#Max You’re Rambling Again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

scuderiahoney · 2 months

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Pick You Up

Max Verstappen x reader

Masterlist

Summary: when Max has one too many gin & tonics, you’re the one who picks (him) up, every time he calls. Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: alcohol, intoxication, maybe an unhealthy relationship with alcohol??, mentions of Max’s shitty childhood, incorrect taylor swift lyrics

It’s 1am, and your phone is buzzing on the nightstand. You groan and shove your face into the pillow. You were having such a nice dream. Something about an island and a very attractive man. You let the phone ring until it stops, and then you hold your breath. Maybe it was a butt dial. Maybe it’s not what you think.

The buzzing starts again, and you blindly slam your hand onto the nightstand, grabbing for it. You swipe to answer without even looking at the contact. You already know who it is. Or at the very least, who they’re calling you about. It’s never anyone else.

“Max needs a ride,” a friend of his says.

You’re already rolling out of bed. “Yeah. Where?”

You could complain, you suppose, as you pull on a pair of sweatpants and a jacket. You could ask them to find literally anyone else, or beg them to have a designated driver for once, but instead you just slip your shoes on. You rub the sleep from your eyes and grab a Red Bull on the way out the door. Someone sends you an address from a number you don’t even have saved in your phone. Worry claws at your chest.

The truth is, you’ll never complain about Max calling you in the middle of the night, because if he stopped calling you’d worry about who he was relying on. Max is… popular. He’s got a lot of people trying to ride his coattails. He gets invited to events and people buy him drinks and offer him things and then it’s 1am and he’s too drunk to get home on his own. And then he calls you. Or, more often, someone calls you for him.

You pull up in front of the club, and Max is already outside, stumbling on clumsy feet. He lurches towards your car when he sees it, which is a relief, because you hadn’t exactly wanted to get out of the car. You find yourself resenting whoever he was out with for leaving him all alone, but he opens the door and climbs in and you plaster a smile onto your face.

“Hi, schatje,” he slurs, and you muffle a laugh into your shoulder.

“Hi, Maxie,” you say.

This is the only time he calls you things like that. It’s also the only time you can call him Maxie without earning yourself a warning glare, or worse, an elbow to the rib cage. You’ve known him for years, and yet it’s only when he’s wasted that he doesn’t mind the nickname.

“Seatbelt,” you remind him.

He nods and tugs at the belt. You end up having to help him buckle- that happens about 70% of the time. His fingers fumble with the latch as you do so, and he lets out a little huff when you brush his hand away. Once he’s all set, you pat his shoulder lightly and lean back into your seat.

“I’m drunk,” he warns you.

“I know,” you answer.

“So no crazy driving. I don’t want to be sick in your very nice car.”

You laugh and cock your head at him. “This morning you called this car a shitbox.”

He nods. “It is. But it is your shitbox.”

You laugh again, putting the car into drive. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

He rambles the whole drive to his apartment, about all the people he was out with tonight and what they did and who they did. Drunk Max is a bit of a gossip, and his gossiping to you won’t get him in trouble, so he takes full advantage of it. You listen eagerly the entire time, though you keep your eyes focused on the road. He’s not the most drunk you’ve ever seen him, still too drunk to be in a cab or an Uber by himself but coherent enough that the journey up to his apartment shouldn’t be too difficult. You park your car in his parking lot and climb out.

Max is halfway out of his seat when you come around to meet him. You take his hand and help him the rest of the way up. He stumbles a bit, laughing as you catch him. Then he throws his arm around your shoulder and follows you to the elevator.

His head bumps into yours in the process. You lean into the weight of him, the two of you standing like a badly built lean to. If one of you topples, the other will too. You try not to think about that too much.

You stay the night, the way you always do when this happens. Because the only thing a hungover Max hates more than the sunlight is waking up to an empty apartment. You’ll be there in the morning to take care of him. He’ll promise he won’t do it again.

By this time next week, he’ll be out at a club, and you’ll have the volume on your phone turned up.

…..

The next time someone calls you on Max’s behalf, it’s someone you actually know. It’s 2am this time, and your eyes are closed. You’re drifting in that space between consciousness and dreams. Your ringtone almost becomes a part of a half dream before you realize what it is. You turn the phone over. NoRizzz, it reads. You think Max added the contact for you.

You answer. “Hi, Lando. S’it Max?” You ask.

“I swear to god I lost track of him for one second-“ Lando rushes out.

You pause halfway out of bed, feeling a jolt of worry at the frantic tone in his voice. “Lando?”

“He’s gone, he-“ He sounds panicked. “I turned around and he’s-“

“Did you call him?”

“Of course I called him-“ Lando scoffs. “Look, I wouldn’t be so worried if I hadn’t already been thinking about having you pick him up-“

“Hey, hey, slow down,” you say, though your heart is racing as you head for the door. “Where are you? How long has it been since you lost him?”

“We’re at Jimmyz, it’s been a half hour,” Lando admits. “I didn’t want to bother you, but-“

A half hour is a long time for Max. He could be anywhere in the city right now. He could’ve walked, or taken a cab, or… anything. Sober Max is great at self preservation. Drunk Max is easily persuaded. You’ve used it to your advantage more than you’d like to admit. Not in any bad way, just- Max, sing karaoke with me! Max, come dance with me! Max, we should order pizza!

You head for the front door. “Okay. It’s okay. I’ll come meet you, and then-“

You swing the door open and nearly scream when something heavy tumbles into your apartment. Someone, actually, upon further inspection. It’s Max, lit only by the dim hallway light and a beam from the kitchen light that you always leave on. He’s blinking up at you from the floor, a soft smile on his face. He has his arms wrapped around himself, like he’s cold. His skin is damp with sweat.

“Never mind, I found him,” you say into the phone.

“What? How?” Lando asks, bewildered.

“He was sitting in front of my door,” you answer as you crouch down. You card your fingers through his sweaty hair, and Max smiles. “Must’ve taken a cab or something.”

“I walked,” Max admits.

That explains the sweat. That also tells you that Lando has lied to you- Max has been gone much longer than a half hour if he’s made his way here on foot. You choose not to call the other driver out on it, though. You want them to call you about things like this. If you chew him out, Lando will be less likely to do so.

“So he’s okay?” Lando asks.

“He’s fine,” you assure him. “I’ll talk to you later.”

You hang up and then start working on getting Max all the way into the apartment. He’s not much help. You manage to get his legs inside and then you close the door behind him. You’ll work on getting him out of the hallway next. For now, you sit down on the floor next to him.

“You walked here?” You ask.

He nods. “Missed you.”

You snort out a laugh. “You could’ve called me, I would’ve picked you up.”

He shrugs and shuts his eyes. “Didn’t want to bug you.”

“So you camped out in front of my door,” you say.

“Yes. But then you didn’t have to come pick me up.”

“I’ll always pick you up,” you say, brushing your thumb against his temple. “That’s what friends do.”

When he opens his eyes, they’re glassy. Your breath hitches. Max doesn’t get teary often, doesn’t get emotional often. Something aches in your chest. You rub your thumb over his cheekbone. He blinks once, twice, lashes tangled together.

“You okay?” You ask.

“Yeah.” He sounds so small when he says it. “Just. Thanks.”

There are these small moments, when Max shows a vulnerable side. These are the moments you think of when people spread vitriol towards him on the internet and ask how you could possibly be friends with him. They make you love him even more, and they make you resent the adults who were around him when he was growing up.

You’ve seen pictures of little Max, shown to you with funny anecdotes and teasing smiles. But when you look at them, and when you see him like this, you can’t find any of it funny. All you can think of is the other stories you’ve heard about his childhood. All you can wonder is how someone could’ve done those things to him. And then you wonder how despite it all, he ended up with such a kind soul.

Max is the one who brings you soup when you’re sick. He brings you trinkets from every country he goes to- the magnets fill the door of your fridge. Max sends you pictures of dogs he meets on the street even though he’s a cat person. He flies you out to races when you’ve had a bad week and buys you good pasta and better tequila. Max has a heart the size of a whole continent. People keep trying to chip away at it. You hate them for it.

So you take a moment to brush the tears from his cheeks. You don’t ask him why he’s crying, or tell him it’ll be okay. You just sit there on the floor with him in your hallway and wait for him to be ready.

Eventually, you get him up off the floor and drag him into your bedroom. It’ll be better for everyone involved if he gets a good night’s sleep in a real bed. You try to leave the room, but he grabs onto your wrist.

“Stay?” He asks, eyelids barely open.

You hum and brush the hair from his forehead. “Are you sure?”

“M’sure,” he says. “Don’t wanna be alone.”

You nod in understanding. You don’t even bother pointing out that he’s on your side of the bed. He’s too far gone to get him to roll over. You just climb over him and pull the blankets back and then tuck yourself in. You keep a respectable distance from him.

You know in the morning you’ll wake up to his arm around your middle and his face buried in your neck. You know because it happens every time you share a bed. Max will act like there’s nothing weird about it, will thank you for taking care of him, and be on his way before lunchtime.

You’ll crawl back into bed and curl up on your side, unsure of if you love or hate the fact that the sheets still smell like him.

…..

Charles calls you from Qatar.

You answer. “Charles, I cannot pick him up. I’m in another country.”

“Yes, I’ve told him that about a billion times,” Charles says. “He is very stubborn, you know.”

Something dawns on you as you sit up against your headboard. For some reason, you’ve always assumed that other people are the ones choosing to call you. That even when it’s someone who doesn’t know you, they’re getting your information from the emergency contact info in his phone. But this… Charles seems to be suggesting that Max has asked him to call you.

“Is he okay?” You ask.

Charles laughs. “He’s fine. He is a world champion, again. You know.”

You do know. You called and congratulated him right after the race. You can still hear the shake in his voice, the yelling of his team behind him. It’d made your heart ache, made you sad you weren’t there with him.

“Yeah,” you say. “You both still have to drive tomorrow, you know.”

“I do know, which is why I’m hoping you can help me,” Charles says. “We’re in his hotel room. His phone is dead, I guess? He came to use mine, so I brought him back here. He’s lost his charger.”

“There’s a spare one in his backpack,” you tell Charles. “In the small pocket.”

You hear the zipper and Charles’ amused laugh. “Did you pack his bag for him?”

“I helped,” you admit. “Let me talk to him and I’ll see if I can talk him down?”

Charles makes a noise of agreement. There’s rustling, then a thud. More rustling. You pinch the bridge of your nose.

Then, Max. “Hi.”

“Hi, Max,” you answer. “I thought you were going to take it easy tonight.”

“I am a world champion,” he says, so matter of fact.

In the background, you hear Charles groan.

“Yes, a world champion who still has to do a race tomorrow,” you remind him.

“I know. Can’t believe I got it in the sprint. A sprint I didn’t even win,” he says, laughing lightly. “Let the rookie win the race tomorrow. I’m the champion.”

“I’m going to throttle him,” Charles says, loud enough or close enough for you to hear. “I think in turn one I will run him into the wall.”

“Tell Charles if he hurts one hair on your head I’ll fly to Qatar and throttle him myself,” you tell Max.

Max relays the message. Charles is quiet after that.

“Doesn’t matter how you won it, yeah?” You remind Max. “You still worked just as hard to get there.”

“Yeah,” Max agrees. “I’m tired.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” You say with a laugh. “Charles has plugged your phone in. Make sure you turn it on and then go to sleep.”

You call his hotel and have electrolyte drinks and breakfast sent up the next morning, along with a bottle of painkillers. He texts you a photo of all of it along with a thank you message. When he wins the race, even hungover, you’re not the least bit surprised.

…..

When Max calls you at 11:00 pm, your first thought is huh. That’s early. You answer on the third ring, already looking for your keys. You wonder who it’ll be this time. A friend you know, or an unknown voice of someone he’s only met tonight.

“Schatje?” Max asks through the speaker.

You nearly drop the phone. “Max?”

“What, you don’t have my number saved?” He asks.

“No, of course I do, s’just- not usually you who ends up calling me, even from your phone.”

You think you hear him sniffle. Something twists in your chest. Before you can scramble to apologize, he’s speaking.

“Yeah. Um.” He sighs. “Huh.”

You can hear it in his voice, in the way the words seem to stick in his throat. Something’s wrong. You climb off the couch, headed for the door. “Tell me where you are, Max.”

He sniffs. “No, it’s uh- I don’t know why I called-“

“Max,” you repeat as you shut the front door behind you. “Where are you?”

He gives in and tells you he’s at some hotel bar. You recognize it and head down the stairs. You keep him on the line even as you start the car, as you pull out onto the road. He’s mumbling something about how he’ll be fine, about how you don’t have to come get him. Both of you know you’re already on the way.

You have to go in this time. For a moment you think about asking who else he’s with, and hanging up and calling them. But you don’t want to lose contact, so you park the car and head inside. You’re in a hoodie and sweatpants, a pair of slippers on your feet. Nobody bats an eye.

You find him in a back hallway, squeezed into a corner. Your heart crumples at the sight of him. You’re sure your face does too. He’s teary and curled in on himself. He looks so small. You love him, you worry for him, you hate this version of him. Not that you could ever really hate him. It’s just that he looks so vulnerable, so unlike himself.

As much as you want to get him out of there, as much as it would probably be the right move, you sit down next to him instead. You wrap an arm around his shoulder and pull him into your side until his head is against yours. You don’t ask him what’s wrong. He’ll tell you eventually. It might take a while- sometimes a few days. You always give him time. For now, you just sit in the hallway with him. You meet him where he’s at.

He tells you later that he suddenly found himself alone in the bar. After days straight of only being alone when he went to sleep, person after person wanting to celebrate his championship, he’d been alone. He hadn’t realized how much he’d felt like he was suffocating until that moment.

“I was one of the people celebrating,” you remind him as he clings to you.

“But you aren’t suffocating me,” he says. “You’re like… clean air.”

He sleeps in your bed that night. You sleep next to him, not even bothering to argue about it. You fall asleep to the sound of his steady breaths and the weight of his hand on your back.

When you wake up in the morning, he pretends he’s fine. You let him.

…..

Drunk Max is an overly honest Max. He’ll tell you anything and everything. So when you’re walking him home one night, his arm over your shoulder, gin on his breath, you’re expecting to learn some things. What you weren’t expecting, however, is for him to lean close, his lips against your ear, and tell you he loves you.

The odd thing is the way he says it. He leans close and tells you he loves you like he’s talking to someone else. He says “hey, you know-“ then he says your name- and then he says, “you know I love her?”

You shove at his side. “Yeah, I love you too, you dummy.”

He shakes his head, bumping his forehead against your temple. “No, I love her.”

Your heart stops at the way he says it. At the meaning he’s insinuating. Your feet fumble under you, but you manage to keep both of you upright.

“Max,” you say in a warning tone. “You’re drunk.”

“Mm,” he hums. “Drunk in love. Love drunk? Like that song she likes- got love drunk-“

He doesn’t realize he’s talking to you. He likely won’t remember this. You cut him off before he breaks into slightly incorrect Taylor Swift lyrics on the sidewalk. “That’s nice, Max. Why don’t you tell her?”

He shrugs. “Can’t.”

He doesn’t elaborate further, and you miss your chance to prod him about it when he trips over a bump in the sidewalk and nearly sends you both flying. After that, you keep your focus on getting him up to his apartment safely. You shove him into the bathroom in his apartment and tell him to brush his teeth. Then you stand in the hallway and press your hands over your face.

Can’t. Why not? Does he mean it? Did he say the wrong name? He won’t remember it tomorrow, you know that. Do you bring it up? Maybe you should just forget about it. He obviously doesn’t want you to know. And even if it is true, and he does have feelings for you, it would never work.

He stumbles out of the bathroom and presses a messy, toothpaste-y kiss to your forehead. That leaves your brain spinning even worse than it was before. You follow him to the bedroom and tuck him in. The cats glare at you as you disturb the blankets.

“You’ll stay, right?” He asks, tugging on your arm. He seems to know who you are now. “Please?”

You sigh and agree, climbing into bed next to him. He sighs happily and rolls towards you. He slings an arm around your waist, and you hold your breath when he presses his cheek to your shoulder.

“Goodnight,” he says, already half asleep.

“Goodnight,” you echo.

You lay awake and stare at the ceiling for at least an hour, trying not to listen to the sound of his soft breaths. Trying not to think about him admitting that he loves you. Trying not to think about him calling himself love drunk. Trying not to think about him at all, which is difficult with him right there.

You wonder if he really meant it. You want him to mean it, you realize. You tilt your head to look at him- you can only see the top of his head and the slow rise and fall of his chest. God, you want him to mean it. There’s no way he does, but you want it so badly your whole body aches with it.

Sassy walks up to the head of the bed and curls up right next to you. You run your fingers over her fur. Finally, then, you’re able to fall asleep.

…..

It’s not often that Max is the one to pick you up from a bar. It’s every once in a blue moon. You’re much more responsible, you plan ahead. You have a ride home, or you don’t get so drunk that you can’t walk, or you plan to stay with a friend who lives closer to wherever you’re going.

It’s not often, but it does happen. Which is how you find yourself in the bar bathroom, phone pressed to your ear, praying he picks up. There’s a good chance he won’t. He’s definitely not sitting around, waiting for you to call like you always are when he goes out. If he doesn’t pick up you’ll have to call someone else, but you won’t even know where to begin.

It’s only when you hear his voice that you realize you’re not sure he’s even in Monaco.

“Hello?” He says. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, just- what country are you in?”

“What?” He asks. You can hear rustling in the background. “Is this some sort of code? Is someone-“

“No, Maxie, I’m fine,” you say. “Where are you?”

“Monaco,” he answers, still sounding unsure. “At home. Where are you?”

“Monaco. A bar bathroom,” you answer. “Any chance you’d come pick me up? My designated driver met a guy.”

“Not a very good designated driver,” he says with a scoff.

“Says the guy who never has one,” you retort.

Max laughs and doesn’t argue. “Send me your location. I’ll come get you.”

Max gets there far too quickly to have been driving at a reasonable speed. He insists that you wait inside rather than meeting him out on the sidewalk, and says he’ll call you when he gets there. The phone rings, so you step outside. You’re thankful once again for his collection of cars and his tinted windows- nobody seems to have realized it’s him. He leans over and opens the door for you, and you climb inside. He already has the heated seat on for you, and he hands you a bottle of water after you sit down.

“Drink,” he says as he pulls away from the curb.

You roll your eyes but do as he says anyways. The city is a blur of lights outside your window, though you know Max isn’t speeding. He always drives carefully with you in the car, no matter how many times you beg him to go fast. You sink lower in the leather seat.

His eyes flicker over to you. “Did you have a good time?”

You shrug. “Yeah, till all my friends ditched me,” you say. “They found guys to hook up with.”

You see Max frown out of the corner of your eye. “And you didn’t? The men in this club must be blind.”

You pick at the hem of your dress. “Maybe I didn’t want to hook up with anyone. Maybe that’s not what I’m looking for.”

“And what are you looking for?” He asks.

He keeps his eyes trained on the road. You turn your head to look at him. You’re at a stoplight, and it paints his face red. You study the slope of his nose, the jut of his jaw. You, you want to say. I’m looking for you. You think of him the last time you picked him up, how he said he loved you. Called himself love drunk. And then you think of when you asked him why he hadn’t told you. Can’t.

So instead, you shrug. Max turns and looks at you, then shrugs in response. You pout, knowing he’s mocking you. His eyes trace over your face, then over the rest of you. You wonder if he’s relying on how drunk you are to make you forget this- hoping you won’t realize or remember him checking you out. He reaches into the backseat and comes back with a large dark hoodie.

“Here,” he says. “You must be cold.”

The light turns green when the sweatshirt is half over your head- you only know because you feel the vehicle lurch into motion. You squeak, and Max laughs and lays a hand on your leg to steady you. His palm is warm against your bare skin.

When you pop your head back out and shove your arms through the sleeves, you expect him to let go. He doesn’t. His hand stays there, a steady presence, the whole ride to his place.

He hasn’t even asked if you want to stay at his apartment- he doesn’t need to, he already knows what your answer would be. Plus, you’re a bit too drunk to really be left on your own. He leads you up to his door, keeping his hand on your lower back to steady your wobbling steps. You’d tried to kick your heels off in the lobby, but Max had insisted you keep them on. You take them off as soon as you walk in his front door, though, sighing in relief. You stumble over to the couch as he sheds his shoes and jacket. By the time he walks into the living room, you’re curled up in the corner, already under a blanket, face pressed against one of his throw pillows. Max clicks his tongue.

“Come on. Up,” he says, tugging at your shoulder. “You should change your clothes and eat something.”

You groan and reach out to wrap your arm around his neck. “I’m comfy. Come cuddle. Comfy.”

He sighs. “We can cuddle. If you change your clothes and eat something.”

The offer leaves you a bit dumbfounded, because Max isn’t much of a cuddler. It’s pretty likely that he’s lying just to appease you, to get you to follow his instructions. So you continue to lay there, trying to pull him in. When you don’t budge, Max huffs, plants his hands on the couch behind you, and straightens up. He does it before you can loosen your grip, so you go with him almost accidentally. He pulls you off the couch and grabs your hips, helping you to stand up.

“There,” he says, as you sigh and lean heavily on him. “Step one. Clothes.”

He leads you to his room, where you eagerly take the opportunity to sit down on his bed. He turns and begins digging through his drawers. You flop back onto the bed. One of the cats paws at your ankles- you don’t bother looking to see which one. Max throws clothing onto your stomach.

“I’ll go make you food,” he says.

