than you know,” he whispered pressing a kiss to your forehead.

The tender moment that stretched between you after was both fragile and perfect. You knew there were conversations to be had, realities to face. But for now, in this bubble of streetlight and summer air, you allowed yourself to simply feel—to exist in this unexpected gift of a second chance, and in one breath, your body felt both weightless and grounded, as if his kiss had both untethered you from reality and anchored you to this specific moment in time.

“What next?” you said eventually, though you made no move to step out of his embrace. Your hands still resting on his chest, feeling the steady pulse of his heart as your fingers curled slightly into the fabric of his shirt, still reluctant to let go, your own hunger rising.

Harry only smiled, shaking his head, his thumb tracing patterns on your lower back, each small circle sending waves of warmth radiating through your body. His eyes kept dropping to your lips as if he couldn’t believe he was allowed to kiss them now. “I don’t know. But I don’t think I’m quite ready for this night to end.” 

And neither were you, you realized, his words sending a pulse between your legs. Despite that stupid voice of reason that had been so loud earlier, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from him, to break the spell that had fallen over you both, and there was something almost intoxicating about being with him this way—as if you’d taken a sip of something you’d been thirsting for your entire life, and one hopeless drink wasn’t enough to quench the thirst.

“I’m not ready to end it here,” you agreed and were rewarded with a smile that made your heart jump in your chest as the heat of your own words sent a spark of thrill over your skin.

Then Harry kissed you again, briefer this time but no less affecting, his fingers threading through your hair as if he needed to hold you steady, and when he pulled back, his eyes were darker than before, and you knew by the pulse between your thighs that your own must mirror the same, a tender desire you could barely hold back. “Walk me home?” you breathed into the shell of his ear.

“Yeah?” He asked, his voice strained, the rasp falling on your ears enough to pull him closer, and so you did

“Please,” You exhaled into his neck as Harry took your hand in his as if it was the most natural thing in the world, though the slight tremor in his fingers gave him away.

“Okay,” He said, simple but loaded because you both knew what you wanted.

As you walked hand in hand through your old neighborhood, quiet and quaint, the weight of the future—of goodbye—hovered at the edges of your consciousness. But you pushed it away, choosing instead to live in this moment, to savor the feeling of Harry’s hand in yours, the lingering taste of his kiss, the way the night seemed full of possibility despite all the reasons it shouldn’t. Your body seemed keenly attuned to his presence beside you—the slight brush of his arm against yours as you walked, the way his thumb occasionally stroked across your knuckles, the earthy scent of him carried on the night breeze.

You knew that tomorrow would come with its own complications and questions. That tomorrow, you would have to face the reality of geography and separate lives. But tonight—tonight was yours, a gift you hadn’t expected but couldn’t bring yourself to refuse. And with each step, each shared glance, each small touch, you were falling deeper into something that felt both terrifying and inevitable.

When you reached the front of your parents’ house, you paused at the end of the driveway, turning to face Harry. The porch light cast a soft glow, not unlike the streetlight where you’d first kissed hours ago. But everything else had changed—the cautious hesitation replaced by a certainty, a hunger, a need that was almost tangible in the space between you.

“So this is it, huh?” Harry said. His voice was soft in the quiet night but with an undercurrent of something rougher, less controlled as his eyes scanned your surroundings.

“This is it,” you echoed, studying his face, suddenly shy despite everything that had passed between you. Your body seemed to vibrate with anticipation, with the awareness of what might happen next, what you wanted to happen next.

Harry stepped closer, his free hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek in a touch that was both tender and possessive. “Is this what you want?” He asked, his question quiet, vulnerable, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation or regret.

“I want this. I want you,” you whispered, the words escaping before you could consider their implications, though you knew exactly what you were inviting, what you were asking for.

Harry’s eyes darkened, his pupils blooming as his gaze searched yours for confirmation, for permission, for certainty. “Are you sure?” The question was barely audible, his voice aching with want but checked by concern, by the need to know that this wasn’t just impulse or nostalgia driving your decisions.

In all reality, you weren’t sure of anything except the way your heart raced when he looked at you, the way his touch continued to make you feel both grounded and weightless, the overwhelming certainty that if you let him walk away now, you would regret it forever. “I’m sure that I’m not ready for tonight to end.” Your words were honest, filled with meaning, with consent, with the acknowledgment that whatever happened next, you were choosing it with clear eyes.

And It was enough because then Harry leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was deeper, more pressing than the ones you had shared under the streetlight. This wasn’t the hesitant exploration of earlier—this was hunger unleashed, desire given permission to express itself, and as your arms wound around his neck, you drew him closer, his hands settled on your waist, holding you as if you might disappear if he let go. His body was solid against yours, all planes and angles where you were curves, and the contrast had your head spinning.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and dizzy with want, your bodies stayed pressed together in a way that left no doubt about where you both wanted this to go. Then you nodded toward the small guest house at the back of your parents’ property. You swear your heart was pounding so loud he could hear it, and your skin flushed with a combination of longing and the thrill of crossing a boundary you’d imagined a thousand times but never thought would become a reality. “I’m staying in the guest house. My parents renovated the old garage a few years ago.”

When Harry smiled, he looked relieved, his eyes full of anticipation with a promise that made your knees weak and your breath catch, and he brushed his lips against yours once more, a brief contact that somehow conveyed more desire than the deepest kiss. “Lead the way.

The guest house was small but private, separated from the main house by a garden that your mother had meticulously cultivated over the years. As you unlocked the door and led Harry inside, you felt a momentary flash of nervousness—not about what might happen, but about what it would mean.

But when Harry pulled you into his arms again, kissing you with a tenderness that made your heart ache, those concerns faded into the background. This wasn’t a decision you were making lightly, but it also wasn’t one you could bring yourself to regret. Not when he was looking at you with such unguarded hunger, his hands framing your face as if you were something to be cherished, adored.

“You’re trembling, Darling,” he whispered against your lips, his own hands not entirely steady as they moved to your waist.

“So are you,” you replied with a small smile, your fingers working on the buttons of his shirt with a haste that surprised you. You had imagined this moment countless times as a teenager—yet your teenage mind could never have comprehended the layered significance this now held. The reality of Harry’s skin beneath your fingertips, warm and real, surpassed any adolescent fantasy.

Harry’s laugh was soft, nervous. “I feel like I’ve been waiting a lifetime for this.” His hands moved carefully down your sides, each touch communicating reverence, his calm facade barely contained. “But if you want to stop—”

And there was no way you would stop him now, not with those strong hands on your body, and you silenced him with a kiss, deeper, more assertive than before. “I don’t want to stop.” The words came out breathier than intended, betraying the way your body was already responding to his proximity. “I’ve thought about this too many times to stop now.”

Your words seemed to trigger a visible shift in his eyes, the warmth now fading to heat, and his next kiss held none of the hesitation of before. It was hungry, almost desperate, his hands roaming your body with increasing certainty as you backed toward the small bed in the corner of the room. When your legs hit the edge, Harry pulled back slightly, his breathing ragged, and you stood there breathless, just as desperate, just as needy.

“I can’t believe this is real,” he murmured, his eyes taking in the sight of you in the dim light filtering through the curtains. “You’re even more beautiful than I remembered.”

Heat spread across your skin in waves, but there was no embarrassment in it—only the heady pleasure of being desired by the one person who had occupied your dreams for so long, and as your fingers finished with his buttons, your eyes moved to his chest. Then you pushed the shirt from his strong shoulders, revealing his body, and dammit his body, the body that had changed in the years since you had last seen him was enough to send you reeling—broader, more defined, hard, and sculpted now bearing an assortment of tattoos that told stories you wanted to learn.

“I want to know you,” you whispered, trailing your fingers down his chest, tracing over the dark lines inked into his soft skin, “The you that exists now.”

This made Harry smile, each touch tender as he helped you out of your dress, his movements deliberate but unhurried, as if he wanted to savor every second of this revelation. “We have all night. We have as long as our hearts desire.”

And then he was laying you back on the bed, following you down with careful weight as the years seemed to compress and expand between each shared breath—His smile bringing back the electric charge of those teenage years filled with longing, now concrete as Harry’s hands and mouth explored you with ease, with precision, with a fucking hunger that left you gasping, arching into every touch, as if you would die if you missed a single one.

“Harry,” you breathed, his name a plea, a prayer as his lips traveled across your collarbone, down the valley between your breasts, and your hands tangled in his hair, greedy for more, holding him to you as if he might vanish in the blink of an eye, that maybe this was proving to be nothing more than another vivid daydream because you needed him, you needed his mouth on the places of your body that imagination could never convey.

But this was no dream. Harry was real—achingly, beautifully real—his skin against yours, his breath hot on your skin, his touch igniting every sensation that made you desperate, and when he whispered your name against your stomach, you felt it resonate through your entire body, a vibration that seemed to connect past and present.

“I used to imagine this,” you admitted out of nowhere, your face burning not just from the pleasure alone but from the vulnerability of the confession. “Back in high school. What it would be like to be with you.”

Harry looked up at you, his eyes soft with something deeper. “So did I.” and then his palm slid up your thigh, drawing patterns that made your breath catch. “But my imagination didn’t do you justice.”