It takes you far too long to find the motivation to shed the hoodie and dress and trade them out for whatever clothes Max has left for you. Eventually, though, you do it. He’s given you one of his shirts and a pair of shorts that are definitely yours, likely left behind whenever you stayed over last. You pull the hoodie back over your head and leave the dress on the floor. It’s only when you remember that Max is awful at cooking that you scramble towards the kitchen.

He’s putting perfectly cooked ramen into bowls. Frankly, it’s hard to mess up ramen, but you’re relieved either way. He smiles at the sight of you, and you think about telling him all over again. The last time you were drunk, you said you loved me. I love you too. We should talk about that. Can’t. Your heart stutters in your chest.

“Thanks,” you say, sitting down at the counter.

You never do get the cuddle he promised. You fall asleep there, forehead pressed to the granite, and Max carries you to the guest room and tucks you in. You swear you feel his lips against your forehead as you fall asleep. But that’s probably just a dream.

…..

By the time you’re in Vegas for the Grand Prix, you haven’t been drunk with Max in months. It’s been one or the other, not both. But since you’re there, Max drags you along to every event he gets invited to. You’re two drinks deep by the time Max makes it to the afterparty. He catches up quickly.

You sneak a sip of his gin and tonic and recoil at the taste. He gives you a blank stare in return.

“You’ve never liked it,” he says. “I don’t know why you keep trying.”

You shrug. “Exposure therapy. And my drink’s empty.”

He gives you a look that’s a mixture of what you think is exasperation and fondness. It’s his signature look when he’s dealing with you on nights out.

“We can fix that,” he says, as he reaches for your hand.

He leads you up to the bar, fingers knit with yours. He doesn’t let go like he normally would. It’s not uncommon for him to hold onto you in a crowd, especially when you’re drunk, but this is different. He leans over the bar and gives your order to the bartender, who nods and moves to make the drink. Max keeps his hand in yours. He finally lets go when you get your drinks, and you take a sip while you look up at him.

His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, blue eyes wide, and you’re trying desperately to read his mind. You want him to let you in so badly.

You end up at a table with him and his driver friends, squished in the booth between Max and Charles. You sip your drink and listen to them talk about race strategy and tires and Vegas in general. Max downs his drink, and someone brings him another. You do the same, and he gets them to bring you one too. And the cycle continues.

This means that by the time he turns to you and says, “we should leave now,” you’re pleasantly drunk, and you’d probably do anything he asked, really.

He slips out of the booth and pulls you along with him, ignoring the people who call his name. He has both of your jackets in his arm as he weaves through the crowds, holding onto your hand. It’s nice, to be here with him, to be a part of it instead of sitting and waiting for a phone call to come pick him up.

As the two of you stumble out onto the sidewalk, you tug on the back of his shirt. “Hey. Who are we going to call to come take care of us? We’re both drunk.”

Max turns and laughs, and then he’s quick to steady you when you stumble on the pavement. “We will take care of each other.”

You nod clumsily, leaning into the feeling of his hands on your hips. “Okay. Yeah. Nice.”

Max tugs you close, tucking you under his arm as he starts to walk down the street. “Lovely.”

“Simply lovely,” you say teasingly. “Where are we going?”

“The hotel,” he says. “I am sick of people.”

You deflate a bit at that. You’re not ready to say goodnight, to say goodbye, to be alone. You want to spend more time with him- it’s why you’re here in Vegas. Max seems to sense your change in mood and squeezes your shoulder, craning his head to look down at you.

“What’s wrong?” He asks. “Do you want to stay out? We can find another club, I just thought maybe we could order room service, or pizza, and play a game or…”

He trails off as your eyes go wide, the hurt in your chest melting away. He cocks his head.

“I thought you were sick of me, too,” you say, and you bite your lower lip.

Max frowns deeply. The lights behind his head are blurry in your vision. You wonder if you’re just drunk, or if you’re tearing up. The way he swipes his thumb under your eye tells you it’s the latter.

“No,” he says, gently. “Never.”

Your lip wobbles. You shrug. Max seems to understand, and he just squeezes your shoulder again and keeps walking. You try to get your emotions in check. You have to, really, need to be normal about this. He’s just your friend. That’s all he wants to be.

“We could go do karaoke,” he suggests, pointing at a sign down the road.

He’s trying to distract you. It’s working.

You laugh and elbow him. “You’re an awful singer,” you tease.

“Am not!” He says, his tone full of mock offense. “Here, I’ll-“

You’re expecting him to break out into Viva Las Vegas, like he had at the end of the race over the radio. You’re bracing yourself for it, ready to grimace and cover your ears even though he isn’t really that bad of a singer. What he starts singing surprises you, makes you stumble a bit over your own feet.

“Welcome to New York!” He sings, and you stare at him, wide eyed. “They’ve been waiting for me- welcome-“

“Stop, stop,” you laugh, elbowing him as he attracts stares from people passing by. “We’re in Vegas, not New York! And you always get the lyrics wrong-“

“I am very good with lyrics,” he says, shaking his head.

“No, you’re not, you sang the other one wrong, too,” you tease. “You said got love drunk, it’s supposed to be got love struck. Remember, in Monaco?”

He stops in his tracks, his arm still around you, and stares. You stare right back. You frown and tilt your head at him, mirroring his earlier reaction.

“You remember that?” He asks, quietly.

“I was sober, Max,” you answer. “You remember that?”

He nods, lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes are wide, cheeks pink. “I wasn’t sure if it was real, or if I dreamed it. And you never said anything about what I told you, so…”

That’s when you remember the other part of that conversation, all those nights ago. I love her. Why don’t you tell her? Can’t. You swallow tightly, hands hanging at your sides.

“You didn’t seem to know you were talking to me,” you explain. “So I figured it wasn’t something you really wanted me to know.”

Max blinks, then nods. “I didn’t. Because you don’t feel the same.”

Your stomach twists violently, and your chest follows suit. “I never said that.”

His stare is so intense you feel like you’re seconds away from bursting into flame. “But if you did, you would’ve said something after that night.”

You shake your head. “I asked why you didn’t just tell me and you just said, can’t. You wouldn’t explain any further. I don’t know, Max, I just. I figured you had a reason. Like, maybe…”

“Maybe what?” He asks, still staring at you.

“I’m just me, Max,” you say, pressing your hands over your face. “I’m just your friend. People get crushes all the time but it doesn’t mean you want to be with me, you’re a fucking world champion and I-“

He reaches up with both hands and grabs your wrists gently. He pulls your hands from your face. There’s a smile on his lips that leaves you teetering between relief and apprehension.

“But I didn’t say I had a crush on you,” he says, brows raised. “I said I love you.”

You sigh heavily and try to pull your hands back to your face. He doesn’t let you. You’re looking anywhere other than his eyes. Anywhere other than him, really. He lets go of your wrists and then cups your face in his hands before you can move.

“Hey,” he says. “I said can’t because I thought there was no way you’d feel the same.”

You stare at him, wide eyed, as his thumbs sweep soft circles over your cheeks. Suddenly, everything comes into focus, bright and blinding and stark. The Las Vegas strip is glowing all around you, but none of the lights are as bright as him.

“I do,” you murmur, and he lights up even brighter, somehow, when he smiles. “Fuck, Max-“

He kisses you right there, where anyone could see, in the middle of one of the busiest sidewalks you’ve ever been on. Nobody seems to notice or care, nobody seems to understand that your whole world is shifting. His lips are warm against yours, he tastes like gin, and he holds onto you like he’s trying to be so, so careful. You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck and thread fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.

He only pulls away when someone whistles at the two of you. He’s grinning wide, hands still cradling your face, and you have to fight not to pull his lips back to yours.

“Come on,” he says, slightly out of breath.

You don’t ask where you’re going. You just let him lead you away. You’re so in love with him, you think you’d probably follow him anywhere. It’s terrifying and relieving all at the same time.

…..

A week later, in Abu Dhabi, you ask him if he wants to go out after the race. There’s a billion parties he could choose from.

“No,” he says, wrinkling his nose up at the idea. “I’m good.”

You elbow him lightly, raising your brows. “All those parties you called me to pick you up from, and now I’m here and you don’t even want to go out? You don’t want to celebrate your season?”

He smirks as he tugs on the hem of your shirt, pulling you along with him through the paddock. “I want to celebrate, but we don’t need to go out to do that. I have better ideas.”

His hand slips lower from your hip and squeezes at your ass. You yelp and look around frantically, hoping nobody noticed. He’s grinning with pride.

“Party animal Max Verstappen wants to stay in,” you tease. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

He shrugs, leans his head close to yours, and then admits, finally, “it was never about the parties. It was more about who was picking me up from them.”

You smile against his shoulder and try not to let it go to your head. He smiles against your forehead and tells you that he loves you for what must be the millionth time in the past week. You say it right back, drunk on the feeling of it.

a/n: thank you for readinnnnngggg!!

taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully

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underoossss · 10 months

Text

Head over Heels - S.H

masterlist

pairing: steve harrington x grumpy!f!reader

summary: Steve falls for Robin’s grumpy friend, and he falls hard.

warnings: family problems mention, trust issues, angst, hurt/comfort, no spoilers, (there’s fluff I promise!!!)

grumpy x sunshine trope

an: I know this is the first Steve fic I’ve posted IN FOREVER and I’m sorry! my writer’s block, personal problems, work and health, have all contributed to how long it took me to finish this. But I promise to make it worth your while, this is the same length as babe baby beautiful and I hope it makes you happy. I dedicate this to all my grumpy beloveds out there, who, like me. don’t relate 100% to the sunshine tropes bc sometimes life just freaking sucks. I poured my heart out with this one so, I hope this comforts you and that you like it! Please let me know. 💘

——-

The September breeze pushes Steve’s hair back as he makes his way to the Hawkin’s start-of-autumn fair, a new thing the town is trying out to make the citizens feel more upbeat after all the incidents they’ve experienced. His friends trail after him, Mike and Lucas arguing over something he doesn’t understand, Max listening to Dusting complain about some prank the soccer team played on the Hellfire Club and Robin walking by his side. Everyone shouts food orders over their shoulder, running towards the picnic tables in search for an empty one, and leaving Steve and Robin alone.

His friend is rambling by his side, and Steve nods along to what she’s telling him. She has a new friend this year, met her at homeroom when she was introduced as a new student. A senior like Robin, she got along with her just fine. I talk a lot and she doesn’t, it’s a good fit, I think she really needed a friend that day, Robin says, and now she’s friends with all of us. Steve hums in understanding, switching schools in senior year sounds awful, and he wonders why you chose to do that. He wouldn’t, unless it was for something serious.

“Anyway here she comes!” Robin says excitedly, waving you over. “I can’t believe she actually came, she’s not comfortable with strangers and she doesn’t know you. I thought she’d sit this one out.”

Steve follows Robin’s line of sight and spots you walking towards them in the distance. Baby blue sweater, light washed jeans and black high-top converse, make you stand out from the orange foliage around you. Your face is serious as you get closer, only breaking into a small smile when you wave at Robin and accept her hug. When you step back your face morphs back to neutrality, a slight furrow to your brow as you hide your hands in your back pockets.

Robin says your name and motions towards Steve. “This is Steve, the friend I told you about.” She explains, “He’s our chauffeur, monster-fighter and designated babysitter.”

Steve furrows his brows and looks sideways at Robin before he looks at you and grins. “Hi, nice to meet you.” He offers his hand and you give it one quick shake before pulling back and looking away. Steve wasn’t expecting that reaction, but he guesses what Robin said is true, you don’t like strangers.

“We’re going to get Apple fritters! They have massive ones here and they serve them with big scoops of ice cream.” Robin tells you, glancing down the line as it moves. There are only three people left to order, so the three of you step into line. “Let me check if they’re still doing the ice cream on top.”

With that, Steve is left to wait next to you until Robin is back. You shift from one leg to another, almost nervously and Steve glances at you. Your eyes meet his and then look away, not scared or nervous, just looking away like you can’t be bothered to make conversation with him. Is he intimidating? Steve asks himself or are you just a massive buzzkill that can’t even comment on the weather.

Steve tries again, scratching his cheek. “So, uh, you’re in senior year like Robin?”

You nod, looking down at your feet before looking at him. “Yeah, we have a lot of classes together. I know the guys over there as well.” Your hand lifts to point at Eddie, who’s just arrived at the table, and the kids talking around him.

Huh, so you do speak, Steve notes, but only when prompted. “Cool.” He nods, looking at your face and noticing the way you look away immediately. “So why did you move to Hawkins all of a sudden? I mean senior year, that’s gotta be rough.”

You press your lips together, looking uncomfortable by the question. Steve has the faint idea that he asked the wrong thing. “I should go say hi to everyone.” You say after an awkward cough. “If there’s ice cream can you tell Robin I’m good with cookie dough?”

Steve wordlessly takes the 5 bucks you hand him and sees you rush away from him. In the distance he can see everyone’s faces light up when they spot you, beckoning you over with excited waves, and your reluctant barely there smile as you greet them and sit down. Steve doesn’t get it; he is half mortified and half confused when Robin comes back. How is it that everyone is your friend when you’re so closed off and Steve doesn’t want to say it but… grumpy.

“Are you sure your friend wants to be here?” Steve asks Robin, looking over at you again. You’re sitting with your elbows leaning on the table, listening to everyone talk around you, neutral expression on your face. Bored, even.

“Of course, she does.” Robin is quick to say. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, she doesn’t look too thrilled to be talking to you.” Steve shrugs.

“You clearly don’t know her.” Robin shakes her head. “What did you do?”

“I only asked her about her move to Hawkins.” Steve holds his hands up defensively, then adds. “She said she likes cookie dough ice cream.”

They pause their conversation to order the fritters and pay, then continue talking while they wait.

“Okay, you shouldn’t have asked that. First of all.” Robin rolls her eyes, “Second of all, she’s friends with all of us.”

Steve huffs in disbelief. “Oh so she likes you? That’s her I like you face.”

“She adores us, you… not really but that’s cause she doesn’t know you.” Robin nods with certainty, then worries her bottom lip. “The move question is just tricky for her.”

Steve moves to say something when their order is called, and she go back to the booth to take the trays laid out in front of them. There are eight apple fritters with ice cream they have to juggle back to the table but manage to fit in their hands and arms.

“Look Steve.” Robin says seriously, lowering her voice after a sigh.” She slows her pace, so they take longer to get back to the table. “She has been through a rough time; I won’t tell you what because it took her a long time to trust me enough to open up.”

“Okay…” Steve nods, going over her words and feeling a soft pang of guilt. He wouldn’t have judged you so harshly if he knew you were struggling with something. He wouldn’t have asked you about you changing towns. “You could’ve told me that before I messed up earlier. Before I was bitchy too.”

“You’re always bitchy.” Robin huffs, then hums when she looks at you sitting in the distance. “She’s wonderful Steve, in her own way, so don’t judge her by the way she presents herself. When she trusts you, you’ll see what I‘m talking about.” She gives him a pointed look.

Robin’s words echo in his head as they reach the picnic table and hand over the food to their friends. Steve places yours in front of you with a nod to which you say thank you. Now that he knows a little more about you, Steve guesses you were both left with a bad first impression. They aren’t his forte, and it’s not his fault you weren’t the same person with him as you are with Robin. You don’t know each other, of course it was going to be awkward. Steve sees what Robin means as everyone chats and eats; he sees it in the way your eyes soften, and lips smile slightly when Max begins to tell you something. He sees it in the way you lean closer to the redhead and whisper something that has her laughing soon after; you smile as well before turning your attention back to the group. Dustin and Eddie are planning some sort of revenge on the jocks from the soccer team who messed up something in their Hellfire Room.

Steve tries to focus on what they’re saying but he’s too busy looking at you, trying to figure you out. What happened? What’s the thing that you told Robin that made you keep the gentleness you showed to Max tucked away? You feel him looking at you and meet his eyes, it’s a distrustful glance from the way you narrow your eyes at him. Okay, Steve probably stared at you too long. He looks away and hears you sigh before you do too, tuning back into the conversation between the Hellfire club sitting at the other end of the picnic table.

“That’s a horrible plan.” You say plainly, making Max snort and Eddie pause the conversation. The metalhead rolls his eyes –no annoyance, no malice in sight. Steve supposes Eddie knows you like Robin does.

“Why is that, buttercup?” Eddie asks.

“They’ll know it was you, and they’ll beat you up, Munson.” You tell him seriously with an eye roll of your own –Steve doesn’t need to know you to catch the concern in your tone. “Put some laxatives in their protein powders instead.”

Steve lets out a bark of laughter that startles the table; that would be a good prank if he’s being honest. Everyone turns to look at him, including you and Steve clears his throat. “It’s a good idea.” He mumbles rubbing his chin, then meets your eyes briefly to find something like amusement in them.

“No, no, no.” Dustin shakes his head. “It is an objectively good plan, there’s no way they’ll know it’s us.”

“Yeah, we’ll wait for them to leave and then sneak into the locker room.” Eddie adds. “We’ll seal their lockers shut, they can’t change into their gear the next day and their coach yells their ears off.”

“The perfect plan.” Dustin says proudly and looks around the take to see who agrees.

“You sure they won’t be able to trace the prank back to you? See it as immediate revenge for what they did?” Max asks nodding towards you, “She’s right.”

“We’re absolutely sure.” Eddie confirms with a nod, clapping his hands in front of him.

“Can I read the eulogy at your funeral then?” You ask Eddie and Dustin with fake enthusiasm. “I call dibs.”

Steve chuckles and next to him, Robin fakes discontent as she rolls her eyes. “Damn, I wanted to do it.”

You send a smile her way before you clear your throat. “Eddie and Dustin died as they lived.” Your words are solemn as you speak. “With bad plans and too much confidence that they’ll work.”

“They always work.” Eddie says, chuckling at your words with everyone else. You simply raise one eyebrow at him, which Steve must admit is hot, and Eddie shakes his head. “I guess they sort of work.”

“So, laxatives?” Dustin asks Eddie after a minute, a defeated hunch to his shoulders.

“Laxatives.” Eddie and the rest of Hellfire repeats before the table bursts into laughter– including Steve.

His eyes don’t leave you though. You’re not laughing like everyone else but there’s a small smile on your face. It is reserved but softens your face in the loveliest way. It shows him you are enjoying their company despite the otherwise inexpressive look on your face. Steve begins to wonder then… if he wins your trust, the one you have with Robin and Max, will you smile at him the same way you do with them? Bright and beautiful enough to blind him? He guesses it would be worth a shot, getting to know you more, because if he’s being honest, he’s intrigued.

--------

The next time Steve sees you it’s at a party. It’s mid-October and the cold weather turns it up a notch with the cold bite to the air. He wouldn’t have gone to the party in the first place, if he’s being honest, but Robin forced him to go. Everyone will be there she’d said but Steve didn’t know who everyone would be. Only when he arrived at Kevin Rotner’s house did he begin to recognize some familiar faces. Nancy, Johnathan, and Eddie arrive at the same time he does and the five of them walk up the driveway and the small path leading to the front porch. There’s loud chatter inside and a boombox playing to the loudest volume in the dinning room. There are people sitting in the staircase laughing at a joke and more loud conversation coming from the backyard. He navigates the house with his friends until Robin spots you in the kitchen, and Steve doesn’t know why he’s so nervous when he sees you. You greet Robin with a hug and shrug when she tells you something, he can hear. Your face is pretty and serious as you look over Robin’s shoulder, spotting everyone else coming to say hi. Steve sees you take a deep breath before you greet everyone — almost as if you’re preparing yourself for small talk and hugs. He greets you last, more open and approachable than last time, and he’s surprised when you wave. “Hi, Steve.”

Something inside Steve jumps, but he thinks it’s only his own surprise. He’s about to say something, when Robin and Nancy take your hand and drag you away with the promise of some new gossip, they have to tell you.

Steve talks to a few people here and there; mostly the ones he’s kept in touch with after high school. Other than that, he doesn’t know anyone else; he doesn’t know if it’s cause he’s grown up but he’s not really having fun. There are people jumping into the pool despite the weather while those who mind the cold have gathered inside the house. Steve’s mostly avoiding the crowds, where the air is too hot despite winter being near, while keeping an eye out for his friends. Nancy and Jonathan are talking to some people he doesn’t know in the kitchen, Robin is trying not to combust while she talks to her crush —her lab partner in biology— and Eddie is walking around the entire party with his lunchbox.

When Steve sees you again, you are people watching in the living room, eyes trained on a few people in the middle of the room. He moves to stand next to you, and you shift your gaze towards him but say nothing; Steve thinks it means it’s okay if you stand here. Your foot taps to the music –Tears for Fears’ Head Over Heels –and your head moves almost imperceptibly to the music. The two of you are quiet for a while, and it’s not awkward like Steve expected it to be, not after the way he messed up at the fair. He’s pleasantly surprised, and relaxes a bit more next to you, slouching slightly against the wall. One of your arms is crossed over your chest while your other elbow rests on it, a red cup in your hand. The music continues to play and your eyes are still trained on the people talking in the living room, they’re some old Hawkins High students Steve kind of recognizes. There’s Angela and Karen, Bradley and Peter and some other people he doesn’t know the names of. Steve leans his weigh on his right leg, which brings him closer to you.

You don’t move away, simply pass him your red cup. Steve moves to shake his head no and say he’s driving, but you speak up before he does. “It’s only soda.” You say and nod at the cup that Steve takes the cup from you shortly after.

“What’re you watching?” Steve asks.

“The only interesting thing that’s going to happen in this party I think.” You look at him finally and lean closer, Steve isn’t sure you’re aware of it. “I think there’s going to be a fight.”

Your eyes hold amusement in them, like you’re excited for what’s about to happen. The tiniest movement of your mouth has Steve glancing down, you’re grinning, barely; he thinks it’s cute.

Steve’s eyebrows raise, interest spiked, and is about to say something when you turn your head again. Bradley is saying something to Angela, his voice loud and slurred but incomprehensible over the music, and not a second later an equally intoxicated Peter swings a punch at him. Another girl, who Steve doesn’t know, confronts Angela they start arguing with Karen joining the fight. Bradley and Peter fall to the ground, wrestling each other while others try to break the fight.

“Wait isn’t she?” Steve’s mind catches up the everything that happened puts two and two together. He’s pretty Angela is dating Bradley, not Peter.

“Yup.” You say with a shrug, tilting your head. “It was all a matter of time before it happened.” It’s all you say, then chuckle. Steve does too, he can’t help himself at the sound of your own laughter, until the two of you are giggling at the fight in front of you.

The music changes then, to something more upbeat, and Steve’s mind can only think about asking you to dance. Would you say yes? Probably not. Before he can ask you though, you step away from the wall. More people have gathered in the living room to watch the fight, and you decide to make your way to the front door. Do crowds bother you? Steve wonders.

“Wait.” Steve goes after you and closes the door behind him. “Where are you going?”

“Home.” Your back is turned to him. The cream-coloured sweater you wear over your lilac skirt and your black boots look lovely on you, and so does your hair. Steve doesn’t know why but he thinks it frames your face perfectly. There’s also a hint of remaining lip-gloss on your lips that shines with the streetlamp’s light… and Steve, well Steve thinks You’re so pretty.

“It’s cold, don’t tell me you’re going to walk.” Steve speaks again, shaking away his previous thoughts.

You shrug, “I usually do, it’s not too far.”

Steve doesn’t know where you live but he knows Rotner lives far away from almost everyone in Hawkins. Your house is probably far away. “I’ll drive you.” Steve offers, but you sigh and look away.

“Go back to the party Steve, you can drive Robin home.” You say simply. “I’ll see you around.”

“No, she can go with Nancy.” He follows you until he’s walking next to you. “It’s not safe for you to walk home, come on.”

You sigh again and look up at the sky, annoyed. If you’re annoyed, then he’s too, because you’re making a dumb decision for the sake of being stubborn. And you probably don’t know that he’s stubborn too, so you might have to argue all night about whether this decision is right or not. Why is it so hard for you to accept a ride home? You offered him soda and were talking to him just now; it was nice. More than nice.

“I won't stop asking.” Steve says, crossing his arms and stepping in front of you.

Your eyes meet his in an intense half-glare, and Steve can’t help but think how nice your eyeliner looks on you. It does something to him he hasn’t felt in a while. He feels like he can’t breathe while heat creeps up the back of his neck —it’s October, he shouldn’t feel hot at all. A moment later you roll your eyes, though backing down first, and giving Steve some time to breathe as you turn around.

“Alright.”

Steve can’t help smiling in triumph, knowing he just won, and follows you as you walk towards his car further down the road. Amusement paints his eyes as he looks at you; your lips are pursed, and a huff escapes you.

“You’re pouting” Steve says, looking at your lips and the annoyed look on your face. It makes him smile. You’re pouting.

“I’m not” You look sideways at him.

“Oh, you are.”

“Shut up, Harrington.” You say and he laughs, opening the passenger’s door for you.

-------

From then on Steve does his best to increase his charm and be a gentleman. He offers you his help as well as rides home whenever he can, especially when you’re alone. The last thing he wants is for you to think that he’s only being nice when your common friends are around. Steve sees you more often now, not as much as he’d like, he must admit, but enough to know more about you. What you’re okay with sharing, more like.

As he suspected from the party, you don’t like crowds (they make you nervous), and when Steve asked why you’d changed the topic. You work at the Deli on Main Street, have a younger brother named Chris, and you love coffee. He always sees you drinking one in the morning when he gives both you and Robin a ride to school, and whenever he stops by at the deli for lunch during your shift. Most important of all, Steve is starting to see what Robin meant when she said not to judge a book based on its cover. Because, despite your grumpy exterior, there’s a whole personality hidden underneath.

Steve can tell. There are hints and pieces; from the way you dress, to the music you like, and comic books you read and often exchange with Max. When he takes the time to look, he sees the gentleness with which you do things, and the care with which you treat your friends. He also sees your distrust for what it is: fear. You’re afraid, to let new people in, to get hurt, and Steve doesn’t know why.

He wishes there was something he could do to fix it, to make you see the glass half full instead of half empty, or to change your sporadic pessimism. But then he figures, he would be changing you, and that’s not something he wants. If he’s being honest, your friend group (Steve isn’t sure if he’s your friend, officially at least) needed someone with an objective outlook on life to set their heads straight. And if he’s honest with himself, he likes all the things that make you you. He likes your confidence when you don’t care what people think about you. He likes it when you fight with Robin over who chooses the music, despite it being his car. And he's pretty much obsessed with your face; the hard set of your jaw when you get impatient, the brow you silently arch that makes him feel things he shouldn’t, and the silent way you listen to conversation, only speaking up when you think it’s necessary. Steve is more than a bit obsessed.

He had been wrong that first day. He didn’t know you and wrongly assumed you weren’t happy to be there with them, when you actually were. He reflects upon it now that he knows your facial expressions; your eyebrows had been relaxed, and your eyes didn’t have a hard edge to them. You had been at ease, only closing yourself off when Steve tried to dig into your move to Hawkins. He really started off with the wrong foot, but it all takes a turn on a Friday night.

You visit FV for a tape mid-afternoon, surprising Steve at work. The weather is more than chilly outside, and Steve notices right away how you have no jacket on, only a dark red sweater. He’d been doing some paperwork behind the counter when the bell over the door for his attention. It rewarded him with the sight of you walking in, looking around before your eyes settle on him.

“Hey, Steve.” You say voice light as you approach him and lean your elbows on the counter. “Do you have karate kid available? My brother is begging us to watch it again tomorrow.”

Steve doesn’t know why but he struggles to speak for a moment —it probably has to do with the fact that you look very pretty, and two, this interaction is so different from your first one he shortcircuits. After a long pause you raise a questioning eyebrow, “You okay?”

Steve clears his throat. “Yeah. Um, we have it, let me go get it.”

“Thank you.” You nod as he dashes away from the counter.

“Did you walk here?” Steve asks once he’s cleared his head and reaches the action movie aisle. He sees you shrug over the stands.

“I usually do, I don’t mind it.” You explain simply.

“You’re not wearing a jacket though.” Steve grabs Karate Kid and goes back to the counter. Why are you always out in the cold without a jacket? It’s a miracle you haven’t fallen sick, he thinks.

“I left school in a rush, I was gonna be late for work.” You shrug again, eyes visibly lighting up when you spot the movie. “Thank God. Chris would have been insufferable if someone beat me to it.”

Steve crouches down behind the counter and retrieves his own jacket —a grey bomber— before placing it on the counter in front of you. “Here.”

“Steve,” You tell him seriously, rolling your eyes. “I’m not taking your jacket.”

“Why not? You’re the one walking out in the cold, I only have to walk towards my car.” He dismisses your refusal with a wave of his hand.

“Hey!” Robin says, calling your name as she emerges from the back room. “Perfect timing, I was going to call you.”

“Here to rent karate kid.” You tell her, a small smile on your face.

“And choosing hypothermia over my jacket.” Steve chimes in, sliding his jacket pointedly towards you.

“It’s not that cold Steve.” You roll your eyes at him again, “But I know you’ll annoy me until I say yes.”

Steve gives you a triumphant smile and you shake your head, Steve would even say it’s shyly, before you take the jacket and shrug it on. “The movie? Please.”

Robin speaks up while Steve rings you up. “We’re gonna hang out at Nancy’s tonight. The kids will be there too, you should come.”

Steve risks a glance at you, in his jacket; a huge mistake. He seriously underestimated his reaction to seeing you in his clothes, because it is downright adorable and something he was unprepared for. The sleeves go past your hands and the whole thing is oversized on you, his shoulders being broader than yours and his torso longer. Steve bites back a smile —he hopes you never give it back to him; this is a sight he’d love to see more often. He turns back to the computer to hide his grin from you and silently hopes you’ll say yes.

“Will there be other people?” You ask Robin, and Steve is quick to shake his head no and reassure you. Too quick.

“Just the usual gang.” Steve tells you, clearing his throat to hide his eagerness. “No one else.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Robin insists with a smile, then moves her gaze towards Steve, who tries to ignore the way she raises a knowing eyebrow at him. He’s gonna have an earful once you leave, he can bet on it.

“Okay, I’ll be there.” You nod, then exchange some cash for the movie Steve hands to you. “Thank you, Steve.”

Steve leans his forearms on the counter, trying to give you his most charming smile to see if he’ll get one of those you give Robin in return. “We’ll pick you up after work.” Steve says and you look into his eyes for a long second before nodding.

“Sure.” You shrug, eyes shifting away from his. “I’ll see you guys later.”

------

At Nancy’s, chaos ensues. The kids argue over what board-game to play while Eddie and Robin argue over what record to play next. Steve is listening to Nancy and Jonathan talk about a volunteering drive she’s organizing and from where he stands, he can see you leaning against the wall next to Robin. Your face is neutral as you listen to the record that’s currently playing, tuning out Eddie’s argument for the most part until you speak up.

“Or you can let me choose?” You ask calmly, glancing at them briefly before going back to looking down at your feet.

“No!” Both Eddie and Robin say at the same time, and Steve notices the corner of your mouth twitch upwards.

“You chose this one, buttercup.” Eddie says with a sigh. “You’re only gonna choose one to annoy us.”

This earns Eddie an eye roll. “How exactly do you know that?” You ask. “It could’ve been a great pick, now you’ll never know Munson.”

Steve tries to tune back into Nancy’s explanation when Max pushes the board game she wanted to play away with a huff. It clatters to the ground as she stands from her place in front of the coffee table. You spot her and call her name only a moment later.

“Hey Max, I got the new Wonder Woman!” You say after a moment when the read-head stops glaring daggers at the boys.

Her eyes light up, a dramatic change from the look in her eyes moments ago. “Really? Can I see it?”

“‘Course, I brought it for you.” You roll your eyes, this time full of fondness, and nod towards the kitchen. “It’s in my bag.”

Steve can’t follow your conversation because the doorbell rings, signalling the pizza Nancy ordered arrived. The weather feels much colder than earlier as he opens the door and steps outside, he pays for the pizza, tips the delivery guy and goes back inside. Arms full of pizza boxes, he walks back to the dining table, shooting a pointed look at Dustin and Mike. “Zip it or you don’t get a single slice.”

The high schoolers move more discarded boardgames away from the table in a heartbeat, scrambling to undo their mess and opening the pizza boxes in a hurry. Steve spots you still standing in the kitchen talking to Max as everyone helps themselves to pizza and decides to let you both know the food is ready.

“So, you skate too?” Max is asking you excitedly, leaning her hip against the kitchen counter.

You chuckle — it hits Steve in the chest and Steve doesn’t know what to do with that. “I do,” You grin, “I mean I used to when I lived in Indianapolis, but I haven’t since I moved here.”

“We can go to the skate-park tomorrow.” Max proposes raising her eyebrows, “If you want.”

You nod, “Sure. I’ll look for my skateboard tonight, let’s hope I still remember how to use it.”

“Pizza’s here.” Steve says, interrupting and smiling at you both. When your eyes meet his, your lips move to smile but in a matter of seconds you stop yourself.

It makes Steve furrow his brows and walk over to you as Max leaves to grab a slice. “You okay?” Steve asks, and your eyes meet his again briefly before they dart away as you sidestep him.

You make your way to the front door in a rush, this time though you do grab your jacket—his jacket— on the way. Just like he did the night of the party, Steve follows you, worried and confused at your reaction. Robin glances at him from the dining table, an unspoken question in her eyes but Steve can only shrug. He is certain he didn’t do anything wrong just now, but somehow, he messed up because you just fled from him.

“Stop.” Steve says after calling your name. “What happened?”

“Nothing, I just need some air. You should go back inside Steve.” Your back is to him, shoulders tense and close to your ears defensively.

“No,” He shakes his head. His lips go down into a frown briefly as he looks at your back. He voices the question he always asks himself when you shut him down. “Did I do something?”

“No.” You say when you turn, eyebrows meeting in the middle as you glare at him but Steve sees the way you struggle to hold it in place. After a second it falls, and your face just crumples to exhausted look. “I want to be alone.” You whisper.

“You think a glare and a pout are intimidating enough to drive me away?” Steve shakes his head.

“I don’t pout.” You say, lips pursed and jaw tense. Pouting.

“You do and it’s not working.”

You change tactics then, raising an eyebrow and staring him down like the night at the party but Steve shakes his head. “That’s not working either.”

“Why are you insisting so much on this!” You finally ask, raising your voice and crossing your arms in front of you. Your jaw clenches as you look away and Steve sees your eyes squeeze shut.

He runs a hand down his face and breathes out. “Whether you like it or not there are people who want to get to know you.”

“What, like you?” Your eyes cut a suspicious look Steve’s way and he can see your walls come back up right in front of him. A tear falls down your cheek and you’re quick to wipe it away, harshly. “Why?”

Steve throws his hands up in the air, exasperated but not raising his voice, “To be your friend! Just like Robin and Eddie are your friends.” His shoulders move up and down, trying to cover up how much he likes you and looks forward to your company. “Why are you so distrustful, is it something I did?”

“It’s not about you, Steve.” Your eyebrows meet in the middle again, and you look away from him, directing your gaze to the snow-covered lawn. “If… If it bothers you so much, why do you even want to be my friend? Because you’re wrong Steve. No one else does, and I’m more than fine with that.”

Steve shakes his head, knowing you’re lying to him and trying to convince yourself. His voice softens. “Because despite it, I like you, I think you’re… cool.”

“Cool?” The way you raise your eyebrows makes Steve chuckle.

Funny, caring, fucking beautiful, Steve wants to say but he just nods his head at your question.

“Yeah, and you’re interesting, and I… want to be your friend.” Steve’s hands settle on his hips as he shifts his weigh to one leg, looking down to the ground. Glancing at you briefly, he drops his voice to whisper your name. “Don’t leave. I’m not lying… that’s what worries you right?”

Steve assumes that’s where your distrust comes from; you told him it wasn’t something he did, then it must be that you’re scared to trust him. He’s known there are many feelings behind your hard exterior, one of them being fear. Steve doesn’t want you to fear him, and he wonders who broke your trust in the past. Silence settles between the two of you; you seem to be going over his words and Steve is giving you the time to do so. He’d wait an hour if necessary and reassure you a thousand times if it would mean you believe him. Steve panics when he sees you swallow hard and shift your eyes at the sky, the last thing he wanted to do was make you cry.

But you don’t cry. Instead, you take a deep breath and look into his eyes. There’s a vulnerability there that awakens an urge in Steve to hug you. “You promise?” Your voice is a whisper, but he hears you clear as day. You’ve never spoken so softly before, and Steve wishes it could have happened under other circumstances.

Steve looks into your eyes and nods with sincerity, hoping you can see he’s being completely honest with you. “Yes.”

“I do like you, Steve. You just scare me.” You look down at the ground for a moment and nod to yourself as Steve’s eyebrows shoot hop in surprise. A moment later, your eyes drift back to Steve and there are emotions dancing around in them he’s never seen before. “I’m sorry.”

Steve nods and something inside him tightens when you offer a small smile. It’s like something shifts between the two of you despite neither of you moving. In a matter of seconds, everything feels easy, natural, like the brief moment your shared at the party in October. Steve realizes it’s because you’ve let your guard down; you stand differently in front of him, more comfortable, less apprehensive. You scare me. “You wanna tell me why?”

You press your lips together and shake your head. “Another time, maybe?”

Steve tries to hold back a smile, but he can’t, it takes over his entire face. When he sees you shiver, he offers his hand. “Let’s go back inside, or I can drive you home if you want to leave.”

“I can stay a bit longer.” You say when you grab his hand –an electric shock goes up his arm. “I really want some pizza. But if they play Monopoly I’m definitely leaving.”

Steve’s laughter follows you as he leads the two of you back to the house.

The coffee cup Steve places in front of you at work the next Monday lands with a soft thud on the counter. It’s black coffee with some milk and sugar; the way Steve’s learned you take it every day. The sound and his presence make you look up at him over the top of your book, a doubtful eyebrow raised and a serious look on your face. Fuck your pretty, Steve thinks. Your eyes shift from the coffee to his face a couple of times before you close your book.

“What’s this?” You ask, leaning back on your seat and tilting your head.

Steve leans his elbows on the counter in front of you and tilts his head right back. “Considering you drink around 5 of these a day, one would think you’ll know what it is.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re mistaken. I actually drink 10.” You deadpan, looking at him with fake disappointment. “I thought you knew me, now that we’re friends and all.”

Steve laughs, looks down and shakes his head. When he looks at you again, there’s a half smile on your face. “Come on.” He says. “Let’s go grab some food.”

“I literally work at a deli, Steve.” You tell Steve seriously, motioning to your surroundings. “We’re surrounded by food.”

Steve copies what you just said with a roll of his eyes and smiles again. “I mean something else, babe. Come on.”

With a sigh you stand up from your seat and round the counter, leaving your apron behind. “You’re lucky I get a break in a couple of minutes.” You tell Steve before yelling over your shoulder. “Hank I’ll be back!”

Steve’s eyes light up and he considers his visit a triumph. He’s becoming surer and surer his feelings for you go beyond friendship and fondness and lean more towards: I want to hold your hand all the time, and cuddle you while we watch movies then forget about the movie and get lost on you. He wants to put his arm around your shoulder freely, have you lean your weigh against him and steal a kiss, probably more than one. No. It won’t ever happen so Steve shouldn’t even be thinking about it. He opens the passenger’s door to his car for you and smiles when you get in, your coffee in your hand.

It becomes a routine of sorts, either you visit him at Family Video bringing sandwiches for him and Robin or he picks you up, a coffee waiting for you in his car and drives you wherever feels right that day to eat your lunch. You talk about your day, or whatever gossip you heard that day. One day you even confessed to be scared about graduation.

“Everyone is so excited to finish school, and here I am so terrified about the future I haven’t opened any of my college application letters.” You muttered, picking at a loose thread on your sweater.

“Why are you scared?” Steve asked you and you swallow hard.

You turned your body on your seat, facing him as you shrugged. “I feel lost, I don’t know what I should major in. I also don’t know where I’d like to go, and I can't even research these colleges without panic settling on my chest.” Your eyebrows furrowed and your jaw got tense and Steve knew that meant you felt angry and this time it was at yourself.

Steve took your hand without a second thought, but you let him. “You know, you don’t have to figure it all out right now.”

“It feels like it.” You whispered looking at him, frustration and embarrassment shining in your eyes. “Everyone else has it figured out.”

Steve shook his head; you shouldn’t feel embarrassed with him. “If there’s something I’ve learned about you, is that you don’t care about what other people are doing. What do you want?”

“I ask myself that question every day.” You mirrored his head shake and looked away. “Let’s talk about something else. Please?”

Steve was happy to change the subject, anything to cheer you up. By the time you go back to the Deli to continue your shift, he realized it was the first personal thing you’ve told him. Ever. It made him happier than he cared to admit.

-----

Two months after your talk in Nancy’s driveway, you invite Robin, Nancy, Eddie, Jonathan and Steve to your house. It’s the first time you’ve let anyone other than Robin into your home, this time for movie night. Your father and brother went back to Indianapolis to pick up other stuff from your old house, you said, it’s perfect timing. Steve and Robin arrive together, and shortly afterwards Eddie’s knocking on the door.

Your house is cozy and simply decorated with a forest green comfy looking couch, a dark brown coffee table and a TV in the living room and all the basic stuff in both the dining room and kitchen. There’s a record playing somewhere, and Steve can’t help the smile that comes to his face when he sees the way you’re mouthing the words as you move back and for the between the kitchen and living room bringing snacks, drinks and pizza for everyone. You’re wearing a cream-coloured sweater he recognizes from the party back in October and something funny happens in his stomach when he realizes just how far your friendship’s evolved since then.

“Babe come on take a break, we can help.” Steve stops you from going back to the kitchen with a hand on your shoulder and a fond look on his face.

You open your mouth to say something when Eddie and Robin appear on either side of you, presenting the movies they –surprisingly– were in charge to pick. “The best horror movies.” They say in unison.

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise as you take the three VHS tapes from them. “Oh. Um, great! Thank you.” Your reaction hides behind the grin you shoot both, who nod and disappear to the kitchen.

“You’re pouting.” Steve says stepping closer to you again in the living room; your eyes that were fixed on the VHS tapes drift upwards to meet his own. Steve smiles.

“I’m not pouting.” You tell him with a roll of your eyes, lips settling back into a pout as you scan the titles of the movies once more. “These are just scary.”

“You’re still pouting.” Steve whispers, like it’s a secret. His eyes drift down to your lips, a mistake that has him swallowing hard, before the doorbell rings, signalling Johnathan and Nancy arrived. He’s quick to turn and go let them in. It’s a perfectly timed distraction. He shouldn’t think about kissing you, because despite no matter how badly he wants to, you’d never let it happen, or feel the same way he does to let it happen. “Just saying!”

Once the first movie plays, Eddie and Robin settle on one end of the couch, while Nancy and Johnathan sit on the floor in front of them. Steve shoots Robin a I know what you’re doing look before sitting next to her and feeling the couch dip under your weigh when you settle on the empty seat next to him. A sweet floral scent he now recognizes as your shampoo or your perfume reaches him and Steve actively decides to focus on the movie, not the way he wants to pull you over his lap and breathe you in. Eddie and Robin laugh every now and then and the four of you turn to look at them, there’s nothing funny about the movie. You begin covering your face with the bucket of popcorn as the movie progresses, your face grimacing as the suspenseful music picks up.