As the exploration continued, you both took your time, both of your hands roaming one another, each of you discovering the other with a sense of curiosity that seemed to bloom with a growing urgency. There was a particular sweetness to it—the fulfillment of your longing held a thrill of something entirely new, and when Harry’s fingers finally found where you needed him most, the sensation was so intense you had to bite your lip to keep from crying out as his fingers moved in small circles.

“Is this okay?” he whispered against your ear, his touch gentle but sure.

“More than okay,” you moaned, your body already responding with an intensity that surprised you. It wasn’t just physical pleasure—though that was overwhelming in itself—but the weighted history behind every place Harry’s fingers seemed to possess, specifically that this was Harry, after all these years of wondering what might have been.

When he finally positioned himself above you, his weight supported on his forearms, there was a moment of perfect stillness—of recognition and anticipation. His eyes held yours, seeking final confirmation, and you answered by wrapping a hand around his hard length, guiding him to your entrance.

The first push of him entering you drew a sharp gasp from both your lips—a breathy sound that was filled with shock, pleasure, and something that ached like a homecoming, a devastation that entranced you both. Harry moved slowly, carefully, allowing your body to adjust to the intrusion, his mass becoming a pleasant surprise, and his eyes never left yours. The connection was so intense it almost hurt, your bodies were now a physical manifestation of everything unsaid between you both over the years.

“I never thought—” Harry started, his voice breaking as he sank deeper, his forehead coming to rest against yours. “You feel so—”

And as words failed you both, he began to move, finding a rhythm that spoke with both urgency and restraint. Amazing in the way your bodies seemed to remember each other despite never knowing this kind of intimacy, never like this, and you both fell into sync with an ease that defied explanation. Each thrust, each retreat, built upon the last, creating a rising tide of sensation that threatened to overwhelm you.

The teenage fantasy of Harry paled in comparison to the reality—the weight of him above you, the scent of his skin, the way his breath hitched when you moved just the right way. Your hands were needy as they explored the expanse of his back, feeling the hard muscles that flexed and strained with each movement, and you forced yourself to catalog the details so that you never forgot.

Forgot this very moment.

Forgot him because this was everything.

As the pleasure built, coiling tighter in your core, your movements became less coordinated, more desperate. Harry’s pace increased in response, his control visibly slipping as he whispered your name like a mantra, like salvation. When his hand slipped between your bodies, finding the center of your pleasure with unerring accuracy, the first wave hit you with an unexpected force that had you calling out.

“Holy fuck, Harry,” you gasped, your body arching beneath him as pleasure radiated outward from deep in your belly, more intense than anything you had ever experienced before. Raw and primal, a hard release that had your whole body shaking, and you wrapped your legs around him tighter as your eyes met his.

The sight of your release seemed to trigger his own, his rhythm faltering as he buried his face in your neck, his body shuddering against yours, and for a moment, you were perfectly aligned, perfectly in sync, two pieces of a puzzle finally finding their match after years of separation.

Afterward, as your breathing slowed and your heart rates gradually returned to normal, Harry gathered you against him, his arms secure around your waist, your head finding a perfect resting place on his chest, and you listened to his heart slow as silence swept into something more profound than the act of sex alone, something filled with the understood emotions that neither one of you were quite ready to articulate.

His fingers traced lazy patterns on your bare shoulder as you listened to the steady beat of his heart. You knew there would be time for words later, for discussing what this meant, for facing the reality of separate lives and geographical distance. But for now, in this cocoon of warmth and intimacy, you allowed yourself to acknowledge the truth you’d been fighting all night: you were falling for him. Again. Still. Despite every rational argument against it.

And judging by the way Harry held onto you, as if you were something precious he’d found after years of searching. Maybe, just maybe, you weren’t falling alone. In the quiet darkness, with the moonlight filtering through the thin curtains, casting silver patterns across tangled sheets, you lay there realizing that perhaps it didn’t matter if this was temporary—That you both would leave or if this was something that would have to find a way to stretch across oceans and time zones. What mattered was this perfect alignment of two people who had spent years orbiting each other and finally colliding at the exact right moment.

If time had taught you anything, it was that forever was never guaranteed. But some moments carved themselves so deeply into your soul that they altered who you were, became part of your molecular structure. This—Harry’s heartbeat beneath your ear, his warmth surrounding you, the weight of eight years of wondering finally lifted—this would remain, regardless of what tomorrow brought. For the first time in your adult life, you felt the strange peace of absolute presence, of being exactly where you were meant to be, even if just for now. And somehow, that seemed enough—more than enough. It seemed like everything.

And as Harry’s slow breaths began to lull you to sleep, one last thought lingered in your mind: tomorrow will come with its realities and choices, but for tonight, this moment was infinite, and for the first time in a long time, the future felt like a beginning rather than an end because, in Harry’s arms, you realized some connections transcend time and distance, existing in a place beyond tomorrow’s reach, and you in his arms was all the proof you needed.

A/N: You guys! Sorry, I haven't been very present! I've been dying to finish this one. Hope you love it!

Taglist: @sassamanda77 @panini @unfuckwitablenarry @triski73

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[feenoire]

Heartfelt Veils II. A Doe Loves Its Wolf

stepdad!joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+ minors dni

word count: 6.2k

warnings: age difference (18/50), sexual harassment (cat call), fluff, angst, sexual tension, sexual acts.

summary: spending your 18th birthday with your stepdad ended up being an unforgettable day, one that will forever linger in your mind.

a/n: Joel quoting Romeo’s line in spanish, that’s the note. i hope you enjoy this chapter <3

series masterlist

The drizzle cascades outside, tapping the window of your bedroom. The pumpkin spice candle fills your room with its warm, comforting scent. You’re sitting on a chair, pen in hand, as you pour your thoughts into your diary at the study desk.

“Dear diary, I almost cry at the sweetness of October. Woken early by Joel, who made breakfast for me: avocado toast and raspberry juice. Days seep by like the stain of a raspberry on my pearl blouse. A week has gone by since I arrived in this small town, this new haven—Joel’s home. I could make a list of all the warmest things: my new chamber, forest saunter, delicacies, cold weather, the sleekness of his wood carvings, and Joel.

I’m afraid to admit it, but I think I like Joel, he’s like a sin worth hunting for. Something’s wrong with me because I know I’m not supposed to feel this way. My heart beats steadfastly for him, his brown eyes warm like the morning sun. For the first time, I feel like someone truly pays attention to me and genuinely cares what I have to say. I feel seen. Unlike the ghost I have been for the last seventeen years. He is flowers in my stomach. I always think of him before I fall asleep. Nightmares fade.

But I tried to convince myself that he was just being nice like most stepdads would do, because they can be kind at first but become total assholes later, that it was all just a pretense, they just want your mother, not you. That’s what I heard from my friends. But I truly hope Joel isn’t like that. That this feeling I have right now is just a phase, that he’s just a phase…”

The knock on the door startles you as you’re lost in your thoughts, letting them flow onto the book in front of you. In a panic, you quickly shut your diary and hide it in the drawer. Knowing you’d be dead if someone read it.

“Sweetheart, are you ready yet?” his deep, husky voice speaks.

“Yeah. I’ll be just a few minutes.”

“Alright. I’m gonna wait outside, okay?” says he from behind the door.

“Okay.”

After his footsteps fade, you put on your jacket over your sweater and grab your school bag. Not wanting to make him wait too long, you quickly grab your walkman before running downstairs. There, you find Joel leaning against his black 1978 Ford truck, looking like a man straight out of a magazine.

Your breath hitches and your cheeks warm at the sight of him as you stand on the front porch. He wears a denim shirt under a brown jacket that hugs his frame, showing just how big his arms are. He is divine, like the Seleucid prince. It makes you flutter.

Like the gentleman he is, he opens the car door for you with a smile as you stride toward him. You can’t help but smile and blush at his lovely gesture.

“Thanks, Joel,” you say softly.

“Ain’t no worries, little girl.”

Little Girl. You like the way he calls you that, it sends a warm sensation to your core. You don’t know why. With the husky voice of his, you secretly wish he could whisper it in your ear.

Joel gets inside the truck and starts to drive. Meanwhile, your mother leaves for work early today. Joel told her that she could stop working if she wanted to and let him provide for her, but she said no, as work keeps her busy and she likes doing it.

It feels comfortable and calming to the mind as you look at the scenery through the car’s window. Observing the little town with its shops, parks, and sidewalks covered in fallen leaves. There’s an old man riding a bicycle, with ten dogs following him, stepping with their little legs. The sight brings a smile to your face. In the distance, a big mountain blanketed in fog. The weather is getting colder, as it nears November.

“What are you listening to?” Joel says, breaking the silence.

You don’t turn the volume all the way up on your walkman, so you can still hear Joel talking through the headphones.

“Um, just an old song from my mixtape.”

Joel smiles. “Why don’t you put your little mixtape on the stereo so I can listen to it too?”

Part of you is embarrassed at the thought of Joel listening to your playlist, or maybe you’re scared that he will judge you for it, without realizing how much you care about what or how Joel thinks of you. But a small part of you is delighted that you could listen to your favorite songs with him.