Steve leans closer to you, his voice a whisper as he speaks. “It’s just special effects don’t worry about it.” You turn to look at him, worried puppy dog eyes gazing into him and dammit you make it so hard to keep his distance. “Trust me.” Steve winks, lightening the mood only to jump and scream when he turns to the movie once more and a jump scare comes on.

It seems like the perfect medicine for your fear. For you forget about it and lean your head back laughing, a full-on belly laugh, that’s so contagious and beautiful Steve laughs with you. Nancy and Robin share a knowing look he doesn’t notice before they shush the two of you, shoving at his elbow and your knee. You cover your mouth with your hand and your shoulders shake as you lean your head on Steve’s shoulder, turning your body towards his; Steve’s never been so happy to be scared in his life.

Everyone leaves after 3 movies. Robin gets a ride with Eddie, and Nancy leaves with Jonathan as well. Steve though, stays behind insisting on helping you clean up, but it’s a weak excuse to check on you before he leaves. He noticed you getting nervous, fidgeting with your hands anxiously when everyone started to leave. The films were long done, so Steve knows something else is worrying you and it doesn’t sit well in his heart to leave you like this. Which is why he is currently picking up trash in the living room while you do the same in the kitchen.

You’re finishing placing the dirty dishes in the sink when Steve enters the room. He noticed right away the way your shoulders hunch and you take a deep breath. “Steve…”

“You okay?” Steve closes the trash bag and moves to the sink. His eyes roam your face as he looks sideways at you and washes his hands.

“I um… I wanted to apologize to you.” You tell him quietly, passing him a kitchen towel before moving away from the sink. “For how closed-off I was when you met me.”

After drying his hands quickly, Steve turns and leans on the edge of the sink. “It’s okay, it’s not easy to trust new people right away.” He reassures you –it’s something he understands now; he understands you.

You sit on the counter opposite to him and stare at the floor for a bit, polka dot sock clad feet dangling in the air. “It’s more than that. I’m just scared of getting close to people since…”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Steve shakes his head, keeping his eyes on your face.

“I trust you, Steve.”

Those four words make Steve’s chest flutter –relief, happiness, nerves– but he pushes the feeling to the back of his mind and patiently waits for you to continue. Your lips are pursed as you stare at the floor, gathering your thoughts.

“My mom…” You swallow, getting chocked up with those to words but soldiering on. With a shake of your head, you look up to the ceiling and will your tears away. “My mom left my dad, brother and I last April. She’d been cheating on dad for years… and that’s not even the worst part.”

You wipe your eyes quickly, lips pulled downwards into a deep frown when you pause again –an upside-down U Steve wishes he could smooth out with his thumb. But he stays where he stands and lets you continue.

“The other man was married too” Your eyes find Steve’s and where there’s usually a spark –like that night at the party– there’s only sadness directed at the memory. “He’s the father of a popular kid at my old high school, so you can guess what happened when everyone found out.”

Steve’s mouths opens again and this time a soft no escapes him.

You press your lips together and nod, “So not only did the news wreck our home… they made life at school unbearable for my brother and I. People who I thought were my friends just threw me away as if I was trash for something I didn’t do. Something I had no fault in.”

“Is that why you moved here?” Steve asks softly, walking closer to you. The answer to the question he asked many months ago, right in front of him and it doesn’t make him feel any satisfaction. No, it hurts him to know this. Moving away from everything you’ve known and starting over again during senior year sounds brutal.

“Yes.” You whisper and close your eyes briefly; more tears fall down your cheeks and Steve’s heart aches. Teary eyes move away from his and fix themselves on the kitchen window instead, your lips are pressed so hard against each other they’re losing colour. “She packed her bags right after school the day we found out. We saw her leave with that man, no other explanation, not even a goodbye or a note. Everyone except my dad and my brother decided to leave me that day.”

A sob escapes you then, finally breaking free and shaking your whole body; another one replaces it once it stops. Your hands move from the counter to your face, covering it as cries continue to escape you in succession. Steve wastes no time and walks to stand in front of you; he hates seeing you in so much pain. God, it must have hurt so much, just being left behind like that. His hands move to your hips and gently urge you to hop off the counter before he wraps you up in his arms. His shoulders shake with the force of your sobs as you cling to him.

“Stevie.” Your hands are bunched up in the back of his polo, holding onto him like a lifeline.

Steve can’t even relish the sound of your calling him Stevie so softly. He swallows hard as he witnesses the pain, you have felt inside of you for so long. “I’m so sorry.” He whispers.

“She left us, Steve. She just disappeared and left us grieving her despite her being alive.” You say between your tears, they soak the right side of his shirt, but Steve couldn’t care less, his arms just tighten around your waist. “She’d been pushing us away for years, treating us like garbage and now I can see it’s because we weren’t good enough for her anymore. She didn’t love any of us anymore. We… we didn’t make her happy.”

Your voice sounds hoarse from crying, and your hands tighten behind Steve’s back. When you bury your face in his chest, Steve hunches his shoulders and forms a cocoon to protect you from the past. His protective nature takes over as he holds you flush against him; his hand moves up and down your back firmly –you need to know he’s there, that he’s got you. Steve puts his cheek over your head and whispers his next words. “I’ve got you; you can cry as much as you need to, I’m not going anywhere.”

It takes a few minutes, but your sobs soon transform into soft sniffles even as you press yourself closer to him. Steve doesn’t want to upset you anymore, but he’s itching to comfort you and let you know what he wishes someone had told him years ago. “I know my own shit experience with my parents isn’t the same as what you went through.” He starts, taking a small step back so he can look at you.

His fingers take a gentle hold of your face until puffy and teary eyes meet his; Steve wipes away some stray tears. “But what your mom did to you doesn’t say anything about you alright? You’re more than good enough for anyone. If she didn’t see that, then she made the worst mistake of her life.”

You close your eyes at his words and look away, but Steve shakes his head and urges you to face him again with a whisper of your name. “You don’t have to prove your worth to anyone because your mother left. All of us see it, and we’re so lucky to have you here.”

Steve’s thumb catches more tears as your lips begins to tremble again. “I’m so fucking lucky that you trust me, and I understand why you didn’t at first, okay? I understand you.”

Your hands on his waist tighten again as your forehead drops to his right shoulder. “I didn’t used to be like this… I’m sorry that this is the me that you met.”

Steve shakes his head, sure that you feel it when he does, and pulls you flush to his chest again. Is this how you’ve felt since last summer? He wonders. Like this version of yourself is wrong or unlikable.

Sure, you’re not a smiley person, but that makes your rare smiles even more special –and they drive Steve crazy. You see the glass half-empty most times to protect yourself if things do indeed go to shit, but you also recognize genuine goodness. You don’t hesitate to encourage or celebrate everyone else’s happiness; he’s seen it firsthand, with the kids, with Robin and even himself. Steve doesn’t think he could ever get tired of your dark humour or that pretty pout that settles on your lips when you get annoyed, not to mention that making you laugh is his favorite thing in the world. Steve understands your anxiety and panic at your college decision, you don’t want another change; you don’t want to choose something you don’t like and face another disappointment again. Most of all, Steve finally understands your hesitance and the root of your gruff exterior, and he wouldn’t change a thing about it. He’s stupid in love with you; your grumpy and soft looks; your frowns and your smiles; your heart; and that tender way you’re holding onto him right now.

Steve places a kiss to the side of your head to keep himself from saying all of this out loud –it’s not the right time, not yet. Instead, he whispers above your ear, “I wouldn’t change a single thing about you.”

For a moment, stillness surrounds the two of you in the kitchen and there’s no other sound but your quiet sniffles against Steve’s shirt again. Steve doesn’t mind, he’s happy to hold you for as long as you need, which ends up being five more minutes. You take a step back and look at him with those pretty eyes of yours; they’re teary and red-rimmed but lovely all the same.

“Thank you, Steve.” You whisper, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips until your gaze drops to his shirt and embarrassment shines in your eyes. “Sorry I cried all over you.”

“I don’t mind.” Steve shrugs and looks at you softly, hands still on your waist. “I think I know what we should do.”

You look at him curiously. “About what?”

“To cheer you up.”

The head shake you give him is immediate, just as he imagined. “I don’t–”

“You deserve a happy life.” Steve states as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world and sends a wink your way hoping to amuse you. “And I think, ice cream is a good way to start. I should know, I worked at an ice cream shop remember.”

He leaves your side and walks over to the freezer to grab the ice cream he saw earlier that night when he got up mid-movie to get more ice. It’s cookie dough ice cream, which he knows to be your favourite –he’s known since that first night he met you. Knowing he’s completely serious now, your eyes stare into his eyes for a moment before you turn and grab two spoons from a kitchen drawer.

“I guess we’re having ice cream then. Considering you’re an expert.” You say with an eye roll Steve can only describe as fond when you approach him again. A moment later, you sit on the counter and Steve follows suit, sitting next to you. “Spoon?”

“Thank you.” Steve says and takes it from you after opening the ice cream tub. He offers the tub to you first, letting you scoop some ice cream with your spoon which you pop in your mouth. Your arms brush from how close you’re sitting, and Steve has to lean forward to look at you, but he doesn’t mind. He’s happy with the proximity.

A sigh escapes you and you close your eyes as you savour the ice cream. Steve feels heat creep up the back of his neck at the sound, but he shakes the feeling off; you’re only eating ice cream, to make you feel better. “You were right Harrington, this is like medicine.”

“Told you, I’m an expert.” Steve chuckles and eats his own spoonful, the creamy ice cream melting in his tongue before he laughs as you search for the cookie dough in the tub. “This is going to be just plain vanilla ice cream if you keep doing that.”

“Finders keepers.” You tell him with a shrug as you bring the cookie dough to your mouth. “It’s arguably the best part of this ice cream.”

“You’re supposed to eat the ice cream with it!” Steve argues, holding the tub away from your reach. “I want cookie dough too you know.”

You roll your eyes at him, but there’s a soft look on your face as you look at him and nod. The two of you go back to eating ice cream in silence until Steve speaks up again. There are so many things he wants to know about you still –he thinks he’ll always want to know more. “What’s something you miss from living in Indianapolis?”

You pause mid-scoop and concentrate for a few moments going over his question. A moment later a tiny smile makes its way to your lips. “There used to be a wonderful campsite my dad used to take my brother and I; we’d camp for three days and do all sort of activities.”

Steve smiles. “Like what?”

“Dad and Chris love fishing, so we’d do that. There was also hiking, swimming, s’mores. Oh! We’d all tell each other stories sitting next to the fire. They were all completely made up of course, and I think the more ridiculous they were, the more fun we had.”

Your eyes wander around the kitchen, like you’re back in the forest with your family and not next to Steve anymore. Light dances in your eyes and Steve can almost picture the three of you laughing around the fire as the catch of the day roasts on a grill nearby. He knows better than to ask about your mother, he’s got a pretty good idea what the answer would be. Besides, you’ve cried enough already, so much that Steve’s own heart feels bruised from seeing you in pain.

“You haven’t camped here in Hawkins?” Steve asks after a minute, voice quiet to avoid disturbing your memory.

You shake your head and sigh, the mirage in front of you disappearing as your eyes drift back to Steve’s. “Dad’s not the same person he was during those camping trips… he hasn’t scouted a good place for us to go. I don’t think he even wants to go camping anymore.”

Steve puts the ice cream tub on the counter and takes your hand instead. “Maybe we could go camping someday, invite everyone, have fun…”

Your head moves to rest on his shoulder, the dizzying smell of your shampoo and perfume reaching Steve’s nose at the proximity. He leans his cheek on top of your head and feels the faint nod you give him. “Maybe.”

A comfortable silence settles between the two of you, your hand still in Steve’s grasp. Until he gives it a squeeze that makes you jump, as if you forgot you were holding hands in the first place. Steve chuckles. “What?”

Your head leaves his shoulder in an instant and for a second Steve is sure you’re going to hide behind your walls again, like you did so many months ago. His fear though, is replaced with concern when you hop off the counter and check the time with a frown.

“Babe come on, what’s going on?” He hops off the counter and stands in front of you. His eyes search yours until finally your gaze meets his, your embarrassment clear in them.

“I just hate being home alone at night. It makes me anxious.” Your hands fidget in front of you, as if you’re waiting for Steve to laugh at you. Oh, so that’s why you were nervous earlier. “I can’t sleep. At all.”

He looks down at his watch and sees that it’s midnight already. “I don’t mind staying over.” Bringing his eyes back to yours, he speaks up again. “Would that make you feel better?”

You close your eyes and let out a shaky exhale before you nod. “A lot better.” When your eyes open again, they’re full of gratefulness and surprise, as if Steve wouldn’t do anything for you.

A smile grows on Steve’s face, and he takes your hand before you can thank him, threading your fingers together as he speaks. “Come on, you’re probably tired.”

Steve, however, is everything but tired. His heart is racing at the thought of spending the night here with you. You’ve never spent so much time together in a day, he’s never seen your bedroom, and there’s something about this impromptu sleepover that makes heat creep up the back of his neck. No. He’s here to give you emotional support; you were so anxious earlier and there’s nothing he wants more than to see you happy and comfortable. If staying here, despite it sending his feelings into a frenzy, is the key for you to rest then so be it. He can stay for one night.

You don’t let go of his hand as you lead him upstairs, passing various pictures of you and your family that hang from the wall opposite the handrail. There are three bedrooms upstairs and yours is the last one down the hall, its view towards the backyard. You open the door a moment later and let go of his hand as you step inside. Now that he’s here, Steve remembers neither of you made sure the doors were locked downstairs. He should do that.

“I’m going to take a shower.” You tell him as you walk towards your dresser.

Steve nods and swallows hard, using the excuse of your safety to be downstairs while that happens. “We forgot to lock everything downstairs. I’ll go do that.”

“Oh, right.” You press your palm to your forehead; Steve can see you reprimand yourself. “Thank you, Steve.”

“No problem.” Steve is quick to shake his head as he takes a step back from the room. “I’ll be right back.”

Once Steve is back downstairs, he makes sure to check the windows and lock the front door. He fiddles with the light switches for a while before he finds the right ones and turns the lights off. The whole process takes him less than five minutes, and the shower is still running when he’s back in your room. With a deep breath he finally looks around, gazing through a metaphorical window into your world, which he surprisingly already knew a lot of. The pastel walls make him smile, and he walks along the furthermost wall where various posters have been hung –all bands and singers Robin and you have played in his car. There’s a small vanity by the closet next to the bathroom, full of tiny bottles and a couple of lip-gloss tubes. Steve also spots a purple bottle of perfume on top, and a grin makes its way to his face –that’s the one that drives him crazy, he’s sure of it. He’s about to move closer and look at the pictures you’ve pasted in the vanity’s mirror, but he’s startled to a stop when you speak.

“I left a shirt for you to sleep in, if you want it.” You say and Steve turns around.

His heart summersaults when he sees you, fresh dewy face, hair out of your face, an oversized grey t-shirt with a pink Queen logo on the front and pink cotton sleeping pants. The overhead light of the bathroom makes a small rectangle in the carpeted floor, and some steam from your shower still circles around behind you. It takes all Steve’s self-control to stay where he is and not walk up to you and pull you into his arms; no tears between you this time, just Steve holding you the way he wishes he could all the time. He looks at the t-shirt you left on your bed to distract himself and laughs when he notices the colour.

“How’d you guess I love pink?” Steve asks you, glancing your way as he walks towards the bed and holds up the t-shirt. It’s very oversized like yours, and it has a black and fuchsia print of Blondie’s lead singer on it.

“Dunno, just thought it would suit you.” you chuckle, and Steve sees you hold back a smile as you point towards the bathroom. “There’s a spare toothbrush on the sink.”

Steve nods and hurries to the bathroom, lest you notice him blushing. He finds the toothbrush instantly and proceeds to brush his teeth, and though he doesn’t know why, Steve feels extremely happy to know both of you use the same toothpaste. He glances around and looks at all the details that are entirely yours around the room. There are some facial creams on a shelf next to the mirror, a vanilla scented hand soap on the sink, and a look towards the shower shows him two purple and pink shampoo and conditioner bottles –the ones that make your hair smell like flowers. Steve rinses his mouth, then takes off his sweater and jeans before he puts on the pink t-shirt you gave him and, like a freak, smells it to find that somehow your scent still lingers in the soft cotton.

If he was panicking before, he’s panicking even more now. He’s obsessed with you, he realizes, stupidly head over the heels and all of this is making it worse; lying on a bed next to you will make it so much worse. He’s got to pull himself together. He’s doing this because of fear of being home alone, that’s all. He can sleep alongside you for a night without making a fool of himself –or worse, accidentally confess his feelings. So, pushing all bed related thoughts to the back of his mind, he walks out of the bathroom to find you already under your duvet in bed.

Not letting himself think too much about it, Steve turns off the lamp on your nightstand and slips under the duvet too. He keeps his body still, tense more accurately, as he lies next to you. That is until you turn to face him, and he immediately does too, like a magnet naturally attracted to you.

“Do you ever fear that you’ll wake up one day and everyone you know will be gone?” you whisper in the dark; your voice is almost silent, but Steve hears you loud and clear with how close he is to you. The minty smell of your toothpaste mingles with his own breath. Is this how things are going to be between you now, deep conversations and secrets you only trust to each other? He really hopes so.

Steve shakes his head, trying to make out your face in the dark as his heart constricts in his chest. “No,” he says just as quietly, “But sometimes I’m afraid that something terrible will happen and I won’t be able to help.”

Steve closes his eyes and exhales through his nose as he voices one of his fears for the first time. He’s sure that everything that happened in the Upside Down that they managed to fix was thanks to the brains in his friend group. Steve is all physical strength, which has proved useful in the past, but against monsters or whatever the hell could come next, he’s not sure it will be enough. The thought of being useless like that and everyone suffering because of it terrifies him. Even more now that you’re a part of said friend group. He’s sure of one thing though, he’d protect you and all his friends no matter what.

Your hand slowly moves to his shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “Knowing you, Steve, I’m a thousand percent sure you’d find a way to help. Your stubbornness can be a good thing.”

A breathy chuckle leaves him as your words punch the air out of him. He’s silent for a moment, scrambling for something reassuring to say back. Words aren’t his forte, not unless he’s flirting. He’d rather pull you close to him and comfort you that way, the way he did in the kitchen. “You know… if we were to disappear for whatever reason, you can bet I’d fight my way to you. You won’t be alone.”

Steve sees you nod your head in the dark, his only sign that you haven’t fallen asleep yet. Your hand goes back to your side, in front of his before you stifle a yawn. Assuming your eyes are tired from all their crying, Steve moves his hand to cup your cheek gently.

“Go to sleep, you need to rest.” He whispers; he wants to give you more comfort, pull you close and rub your back until you fall asleep. He doesn’t because he can’t, that would make things weird.

“Thank you for staying with me.” You whisper back.

Remaining silent to avoid saying something that’d give away just how deep his feelings for you run, or the fact that the opportunity to be lying here next to you is something he should be thankful for, he only rubs his thumb softly on your cheek once more before letting go. With another yawn you turn around, your back facing Steve as you whisper goodnight.

Steve doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but he knows he sleeps more peacefully than he has in a while. Not that he doesn’t sleep well often, but most days his dreamless sleep is a result of the exhaustion of the day and not peacefulness. Last night though, there were no nightmares, no tossing and turning, just a distant dream of a campfire in the woods, fireflies, and a silhouette standing peacefully by the water. At some point, early in the morning, he finds himself waking to the light sneaking into the room from a small gap in the tulle curtains. His eyes that were too sleepy to open, blink awake at the awareness that you’re in his arms. Lovely floral scent and cozy softness pressed to him.

It seems that during the night, you’d shifted to your side and burrowed yourself on his chest, an arm around his waist and leg thrown over his hip. His left arm is around you, settled between your shoulder blades, holding you to him. He lifts it and checks his watch, barely 6am but Steve knows he should go. The last thing he wants is your father getting back home and finding him in your bed. Steve doesn’t know him and that’s not the first impression he’s looking for. Besides, there’s a pressing problem in his briefs, that has appeared from being tangled up with you, that he needs to hide in his jeans before you notice. Shifting his hips way from you he looks down at your sleeping face, brushing hair away from your face before he whispers your name.

“Hmm,” You frown, eyes still closed. “What?”

“You’re a cuddler,” Steve says as he smiles; it’s something that should surprise him, but it doesn’t. Not at all.

“I’m not.” You mumble and, contradicting yourself, press closer to him.

“Yes, you are.” He chuckles, shifting his hips backwards again. “I have to go.”

You frown but move away from him, turning and facing away. “Why?”

Steve slips from bed and puts his jeans back on, adjust himself, before pulling his sweater over his head and on top of the pink t-shirt. Call him a lovestruck fool, but he’s not giving it back. “I don’t know when your dad’s gonna be back, I don’t want him to find a boy he doesn’t know in your bed.”

You chuckle, then yawn as you shift and sit up in bed. Steve stares at you longer than he should. His eyes take in your messy hair and your still puffy eyes from all your crying the night before. He smiles widely.

“I have drool on my face, don’t I?” You sigh, moving the back of your hand to the corner of your mouth.

Steve laughs and shakes his head. “No, you don’t; you look pretty that’s all.”