“Yeah, sure.”

You take off your headphones and put the tape in the player. The soft melody of Mazzy Star’s “Blue Light” fills the car.

Joel smiles as he listens. “Yeah, I’ve heard this one.”

“You have?”

“I have, it’s glorious.”

You smile, glancing at him. “It is, isn’t it?”

“You look like this song would if it were a person.”

His words make your cheeks flush. It’s the best thing anyone has ever said to you, especially when it comes from Joel. You try to shift the conversation back to him. “What kind of music are you into?”

“Fleetwood Mac, Bob Dylan, David Bowie—”

“I love David Bowie!” you say enthusiastically.

Joel laughs softly at your enthralled reaction. He watches you with a look of admiration in his eyes. “Me too, sweetheart.”

“Sorry,” you whisper as you bow your head. Scolding yourself internally for losing your composure in front of him.

“Don’t be.”

The song changes to “Storms” by Fleetwood Mac as you look out of the window again, gazing at the white swans swimming on the lake, beautiful as a painting. Time seems to speed up, and soon you see the big wooden sign on the side of the road that reads, ‘Welcome to Lakewood.’

The car passes by towering trees as you approach the small town. You’re so caught up in the scenery before your eyes that you don’t realize Joel has been looking at you. The town is beautiful, much like Silvervale, but a bit bigger.

Finally, you arrive at Lakewood High School. The school is big and built with maroon-colored bricks. Forest trees stand tall behind the building. Joel pulls over in front of the entrance. Some students head inside. The parking lot is full of cars and motorcycles, with teenagers hanging around despite the forty-five degrees weather.

You feel nervous, and your hand is slightly shaking. But you don’t realize it until Joel reaches for your trembling hand and holds it, enveloping your small hand with his large, warm, and calloused one. The contrast between his rough skin and your softness is noticeable.

“Are you okay?” he asks calmly.

You look at your trembling hand covered by Joel’s. Trying to control your anxiety and take a deep breath.

The idea of starting all over again, introducing yourself to strangers scared you more than you realize. You’re scared of being perceived and what if you’re not able to find a friend? You’ve always been a wallflower at your old school, with only one or two friends.

But you push the thoughts away—you’re not going to break down in front of Joel. Instead, you try to focus on the warmth of his hand. It calms you down and alleviates your pounding heart and trembling body.

You nod. “Yeah, I-I’m okay.”

His eyes are full of concern. “You don’t have to do this today if you don’t want to. I can take you back here tomorrow.”

“No, no, I’m okay, I promise.”

You don’t want to burden Joel, who already takes time before work to drive you here. You’re not going to let a little anxiety ruin your day, especially his.

“Are you sure?”

You give him a smile as a sign that you’re okay. “Yeah, I’m sure. Thank you for driving me.”

“Not at all.”

You open the car door and as you try to get out, Joel still clasps your hand, stopping you.

“Joel?”

His gaze is unwavering and intense as he looks at you. “Call me if you need anything okay? Don’t hesitate,” he says with his thumb gently caressing your hand.

Your breath hitches from the intense eye contact. The tension between you is palpable, making your heart race. Unsure if he can feel it or if it’s just you. The pulsing in your core returns and it starts to ache—you’ve never felt like this with anyone before. You rub your thighs together to ease the ache. Joel’s gaze shifts from your eyes to your thighs, and his eyes darken.

“Little girl,” he whispers.

You try to hold back the whimper at the sensation and the way he calls you. “I-I have to go,” you murmur.

You withdraw your hand from him and get out of the car with a pounding heart. You welcome the cool refreshing air and take a deep breath. No one has ever affected you the way Joel has, and you can’t comprehend why. Trying to calm down and gather your thoughts, you head inside the building without looking back and decide to find the front office to collect your schedule and the school map.

Time passes, and the school bell rings signaling the end of the school day. Finally.

You didn’t really pay much attention to your surroundings today. You spent your lunch break alone in the wildflower meadow in the forest behind the school, sipping the cherry cola you bought from the vending machine and smoking a few cigarettes. With your walkman on and your favorite book as your companion.

You got to know a few people from your classes, but not many. Some of the teachers were nice and helpful. The thing you hated the most was the boys hanging out in the hallway, whistling loudly at you as you walked to class. Shitheads.

The last class of the day was English, taught by the handsome teacher Mr. Wayne—according to the students. He’s around thirty, with light tan skin, brown hair, brown eyes, and a slightly graying beard. He’s the youngest male teacher at school, which is why most of the girls are after him. It seems like everybody pays attention to what he teaches in class, or maybe they just admire his looks. He assigned everyone in class a copy of Romeo and Juliet by Shakespeare and asked them to write an essay about it.

After you leave the school building, you don’t call Joel to pick you up as he asked you to. Instead, you walk through the forest, but not too far from the road. Keeping your phone’s map open to guide you home.

The earthy and musky scent of the fallen leaves is prominent. The faint breeze gently blows through your hair and rustles the leaves scattered around you. The sky is getting dim, and you have no idea why. You check your watch—it’s only 3:20 PM. You’ve been walking for twenty minutes, with just thirty more to go until you arrive. So, you tighten the jacket around you and walk faster.

After what happened this morning, you don’t dare to face Joel, so it’s best to just avoid him. The way he held your hand, his eyes darkening as he stared at you, was all too much. What if he feels the same way you do and is struggling with it just like you? You swear it was there—the palpable force of tension and electricity between the two of you. Maybe you’re just crazy, imagining things that weren’t there, that it was all in your head. What is wrong with you? He’s your stepdad—why do you feel this way? You’re certain that if someone could read your mind, they’d put you in a mental institution.

Now that you’re alone, you let the tears fall from your eyes. Your heart aches as you wonder if what you feel for him is genuine. Joel is a very kind man and a great partner for your mother, and you’re just a dumb seventeen-year-old girl who holds a secret longing for him. You secretly pray to God that these feelings will fade away. Reminding yourself that you need to control how you feel and distance yourself from Joel from now on before something bad happens.

As you continue walking you hear a faint crunching sound on the fallen leaves behind you. Heart pounding, afraid someone might be following you. It turns out it’s a black kitten trailing behind you as you look back. It meows at you as you approach, and your heart softens.

“Hey, are you alone?” you say softly.

Of course, it only answers you with a meow. You look around but you don’t see another cat. The kitten is alone. You wonder where its mother is. As you kneel on the ground and inspect it, its fur is dirty and tangled, and one of its legs is crooked. It’s a girl. You can’t leave her here alone—what if she dies?

“Why don’t you come home with me?” you whisper to the kitten.

You carefully lift her from the ground and carry her with you. She purrs and snuggles into your jacket as you hold her small form gently in your hands. You smile at the sight.

“You’re okay now, let’s go home.”

The kitten occupies your mind now; all you can think about is getting her home, giving her a warm bath, and tending to her crooked leg. The thoughts about Joel leave your mind.

It’s 4:20 PM by the time you arrive home, soaking wet. Late because you had to take shelter from the rain under the bus stop pavilion, shielding the kitten in your jacket’s inner pocket. You cursed yourself for wearing a black mini skirt today, and now your legs are so cold they almost feel numb.

The driveway is empty, signaling that no one is home. You take the spare key from under the doormat and quickly get inside. You bathe the kitten and take a hot shower yourself, then tend to her tiny, crooked leg before falling asleep in your bed with her.

Unsure how long you’ve been asleep—whether it’s been minutes or hours. You feel a big hand gently caressing your head, which wakes you up from your slumber. You open your eyes slowly and adjust your vision; there you see Joel bent over looking at you with a face full of concern, and his hand on your hair.

“Joel?” you murmur.

“Little girl, where have you been?”

You rub your eyes and slowly sit up, gathering your consciousness. “What?”

He sits on the edge of the bed. “I called and texted you, but you didn’t answer. I told you to call me to pick you up. Then, I went to your school, and you weren’t there, I was sca—” he bows his head and takes a deep breath.

It’s the first time you’ve ever seen Joel looks so scared. His eyebrows are drawn together, his jaw tense, and fear is evident in his eyes.

“Joel, I—”

“I’ve been searching for you everywhere, and your mom too—she was terrified. Where the hell have you been?”

You made everyone worry about you, and you feel so guilty about it. You should have at least let them know. Overwhelmed and too caught up in what happened this morning, you don’t dare reach out to him.

“I-I’m sorry, Joel. I was taking a walk home through the woods to… to clear my mind,” you say, your voice slightly shaking. “I’m so sorry for making you worry; I didn’t mean to.”

Joel’s face softens at your explanation. “But sweetheart, that’s like an hour’s walk.”

“I know,” you whisper.

“It’s still too dangerous, baby. You can’t just walk around the woods. What if you get attacked by animals or worse?”

“I didn’t think about it. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Just don’t ever do that again.”

Joel is a remarkably handsome man, even when he’s worried, and you can’t help but admire his beauty. In return, he meets your gaze, his brown eyes make you feel safe and warm. His hand tries to reach your face, but you turn your head away and shift the conversation. Joel pulls back his hand.

“I found a kitten in the woods, her leg’s injured. So, I brought her home,” you say, pointing to the kitten sleeping on your pillow.