His words reward him with an eyeroll and a headshake before you stand up. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

You remain silent as the two of you walk side by side all the way down to the front door. Steve takes his car keys, and you move to open the door, but pause after a moment. Steve’s eyes look into yours as he wonders if there’s something wrong but when your eyes shift up to him, a small smile settles on your lips. Next thing Steve knows, your arms go around him in a hug.

He can’t help but sigh at the feeling and leaning his cheek on top of your head. “You okay?”

You nod and look up at him. “Thank you, Steve.” You say, stepping on the tip of your toes and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Don’t thank me.” Steve smiles, letting his arms fall to his sides as his heart skips several beats. “Wanna get a coffee later?”

Is he bribing you with caffeine just to see you again? Of course, he is. Steve is charming, and he has a lot of work to do if he wants to make a move soon.

“Only if I get to pay.” You raise an eyebrow but smile nonetheless, that rare big smile he loves.

Steve huffs and opens the door. “Sure, babe.” He says though he knows you don’t believe him.

He walks to his car when you nod –heart pounding– and smiles as he drives away. Your figure on the rear-view mirror watches him leave until he turns at the end of the driveway. Steve leans his elbow on the door, his hand settling over his mouth as he thinks about the events of last night and this morning. Hope fills his chest, and Steve feels like this is the beginning of something really good for both of you.

---

There’s a small shift in your dynamic after that late night conversation in your kitchen. It’s like almost as if it brought you both closer: like a barrier breaking between you and Steve. Steve knows he should take it slow, that he should better conceal his feelings to avoid scaring you off. But another part of Steve wants to throw caution to the wind because there’s been a change in you too. I trust you, Steve, you’d said, and it shows. In the way you sit closer to him, how you give away more pieces of your past and yourself when you talk. There’s less apprehension and more curiosity from both of you and Steve can’t help but fall and fall and fall. He only hopes it doesn’t end up with him crashing down painfully.

The two of you make a new habit of visiting a small the café on the weekends; you sitting sideways on the couch and Steve talking nonsense to make you laugh. It starts the day after the sleepover, and the two of you use it as time to catch up on the events of the week. It delights him; every Saturday, he wants nothing more than to lean close and kiss your smile, the one he never thought he’d be at the receiving end of. You have bad days too, days in which Steve knows you’ve been crying, days where all you want to do is sit in silence with him. Steve doesn’t mind, at all, in fact he loves all your mood equally and now that he knows the backstory of what you went through, he offers you the quiet reassurance of his presence next to you, so you know you’re not alone.

Weeks pass like this, until winter leaves and spring comes. Overnight, the breeze has no bite to it anymore, the flowers bloom again and you begin to wear the prettiest floral dresses that give Steve a whole new reason to be obsessed with you.

“You two are adorable; when are you going to tell her, dingus?”

Steve and Robin had stopped by the Deli to get something to eat during their lunch break while you were on your lunch break too. The three of you had spent the 30 minutes talking between bites of your own sandwiches until the moment Steve had to drive away and you had to go back to your shift. He hears Robins words but his eyes follow your retreating figure until you’re out of sight –his mind is begging him to find you and steal a kiss just so he doesn’t go crazy. Robin snaps her fingers in front of his face and laughs when Steve startles. He rolls his eyes and gets in the car while Robin asks him the same question again.

Steve rolls his eyes again, “Tell her what?”

“That you’re obsessed with her dummy!” Robin hits his arm, Steve sends her an annoyed look, “You love her come on, you have to tell her.”

“No, I can’t.” He’s been thinking about it more often now. Keeping it to himself has been almost impossible lately and he knows he should do it before he breaks.

“Yes, you can, and you have to.” Robin asserts, setting her converse on the dashboard. “She clearly feels the same way.”

“She doesn’t.” Steve’s answer is instant as he focuses on the road and getting back to FV, his fingers gripping the steering wheel so hard they turn white. It’s a half-lie, and they both know it.

“She does and you know it.” Out of the corner of his eye he sees Robin shake her head. “The way she looks at you Steve… it’s unbearable to watch, coming from her.”

Steve knows it, he’s seen that change. He’s felt the pitter patter of his heart, the way his hands shake when you look at him like that, like he’s all you want. But Steve is a coward in denial, he doesn’t want to assume wrong and send you running away from him. But if Robin’s seen it… “You really think so?” He says as he parks his car and Robin nods enthusiastically.

“Duh!”

He nods to himself, “Okay... I can tell her tonight. We are hanging out at my place anyway.”

“I’ll make myself scarce, just say the word and I’ll disappear.” When Steve nods Robin cheers, opening the passenger door and stepping outside. “Don’t mess it up, Steve.”

“I’ll try.” Steve grips the steering wheel, trying to calm himself down.

Steve doesn’t get a chance to though, for that afternoon with greying clouds in the sky you show up at Family Video as soon as your shift at the Deli ends. Steve is about to go to the back and finish some inventory he has procrastinated all week when he sees you pacing in front of his car, arms crossed over your chest. His heart soars, then fills with dread –somethings wrong. He knows it right away which is why he rounds the counter and rushes outside in a heartbeat.

“Babe, what’re you doing here?” Steve says as soon as he opens the door. “It’s gonna rain come on, let’s go inside.”

But you shake your head and look at him with a look he can’t name. It’s a sad look, and it makes Steve panic; he panics even more when he sees your eyes are teary and red-rimmed. “Did something happen? At work or at home?”

“I love you.” You say, at the same time thunder cracks in the distance. Your trembling lips press together when Steve’s move to smile, and your headshake makes Steve pause. “But I don’t think we should see each other again.”

“What?” Steve’s question is a whisper, almost lost to another booming thunder. “Why would you say that? Did I do something?”

“No, Steve.” You sigh, voice shaky, looking everywhere but his eyes. Steve knows this tell though; you don’t want to be caught in a lie. “We just don’t fit–”

“No.” He says simply, shaking his head as he interrupts you. This is that night in the Wheeler’s driveway all over again, you trying to shut everyone out. His hands still shake slightly though, at your confession, your words afterwards, at the idea of losing you.

“Steve it won’t work.” You tell him, it cracks halfway with feeling, and you swallow hard before repeating yourself. “It would never work.”

“Yes it will, it’s us.” Steve tells you, shaking his head. He remembers how far you’ve come, how close the two of you have gotten. He should’ve have known it would scare you, after what happened with your family. “Of course it will! It has worked for months.”

“It won’t! It won’t work regardless of our feelings. Because I’m me! And you’re you –you’ll get sick of me and then leave. And it’ll hurt more than anything I’ve ever experienced.” You tell him, shaking your head and looking at him with reddening eyes. Both your arms are crossed over your chest, as if you’re physically protecting your heart from feeling what if feels for him. I love you, you said. Around you, the sky begins to open, bathing both of you with big droplets of water. “I told you before, you scare me because I’ve never felt this way before.”

Steve tries to take a step closer, but you take a step back; it makes him groan in frustration. “You can’t make that decision for me! How can you think I’d just leave you?”

“Because the person who I thought never would, LEFT.” You yell, eyes brimming with tears that roll down your cheeks. They mix with the raindrops that fall on both of you and Steve’s heart aches.

“Then she didn’t love you enough, not the way you deserve.” Steve places his hands on his hips, looking at the wet concrete underneath his shoes. His eyebrows meet in the middle as he swallows hard. He can’t put into words how angry it makes him that someone hurt you so much, that you’re scared of being happy again. “I thought you trusted me.”

“I do.” You tell him, hands falling to your sides. Your voice is so quiet that the rain falling around you almost drowns it out. “You know I do.”

“Then let me love you!” You’re stunned into silence by Steve’s words, confessed loudly in an outburst as he brings his hands to his hair. He meets your eyes and feels his own tear up; he really doesn’t want to lose you. “Let me prove to you that I love you like crazy, baby. Because I do, you have no idea how much.”

Your eyes squeeze shut and Steve knows you can see all of his feelings reflected on his face. “I don’t want to be heartbroken again Steve! Can’t you see you’re sunshine, and I–”

“Don’t say that.” He whispers and steps closer to you, holding both of your hands. The way you cling to them sparks a fire in his heart, keeps his hope alive. “I told you I wouldn’t change a thing about you, that I’d fight my way to you.”

You try to let go of him, but Steve only pulls you closer even as you look away from him, lip trembling. “You know my issues, especially after what happened last year.”

“I do know them, and I’m telling you now that I don’t plan on ever letting you go. This isn’t just a fling, and you know it.” His hands go to your face, holding it gently and looking into your eyes. Those beautiful eyes he’s seen tear up, the ones that crinkle in the corners when you laugh and turn steely when you’re mad. He wants to look at them forever.

You close them, bracing yourself, as the sky continues to fall all around you. Big drops of water hitting your skin and soaking your clothes every second that passes. “Even if I have bad days, or get exasperated with you, or I’m a grump?”

Steve smiles and shakes his head. If only you knew. “I love it when you’re a grump, I want to kiss your pout so badly every time.”

“I don’t pout,” You roll your eyes, but Steve can see you’re trying to hide your fear. He’s learned every little detail about you to memory, this is you trying to build a wall. Well then, Steve knows how to break them down.

“I promise,” Steve says, like he did that November night you fought outside in the cold. His nose brushes against yours as tenderly as he can, rainwater sliding down between your faces –his breath catches on his throat. “I love everything about you, everything baby, trust me. It’s you and me, that won’t change.”

You nod, trust shining in your eyes as a teary smile makes its way to your face when you let it free. It knocks the air out of Steve’s lungs. “Stevie, I love you.”

He leans his forehead against yours, happy beyond words and because he’s not good with them he says, “I really want to kiss you.”

“Then kiss me,” You urge him.

Steve leans down, holding your face in his hands and lingering close as he braces himself for this; this moment he’s wished for so many times. He smiles, and thinks finally, before leaning in and kissing you. A noise dies in the back of his throat, his chest feels full of helium and his mind reels at the everything he’s feeling. It’s even better than he dreamed it would be. Your lips soft against his, your hands in his hair, the sigh that escapes you when one of his arms wraps around your waist and presses you flush against him. His skin is buzzing, his fingertips are tingling. So he kisses you until you’re both dizzy, brushing his tongue against yours, matching your intensity head-on. Everything is intoxicating, the sweet scent of your perfume, the softness under his hands, the way your face feels like it’s on fire as his hand remains cupping your cheek. Steve is so in love he could faint, so he breathes you in as he kisses your cheek, your jaw, your neck and just below your ear until the two of you pull back. Soaked in rain, without a care in the world.

“Does this mean you’re my boyfriend?” You ask him softly, stepping impossibly closer to him.

Steve smiles proudly, heart soaring. “Yes it does, I’m yours.”

“I want to kiss you again.” You confess after a minute, blinking away that raindrops that have gathered in your eyelashes and smiling at him. “But I’m cold.”

Steve laughs when you frown and pulls you closer to him. “Yeah, we should probably get out of the rain.”

----

thank you for reading! reblogs are really appreciated and so is any feedback 💖

(I also wrote this tiny insight to grumpy reader’s feelings here )

#steve harrington fic #steve harrington x f!reader #steve harrington x you #steve x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst

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itaipava · 6 months

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— f1 boys: the ones who’d kiss you to shut you up vs the ones you’d kiss to shut them up.

THE ONES YOU'D KISS TO SHUT THEM UP. . .

LANDO NORRIS is excitedly squealing a little too loudly when you tell him you managed to get time off to go on a weekend trip with him. it’s all grins and giggles as you squish his face in both hands and shut him up with a happy kiss.

MAX VERSTAPPEN clearly wants you to kiss him; he tries to get your attetion at all costs and with a smile, he welcomes your lips on his, melting into the kiss as he cups your cheek, and when you abruptly pull away and say, “now shut up, i’m trying to watch a movie,” he can only pout before leaving little pecks on your temple and cheek and jaw.

CHARLES LECLERC is singing a little too loudly in the middle of the night and when you playfully tell him to shut up, he gets in your face challengingly, saying something about you having to make him, only to have his sentence cut short as your lips meet his, and he forgets to close his eyes for a moment before deepening the kiss by pulling you even closer.

OSCAR PIASTRI is an idiot for not realizing that you’ve been waiting for him to kiss you for the past half-hour. and when you suddenly lean in, barely touching, he’s unfazed, pressing a finger on your lips and a playful smile settling on his face, “you weren’t even listening, were you?” he has barely finished his sentence when your lips find his.

THE ONES WHO'D KISS YOU TO SHUT YOU UP. . .

CARLOS SAINZ does it all the time. when you’re talking, he is just in awe of how beautiful you are; he puts his hand on the back of your neck and pulls you into a breathtaking kiss or a light kiss on your lips (there’s no between) and then he pretends nothing happened and asks you to continue with whatever you’re saying and that he’s really going to pay attention now - but you know he’ll do it again.

DANIEL RICCIARDO does it just because. he loves the way your voice falters and the way your words trail off against his lips and he especially loves it when you recover from the initial surprise and a smile settles on your lips as you deepen the kiss, not letting go even when he tries to pull away. by the time it’s over you’re gazing at each other, breathless laughter escaping your lips

LEWIS HAMILTON does this to reassure you or calm you down; sometimes, you may ramble and speak so fast because you’re stressed and/or panicking. or sometimes, he just had a bad day and you think he’s mad at you or something, but he puts your mind at rest by kissing you and letting you know that it’s not because of you.

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starkwlkr · 11 months

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Can I request a protective Max going above and beyond to keep his gf or fiancee (you take the call) safe from a stalker? I'd leave the rest to your imagination on how to make it dramatic cause I love drama.

nothings going to hurt you baby | max verstappen

Y/n was always a private person, but that all changed when she met Max. She was often seen in the paddock supporting her boyfriend. She went from staying in on Friday nights to traveling around the world to watch Max race. She realized how many eyes were on her when her friend sent her multiple articles with her name in bold letter on the front cover.

It was the first race of the season and Y/n was once again in the paddock. This time though she was alone. Her friend that usually accompanied her to the races was busy. As she walked towards the Red Bull hospitality, the usual photographers took her picture. Even after years of dating Max, she was never getting used to the constant flashing lights that belonged to the cameras.

When she reached the hospitality, she sat at a table near the window and took out her phone. It was a regular routine for Y/n now. Stay a few minutes in the Red Bull hospitality, meet up with Max before the race then went up to the paddock roof and watched the race from there.

After spending sometime alone, she put her phone in her pocket and walked out of the hospitality, completely unaware that a man had followed her out. In a few short minutes, she found herself entering the Red Bull garage.

“Is Max in his driver’s room?” She asked Max’s engineer, Gianpiero. He nodded with a smile and continued his work.

Y/n walked to the driver’s room and knocked lightly until she heard Max’s voice telling her to come in. She opened the door and saw Max finishing putting on his race suit.

“How are you feeling?” Y/n asked, approaching Max and giving a kiss on the lips.

“Well since you’re here, I’m feeling pretty good. You know I always do well when you’re here.” Max replied. “I don’t want you to be alone so you can stay in the garage instead.”

“Max, I’ll be fine. There’s going to be people around me so I won’t be alone.” Y/n assured him.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Some fan might want to bother you. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable during the race.”

“I’ll be fine, Max.”

Of course that didn’t happen.

During the race, she could feel eyes on her. It was kind of normal since most fans recognized her as Max Verstappen’s girlfriend. But this time, Y/n felt different. Her mother always told her to trust her gut feeling. So in that moment she did. Y/n walked down the stairs of the paddock roof and tried to walk to the Red Bull garage but some man ran into her.

“I’m so sorry. Oh, you’re a very pretty girl. I’m sorry.” He told her.

“Excuse me, I need to be somewhere.” Y/n tried walking away but he blocked her way.

“Where to? You look lost.”

“I know where I’m going so please move.” Y/n started feeling scared. She should’ve listened to Max.

“Woah, no need to get mad. I’m a nice guy. Why are girls always mean to the nice guys?” He asked.

“I’m done talking to you.” Y/n pushed past the man. She had a feeling he would start to follow her so she walked a bit faster towards the garage that only the Red Bull team (including her) could enter. When she arrived, she let out a sigh of relief.

She remained in the garage until the end of the race. Max had ended up on the podium once again. Y/n wanted to celebrate with the team and Max, but she once again had the feeling that the scary man would take the opportunity to find her so she stayed in the garage while the team celebrated another win.

When Max arrived to the garage, he first went up to his girlfriend, obviously confused as to why she wasn’t out in the track.

“I’m sorry. I was scared and I should’ve listened to you and stayed here. I’m so sorry.” Y/n rambled as Max gave her a much needed hug.

“Hey, what’s wrong? I’m here.” Max assured her, pressing light kisses to her forehead.

“On the roof, I had this strange feeling so I was on my way down here and this guy wouldn’t let me walk away, Max. He tried following me so I came here as fast as I could.” Y/n explained. “I should’ve listened to you.”

“You’re okay now. You’re here with me and that’s all that matters. I’m not letting some guy hurt you.”

Max had talked with Christian about making sure someone was always with Y/n during a race. The team leader even made sure the garage had more security. Now, Y/n felt more safe. Every race after the incident, she stayed in the garage and if she wanted to watch the race from a different location, someone was always with her, even when it came to watching Max celebrate on the podium. Max wasn’t going to let anyone hurt the woman he loves.

Right after the podium ceremony, he would make sure to check on Y/n before he was pulled away for interviews.

“How are you feeling?” Max asked Y/n as he wiped his face with a towel. Y/n smiled at him and kissed his lips that tasted like champagne.

“I’m more than okay. Thank you.” Y/n replied.

“I have a couple interviews to do. Sarah said she would stay with you.” Max informed his girlfriend.

“Sometimes I feel like Sarah is my babysitter. I love her, remind me to get her something good for her birthday. I’m thinking a trip to the Bahamas.” Y/n chuckled.

“I think she’ll love that.”

#formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #anon #f1 x you #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #mv33 #max verstappen fanfic

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feelbokkie · 10 months

Text

BF!SKZ Jokes About Your Insecurity Accidentally

☀️Feelbokkie M.list☀️

**Requested**

Hello! I just got idea before i forget i will send it😅

Like you are joking around and this members is kind of said things that hurts you and you kind of give them silent treatment

Like in a angst but fluff way but kind of funny feelings?😅😅

genre: fluff, slight angst

pov: 2nd person

description: Bf!skz accidentally touches on one of your insecurities without even realizing it.

pairing: bf!skz x reader

warnings: (Specific scenarios listed under each member so check those), swearing

word count: (listed below for each member) (unedited)

방 찬 (Bang Chan) (340 words)

You're a bit weird

"You're so weird." Chan chuckles.

Your smile drops as you stare at your boyfriend. You had gone shopping earlier with one of your friends and bought one of those inflatable alien abducting a human costumes. You put it on immediate when you got home to show Chan, even pretended you were getting abducted.

You quietly leave the room and slowly start deflating the costume. Growing up, your classmates would pick on you for being “weird.” You hate anything that would make you seem weird and often held yourself back from Chan so he wouldn't regret dating you. You didn't think the costume was weird at first, you thought it was funny and that he would get a kick out of it, not call you weird.

"Hey, why are you putting it away already? Bored?" Chan followed you out of the room when he saw your face and your head drop.

You continue to take the costume off, your back turned to him so he can't see that you're on the verge of tears.

"Y/n?" He steps closer and softly places a hand on your shoulder.

"You're right, it's weird. I'm weird, I'll return it." You sniffle as you pull your leg out of the costume.

"I didn't mean it like that. I meant that you're weird in a cute way. Why are you upset? Talk to me,"

"You calling me weird just brought up some shit. But you're right." You start rolling up the costume, attempting to get all of the air out.

"Hey, if you're weird I'm a fucking alien. Have you seen the thing I do with my arms? Class A weirdo behavior right there." He turns you towards him so he can look you in the eyes. His heart sinks to the pit of his stomach when he sees you've been crying.

"But--"

"You are not weird and I don't like you any less for your quirkiness. Now put the costume back on an let's go to the dorm. The kids are going to love it."

이 민 호 (Lee Min-Ho) (617 words)

You talk a lot when you're excited

"...and so the milkman kissed Goofy, thinking that he was his wife meaning that Goofy's wife was cheating on him while he was at work and since we have no explanation as to what really happened to the wife or any other member of Goofy's family, I think he offed the wife, took Max, dyed his hair, and ran and it totally makes sense because in the Goofy movie--"

"Breathe, Y/n." Minho places a hand on your knee.

You, for some reason, found yourself going down the rabbit hole of what happened to Goofy's wife. Immersing yourself in the lore of it all, you needed to tell someone. Unfortunately for him, your boyfriend Minho was home. He sat with you while you calmly told him the background information and went on to explain all of the theories with all of the concrete evidence you found. You had been talking non-stop for at least 15 minutes before Minho said anything.

"I was rambling again, huh?" You say sheepishly, rubbing the back of your head

"You just talk a lot."

"Oh," Your heart drops down to the pit of your stomach.

You know that you have a tendency to talk a lot, so many people have let you know over the years. You know that it could be a problem for some people. But it’s never been a problem for Minho, or at least he never let on that it’s been a problem. Normally people tell you that you talk a lot to signal that you’re being annoying. He just called you annoying.

“You can continue, what happened with the Goofy movie?” He asks, rubbing his hand on your knee.

“Lost my train of thought.” You mumble, looking at your hands and fiddling your thumbs.

“Hmm. Okay, well come find me when you find it again.” You hum in response.

***

You and Minho sit at the dinner table quietly eating. By now, Minho realized something was up with you. You had spent the rest of the day not talking to him and if you did you would either give short answers or make a noise. But now you were completely silent while eating. He knows you hate eating in silence and often filled the void with small talk or some sort of animated story.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, setting down his fork and leaning in.