A smile starts to form on his lips as he looks at the little creature. “I didn’t even realize she was there.”

“Is it okay? I can’t leave her alone.”

“It’s okay, little girl,” he says warmly.

“Thanks, Joel,” you say with a smile. “Where’s mom?”

“Downstairs. She’s upset, I’m gonna talk to her.”

“No, it’s alright. Let me talk to her,” you say. “After all, it’s my fault.”

He nods. “Okay.”

Unconsciously, you remove the blanket from your lap and climb out of bed, stepping over Joel’s thigh. The cold air and the rough fabric of his jeans against your bare legs remind you that you’re only wearing a t-shirt and panties. Joel clears his throat, his cheeks turning red. Embarrassed, you quickly apologize and stride to your closet, shutting the door behind you.

God damn it. How could I forget?

As you go downstairs, you find your mother sitting in the dining room. Joel was right—she’s upset, it’s evident on her face. You stand across the table as your mother’s gaze shifts from the window to you. Your heart feels heavy with guilt as you look at her.

“Mom, I’m so—”

“Where have you been?” she says, her voice elevating.

“I’m so sorry, Mom. I was just taking a walk home, that’s all. I didn’t go anywhere else.”

“Well, you can’t just fucking disappear like that! We were looking for you everywhere. If Joel hadn’t told me, I probably wouldn’t have known.”

“I know, Mom. I’m sorry,” you whisper, trying to hold back your tears.

“No, you didn’t. You wouldn’t have fucking done it if you had known.”

Her words make your tears fall down your cheeks, and you sob quietly. Your mother is always like that—very strict about everything: where you go, what you wear, what time you come home. It’s as if she has been scared for you your whole life, and you never understand why. That’s why you are always cooped up at home.

“You go straight home from school from now on. Joel will pick you up, and no more taking a walk bullshit!” she exclaims. “You’re not going to let everything I’ve done to move here and protect you go to waste—”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, but instead, she lowers her head and shakes it.

“Protect me from what?” you ask softly, but your question is met with silence. “Mom—”

“Go to your room!” she yells, making you flinch. “No dinner tonight.”

Without a word, you obey her and go upstairs to your room. In the hallway, you catch a glimpse of Joel sitting on his bed with the door open, his face full of concern. You close your door and cry into your pillow.

In the middle of the night, a knock on your door wakes you up. When you open it, you find a tray of food on the floor: a plate of salmon noodles and a glass of milk. It must be Joel; you know your mother wouldn’t do this. You eat the food with your kitten and then go back to sleep.

October 31

On Halloween day, you lie in the wildflower meadow behind the school like you always do every day during lunch break. Too overwhelmed by the crowd inside, especially the cafeteria, you’ve never eaten there, not even once. You don’t care, though. You love spending your time alone here, with no one to bother you.

The school hosting a Halloween-themed event, allowing students to wear costumes. With a pair of wings, a flowing white dress, and a crucifix necklace, you completed your Juliet Capulet costume. It honestly makes you feel angelic.

It’s your birthday today, and you turn eighteen. You wonder if there’s someone who has a birthday on Halloween as well. If so, they probably live on the other side of the world.

It seems like your mother and Joel forgot your birthday since they didn’t say anything to you. Which makes you feel a bit sad today. To celebrate your birthday, you bought a slice of chocolate cake from the vending machine. You don’t even know what to wish for as you want to blow out the candle, so you just blow it out and eat the cake.

A little while later, you notice a doe standing near the shrubs around the trees, not too far from you. She catches your eye, she’s beautiful just like the one in your painting. So, you get up from your spot and slowly approach her, stopping a few feet away so you don’t scare the doe. You wish you could caress her soft fur and give her gentle kisses. Her eyes are captivating as she looks at you. Maybe it’s your deepest desire that comes true right after you blow out your candle. This very moment makes you feel like you’re in some kind of fairy tale.

The doe slowly steps towards you, but suddenly runs away when she hears a branch crack behind you. As you look back, you catch a glimpse of a man, but he is quickly hiding behind a tree. Heart pounding as you come to the realization that it’s similar to what happened in your dreams. Without thinking further, you run back towards the school. Suddenly, it feels so far, maybe because you have gone too deep into the woods than you realized. All you can think is to run and run; your breath is heavy and your stomach hurts. You hear footsteps behind you, but you do not dare to look back.

Keep running, keep running!

Finally, you reach the school building. Knowing that there are many people around, you dare to look back, and there’s no one is following you. You stand at the edge of the school, confused and feeling like you’re losing your mind. But you’re sure that what you saw was real, not just some trick your mind wanted to see. Suddenly, a hand touches your shoulder, making you flinch and turn around.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

It takes you a few seconds to calm your breath and pounding heart as you look at the person in front of you. His face is full of concern as he looks at you.

“Yeah, I’m okay, Mr. Wayne,” you say.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Are you sure?”

“I just… I thought I saw something, but it’s nothing.”

He nods and speaks calmly, “Okay. Why don’t you just join the party inside with the other students.”

“Yes, Mr. Wayne.”

Joel picks you up after school like he always does. By the time you get home, the house smells like baked goods and cherries.

“Take a walk with me?” says Joel from behind you. His deep voice echoes through the living room.

You turn around and look at him. “Alright. But where are we going?”

He smiles. “You’ll see.”

Joel holds your small hand with his large one as he leads you into the forest behind the house, his other hand holding a picnic basket covered with a white napkin. When you ask him what it contains, he doesn’t answer.

You can’t help but secretly admire Joel’s veiny hand, side profile, and salt-and-pepper curls. He looks so good it makes your heart swell.

“Watch where you’re going, little girl,” says Joel, with a smirk on his face. He catches you eyeing him, like a moth drawn to a flame.

A soft blush tints your cheeks from being caught. “Why can’t you just tell me where we’re going?”

“Patience, baby.”

Walking in the woods again reminds you of what happened earlier. So, you stay cautious throughout the entire walk, hoping no one is following you this time.

A little while later, you arrive at the spot Joel wanted to show you. Hidden behind the tall bushes is a serene lake, where swans swim gracefully. The lake is surrounded by trees and bushes, making it feel like a secret garden.

By the side of the lake is a bone-colored picnic blanket stretched out on the grass, with a few unlit scented candles placed on top of it.

“Joel?” you say, shifting your gaze to him who’s already looking at you with admiration.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

Overwhelmed with happiness, you hug him. “Thank you, Joel. I thought everyone had forgotten.”

“Of course, I didn’t,” he says, his lips brushing your hair.

Pulling back, you gaze up at him. “But mom did. She didn’t say a word to me today. When I woke up, she was already gone.”

Joel caresses your hair with his hand. “Your mom’s busy with work as usual, but I got your present from her.”

That makes you feel a bit better, at least your mother hasn’t entirely forgotten your day. She’s never been there, and you’re always home alone on your birthdays—just buying takeout and watching TV, nothing special. The last time your birthday was celebrated was when you were six. If you’re being honest, you don’t really like having your birthday celebrated. You hate getting older and seeing it as a reminder that death is getting nearer.

But seeing Joel surprise you with all of this makes you think that maybe you deserve it for once. You’re forever grateful that he came into your life and his kindness, for treating you like his own family and making you feel cherished.

The two of you sit on the blanket. Joel takes out the items from the basket while you admire the view. There are countless lavender flowers growing around the lake, and fireflies fly around, glimmering in the foggy air.

Joel takes out the most beautiful cake ever—a heart-shaped cake with pink icing and red cherries on top. He places a tiny candle in the middle.

You blush and smile so widely that your cheeks almost hurt. “Joel, it’s so beautiful. Did you make this?”

He grins. “Yeah, how do you know?”

“The house smelled like cake when we arrived.”

“You caught me.”

“Seriously, Joel, I really love this. Thank you.”

“You deserve this, little girl.”

Have no idea when this will happen again, you savor this beautiful moment and every small thing. You’re not going to let this day be forgotten.

Joel takes a picture of you with his beat-up phone as you blow out the candle. But the birthday cake isn’t the only thing he brings; there’s also grapefruit juice, brownies, chocolates, blueberries, and much more. The two of you eat together, adoring the view and the swans.

“Wish I could stay here forever.”

“You like it here?” he asks.

“Of course I do. I mean, just look at this place—it’s beautiful here,” you say with a smile. “You’re lucky to live here.”

He smiles. “Well, you live here too now, sweetheart. It’s your home.”

“Thank you, Joel, for letting us live with you and for everything.”

“I’m glad to have you here, little girl. It feels more like home now with people around. I’ve been alone for a long time; I came home to a cold house, and it’s warm now with you here.”

The idea of Joel coming to a cold and empty home tugs at your heart. You can’t imagine him being so lonely all the time with no one to care for him. He deserves love and comfort. It makes you a bit glad that your mother has come into his life to fill the emptiness and give him what he needs, even though you secretly wish you could be the one to give it to him.

“I’m gonna keep the fire warm for you.”

Joel’s face softens as he looks at you. “I know you will, sweetheart.”

Your heart warms as you gaze into those dazzling brown eyes and see the sincerity on his face. “I haven’t thanked you enough for everything you’ve done for me—the room, this wonderful birthday, taking me to school, making me breakfast every morning—”

“Sweetheart—”

“For letting Ponyo live with us—”

With a soft expression, he giggles at the mention of your kitten, and you giggle too.

“And so much more,” you whisper.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to thank me for any of it. I’m doing it all for you, and I love every second of it,” says he. “It feels good to have someone to care for.”

You beam.

“So, how was school? Did you make any friends?”

At the mention of friends, your smile slowly fades. “Not really. I’ve been spending time alone. But it’s okay. I mean, I’m not really a people person anyway.”

He gives you a warm smile. “That’s okay, little girl. Sometimes it just takes time. But promise me, if something happens or if you need someone to talk to, you’ll come straight to me, okay? I’m always here.”

“I will. Thank you, Joel.”

You’ve never felt so heard before; it’s like a burden has been lifted from your shoulders. The two of you sit in silence for a while, savoring the peaceful moment.

“They’re beautiful, the swans,” you say.

“They look just like you,” says he, with a heartfelt tone.

You blush and smile, and frankly don’t know how to respond to Joel’s sweet words. Every time he talks to you, it’s as if poetry flows naturally from his mouth.

“Have I told you that you look like a damn angel today, sweetheart?”

“Thank you, Joel,” you whisper and look at him, feeling his breath on your cheeks from how close you two are sitting. “That’s because I’m dressed as Juliet.”

“Belleza demasiado valiosa para ser adquirida, demasiado exquisita para la tierra,” says he.

Cheeks warm and heart racing at his words even though you don’t what it means or what he’s saying. Suddenly, it feels hard to breathe from the strength of the invisible string pulling the two of you together.

You keep your gaze on his eyes as you ask softly, “What does it mean?”

He gently bumps his forehead against yours, making your heart skip a beat. “It means you’re beautiful, little girl.”

It must mean more than that.

You try hard to keep yourself from grabbing his curls and slamming your lips to his, letting him take your breath away. He’s too tantalizing, like a forbidden fruit. But you quickly remind yourself that he is your mother’s boyfriend, not yours.

Joel slowly caresses your soft cheek with his calloused hand and leans forward until your noses touch. But you turn your face away and lower your head. Refusing to let yourself forget the reality.

Did Joel just try to kiss you? The thought races through your mind as you try to make sense of it, sending a rush of heat to your cheeks.

“Can… can I open the presents?” you murmur.

Joel clears his throat. “Yeah, sure, sweetheart.”

Joel takes the wrapped presents out of the basket, and you glance at him, catching something in his expression—is it sadness? You’re not sure. But you try your best to brighten the moment again.

Your mother gifted you a cozy, beautifully knit sweater and a new pair of shoes. Meanwhile, Joel surprised you with an “Among My Swan” vinyl and a lovely wood carving of your kitten, Ponyo, which makes you feel as jolly as a child.

“Oh my god, Joel, this is amazing. Thank you!”

Without further thought, you throw yourself at Joel and envelop him in a hug. In return, Joel laughs softly, circling his arms around you and pulling you into his lap, enveloping your much smaller body.

“You’re welcome, little girl.”

The masculine scent of cedarwood and leather is strong as you bury your face in his neck. It’s comforting and arousing at the same time. You wish you could stay in Joel’s embrace forever, knowing that everything will be okay.

As you try to pull back from his embrace, Joel tightens his arms around you, holding you closer.

“Joel?” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

He loosens his arms a little so he can glance at your face. From this close, you can see the texture of his skin—a little wrinkled around the eyes but soft at the same time. His eyes are rich, chocolate brown, but the pupils take over as they dilate when you lock eyes with him. His lips look soft with a natural pinkish hue, and his breath smells like coffee and grapefruit juice.

Joel Miller is beautiful.

His gaze shifts from your eyes to your lips as you start to talk. “Joel, I—”

He interrupts you with a bruising kiss on your lips before you can finish your sentence. His large hand lands on the back of your neck, pulling you closer, while his other arm tightens around your waist.

Oh my. You close your eyes and let him kiss you, feeling his beard rub against your cheeks and chin. Kissing Joel feels like you can finally breathe like he’s giving you his breath to make you feel alive.

Truthfully, you don’t really know what to do—this is the first time you kiss someone. Joel Miller is the one who takes it.

Your hands fist the back of his shirt and tangle in his curls as you moan into his mouth, giving his tongue an opening. Joel groans into your mouth at the sound of your sweet noises. He takes it as an invitation, so he passionately explores your mouth with his tongue, stroking yours and getting lost in the dance.

“Tastes so sweet,” he murmurs between kisses.

His lips are a bit dry but soft, tasting like the blueberries he just ate—sweet and intoxicating. The kiss grows firmer, more desperate—something you’ve never felt before. He sucks on your bottom lip and slips his tongue inside again, leaving a trail of wetness.

You feel something hard pressing against your core, but you don’t know what it is. The warm sensation in your core worsens, pulsing to the point that it starts to hurt. You can’t hold back a whimper at the sensation and start to grind on it slowly to ease the ache, and he begins to groan.

“Joel,” you whisper breathlessly.

“Little girl,” he murmurs, panting.

He tightens his grip on your waist to stop your grinding. Slowly, you open your eyes and see the pain on his face. It grounds you to your senses, making you realize that what you’re doing right now is completely wrong. This is exactly what you’ve been trying to avoid.

“This is wrong,” you whisper, starting to cry.

You try to pull back from his embrace, reaching for his arm to let you go. His face shows hurt and the realization of what he’s just done. He releases you from his lap, and you sit on the blanket, concealing your face with your palms as you begin to sob.

“I’m so sorry, Joel,” you murmur, your voice muffled.

“No, baby, It’s my fault. I’m so sorry.”

You feel his hand carefully touch your shoulder, and he begins to hold your trembling form in his embrace. You can’t look at him, feeling too guilty about what you’ve just done. Joel is your stepdad; this is deeply wrong. You ruined everything and betrayed your mother.

“Oh God, what have I done?” you whisper under your breath.

“I am so sorry, baby. This is not your fault, okay? Please listen to me,” Joel says, his voice filled with pain, as if he’s on the verge of crying.

You keep apologizing to him, even as he tells you to stop. Yet, he still embraces you gently, as if you’re something delicate and fragile.

After a few moments, you’re able to control your sobs and stop crying. You let him hold your hand as he walks you back home. Once he’s sure you’re okay, he returns to the lake to clean up and give you some time alone.

Lying on your bed, eyes dry from tears, you replay everything that just happened. You start to feel numb, unable to cry anymore, and your head aches. You try to focus on the good things that happened today, but the image of kissing Joel and the guilt cloud your mind, making it impossible to forget.

The sky grows darker outside the window, and the sound of children laughing and trick-or-treating from the street reaches your room. But you don’t hear any noise from downstairs or any sign of Joel coming back.

Where’s Joel? Is he okay?

Feeling lonely and cold, you feel guilty for wishing Joel could be here to hug you and keep you warm. Ponyo’s presence snuggling on your chest makes you feel a bit better; maybe you’re not as lonely after all.

Eventually, you fall asleep with your wings still on.

taglist @morganlolitta

[hxlxnaaa]

𝐳𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 ─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─ 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬

★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: unrequited love manifests itself as a beautiful disease

★ 𝐜𝐰/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: first-person pov, university au, hanahaki disease, ANGST with no happy ending

★ 𝐰𝐜: 2k

★ 𝐚/𝐧: zayne, i'm so sorry </3

Google Search: Why am I throwing up flowers??????

Hanahaki Disease (花吐き病 (Japanese); 하나하키병 (Korean); 花吐病 (Chinese)) is a disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings, or when the victim dies. The flowers can now be surgically removed, but all feelings towards the beloved will dissipate.

I already knew what it was. Everyone does. From the first tulip petal I coughed out while working on my essay, to the bouquet that came up from my lungs, covered in blood, just days later.

It was progressing rapidly as the days went on, and everytime I took a breath my lungs would constrict; the vines curling around them, crushing my breathing ability, and my heart.

At first, I tried to ignore it. I’d go out with friends and attempt to go to class, but I felt embarrassed. Ashamed, even. I could feel their eyes on me, watching as I tried to smother my chokes in the middle of a lecture, only to have to dismiss myself to throw up a rose in the hallway.

It’s not like I could go through campus and see him, the one who gave me this. I ignored his calls, ignored his texts. Not that they came often anyways.

‘Are you okay?’

No, Zayne, do I look like I’m okay? I’m sitting in a pile of flower petals and my own blood on my bathroom floor.

Zayne. He was my childhood best friend, and growing up it always felt like I had to fight for an ounce of his attention. He was top of the class in highschool, popular with all the girls for being smart, stoic, and undeniably sexy. Not once did he entertain any of them, and it made them want him so much more. I was excited for college, thinking I could finally have him to myself, without feeling like I was sharing him with the whole school and his extra curriculars. I knew realistically he’d still lack the time for me, studying biology to go to med school, become a doctor, follow his dreams; and I would never be one to step in the way of that. I knew my place. I was just his best friend. I was aware there were boundaries I shouldn’t cross.