“Nothing,” you refused to look up. It’s killing you to eat in silence but you don’t want to annoy him further.

“Y/n, I know something is wrong. You haven't said anything since this morning." He reaches for your hand and you pull away. A hurt look flashes across his face.

"I don't want to be annoying." You mumble. Minho blinks at you in confusion.

"What are you talking about?"

You go back to solely focusing on your food, leaving the room to fall in silence. Minho stares at you, wracking his brain to figure out what's wrong with you since he's clearly done something to upset you.

"Is this because I said you were talking too much this morning?" He asks, finally figuring something out.

"You said, and I quote, 'You just talk a lot.' Meaning I talk too much and you find me annoying."

"I didn't mean it like that. Y/n, I misspoke. I love when you talk. I love listening to your theories and stories. Honest. I could never find you annoying. Sure, you get on my nerves sometimes, but never annoying." Minho gets up from his seat and crouches down next to you.

"Are you sure because--"

"I'm 1,000% sure. Now come on, let's finish eating and you can tell me all about the mystery of Goofy's wife."

서 창 빈 (Seo Chang-Bin) (817 words)

You have a chubby stomach

You were listening to music on your phone when Changbin stumbled into your bed room. It was well past 1 in the morning and you know that he had been busy promoting a new comeback. He had the day off tomorrow but you always tell him to just sleep at the dorm when He works late so he can go to bed sooner. He never listens. You watch as he drops his bag in it's designated corner and crawls in between you legs. He lays his head on your stomach and wraps his arms around your waist.

"Baby, why don't you go take a hot shower? Your muscles must be sore." You run your hand through this soft hair.

"I'm fine. Just wanna sleep right here." He mumbles into your stomach.

"At the very least change into something more comfortable to sleep in." You tug at his shirt.

"But I'm so comfortable. You're so soft and squishy. Like...like the pillsbury doughboy." Your hair freezes in his hair.

That comment should make you laugh. In fact, you're almost certain he said it to just that. Or he's so tired that he's speaking unfiltered. But the fact that he said that while he was laying on your stomach made you feel sick.

"Bin, get up," You tap his back to wake him up.

"No," He groans.

"Changbin, I need to use the bathroom." You lie, hoping to get him move off of you.

He groans again before rolling off of you and into his normal spot on the bed, fast asleep. You quietly make your way to the living room where you plan to spend the night sleeping on the couch.

***

When you wake up, a thick blanket is covering you and Changbin is fast asleep on the floor next to you. You carefully crawl over him, as to not wake him up, and head to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of coffee. You sit in silence, replaying what Changbin said last night repeatedly in your mind.

"Why did you sleep on the couch last night?" Changbin walks into the kitchen rubbing his eyes.

He must have sensed that you weren't near him. You knew you didn't wake him up when you walked past him earlier and you weren't being loud right now either. He almost always wakes up when you're suddenly not near him anymore. It was kind of cute.

You continue to make your coffee, refusing to acknowledge him. You feel bad for blaming him. You're almost certain that he didn't mean to say what he did when he called you soft and squishy. But if he said that when his brain was too tired to filter the words, then he's been thinking it for a while.

"Hello? Y/n, are you listening to me? Am I invisible?" He asks, walking up next to you.

You finish making your coffee and leave the kitchen. Changbin stands in confusion for a second. You pull out your phone and head to the couch.

"Hey! Why are you ignoring me?" Changbin yells, quickly getting more frustrated.

"I don't know, why don't you go and ask the pillsbury doughboy." You spit, not looking up from your phone.

"W-what? What are you talking about? Are you drunk?" He questions.

You sit in silence, going back to ignoring him. Changbin stands in the kitchen thinking about what could have possibly happened.

"Pills...pillsbury...doughboy...doughboy...dough...ah...aH AH! Wait," You hear him scramble out the kitchen and slide in front of you.

Your eyes meet his panicked ones. He realized what he said the night before, finally. He knows that you struggle with your weight and the last thing he ever wanted to do was to make up feel uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I promise. I was just really tired and that was my attempt at being funny." He says quickly.

"You called me soft and squishy," You grumble.

"I like soft and squishy! I'm soft and squishy. Look, poke me in the stomach," He quickly lifts up his shirt, exposing his stomach. He's purposely pushing his stomach out.

"Changbin--"

"Poke it, Y/n." He urges. You sigh and humor him by poking him right above his belly button. He immediately lets out the most high pitched giggle you've ever heard from him.

You can't help but laugh, doubling over in laughter. Which causes Changbin to laugh and then you to laugh even harder. You manage to put your coffee cup on the floor to avoid spilling it on the couch while you laugh.

"S-see. I'm a pillsbury doughboy. We can be soft and squishy together."

"Okay, B-bin." You wipe tears from your eyes and smile at Changbin.

"And if I ever hurt your feelings in the future, just tell me. How am I supposed to fix it if I don't know what's wrong?"

황 현 진 (Hwang Hyun-Jin) (366 words)

You're physically clingy

Hyunjin stares in shock when you moved away from him the second he tried to cuddle with you.

"What is this? Do you not love me anymore?" He cries.

"I'm just giving you space like you wanted," You whisper as you tighten the the blanket around yourself and squeeze the stuffed animal you are holding closer to your chest.

"When you did I ask you to give me space?" His eyes focus on you but he couldn't see your face. It's hidden behind the blanket and you're staring forward at the tv.

Earlier in the day you were feeling needier than usual and wanted nothing more than to cuddle with Hyunjin. You know he doesn’t like skinship unless he initiates it, but he let’s you get a pass on that rule. But, for whatever reason, Hyunjin snapped when you were trying to cuddle into him and asked you for some space and called you clingy. You went into the living room, grabbing a stuffed animal and blanket with you.

You had boyfriends in the past that broke up with you because you were too clingy. Its made you be overly cautious at the start of your relationship with Hyunjin but over time you grew more comfortable around him. Hearing him call you clingy earlier set you off worrying that he was going to leave you.

“Oh, this morning?” He asks softly when he sees a tear fall down your face. He gently wipes the tear with the pad of his thumb and stares at you with soft eyes.

“Yeah, when you called me clingy.” You whisper.

“I’m sorry for that. I didn’t mean—Ah, don’t cry more.” Hyunjin wraps you in a hug and strokes your back.

“S-sorry. I just don’t want you to leave me.” You sob.

“I’m not leaving you, I promise. I was just annoyed and needed a little bit of space. But I’m sorry I made you think that you were being annoying.”

“It’s o-okay. Just brought up some stuff.”

“To make up for it, we’re going to stay like this until you think I’m being clingy.”

“You’re going to be there forever then, Hyun.”

“If it’s you, I’m fine with that.”

한 지 성 (Han Ji-Sung) (420 words)

You can't sing

"Ah, my ears! I think they're bleeding." Jisung laughs.

You two were home all day and you suddenly started doing karaoke on your phone. You know you can’t sing, it’s a fact you’ve known about yourself your whole life. It’s the fact that your boyfriend, who has so much talent that you’re not even sure how there’s any left for the rest of the world, is the one who pointed it out.

Losing confidence, you finish the song quietly. Jisung thought that you were just tired from singing the ballad and quit halfway through.

"Let's do a duet," He says excitedly, taking your phone out of your hands to look for the next song.

"My throat hurts. I'm going to get some water. Why don't you do a solo?" You softly smile before getting up and heading to the kitchen.

***

"Why won't you sing with me?" Jisung whines from the floor. He had done about 5 more songs and after each one he asked you to sing with him.

"My throat still hurts, Ji." You lie.

Jisung stares at the ceiling for a few minutes before picking up your phone and choosing a new song. He quickly stands up and hands you one of the fake mics.

You watch in awe as Jisung purposely butchers the song and waits for you to join in. You can't help but laugh.

'What are you doing you can sing better than that" You giggle.

"I know I can but I need to match my Jagi's amazing abilities." He says, pushing the fake mic toward you again. You sigh and take the mic from him and humor him.

"See, you can still have fun even when you don't sound the best." Jisung adds.

"I never said it wasn’t fun.” You groan.

"Yeah, but I know it hurt your feelings when I pretended to hate your singing. I’m sorry by the way. I’m used to making those joke with the boys.”

“Don’t be sorry, it’s the truth.”

“It’s not the truth. You’re my favorite singer. Now please sing a duet with me and make my dreams come true.” Jisung pouts.

“You are so lying through your teeth right now, but I’ll humor you.” You roll your eyes and get off the couch. Jisung walks closer to you so you two can pick a song together.

“I really am sorry. You know I would never purposely hurt your feelings.”

“I know, Ji. And that’s one of the reasons why I love you. Now pick a song.”

이 용 복 (Lee Felix Yong-Bok) (434 words)

You're a bit dumb

"Shit!" Felix slams down the controller and places his head in his hand.

"Sorry, I was trying to get--" You try to explain as you watch his character die on screen. You were playing as healer and accidently put him in a position to die rather than heal him. That was his last life for this round, he'd have no choice but to spectate for the rest of the game.

"That was the dumbest shit you've ever done." He groans.

"Lix, I was trying--" You take your eyes off the screen and look at your boyfriend who was running his hands through his hair.

"Look out-- you've got to be joking. Are you stupid, why would you look away? Now the rest of the team is going to have to play without a healer for the rest of the round." You watch as Felix rest his head in his hands.

You get up and storm into the bedroom, no longer wanting to play games with him. You know he can get mad during games. It was cute and often you would just watch or sit with him while he played so you could watch him struggle. What you couldn't deal with, was him calling you stupid.

You know you're not dumb, but you also know that you're never the smartest person in the room and you're okay with that. You do dumb things and you're okay with that. But you've heard enough people insult you for your little slip ups and berate you by calling you dumb.

You hear the door creak as Felix pokes his head in. You roll your eyes and bury your face into the bed. You feel the bed dip down around you and Felix lay his entire body on top of yours. He fidgets a bit while he tries to worm his arms under you and hug you. He presses a kiss to the back of your neck before turning his head so he could lay down comfortable.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to call you stupid. I just got carried away while gaming.” He mumbles into your back.

“I know, but it still hurts.” You pout. You turn your head so you can get some air.

“I know. I promise to not do it again. How can I make it up to you? Kisses?” He asks, slight wiggling his fingers into your side.

“I think yes." You giggle, unable to resist his tickling.

"Really? How many?" He laughs.

"Hmm... five hundred?"

"Five hundred! Well, I guess I better get started now." Felix starts peppering your face with kisses.

김 승 민 (Kim Seung-Min) (822 words)

You're a bit immature

"Oh wow, Y/n, that was so mature." Seungmin says dryly walking into the room.

You giggle as you finish making breakfast for yourself. Last night you had the idea to mess with Seungmin's shampoo bottle and to rig the sink to spray him with water as a harmless prank. He's always pranking you and you finally had a way to get him back. You put a bit of plastic wrap between the bottle and the cap so none would come out. You thought it would be extra funny to do it to all the bottles in the bathroom. You heard him yell while you were cooking and laughed. And then you taped the faucet so that it would spray water on him when he went to brush his teeth. You know that the first thing he does when he wakes up is brush his teeth so only his pajamas would be wet.

Only, you didn't account for Seungmin waking up late. You only woke up because he started swearing loudly when he woke up. He has an important meeting and you felt a little bad, but by the time you realized he was already in the bathroom and locked the door. So, you went ahead and made something that he could eat on the way since he wouldn't have much time to sit and eat and slipped it in his bag.

"I'm sorry Minnie, I couldn't help it. It was really funny." You giggle again.

"You really need to grow the fuck up," He grumbles before he leaves the apartment, not saying goodbye.

You could understand his anger. He hates being late so that, on top of your little series of pranks, was a justifiable reason for him to be mad at you. What you couldn't deal with is the face that he told you to grow up.

You've grown up with your parents constantly telling you to grow up anytime you were enjoying something. Maybe you were being childish, but it rubbed you the wrong way and now two of you are in a bad mood.

***

When Seungmin came home, you were nowhere to be found. Seungmin spent most of the day in a bad mood and when Chan asked him about it, that's when he felt bad about how he reacted this morning. Chan let him go home after the meeting so he could fix things with you.

He looked around the apartment for you and couldn't find you anywhere. He knew he was a bit harsh, not even saying goodbye to you as he left, but he didn't think you would leave.

He sat down on the couch and waited. He knew you possibly couldn't have left him over this morning. The two of you had bigger arguments over the years that would make more sense for you to leave.

After and hour of waiting, Seungmin decided to clean up while he waited. He went through his bag that he took with him to work and found the egg sandwich and coffee that you made for him. Feeling even more guilty for his behavior this morning. He quickly pulled his phone out of his pocket and tried calling you. The phone rings for a couple of seconds before it goes to voicemail. He then sends you a series of text, getting frustrated when he sees the little 'read' message indicator appear under each of his messages.

A few more hours after that you finally come home. You find Seungmin in the kitchen cooking dinner.

"Oh, so you do remember where you live. Do you remember that you have a phone too?" Seungmin asks.

"And I'm the childish one," You mumble under your breath as you walk to the bathroom.

When you turn the water faucet on, the water sprays out at you, soaking your clothes. You took the tape off earlier when you went to brush your teeth so that shouldn't have happened.

"Seungmin, what the fuck?" You should, walking into the living room in your drenched clothes.

"Ha, it worked." He smirks while looking down at the pot he was currently checking.

"Oh, so. it's funny when you do it but childish when I do?" You roll your eyes.

"I never said that you were childish." He turns the fire off under one of the pots and wipes his hands clean on his apron.

"You implied it."

"Is that why you're mad at me? Because you think I called you childish?" He stays in the kitchen but cocks his head to the side.

"I know you did, I was there."

"I'm sorry for snapping at you. I had no right to take my anger out on you. And I'm sorry for calling you immature."

"Sorry for overreacting to you calling me immature." You mumble, digging your foot into the carpet.

"Good, now come give me a hug."

"My clothes are soaked."

"It's just water, idiot. I'll live."

양 정 인 (Yang Jeong-In) (514 words)

You're loud

"You're being so loud." Jeongin groans.

You immediately shut up, not realizing that your volume had increased while you were talking. Of course, you’re aware of your habit of talking loudly when you’re excited. You were mostly good at catching yourself before his happened. But some time you got carried away.

You know he's joking. He has to be. But something in you tells you that he's not. You press your lips together as your eyes shift around the room. You two were hanging around some of the other boy, but everyone was minding their own business. You quietly mumble a sorry and pull your phone out.

***

The rest of the time you hung out with Jeongin and the boys, you hadn't said a single word. The other boys had picked up on what was going on and Jeongin was blissfully unaware.

"What about you, Y/n? What do you want to eat?" Jeongin asked you, patting your leg.

You shrug your shoulders, not looking up from the book you are reading. Jisung remembered that he was supposed to let you borrow a manga series a few weeks ago and brought out the first few books for you to read when he realized you weren't going to talk anymore.

"I know you're picky, but they have a lot of things you like so tell me what you want." He pats your leg again, thinking you're too engrossed in the book to answer him.

You roll your eyes and pull out your phone and send a text to Jisung with your order before putting your phone back down and picking up the book.

"She said she was spicy cheese tteokbokki with egg and extra fishcake and a honey lemon bubble tea. And she said she doesn't care which piece of chicken we get." Jisung says loudly to Seungmin who is ordering the food.

"Why didn't you just say that?" He asks confused, looking at you while trying to read your expression.

"She's not talking to you, idiot." Hyunjin says from his spot on the floor. He and Felix are looking at something on Felix's laptop.

"What? Why?" Jeongin says, whipping his head towards Hyunjin.

"She hasn't said a single word in two hours after you said she was being loud. Which, if you think she was being loud, what the fuck do you think of Changbin hyung? Anyway, you probably hurt her feelings." Seungmin adds.

Jeongin turns his back to face you. You brought the book closer to face to avoid looking at him.

"Did...did I hurt your feelings?" He asks softly. He leans his head on your shoulder.

"Yeah, you did." You mumble.

"I'm sorry, jagi. I didn't mean it in a mean way. I just meant that you were getting loud, but I rather be loud than never hear you again." He kisses your cheek and you melt. You know that he's not big on pda and if he's willing to kiss you in front of the other boys he must be sorry.

"Oh, I'm about to be so annoying." You laugh.

—

Buy me a coffee?

—

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httpsserene · 7 months

Text

ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪʀᴛᴜᴀʟ ʀᴀᴄɪɴɢ ʙᴏᴏᴛᴄᴀᴍᴘ ᴡ/ᴍᴠ33

📖ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: you start showing interest in sim racing. max's only option is to turn you into the best virtual-racer there ever was--well besides himself, of course. 📖ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: fluff. brain vomit. formatting (done on mobile💀). tiniest explicit reference. not edited. 📖ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2k words 📖ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: max verstappen x fem!black!reader 📖ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: headcanons & smau 📖ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ: word on the streets • key glock

ᴘʀᴇꜰᴀᴄᴇ: thought about this the whole time i was working. and then some man had the exact same voice as max and i genuinely almost dissolved into thin air because i felt like max was punishing me for thinking about this on the clock :) anyways, hope u enjoy the brainrot, loves !!!

wanna be on my taglist ? send me an ask !

and yes, i did make a masterlist !

*whispers* next f1 kinktober fic this weekend

you were probably unaware that sim racing was even a thing until you started dating max

like you’ve seen the funny little twitch clips of people playing driving simulators and being absolute menaces on the road, but you never knew actual virtual racing was a thing

anyways, whether or not you consider yourself a gamer in this scenario, you’ve always been pretty down to play videogames with max.

he absolutely annihilates you in FIFA, and no matter how much he tries to help you, you’re a lost cause

in return, you embarrass him in COD; he should’ve looked at your kd-ratio before he tried to play with you

but, sim racing 🧐

i mean, like, you never even fully considered that you could sim race at all, like not for leisure at least

max takes that shit seriously, he’s a part-time f1 driver full time simracing twitch streamer 😤

you are always around watching him practice on the sim, playing the f1 games, and even tuning in for his iracing competitions

at first, whenever max would stream you would probably be doing other things with your time

your hair, cleaning, self-care, cooking, etc.

eventually, you started migrating to sitting on the couch off-camera and watching him drive irl instead of having the stream on in the background

you were originally like, “oh it’s just because i wanna drool over his massive veiny hands” 🤤

but now it’s like “oh i wonder what each button he presses with his nicely proportioned fingers on the steering wheel does?”

and slowly it transforms from “wow my boyfriend is so cool” to “wait…this sim-racing thing is kinda cool”😵‍💫

now imagine you being like “lol wait a minute now” and being like i'm only interested in because my boyfriend loves it 🤥

in order to disprove this theory you start to ask max questions about virtual racing

not that you wouldn’t before, but they were fairly surface level; now you’re asking him about tactics, strategies, and track conditions etc.

and max is fucking thrilled 🫨🫨🫨 !!!

he eagerly answers all your questions (maxplaning 🥱), going way more into depth than you were expecting, but what did you think was going to happen

max is always happy to ramble about any small facet of virtual racing (doesn’t matter if it’s the sim, or iracing, or f1 2023) but

it makes him really pleased that you’re showing a genuine interest in it because most people don’t

you support him in anything he wants to do wholeheartedly, and listening and answering your well thought out questions has him falling head over heels for you again

so, he thinks nothing of it other than you being the best girlfriend he’s ever had and trying to learn more about what he loves

his previous girlfriends didn’t really care to understand how important vr racing was to him

they all just saw it as him playing a “game” and him wasting time when they could’ve been on dates or smth

anyways

everything is going fine and dandier, max continues to answer all of your vr racing questions, and you continue to watch him pilot the sim

until, he catches you watching a beginner’s guide on f1 2023 and get’s so jealous 😒

bro is all like “wtf, you’re watching some lame ass unranked gamer when i’m your professional driver boyfriend who does this for a living?? hell nah if you want to start playing i’ll teach you”

you’re just like, “nahhhh….i don’t want to waste your time trying to teach me, it’s not worth it. i’m not even a good driver irl, so—“

max shuts that down expeditiously

if his girlfriend wants to start vr racing, he only has one option

make you the best virtual racer there ever was (excluding him)

you’re wide-eyed like, “i just wanna go vroom vroom in circles for fun 😭”

max deathly serious, “that was never an option”

he enlists you in his virtual-racing training camp

if you are aware of the disney rapid training montage where the mc sings one song and suddenly they’re the best fighter ever, that’s how i imagined it

mulan, for example, i’ll make a man out of you

max reveals his inner george russell, he becomes a power point king

instead of date nights being cute pottery classes—they turn into him teaching you the parts of the car, the buttons on the wheel, f1 2023 settings breakdowns, reviewing iracing competitions etc.

eventually max finally allows you to play on the sim after he thinks you’ve got the theory down pretty good

you suck at first 🤗

but then you start clocking in some hours

after work, during your “lunch break”, using the sim while max is gone and playing during all the practice and media sessions

whenever max is gone, and you have any questions or ask for feedback on how to get better, you text him all about it, of course not expecting an immediate response back

max has told you before that he likes getting out of the car after a practice session and checking his phone to see all the missed messages from you with some wishing him luck and the others asking for his thoughts on your strategies

one day, he’s going for lunch with some of the other drivers and they start to make fun of him for how he’s stuck in his phone, heart-eyes and all as he rapidly texts you

they probably think that you’re sending him cute texts or photos like that one time they caught him looking at photos of you and learned he had a locked photo album of you on his phone ☠️

max remains unbothered under their teasing thinking, “they don’t know my gf can out pace them by .200 in f1 2023”

max even personally bothers christian into getting him another sim for you

christian is so tired of you two, max won’t leave him ALONE

i think max would text his team principal screenshots of your lap times and make jokes about it

“if checo keeps dnf-ing, my gf can fill in”

christian gets you the goddamn sim 😒

y’all procrastinate on building and calibrating it, max more so because it means his chair would stop smelling like you 🥺

you get it set up, but you still play on his sim every once in a while after he told you that because you’re a simp

he goes to stream one day, planning on practicing with the redline team for an upcoming iracing event

and the man almost BREAKS HIS LEGS trying to sit down because you forgot to move the chair back after you were done using it 😭😭

in between his groan of pain he let’s it slip “ow fuck, my girlfriend forgot to move the seat back after she was done”

chat goes ducking crazy

yooo, what? ur gf sim races???

is she good???

max is like “hell fucking yeah my girlfriend is great sim racer, she could replace one of the boys at redline if she wanted too!”