At least, until now.

I remember the moment it hit me.

After days, weeks of begging him, I had finally convinced the introverted, brooding nerd to go to a stupid frat party. For the laughs, I had said, follow the college stereotypes. ‘You only live once, Zayne!’ He humored me, I’ll be grateful for that. Giving it barely an hour (and a few free drinks), he quickly got sick of everything, inviting me outside. We sat outside on the driveway, the cool air a breath of freshness compared to the stuffy, sweat smell from inside.

A dumb rap song played inside, and Zayne looked over to me.

“Slow dance with me.”

I smiled and rolled my eyes, knowing it was the alcohol talking and not him. He’d regret this in the morning, and I’d get a stern talking to.

He stood, reaching his hand out, narrowing his eyes. I took his hand, figuring the least I could do was indulge in this moment. For once, his attention was fully on me.

I laughed as we swayed together, a muffled remix of a shitty rap song as our only background music. Looking up at him, I questioned when he had grown up so much. His once round, soft face with chubby baby cheeks had matured into a sharp jawline and high cheekbones I thought about grazing my hand over. Behind his eyes wasn’t a childish glint anymore, and I wondered how long ago that disappeared.

Pressing my face into his chest, I only felt us. One of his arms around my waist, the other holding my hand that was pressed against his shoulder. My free hand clutched his black jacket, like he would disappear into thin air, and my grasp was the only thing keeping him here.

To a passerby, it would’ve looked like a movie; two college kids dancing together outside of a frat party, holding onto each other like it’s the end of a world. In the movie, the two best friends would confess to each other the next day. The boy would rush to the girl's door, with a bouquet of flowers, gasping for air, saying “I love you, I love you, I love you, I never realized that I did.”

But only I realized. Only I realized I loved him.

Zayne never showed up on my doorstep the day after he walked me home that night. The only flowers I got were the ones that filled my lungs.

I refused to speak to him. I wasn’t mad at him, why would I be? It was my fault for forgetting my boundaries. For forgetting the rules. For thinking I had a chance since all the little highschool girls no longer followed him around like lost dogs. For once thinking that I was no longer his side character, for thinking maybe I could be his love interest in his story.

What would I say to him if we did speak? I couldn’t hide what was growing inside my chest. I couldn't hide my split lips from the thorns, or my scratchy voice. The dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep, too busy catching up on work from missed classes and not getting a break from coughing or vomiting. Tell him I was sick? He’d scold me for not taking care of myself, that I need to rest and eat properly. I didn’t want to hear it, scolding me for something he caused. His concern would only grow when I would accidentally cough up a flower in front of him.

Would he ask who I loved? Or would he just look right through me and tell me I needed to get the surgery to fix all of this. ‘Nobody is worth that kind of illness’ He’d say bluntly.

I knew I couldn’t face him. Not knowing if he even cares, yet knowing that the way I look at his face is different from the way he looks at mine. How he sees his future with someone who isn’t me.

“What are you going to do?” I was hanging out with a friend from one of my classes, Tara. She was the only person I felt like I could confide in about all of this.

We were hanging out at one of the campus coffee shops when I told her. It was a good day for my lungs, after almost overdosing on decongestants and ibuprofen.

“I’m not sure.” Twirling my spoon in my cup, I avoided her eyes. “It’s not like I can get the surgery. I can’t afford it.”

She looked me up and down, and I felt as if she could see into my soul. She did, Tara was like that.

“Can your pockets not afford it, or can you not afford it?”

Tara was right. I could afford the surgery, my university healthcare covered the surgery since students caught the disease so often;

But my heart couldn’t afford it.

It had gotten so used to loving Zayne, it would feel empty without the compassion for him. I feared I may act differently, lacking all love for him. Would he even notice?

I quickly made up my mind, looking out the window - seeing the person I dreaded the most.

Zayne sat outside in a car on the other side of the street, and I could only tell it was him if I stared hard enough. He was holding the hands of a girl I had seen around campus. Zayne had briefly mentioned her a few times, talking about the assignments they’d work on together, and I never thought too much of it.

He brought their hands up to his mouth, kissing the back of her hand, and each of her knuckles. His face was gentle, a look I had never seen on him before. She giggled, and I wondered what it would be like to be her. To have him stare at me with all the love in the world, to be able to feel his soft pink lips I had stared at so many times, wishing to just touch, to just feel. To be on the receiving side of his care, his compassion, no more blunt harsh responses and stern looks.

“Hey-”

I turned back to Tara, and coughed up a flower on the table, and I choked back a sob. Tears threatened to poor, but I couldn’t embarrass myself more than I had with the bloody peony in front of me. She came around the table and hugged me, and I mumbled through quivering lips, “Can you take me home please?”

That night the girl had made it official that she and Zayne were dating. All the pictures on social media, the hearts that their friends commented on each other's posts. A disgruntled feeling made my chest spasm, any time I’d post a picture of Zayne he’d make me take it down immediately.

The morning of my surgery, I got up and put on my favorite sweater Zayne had gotten me for my sixteenth birthday.

“I got it for you last month when you stared at it in the shop’s window.” He smiled when he saw my excitement, one of the rare moments I could see his lips turn upward.

On my walk to the bus stop, I saw him sitting there. Once he looked up and saw me, he stood.

“Where have you been?” Zayne looked at me and frowned. I suppressed the immediate urge to roll my eyes.

“I never see you around campus. You’re never in your usual spots, and I texted you. I was supposed to help you study. Are you still attending your classes?” Even after not seeing each other for weeks, he still found a way to shame me. His eyes hard, lips pressed together into a tight line, I wasn’t even sure he was happy to see me.

The bus pulled up.

“Are you going to take the bus?” I asked him, avoiding his gaze.

He shook his head, “No, I’m waiting for-”

“Yeah, okay. I have to go.”

“Wait,” I turned around to him. It had begun to snow, so the small flakes sparkled on his head in the early morning light like glitter. He always loved winter, the snow.

He stared at me for a few seconds before shaking his head, changing his mind.

I nodded. “I’ll see you, Zayne.” Saying his name felt like acid on my tongue.

Turning around without taking another look at him, I boarded the bus.

Two days later, when I finally came home from my surgery, the only difference I could tell at first was that my chest didn’t hurt anymore. I could finally breathe again without feeling like I was choking on air. The doctors gave me a bag of all the flowers that they collected out of me, and at first I refused to look at them.

Yet as soon as I got home, I felt compelled to sit on my floor and sort through them.

I made piles of each flower, twirling them in my fingers before placing them in their designated places. Some had long vines that I used to tie them together into a crown.

After I finished, I spotted a jacket under my bed. I pulled it out to see it was the black jacket he wore the night we danced together outside that stupid party.

I took a deep breath of it, wishing I would feel the same way I did that night;

But I felt nothing.

It was now just a jacket. He was now just Zayne.

I put it on, wrapping it tightly around my body. I nestled the flowers along my head like a crown of thorns.

Looking at the girl in the mirror, staring at her with her blood stained flower crown, I broke down.

[yummyrevivalfluid]

Don't Look At Me With Those Eyes

Senku x Artist Reader Pt.3

Summary: Senku doesn't seem to understand what it means to be an Artists Muse, specifically yours. (Senku doesn't understand love)

Word Count: 1,355

Tag List: @maria-trisha @xtfhtfrj @markerelll @minimissmelody

I think that is everyone that requested to be tagged! If it didn't work please let me know so I can figure out how to fix it!

HAPPY VALETINE'S DAY!!!!

------------------------

My muses are my love

He couldn’t stop the words chanting in his head. No matter what he did, your voice flooded his thoughts.

My muses are my love

Just the thought of you invaded his mind. He’s been lying awake for the past twenty minutes, trying to fall asleep but to no avail. Every time he found himself closing his eyes, visions of your flustered face appeared.

‘Are you thinking of me’ Senku wondered.

‘Is that what it means to be your muse?’. Was he on your mind as you were on his. He wondered if you were also in the same predicament as him…or maybe you’re drawing? Painting? Were you blowing glass? Or whatever crazy art medium you found yourself exploring…

My muses are my love…

Why did you have to plague his mind? What do you mean about your muses being your love? Why did you look so vulnerable as you said it? More importantly why HIM? Is it as Byakuya said before, “opposites attract”. Is it because he’s so different from you, you find him appealing to be your muse? What is he supposed to do with this information?

Torn and confused about what he needed to do with this newfound information, what the information even meant, and what it meant to him, Senku stepped outside to the balcony and watched the stars.

What does it mean to be an artist’s muse?

------------------------

Something has changed, that much you were aware of. But was Senku aware? Since the day you asked him to be your tutor, something has shifted between the two of you. You couldn’t pinpoint what exactly. As far as you were concerned, you treated Senku the same way you have always done…

Lost in your thoughts you didn’t catch the way Senku was staring at you from his desk. Something that he’s been catching himself doing more than he’s meant to. He’s been catching himself staring at you from his desk, in passing at the school halls, even at your home as you studied beside him.

God, I feel like a creep, Senku cringed. It wasn’t your typical space out staring, he’s been watching your expressions, studying your features, getting lost in your eyes…

Wait what!?

He wasn’t sure how long you caught him staring but you were flushed. You quickly averted his gaze and fumbled with your bag and pulled out a sketchbook. The same one he was snooping in. He watched as you begin to scribble your pencil onto the paper…your eyes were shimmering, Senku noted.

Senku was studying you again, and he wasn’t being subtle. Forgetting or ignoring the fact that you caught him just a mere seconds ago. Unfortunately for you his staring didn’t let up for the next few weeks. Every time you cross paths with him, you can see him looking at you. His eyes were softer than what you were used to seeing. His brows still furrowed slightly, but his gaze was gentle as you felt him examining you. Whatever he was doing, you let him. You just assumed he was doing some weird scientific research, and you were his victim.

---------------

Tutoring you had become a new routine for Senku.  After all the after-school clubs have ended, having cleaned up the lab, Senku met up with you outside of the school’s art studio. He was waiting patiently for you, resting his back against a pillar as he thought of the material, he was going to be tutoring you. After ten minutes had passed, concerned and curious about what keeps you late, he makes his way inside the studio and finds you cleaning up.

“Did you forget the concept of time, airhead?”

“Sorry for keeping you waiting!” you huffed, as you carried a can of paint back to its proper storage. “I lost track of time! I was in the zone. I got new inspiration for my muse!” you laughed.

Muse

The word that’s been haunting Senku’s mind. A word so foreign to him that he doesn’t understand what it means to be someone’s muse. What it means to be your muse.

Senku walked closer to a canvas with a big drape covering the art underneath. He’s assuming it’s yours. It must be. It was the only one out, the only one with cans of paint underneath it. Curious of what you’ve been painting, he begins to lift the edge of the drape. Before he can even process the bits of the painting he can see, he feels your touch on his wrist. He looks at you and he find himself again studying your expression. Studying the look in your eyes.

He doesn’t believe he’s seen this look before. Was it fear of what he was going to find under the drape? Are you embarrassed of what you’ve spent so long painting? Is it the feeling of vulnerability? Showcasing your muse to others but the muse itself.

“It’s not done yet…”, you said softly, almost a whisper to his ears. You watched as he let go of the drape. Hiding your painting.

Hiding your feelings from him.

“What is it?” he asked, as he continued to study you. Watching your expression turned to something he’s been seeing so often. The averted eyes, the flush to your cheeks, the slight stutter to your words. He felt the touch on his wrist fade as he watched you pick up cans of paint from the ground and begin to walk from him.

“…my muse.”

----------------

Muse…

Muse…

Muse…

Muse…

Muse…

Never has a word frustrated him this much. Seeing the word? The paper suddenly crumbled under his hand. Hearing the word has his eye twitching. A simple four-letter word is haunting him. Teasing him for not understanding. Frustrated that you don’t seem to know the effect the word has on him. Not aware of the feeling he gets when you throw the word around. Not understanding that uneasy feeling in his stomach that seems to get amplified every time he studies you.

“I don’t understand this….” You groaned. You dropped the pencil in your hand as you laid sprawled on your bedroom floor. You waited for Senku’s response. Waited for him to tell you off. You waited for him to call you an airhead. You waited and yet nothing. You turned to look at him and found his eyes already looking back at you. “Senku…”

“Hmm?” he hummed back. His eyes never leave yours.

“Umm…is there a reason why you’ve been…staring...” you asked nervously, unsure what to do under his gaze. You watched as his gaze hardened. Not being able to handle anymore, you finally break away, retreating your eyes to the white ceiling.

“It’s a bad habit.” He replied, as he crawled to the space beside you and laid beside you. You both laid in silence, enjoying the presence of the other. You closed your eyes and listened to Senku’s breathing, until that feeling came back again.

“you’re staring again, aren’t you?” you asked quietly. You were afraid to open your eyes, you don’t think you can handle him being so close to you, his eyes on you…

“Yeah….my eyes bother you that much?” he teased, taking joy as he heard your breath hitch.

“It…flusters me…” you whined, “so stop looking at me with those eyes…”

“What eyes?” he questioned. Has he been staring at you in another way he wasn’t aware? He gets up from beside and crawls over you, he ignores your gasp and looks down at you. Staring at you, studying you, your expressions, your noises. His body hovered over you, his arms caging you in, leaving you nowhere to look at but him. “These eyes?”

He waited for your response, his eyes flickered between your betraying eyes, exposing your vulnerability, and your lips, waiting for your words. Instead, you raise your hand to his face, your fingertips slightly brushing his lips as you cover his eyes with your palm. He feels your body pressed against him as you sit up on your elbows, he can feel the heat radiating off your body. You lean to his ear and whisper, “yeah, those eyes.”

----

A/N: So I'm thinking of breaking away from my original plan of doing only 4 parts to this series. I'm not sure how many parts there will be...I'm also thinking of rewriting the 1st chapter, sort of build more of the frenemies relationship.

Anywayssss can yall guess the song inspo? Theres two! One based on the title and one named dropped. Would you guys be interested in a song playlist for this series?

Mini spoiler for the series?!?! Theres a lyric I want to include in a future part, angst approaching!! Hehehehe

I, I loved you and I still do

Just wanted passion from you

Just wanted what I gave you

I waited and waited

-The Greatest Billie Eilish

....requests open?

[snoopychris]

house party

in which... chris needs his brother to get hobbies.

when chris’ parents made his brothers stay in the florida keys during his first semester, he knew they’d cause some sort of problem. nick would whine about always being sunburnt and still not wearing sunscreen or about how he never got laid because there was no cute gay guys around. matt would… well do lots of things. he would be a complete douche to “impress” the ladies, throw parties whenever possible, have a different girl over each week. really the possibilities of what matt could do were endless since he wasn’t in school. even nick was taking online classes. from day one, chris was expecting the worst. 

what chris— and nick, for that matter— never expected was to come back from the library at 11:30 am on a tuesday and see a bunch of unknown cars parked outside of the house. nick’s eyes are wide when he walks inside, noticing an array of people around. he turns around to look at chris, doing nothing more than sending him a look of what the actual fuck. chris hangs his keys up on his designated hook, placing his backpack there as well. he shrugs in response, apologizing to the girl he bumped into. 

both brothers sigh for a moment before matt walks into the room. matt’s wearing a pair of swim trunks with blueberries on them, a matching unbuttoned hawaiian shirt on his shoulders. “oh sick you guys are here. did you get my text? i guess girls here don’t really drink beer and they’re really fighting for those white claws.” he speaks, taking a sip of his beer. he hands the spare can he was holding to chris, receiving a look of disgust from his younger brother. “okay then…” matt mumbles, throwing his arm around the shoulder of the first girl he sees. “hey, hot stuff. i’m matt. threw this party. you come here often? y’wanna come here often?” chris rolls his eyes at matt’s words, heart skipping beats when he sees the last thing he was expecting.

youre here. maybe the party isn’t that bad. chris begins to make his way towards you, stopping dead in his tracks when matt grabs onto his wrist and whispers into his ear. “you’re not staying at my party if you’re not in uniform. bikinis and swimsuits only.” chris looks down at his outfit and then his brothers eyes, knowing how honest his brothers being. he groans as he slips his t-shirt off, throwing it on the messy table. matt smirks in response, going back to his conversation with a new girl. 

chris finally gets over to you, gently tapping your shoulder and pulling you away from your conversation. your smile grows instantly, setting your drink next to you. “hey! it’s you.” you giggle, tucking your hair behind your ear. he knew your dad had money, but he never expected enough money for you to be wearing a pink dior bikini. there’s a different seashell clip in your hair this time. chris still has your old one. the pop of his beer can interrupts the comfortable silence that sit between the two of you, making you giggle again. he wishes that he could record it and listen to it before bed. “i dont think i ever expected you to be at a random party at 11:30 am. i thought you were in school?” you ask, taking a sip from your straw. chris briefly notices how you havent touched your cup since it formed droplets of condensation. 

“its my brothers party… you didnt know? im assuming you heard from a friend or something then?” he quips, a smirk forming on his face. you nod at his words, confirming his suspicions. this time, you learn about him. he.s the youngest of four. he was born and raised in boston. his grandmother recently went back to work at the hospital– its why the party is able to be happening– and he’s studying marine biology. crazy enough, you have your phone with you today. usually its sat forgotten on your bed. chris is bold enough to ask for your phone number and other information and you give it over without hesitation. to chris, its an action that means everything. to you its… an unusual feeling. youre not too sure what it is, but its not nothing.

the music that was blasting in the room a few moments ago is now nothing but muffled noise. everything around you is muffled noise. almost everything. after multiple rejections, matt moves to be stood next to you and across from chris. his hand moves to be sitting on your shoulder, staring into your eyes. you scrunch your nose at the actions, chris letting out a laugh. theres no way matt is trying to make a move on you right now. instead of doing what he should and telling matt about it off to the side, chris decides to pull out his phone and send his brother a few friendly texts. 

yo. 

cut it out

i saw her first 

DIBS.

matt groans when he gets the last text from chris. he throws his arms up in disbelief, earning a laugh from chris. matt finishes off his beer and crushes the can, throwing it in the trash can. “hey!” you gasp, picking it out of the trash and putting it in the recycling bin. matt chuckles at the action, shrugging it all off. maybe he didnt want you that bad after all. chris notices this and decides to pull matt to the side anyway.