(team redline sweats anxiously, mics now suspiciously silent)

max continues, “well she is not as great as me, but she’s good i guess”

stream chat “they are going to have babies that completely dominate f1” “if their babies are born in the netherlands we will be stuck in purgatory cursed with hearing the dutch anthem forever”

max continues with his practice but everyone is begging to see you play, even some of the redline guys are asking questions

they wanna know if they’re really at risk of you stealing their seat

max gives up and turns to you on the couch with a smile and says, “i will beg, schatje. do not put it past me, we all want to see you drive. some people are saying i’m lying so you have to prove them wrong🙇🏼”

you’re like “what 😅 no 😧i suck 🤭 at this 🤗” but you’re already getting up and walking over to boot up your sim

the urge to flex on people and embarrass them is something both you and max share

max opens f1 2023 and starts a party for just you two, and you both decide to do quali laps at zandovoort

you do your hot lap first, and max goes after you

max y’ know, probably thinks that he can take it relatively easier on you, there’s no reason to put 100% effort into something for fun, so he puts in 95% 😀 (competitive boy)

and you know that one nepenthez meme

that’s how this goes

max is like, already rambling to the stream “yeah that’s a comfortable p1, she still has a lot to learn before she can beat a world champ—P2??!!!! 😧😳”

you’re just in the background in your sim chair, turned facing the camera with an innocent little smirk smile on your face ☺️

you got pole by .050, and chat starts bullying max, the redline boys laughing hysterically in his headphones

max requests a rematch and promptly annihilates you :)

i like to imagine that eventually you start joining max’s stream and the two of yous start having little racing tournaments whenever you guys have the time

omg could you imagine the little championship ceremony where you put party hats on jimmy and sassy and have fake little tiny gold trophies for whoever wins 🥹

imagine one day ‼️ you actually start doing iracing events, and just working your way up to being one of the best 😌

ANYWAYS to wrap it up, best teacher max ever

virtual racing 🤝 strong relationships

twitter • today

instagram

maxverstappen1 • 32 mins ago

liked by yninstagram, danielricciardo3, and 7,324,122 ofhers

maxverstappen1 the only woman for me 🧎🏼

tagged yninstagram

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yninstagram baby. baby—😭😭😭😭

➥ maxverstappen1 i love you

➥ yninstagram what the fuck has gotten into you 😳 i love you, maxy 🫶🏽

user the way ‼️ he cradles ‼️ her head 😭😭

danielricciardo3 this genuinely the sappiest thing max has ever said

➥ maxverstappen1 do not worry daniel you are the only man for me

➥ user my therapist will be hearing about this

user the fact that max personally handmade that meme 💀

user never thought i’d see the day that max uses the kneeling emoji

➥ maxverstappen1 i’m on my knees for her more often than you think

➥ user alRIGHT go ahead and clock out for me 😒

➥ redbullracingf1 do you remember the media training we had two days ago, max?

taglist: @lorarri | @saintslewis | @cherry2stems | @sweetpiccolo-blog

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f0point5 · 3 months

Text

I had the time of my life, with you

Companion piece to the Max Verstappen x bestfriend!reader social media au

✨Set in Abu Dhabi 2021, right before the race✨

A/N: So it turns out setting myself deadlines actually works lol. I still have a love/hate relationship with these pieces. But, I have a special place in my heart for this one because I had the title in my head since like the second week of the smau and I didn’t use it for any other chapter because of that. And also it’s an Easter egg because in the AD bonus part Y/N uses it as a caption for her Instagram post as an Easter egg for Max ;) we love a mastermind. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little ramble.

You thought you knew tension. You thought, growing up like you did, you were more than familiar. The eerie silence, the glazed expressions as your mind tries to protect you from close the chaos is, the pit in your stomach, that heaviness of breath, that feeling of cold that goes down to your bones no matter the weather.

Fucking hell, were you wrong.

You’ve never known tension like this.

The garage is thrumming with energy. Everyone is going about their business quicker, deeper, quieter, than it seems like they ever have. The grandstands are filling up, music blasting over the speakers. There’s a palpable electricity in the air. You’ve been shivering all day, unable to get warm enough even in a jacket in the desert heat.

You wrap your arms around yourself as you wind through along the narrow corridors behind the garage to the small room that Max has been hiding in. For the first time in a while, you knock instead of going straight it.

You’ve barely seen him all day, he’s been pulled this way and that for a hundred interviews and briefings, ducking the Netflix crews who’ve never been so sycophantic. They made him a villain, and now they lurk like there’s blood in the water in case he becomes the hero. Selfishly, you’ve missed him, and when you’d said as much to Christian, he’d just nodded to the back of the garage.

“He’s taking a couple of minutes to himself,” Christian had said, fixing his gaze on you. “But you should go and see him,”

So you had. And as you heard a gentle “Come in,” over the noise of drills and loud dance music and stepped inside, you realised why.

This was tension, you thought as your eyes fell on Max. He was on the small couch, hunched over, elbows resting on his thighs, hands clasped together almost as if he were praying. It’s like you can see every muscle in his body pulled taut under his fireproofs. He doesn’t even raise his head when you come in, but you suppose he glances at your shoes to know it’s you.

You close the door behind you, leaning against it. You’re not sure why, but it feels like you’ll bother him less from over here.

“Hey, champ,” you say, mustering a smile in case he looks at you. He doesn’t, at first. His eyes stay on the ground, and then, painfully slowly, his head lifts.

His eyes are still your favourite colour, his hair is still a bit too long, he’s still unshaven because he couldn’t be bothered even though he might be looking at pictures of this night for the rest of his life. He’s still Max.

“It’s a bit early for that,” he says, his half smile as delicate as yours. Yeah, still Max.

“Respectfully, I disagree,” you tell him crossing your arms over your chest as he looks up at you. “Since I can remember you’ve wanted to be a champion, and since I can remember, I knew you would be. That nickname is twenty years in the making,”

His eyes drop to his hands again and your heart drops with them. You’re trying so hard to say the right thing, but it was arrogant to think you ever had a chance. What experience in your frivolous existence would help you know what to say at a time like this. You wonder if you should just leave him to it as you fold your bottom lip between your teeth to chew at it as another shiver wracks your body.

“Twenty years,” Max says quietly, making you look over at him again. “It’s a long time,”

“Yeah, it is,” you reply, nodding even though he’s not looking at you. You edge closer to him, and when he doesn’t react, you take a seat beside him. Not as close as every cell in your body tells you you need to be, but as close as you feel like he’d want right now.

“You don’t understand,” he says with a sigh.

You don’t respond, because you know you don’t. You’ve never committed to anything, loved anything, lived for anything, like this. This dream of his has outlived marriages, outlasted memories, predated a friendship that feels like it has been going on forever. It’s the only thing Max has ever wanted. You’ll never be able to understand, because no matter how much you love him, he loved racing first.

“Tell me what to say, Max,” you almost beg as you reach towards him. You can’t even hold his hand, so you just place yours on his wrist, fingertips resting against his skin at the edge of his sleeve.

You glance over at him, naively hoping he will look over at you and tell you what he needs from you. Because you’d do anything.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he just says, “I’m sorry,” in a small voice the brings a lump to your throat.

You shake your head. “Don’t be. I know I don’t understand. No one can. Not me, not Christian, not Stan, not even your dad. You’ve outclassed your whole support system here,” you say this last part with a laugh, but it’s true. He’s alone now more than ever, he’ll stand on that top step alone, too. “We’re all so proud of you, you know,”

“I know,” he mutters, and it kind of breaks you how dismissive he is, even if you know why.

“Do you?” You ask him, leaning a little closer to him, but he doesn’t react.

He just continues staring at his hands as he untangles them, his left fingers curling backwards until they brush over your hand on his wrist, and you hastily slot your fingers into his as he lets out a heavy breath.

“Yeah.” He says, sounding more resolute this time.

“And you know that we’ll be proud of you, even if-“ you can’t even bring yourself to say it. “We’ll be proud of you regardless.”

“I know,” he says, “but it’s not enough,”

Despite yourself, you let out a frustrated sigh. “Max, I know that it’s not a trophy, but-“

“No,” he says, squeezing your hand to silence you. “It’s not that. I mean that it’s not enough, to come second.”

You grip his hand tighter as he lets out a laboured breath, his head lifting so he can stare straight ahead where the Dutch flag is pinned to the wall.

“We didn’t do all this to come second.” His voice is low and reverent. “My mum, Vic, I took so much from them. My dad gave up his whole life for this. You put your life on hold for this. It can’t all be for nothing,”

He’s never really said it, but you know what he means - this win is owed. He owes his mother a marriage, his sister a father, and his father a career. And none of that is in his gift, but if he can weigh a championship against all that sacrifice, then maybe he will be forgiven. Maybe for the first time in a long time, he’ll race with a clean slate. Without wondering whether he was worth the life he cost those around him, and the life he cost himself. And you want that for him. God, you want that more than anything.

You reach for him before you can stop yourself. Space be damned. You cup his cheek in your free hand and force him to look at you.

“Max, It won’t be for nothing.” You promise him, your nails pressing gently into his skin as if you’re trying to hold onto him. Like he might float away. “Not to me. Not to anyone who loves you. Even if you don’t win today, even if you never do, even if you shunt on the first lap. I had the time of my life with you this year. Being there for you will never have been for nothing,”

He wants to believe you, you can see it. But even if he believes that you all think that, he doesn’t think that. How do you tell him it’s worth it, when you both know there’s only one way for him to prove it?

“Do you want me to drive?”

Your question catches him off guard so much as that he snorts his laughter. You feel the air against your face as he falls back against the couch.

“I’m serious,” you say, grinning as you watch him. “I’ll put on the suit and the helmet and do the race for you, like Mulan. I did the track walk, I know where I’m going. Vaguely, anyway ,”

You’re making a meal of this mediocre joke, but you’ll do anything you can to keep him as carefree as he looks right now. With his head thrown back and the colour returning to his cheeks as his shoulders shake.

“Engel,” he says, his head lolling in your direction, “You really think you have a better chance of winning than me?”

You reach over to move a stray strand of hair away from his forehead, and his eyes follow your fingers.

“No, I don’t,” you say, letting your hand slide through his hair to rest on his jaw. “Because you, Max Emilian Verstappen, know how to win races better than anyone.”

Your thumb brushed across his stubbled cheek and he leans into it instinctively, just like the cats. The smile you give him feels more like one you remember, and the ones he returns reaches his bright eyes.

“Alright,” he says with a shrug.

He gets to his feet in one smooth movement, pulling you with him towards the door by your entwined hands that you’d quite forgotten about. He must have, too, because when he notices he squeezes your hand to get you to look up at him. When you do, your breath catches in your throat, and for the first time all day, you feel warm.

“I better go and win, then,” he says lightly, pulling the door open.

No one will you believe you, but you know then that you’ll be looking up at him on that podium tonight, when he’ll be a world champion.

“You will.”

Tag list

@somanyfandomsbruh @eugene-emt-roe @reidsworld @max3verstappen @laneyspaulding19 @elliegrey2803 @inthestars-underthesun @jayda12 @gaysontoast @baw-sixteen @wcnorris @motorsp0rt @obsessed-fan-alert @lifesuckslife @luciaexcorvus @dumb-fawkin-bitch @lickmeleclerc @goldeng1rl8 @trentwife @mynameisangeloflife @princessria127 @mcmuppet @hiraethrhapsody @toomuchdelusion @lxclerc @lpab @lordperceval-16 @larastark3107 @bangtanxberm @random-readers-world @bladestark @allenajade-ite @ironmaiden1313 @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @charllleclerc @kachoooow95 @bellalilo @samywhale @satellitelh @leclercdream @jamie2305 @illicitverstappen @vellicora @honethatty12 @sociallyinepludi i @raizelchrysanderoctavius @bellewintersroe @taylorslovesswifties13 @tyna-19 @jquinnmunson

#f1 #formula 1 #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #max verstappen fanfiction #max verstappen x you #f1 imagine #f1 social media au

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pedgito · 2 years

Text

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭 pt. ii ✧ ˚ · . 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: a night of bad choices leads to misery in the following weeks, neither of you managing to get the other out of your mind. teasing, hateful words, and a birthday party lead to another mess you can't be bothered to fix.

cw: 18+ (minors, dni) teacher/student relationship, age gap (21 & 29), corruption!kink (eddie is well aware of what he’s doing), max is readers bestfriend, praise words (good girl) eddie has a kink for being called sir (he can't admit it to himself), bratty!reader (sorta), more angsty touches, fingering & oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, and a hate fuck, they're both down so bad for each other

word count: 9k - part one, part three, part four

The pit in your stomach never fades, only growing larger as the days went on, terrified to face Eddie after the sequences of events that took place, one bad choice leading into another. You didn’t even have the chance to touch him, not really—and it seemed like he was okay with that, like he didn’t want it at all.

You could’ve easily just been another notch on his belt, another depraved and willing woman, falling for the teacher, opening themselves up to the consequences that came with it.

Monday is dreadful as you walk into his classroom, his front turned to the board, writing out something rather furiously, focusing himself on the task in front of him rather than greeting the class like he usually does.

But he doesn’t owe you anything, so why should you care?

It wasn’t like he violated you in the passenger seat of his van—you willing allowed the defilement to happen and you knew you were weak enough to let it happen again, but he seemed stuck on the idea that it was never going to happen again and he could live with himself by just ignoring you and acting like nothing ever happened—his gaze doesn’t even falter as it lands on you, careful hands placing the assignment on his desk.

“I need to see you after class.” His voice is low, eyes connecting with his. They seem darker, less warm than usual.

“Okay.” Your response is meek and quiet, weary of the others around.

And while he rambled through his own lesson, it felt like a personal attack, hands flexing as he talked, arms crossing and uncrossing, or how crudely the front of his slacks tightened over his groin, leaving little to imagination in your own mind—you hadn’t seen it for yourself, but there was no questioning it; he knew what he was doing.

He stops you at his desk on your way down the steps, the strap of your bag held tight in your grip. “Here,” It’s a white sheet of paper, a mountain of text you couldn’t be bothered to read. You shoot him a confused look, eyebrows furrowing in annoyance, “it’s a class transfer paper.”

You could feel the rage flooding your body at the admission, roughly shoving the paper back into his chest.

“Excuse you?” You ask, voice low as the last of the students lingered out the door, “I have every right to take this class.”

“Look, I don’t want to argue—“ Eddie starts, but he’s cut off by the clipped response you throw at him. The door to his class swings close on accident, probably bumped by a passing student—either way, you weren’t holding back.

“Fuck you.” It’s harsh and laced with venom, Eddie’s face twisting up in a mix of annoyance and frustration. “You’re not kicking me out of your class.”

He didn’t feel any better about the ultimatum than you, but it was the right thing to do. He couldn’t live with himself, having you sat across from him in his own classroom, much like the rest of his students—but know exactly what you sound like when you fall apart, all by his own bidding. He had to fix this while he still had the chance, even if he was battling every doubt in his body that told him not to.

“It’s not personal—I just don’t want this getting out of hand.”

“That’s not how this works,” You spit at him, fingering wagging between the both of you, “there is no this, to be clear—don’t you remember what you said?”

“That’s not why I’m—“

“No, shut up.” You cut him off once more, beyond the point of respect. Eddie’s shirt flexed against his chest as he shoved his hands into his pockets, letting the painful assent of insults rain down on him. “You’re the one that crossed that line—not me. And if you’re bothered, get over it—you’re an adult, aren’t you?”

Yes, he was. An adult in a position of authority over someone who he so desperately wanted to take over his desk, the back of his van, literally anywhere you would let him. But, none of that was possible.

He allowed himself the small taste he craved, it was enough.

“Would you just listen to me?” Eddie pleads, voice tight and stressed as he speaks.

“You didn’t even bother to consider how I would feel, Eddie.” You reply, speaking his name out into the empty room. He tenses, hand flying over your mouth abruptly.

You realize how risky it was, speaking so openly. There’s a small tinge of regret and a look of apology as you push his hand away, hating the way his touch lingers against your fingertips. “I’m not transferring—I have no problem ignoring you, if that’s what you want. But, you’re not going to fuck with my classes.”

Eddie knows there’s no getting through, no forcing you out of his class or his life, and if you could ignore it all, why couldn’t he?

“You can speak now.” You tell him, feeling satiated by how hard he took your words, seemingly backed into a corner.

“I don’t think you’d listen anyways.” And it doesn’t come off harsh, at least you don’t take it that way. It’s factual, you could genuinely care less. The anger had dissipated slightly, but it was still brimming, begging to spoil over if he made one wrong move.

It was a shame how easily it turned him on—which was proving his point exactly, he couldn’t stand to be around you like this.

“Probably not.” You agree, watching the crisp sheet of paper crumple in his hands, but it’s really not enough.

You pluck the paper from his grip, ripping it in half, turning it once, then ripping it again. It sent the message you wanted to be received.

Fuck his ultimatum.

“Are we done here?” You ask lightly, torn pieces floating to the trash as you release them.

“Uh—yeah,” Eddie replies quietly. He seems deflated at the failed attempt, “we’re done.”

He watches you leave wordlessly, wondering how badly he fucked himself over now.

—

“There’s no way,” Max argues, twisting the towel in her long fiery, wet hair, “Eddie isn’t like that.”

“What? Rude?” You ask, legs crossed as you reclined back on your tiny twin bed tucked in the corner of your shared dorm room. “I take back what I said the other day—he’s an asshole.”

“You didn’t even tell me what happened,” Max points out, eyes staring back expectantly, “—just that something did and then you did that thing where you go quiet and pretend I’m not seven feet away from you every night.”

The silence drags, curling in on yourself as Max stares you down.

“Was it that bad?” Max asks softly, tossing the towel into your shared laundry basket before timidly stepping your way, squeezing herself on the bed beside you. “Did he hurt you?”

You shake your head in amusement, not that you knew Eddie well, but he didn’t seem to hold that type of anger or resentment toward most people.

“I have no problem burying a body with you, you know that.”

“Oh my god, Max—it’s fine.” You insist, her eyes still watching you intently, nothing but absolute honesty shining through her features.

“So you had sex and then he asks you to transfer from his class?” She assumes, trying to piece it all together.

“We didn’t even have sex.” You admit, the words sticking to your tongue in a weird way, leaving a taste in your mouth that you couldn’t describe. “I’ve just never—look, it’s not a big deal. I’m just annoyed.”

“Annoyed because you like him? Or annoyed because he tried to kick you out of his class?”

It was a fair point and you couldn’t deny the sentiment you shared for both.

“You’re so predictable.” Max laughs, pushing herself from the bed and toward her own, digging through her pile of papers scattered over her unmade bed. “Anyways, here—“

It’s a card, covered in felt cartoon balloons and plastered with ones. It was an invitation to a birthday party—Nancy had told you about it, you vaguely remembered.

“Steve really wants you to go,” Max pushes at the subject gently, “But, Eddie’s probably going to be there—“

“I’m still going,” You assure her, “He can get over it.”

Max smiles wide, glad to have you back to your full unashamed self.

“Remember, I’m always a call and a shovel away.”

—

Class is dreadful to say the least. Eddie is so painfully bothered by your presence that it rubs off on you, letting it slip through your expression and remarks in class, more than you liked.

There’s a heated debate going on, about cadence and how the pace of a song can affect someone’s mood or anxiety and it’s flurry of words, people trying to interrupt every chance they could, and it’s mostly harmless until you finally decide to speak up against the crowd, interrupting Eddie’s response—and he really doesn’t appreciate it.

“I’d really appreciate it if you'd raise your hand.” He remarks, lying to himself. He didn’t care, he just wanted to see your expression fall, it surely did.

“How is that fair?” You ask, voice up an octave in disbelief, “No one else has.”

“You had something new to input, no?”

“Well, yeah—“

“Then?”

You scoff, slumping back in your seat in defeat, whatever tangible thought you had now gone.

“Fucking prick.” You mumble under your breath.

And he definitely hears that.

—

In the midst of all the hate, you remember the music that Eddie was kind enough to let you borrow, stuffed underneath your bed in a dark corner.

You are almost hesitant to keep it for yourself, willing to bet he didn’t have the courage to ask for it back, but as much as you hate to see his face, you’re also desperate to bother him as much as humanly possible.

Get under his skin and drive him mad.

“Hey, do you still have that dress?” Max turns to you with a contorted look on her face, suspicious at your sudden question.

“The black one that has that slit on the side?”

“Yeah, the one that cuts really low in the front.”

“Babe,” She says endearingly, “What are you up to?”

“Just hand it over.” You demand, making a small grabbing motion with your hand as Max sifts through her closet for the supposed article of clothing.

And you don’t feel the need to get too dolled up, but it’s important to play the part, pulling your hair back to show off more skin than necessary, the sleek black material clinging to your body perfectly, cut low enough that your breasts peak out middle, scandalous enough that even Max was blushing, averting her eyes in the other direction.