“dude you have to cut it out. you cant just be throwing parties and flirting with every girl in sight. youre gonna get a reputation and no not in the cool taylor swift way. in a whore way. and you seem like a dick. and definitely dont flirt with pearl. i called dibs on her… as a friend. you cant take my friend. besides, do you not have hobbies or something? damn.” chris mumbles, running his hand through his hair as he leans back against the counter. matt shrugs as he grabs another can of beer from the fridge, patting his brothers shoulder. he sends you a wink as he walks outside, leaving you and chris stranded in the kitchen. “do you have sisters or something? like i gotta set that kid up with somebody cause throwing a party just to get girls in bikinis here… isn’t normal.” you giggle at his words, licking your lips. 

“i’ve got six. cora, nyx, quin, ocean, and mari. there’s ser too but she doesn’t leave the house much. she’s a very big homebody.”  you reply, taking a sip of your own sweet concoction. chris furrows his brows at you, nodding at your words. the look on his face tells you everything you need to know about his choice.

🫧dividers by @13hoax my angel

🫧tags: @ifwdominicfike @frankoceanfanpage @mattssslutbby @sophand4n4 @matthewsturnsgf @izzylovesmatt @m11rx @chris-hallelujah @sturniolotoast @mattsbrat @wastelandzella @le4hsblog @mattsd0llfac3 @st7rnioioss @isabellewhatt @sturnslutz @ayesha-eroticaa @freshhhloveee @courta13 @sturns-mermaid @ivysturnss @slutformatt17 @emely9274 @princessesgarden @marrykisskilled @zebonos @chrislova @muwapsturniolo @oopsiedaisydeer @throatgoat4u

🫧a/n: crazy enough i dont have a lot to say about this. usually im all yap yap yap but im like rlly... rlly proud of this. arent the dividers so cute tho! kiss kiss! -gen.

[scary-grace]

omg Hana lives au where you’re in her group for a project and keep suggesting studying at her house. You say it’s because she has a library but actually you just think her brother’s cute.

You sent this ask and my brain started clicking, so here is a Hana (and Mon) lives ficlet, ft. a reader who’s lying about her quirk.

“Again?” Hana asks. She heaves a dramatic sigh and flops down over her desk. “We always study at my house.”

“Your house is nicer,” Yue says.

“You have a library and a bunch of pretty windows,” Manami says. “And your backyard is so nice! If the weather’s good we can study outside.”

All of what your friends are saying is true. Hana has the nicest house by far, and the most books you can borrow, but you’re not going to join in the guilt-trip. Hana picks her head up and glances your way. “You’re not going to say anything?”

You can’t. It’ll look suspicious. “I’m fine with wherever,” you say.

“No you’re not,” Yue says, and elbows you. Her elbows are really pointy. “You want to go over to Hana’s too. Say it.”

“Okay, okay,” you say. Maybe not going along with it looks more suspicious than going along with it would. “We have to go over to yours, Hana. Mon loves me, and I promised to go back see him soon.”

“Mon does really like you,” Hana admits. “Better than me. The only person he likes more is Tenko.”

“Is he going to be around?” you ask as casually as possible. “Tenko?”

“Yeah. Why?”

That settles it. You’re going to Hana’s to study if you have to climb over the back fence and study in the grass. “Just figuring out how many snacks to bring. If you’re hosting, I’m bringing food.”

Manami and Yue renew their attack on Hana. “She has a cooking quirk. People pay for her stuff and we get it for free. Come on, Hana —“

Hana heaves an even more dramatic sigh than before, but you can see her smiling slightly. “Fine. My house tomorrow at noon.”

Manami and Yue are grinning, pleased, but you feel a knot of anticipation pulling tight in your chest. You like going to Hana’s, sure, and you love seeing Mon. But you’d rather fail every class between now and graduation than admit to Hana that the reason you always want to study at her place is that you have a crush on her little brother.

You’re not that much older than Tenko is — just a year or so, since you’re a grade ahead in the classes you share with Hana and Yue — and if you told anybody about your crush, the age difference would be the last thing they’d comment on. Tenko can be a little intense, a little earnest, a lot awkward. When you first became friends with Hana, nobody was making him pay for it yet, but then he got to middle school, and you know he got picked on. Hana stood up for him as best she could, and so did you, if someone was mean when you were in earshot. You stood up for him before you had a crush on him. That’s not why you did it.

You’re not sure when you went from the kind of distant fondness you have for your friends’ siblings to this, but it happened, and now you’ll take any chance you get to hang out at Hana’s house. Even if it means you’ll be up all night baking, trying to make the quirk you lied about look real.

You’re at Hana’s house two minutes after noon, with your backpack and two covered trays, one with cupcakes and one with taiyaki. Hana beams. “Sorry I was weird yesterday,” she says as she ushers you inside. “I was worried my dad might try to visit.”

“Oh.” You know Hana’s parents are divorced — messily divorced, and Hana has really mixed feelings about her dad, who lives in a luxury apartment on the other side of town. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s good. I told him he couldn’t visit because I had friends coming over to study, so it all worked out.”

Hana lifts the trays out of your hands while you take off your shoes and goes to set them on the table. As you straighten up, you hear the sound of paws pattering across the floor. “Mon?”

Mon pounces on you, much more spry than his white-flecked muzzle would suggest, and you crouch down to greet him. You don’t have a dog of your own, but you’ve always been a dog person, and Mon’s your favorite by a mile. You tell him so. “Who’s the most handsome man? I missed you so much —“ He bounces up on his hind legs to lick your nose, and you laugh. “I promised I’d come back. You don’t have to give me that many kisses.”

“He wants you to pet him.”

That’s Tenko’s voice, and just like that, you’re nervous. You look up to find him watching you from around the corner, dark-haired and grey-eyed, halfway in the shadows. “You never pet him,” he continues. He got cuter since the last time you saw him. How is that possible? “Why not?”

“Do I have to pet him to love him?” you ask awkwardly. “He likes me anyway.”

“Yeah. A lot. But it’s weird that you don’t pet him.” Tenko scratches lightly at the side of his neck with a gloved hand. “If you’re allergic, you shouldn’t let him lick your face.”

“I’m not allergic.” You nudge Mon away, and thankfully, he defaults to sniffing your backpack, giving you an excuse to look at him instead of Tenko. “I promised I’d bring treats for you next time. Give me a second.”

“He can’t eat treats from the store. They’re bad for him.”

“I made these at home,” you say. “There are two kinds — salmon and quinoa, and carrot and cheese.“

Tenko’s quiet. You glance up at him and see a surprised look on his face. “You made him two kinds of treats?”

“I wasn’t sure what he liked best,” you admit. You take the package out of your backpack, and Mon starts slobbering all over your hands as he tries to get you to open it. “Can I give him one?”

Tenko nods, and you open the plastic bag, selecting a carrot and cheese biscuit. “Sorry I was mean,” he says quietly. “I heard Hana tell you. About our dad —“

“It’s okay,” you say. He’s so earnest about stuff. You can’t remember the last time you heard a boy apologize and really mean it. “Um, should I ask Mon to do a trick or something?”

“If you hold it up and say ‘up’ he’ll stand on his hind legs,” Tenko says, and you laugh. “Don’t make him do it for too long. He’s getting old.”

Tenko’s voice catches a little bit on the last words, and breaks your heart a little bit more. “Can he roll over?”

“Yeah. Mon, roll,” Tenko orders, and Mon flops down and log-rolls twice. “Good boy. Now he can have a treat.”

You feed Mon the carrot and cheese biscuit, which he snaps up in two bites. He must like it, because he immediately comes hunting for more. Tenko fishes around in the bag and comes up with one of the salmon biscuits, which he gives to Mon without asking for a trick first. He pets Mon with gloved hands and Mon immediately pops up, licking his cheek and snuffling his ears. Tenko laughs, a quiet, rusty sound that makes your cheeks heat up. “Don’t be dumb. There aren’t any treats in there. She has the treats.”

Watching the two of them interact, you’re amazed that more of Hana’s friends don’t have crushes on Tenko. There’s something sweet about him, something that renders any weirdness or awkwardness or itchiness irrelevant. You know he’s smart, and you think he’s cute, and the fact that he’s a year younger than you and your friend’s brother shouldn’t matter at all.

But it does matter, because when Hana calls your name, you jump out of your skin like you’ve been caught stealing from the cookie jar. “Where did you go?” she complains, then rounds the corner. “You don’t have to win Mon’s heart with treats. He already likes you second-best out of everybody.”

“He does,” Tenko agrees. He glances sideways at you, somehow managing to look up at you through his eyelashes even though you’re both the same height crouching down. “I can tell.”

You try not to blush and mostly fail, because it’s not Mon’s heart you’re trying to win. And even though you know you shouldn’t, even though you know it’s a bad idea, you reach out to pet Mon’s ears, stealing a little bit of life from yourself and passing it along to him.

part 2 ->