“It's yours,” She relents, motioning to your figure, “that thing has never looked that good on me.”

“I’ll be back in twenty.”

Max doesn’t question it, because deep down, she knows—and poor Eddie, but he deserves every bit of the karma he has coming for him.

At least you’re smart enough to forgo heels, deciding that your worn out converse were, while not stylish, still practical in your trek across campus, cold autumn pricking at your skin. It seems childish in hindsight, but all the more worth it as the sun sets, hoping to catch him at just the right moment.

When you do finally manage your way inside the music study hall, he’s shoving the key to his classroom into the doorknob, preemptive in his escape off campus, even if he still had another hour before he was technically unavailable. He seems impatient and eager, ready to bolt out of the building as soon as possible.

“Eddie,” You call out desperately, his head whipping in your direction, his normally pulled back hair flowing against his shoulders, “wait.”

He looked too good like this, perfectly tailored slacks and his shirt loose, unbuttoned and relaxed for the day, you could even see the guitar pick hung around his neck on the dainty chain, something you didn’t notice he wore underneath the disguise of what he was trying to be, covering up for what he actually was.

“It’s late.” He notes, eyes racking over your body unashamed, and that does nothing to ease the ache that fills your cunt at the sight of him. It truly was unfair how easily he affected you.

“Sorry—I forgot about these,” You held up the culprit in your hands, remembering how insistent Eddie had been about getting them back—you could still feel the grip of his fingers as they dipped into your skin, “didn’t want you thinking I was trying to steal them.”

Eddie sighs softly in defeat, unlocking his door and swinging it open in one swift motion. You smile cheerfully, slipping past his tall frame, noticing how quick he is to scoot away from your body, desperate to create as much space as possible.

“Jesus,” You laugh, “I’m not gonna bite you.”

And maybe that wasn’t entirely true.

“Can you hurry?” He asks, voice clipped and rough, he looks exhausted, rubbing his free hand over his face lazily. “I need to get home.”

You’re almost disappointed in the way he doesn’t care, doesn’t even flinch at the view of your breasts as you lean down to place the music back on its shelf—but it’s because he won’t make eye contact with you, eyes locked to the chipped linoleum floor like glue.

“Sorry,” You apologize, traveling the expanse of the room until you’re standing in front of him, leaving him no other option but to look at you, even if it’s only briefly, “didn’t want you more pissed at me than you already are.”

Eddie scoffs at that, leaning himself against the doorframe slightly, blocking your escape—not that you wanted to. He glances down at your shoes, making a small noise of amusement as his eyes travel up, stopping raptly at your breasts before landing on your face, a forced, but sweet smile waiting to greet him.

“Going out tonight?” Eddie asks harmlessly, you shrug.

“I was thinking about it.”

“It’s a Tuesday.”

“And?”

It’s not like he knew your schedule—not that you would be caught dead at any type of party or bar at this time of night, this early in the week.

“This isn’t going to work.” Eddie says smugly, pointing at your figure casually.

“What are you talking about?” You ask, acting chops not nearly up to par as they used to be, but it’s slightly believable.

Eddie’s tried everything to avoid this—being alone with you, in close proximity, no obstacles to hold himself back.

“Eddieee,” Your voice sings, realizing his wandering eyes and lack of attention, when they lock back on yours it’s palpable—like he knows he’s been caught.

You can’t be bothered to care what he thinks anymore, grabbing his idle and occasionally clenched hand in your grip, pressing it against your sternum, his palm flat against your skin. Your heart is racing under his touch, he can feel it. But, your boldness is still striking, surprising Eddie.

“You can touch, you know?” You tell him, voice soft and welcoming as his fingers pull in slightly, grazing your touch starved skin.

“Stop.” He pleads, but his hand doesn’t leave, not right away.

“What?” You ask softly, “Don’t like being teased?”

And if he wasn’t onto you before, he is now.

He finds the dip in your chest, finger skimming down the line until it rests just about your bellybutton. Your stomach sucks in at the feeling, watching as his fingers lingers, not moving an inch. When you look up at him he’s smiling; smug and annoying and so punchable.

He’s so close—and you want so badly for him to give in, slip his hand underneath the lip of the dress and take you right there, with his fingers, or his mouth, or his dick, it didn’t matter. You hiccuped at the thought, flooding with ache as he pulled his hand away, shoving it into his pocket.

“Don’t play a game you can’t win.” He retorts, your shoulders sagging in defeat. “It’s a nice dress, though—I’ll give you that.”

“Oh, fuck you.” You bite at him, shoving past his body to force yourself out of his classroom, whatever nugget of a plan you had left was gone and it all seemed pointless.

He doesn’t try to hold you back this time, but you can’t be bothered to care.

—-

“I didn’t bring a gift,” You pout petulanty, staring at Max with somber eyes, “—I can’t just walk in there without one.”

“Steve won’t care.” Max assures you, “It’s Steve.”

The man who would throw himself in front of a bus to protect any of you, always treating you just as loved as his own kids. You’ve only seen them in pictures, but Steve felt like a stranger now, and it had your body thrumming with nerves.

You arrive at the house, flooded with distant memories—it was his parents' place, the large and overwhelming home always a refuge for you and your friends when you were much younger and naive. It made you frown, thinking about how you left this place behind; left everyone else behind, besides Max—but even that was a sore subject sometimes.

And he’s standing next to a flurry of little children, running around him in circles asking for rides and desperate little arms reaching toward him in desperation. It’s amusing, a smile pulling at your face. It was something Steve had always wanted and he finally had it.

“Oh my god,” His voice cuts through the music and screaming kids, catching your expression, “She’s alive!”

“Eh,” It’s a noise of uncertainty, not sure if that was all entirely true—you were barely scraping by most days, college stretching you as thin as you could go, “that’s debatable.”

He pulls you in for the type of hugs that remind you of family; familiar and warm, his arms enveloping you and squeezing tight. You let it set, arms crossed tightly over his back as he murmurs something into your hair.

“I’m glad you came.” You smile sadly into the embrace, pulling away eventually at the sound of a much too familiar voice.

“Harrington,” Your temporary bliss was ruined, turning on your heels to watch an energetic and boisterous Eddie walking your way, a toddler hanging on his hip, “found a straggler.”

Your eyes search around desperately, trying to grasp at any excuse to escape off elsewhere, but everyone’s already preoccupied and Max is nowhere to be seen—meanwhile Nancy and Robin are manning the snack station, keeping an eye out for the sugar-filled kids diving back for their fourth and fifth plate.

It amazes you how easily Steve managed to keep up with it all.

“Sorry,” He apologizes, reaching for his son, a tiny spitting image of himself, freckles and goofy grin as he pulled at Eddie’s curly hair, yanking until Eddie gave in and tilted his head toward the child, “here, hand ‘em over.”

“He’s okay,” Eddie assured him, letting the kid ravage his hair with no complaints, enjoying the loud burst of giggles as he pinched playful at the toddler’s stomach, screeching excitedly, “aren’t you, buddy?”

“He can’t talk yet,” Steve points out, watching his toddler stare back in wonder, “—hey, have you met Eddie?”

There’s a tense, shared look between you both before you answer Steve at the same time.

“Yeah—“

“Unfortunately—“

It slips out unwillingly, hate bleeding through your thoughts and spilling out of your mouth. Steve gives you a look—the kind that would definitely come back to bite you later when Steve wanted to be nosey, but he pushed it aside for now.

“Well, I guess there’s no need for introductions,” He decides, finally grabbing his son from Eddie’s grip, much to the young child’s protest, grasping at Eddie’s tie in the process, sending it slightly askew, “where did you meet?”

“Uh—The Hideout, about a month or so ago.” Eddie replies, saving you the struggle of explaining anything to Steve. “Max brought her to one of my shows.”

“Oh,” Steve answers, feeling a small tinge of shame, “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it that night—you know how it is.”

“Dude, you’ve got your hands full.” Eddie laughs lightly, “I get it.”

There’s a lingering pause of silence, eyes lingering on Eddie’s disheveled appearance, still half-dressed in his uniform, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, slacks wrinkled from wear. It was a wonder he’d even show up like this, always seeming pretty adamant about separating his work life from everything else.

“Got any beers?” You finally ask, cutting through the awkwardness.

“Uh, yeah—in the fridge.” Steve answers, wrestling the toddler on his hip who was becoming more restless than yourself. “You remember?”

You nod, bidding Steve a quick wave before excusing yourself, taking a long breath of relief when you are finally alone.

The sip of alcohol is a relief, leaning against the large countertop island, kitchen empty for the most part—most of the crowd was outside, wrangling and chasing the other kids around, attempting to keep the children under control.

It isn’t until Eddie’s pressing in behind you that you acknowledge his presence, jumping away in fear, having been so consumed in your own thoughts that you didn’t even hear him walk up.

“Jesus, fuck—“ You curse, hand clasped over your rapidly beating heart, eyes closing briefly to calm yourself, “Warn a girl?”

Eddie snorts to himself, ignoring your complaint. The fridge door rattles open and he turns his back to you fully, reaching down to grab a beer for himself.

“Scared of me or something?” Eddie teases lowly, beer can cracking through the silence as he opens it, taking one long, slow sip as he stares you down, gaze so scrutinizing it makes you shiver.

“Should I be?” You asked flippantly, face drawn up in annoyance.

This was ridiculous—all the underlying pettiness and jabs. It would be easier to just forget about him completely, but he seemed unavoidable now, forcing himself into your daily life like a bad habit you couldn’t break.

“Steve seems happy to see you.” Eddie notes, turning to you fully, forearm resting against the island. He kept his distance this time, unlike at the bar—still, he was within arms reach, which was all the more frustrating. And his stupid fucking tie, still sitting lopsided around his neck.

“Please fix your tie,” You beg, the obvious lack of care he had for it was driving you insane, “it looks horrible.”

“It’s not bothering me.” He admits casually, shoulders shrugging slightly.

Your eyes are burning holes into his chest, stuck on nothing but the lousy piece of material. Eddie noticed, making a last ditch effort at driving you nuts if this happened to be the last time he ever saw you outside of school—he hoped it was, he surely couldn’t take much more of it.

“If you’re going to keep staring at it, just fix it.” Eddie tells you, moving close enough that you don’t have to lean over, arms flung out to his side to avoid touching you, head tilted back slightly to give you better access.

You wasted no time, yanking him roughly by the tie until he was settled between your widened legs, his own expression pulling up at the boldness, maneuvering him where you needed him.

And maybe he should’ve expected it, challenging you like that—but for what it’s worth, your touch isn’t sensual or aggressive in nature, just pure and genuine need to fix his horrible tied tie and finally put yourself out of the misery of having to look at it.

It was a reminder to you that even though Eddie might seem like he has his shit together, he’s still barely stitched together at the seams, just like you. He was trying to survive, live, make something for himself—teaching wasn’t his first or second career path, but it was all he had to grasp onto right now. Unfortunately, he was already fucking that up for himself to, indulging in things he never should have. He should steer clear of you, he should act like you don’t exist, but now his breath is ghosting over the outside of your hands as you construct the tie properly, explaining as you go in soft, monotone voice—he’s never heard it before.

“Where did you learn?” Eddie asks suddenly, face tilted down toward your hands, his mesmerizing brown eyes glancing up toward your face, holding your gaze. You didn’t try to cross your legs to satiate the ache, it was there, suffering in silence as you tried to push through.

“Are you asking because you want to know? Or because you’re trying to be friendly?”

Eddie shrugs slightly, “Both.”

“I know a lot of things, Eddie.” You decide on, not giving into his weak attempt at being civil with you. “It doesn’t matter where I learned them.”

You pat his chest firmly, admiring your work. He’s never had anyone do it for him and do it well, even Wayne’s halfhearted attempt fell short, as much as he tried. He went to prom without a tie that night, but it was probably for the best anyways.

His chest rises in an intake of breath, your hand lingering against the material for a moment too long—it was almost identical to the position you were in yesterday, completely unprompted. You can’t bare the idea of looking up at him, knowing how hard his gaze was set on you.

“Look—“ The word lingers in the tension thick air, charged and brimming with whatever forces Eddie to graze your thigh with his free hand, dragging against the exposed skin lightly.

“Hey, there you are—“ Max rounds the corner quickly, interrupting whatever was still lingering between you two.

She’s got that smug look on her face, eyes lighting up in excitement on the prospect of finally being right, knowing just how hard it was for you two to resist each other.

“Oh,” She stammers, quickly looking away when Eddie turns on her, shoving enough space between you that it couldn’t have been more obvious of the compromising position she’d just found you both in, “sorry for interrupting.”

She’s swift, grabbing a few drinks and shoving them into the book of her arm, but not subtle at all in the way she glances between you both, failing to hold back the small laugh that escapes her.

“Don’t forget, this is a children’s party.”

If Eddie could pass out from embarrassment, he would’ve.

“You told her?” Eddie spits out in a harsh, hard tone when Max is far enough away.

“She’s my best friend!” You defend, “I’m living with her, I can’t just hide it—she knows you, Eddie.”

“You said you could keep this shit a secret.”

“What? Your one little slip-up?” You taunt, hard facade lifting back up—whatever soft, endearing feeling that had started to spill over was no longer, now replaced with that same bit of rage you had toward him previously. “You think that because you shoved your hand down my pants in your car that we have something going on? You can’t even own up to your own fucking mistakes.”

Though, he never said you were a mistake; not to your face. Still, he can’t help but stare, inraptured by your rage and how clearly pent up you were, something simmering underneath it all.

“I’m not some fetish.” You warn him.

“Neither am I.” He answers back just as quickly, wondering where the sudden outburst surfaced from. “Are you trying to shift the blame on me?”

“I’m the student,” You snap, “isn’t that how this works?”

Truthfully, it was hard to see him any other way than just Eddie—but as he stood in front of you now, still buttoned up and far too proper for a child’s birthday party, it was a painful reminder. This was so, so wrong.

“Screw this shit,” Eddie says defeatedly, tossing the still nearly full beer can in the sink and shoving past you, out to the backyard.

—

“You’re leaving?” Steve asks, rushing up to you.

You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t keep yourself together, not here. “Yeah—look, I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no—it’s fine.” Steve assures you, seeing the mix of pain and frustration cross your face, “just—don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I promise.” You tell him, honestly clear on your face. He could see that something was wrong, he wasn’t that oblivious—but he wasn’t going to push it.

“Just—go easy on him.” He says, nodding toward Eddie’s departing figure.

Your eyebrows pull together in surprise, “Huh?”

“Come on,” Steve chuckles lightly, “you two are so obvious.”

It seemed like everyone knew but the both of you, which terrified you—Eddie had amazing friends, clearly; they were yours too.

Eddie’s halfway down the block, nearing his van hat’s parked in the dark, deadend alcove of the street, when your footsteps come clambering his way, nearly backing him into his own door, nothing but adrenaline and blind instinct running through your body.

“Eddie—“ You say strongly, pulling at his sleeve, forcing him to turn to face you. He’s stoic, face void of emotion, but it speaks volumes. “I wasn’t finished.”

He squeezes a fist, desperate to hold back whatever small amount of restraint he has left, but there is none.

“I meant it—” Eddie spits back, grabbing your wrist tightly as he shoved you against the side of his van, hand traveling up to your throat in a tight grip, forcing you to stay where you are, “fuck this.”

You open your mouth to fit in your last word, but Eddie doesn’t even give you the chance to speak, other hand fisting in your hair as he kisses you—teeth and tongue and anything but sweet and careful, like he wanted to devour you on the spot. You can’t stand the power imbalance, hand coming up to push back, wrapping around his own neck, nails digging into the sensitive skin around his jaw, sure to leave lingering marks for everyone to see—but you couldn’t find it in you to care.

You’re thankful for the privacy, can shielding you both from view—you could only imagine how bad this looked.

You moan openly, unashamed and loud at the way he’s forcing you back, knee shoved between your thigh, pressed firmly against your aching cunt, skirt riding up in the process. The hand that’s twisted in your hair comes to cover your mouth, squeezing slightly to muffle your filthy noises, bound to wake the entire neighborhood if you keep up like this.

Eddie pulls back suddenly, yanking at the freshly tied tie around his neck, ruining all the diligent, hard work you’d put into making it look perfect, balling the material up and holding it against your mouth, waiting wordlessly for you to open. You want to argue, but he’s clearly not in the mood, either—one goal in mind.

“Don’t make a sound,” He says, jaw tense as he presses against you, lifting up the front of your skirt to slip his hand over the front of your underwear, middle finger dragging against your clothed cunt, a small patch of wetness already noticeable from the manhandling, “got it?”

You nod feebly, opening your mouth to let the fabric slip through, biting down lightly—perfect timing as Eddie shifts his hand inside of your underwear, sinking a finger inside of you, the thickness of them a welcomed feeling as your cunt clenched around the digit in desperation.

He’s not kind or gentle in his movements, starting at a steady, rough pace as you gave in, leaning against his van for support, still pressed against the hard line of his body.

You want to tell him it’s not enough—you need more, want more. But, it hangs on your tongue, muffled by the fabric. You whimper, his wet fingers dragging out to rub against your clit furiously, hand shooting down to grab his wrist.

Eddie doesn’t appreciate it.

“Want more, don’t you?” He asks, pulling away from you, yanking his arm out of your grasp. “Answer me.”

You nod quickly—and he’s dropping to his knees on the hard, gravel covered pavement; no doubt those khaki slacks would be ruined for the rest of eternity, but he was risking that, for you.

He’s determined, slipping your panties down your bare legs, tucking the material into his pocket, which should turn you on as much as it did, but the thought is interrupted by a tap against your thigh, “Up.” He tells you, helping you rest you leg over his shoulder, giving him a perfect view of you, “—oh, she’s fucking soaked, isn’t she?”

Another weak nod, the small tinge in your cunt hitting you deep in your stomach, the ache radiating through your entire body. You couldn’t explain it, Eddie just had that effect—-through his words and actions.

“Come here.” He mumbles, canting your hips up, hands coming around to cover your bare ass, forcing you against his face, pussy slotting over his mouth perfectly.

And you can’t believe you’ve ever deprived yourself of this experience, suddenly addicted to the feeling. You’ve felt it in dreams, wondered, hope that it would be as good—it was better, so much better.

You cry against the fabric as Eddie licks broadly, through your folds until he reaches your clit, tongue flicking at the sensitive nub, before his lips close over to suck, nearly knocking you on your ass completely if it weren’t for his hands holding you steady.

“Don’t come,” He instructs—it feels like a punishment, it probably is—but you’re not going to argue, not when he was making you feel this good. “okay?”

You murmur a soft noise of acknowledgement, hands slipping into the hair at the crown of his head, using the momentum to rock his face against you, his tongue dipping inside you at the movement, nose bumping your clit.

He’s relentless, hands squeezing at whatever skin he could reach, desperate to consume every last drop of whatever you had to offer, eating you up like the starved man he was; you’ve never felt more vulnerable and that terrified you. You weren’t going to be able to last long, not like this—he wanted you to break.

You pulled the tie out of your mouth, panting in waves, “Fuck—I give up, I can’t—“ You gasp out softly, “Eddie—“

He subsides, allowing you a moment of relief as he pulls back, mouth looking obscene, covered in your wetness. He sees the look of desperation on your face, silently pleading.

“Get in.” He demands, pulling away long enough to shove you in the driver's side, forcing himself in after you, not giving you any room to escape before he’s pulling you back to him, settled over his lap roughly.

It’s nothing but grabbing hands and harsh, bruising touches as he grips your thighs, your waist, before settling on your face, cheeks pinched between his hand in a tight grip.

“This what you wanted?” He asks accusingly, squeezing at your ass, through the thinness of your silk skirt, the warm press of his fingertips enough to drive you insane. “I know it is.”

“I will shove that stupid fucking tie in your mouth if you don’t shut up.” You practically beg, grinding down roughly against his clothed dick, straining against the zipper of his slacks. Your threat is muffled by his mouth, fighting to overtake control, tongue slipping past your lips with too much ease, like you’d been waiting for this moment since you laid eyes on him.

You can’t believe you didn’t seize the opportunity sooner, a crime that someone with a mouth this good would keep it to themselves for so long, but he sounded much better like this—speechless aside from the tiny, pathetic grunts he let slip out.

“Gonna fuck you.” He seethes out, teeth clenched as you pull back on his hair, head tilting up to look at you.

Oh. Your head quirks to the side, tongue dragging over your top row of teeth teasingly, curling against the corner of your mouth to jut out slightly. “Blind confidence isn’t cute.”

But, you wanted him. God, did you want him.

His hand slips between the space against his slacks, rubbing over himself as he cups your cunt, bare and begging for him to sink into you, embarrassingly so.

“Bodies don’t lie.” He points out, pointer finger dragging up testingly through your folds. You shake your head in annoyance, but don’t make any effort to move his hand, “Don’t believe me?”

He yanks gently at your hand fisted in his hair, rubbing the flat of your palm against his dick, hard and hot under the material and you can feel yourself clenching at the thought of that fitting inside you—if only.

“So desperate to fuck me—fuck your teacher, is that it?” Eddie pushes further, using his own hand to help you start a steady rhythm as he ruts against your hand.

“You know I don’t look at you that way,” You insist, wishing desperately that he’d stop bringing it up, no matter how weirdly deviant it felt to be doing something morally wrong, “god—just shut the fuck up.”

Thankfully, he does, hand returning to your face to squeeze tightly, lips crushed against his in a messy, spit filled kiss. “Fuck.” You sigh, letting the small semblance of pleasure slip out, music to Eddie’s ears, better than any song he’s ever heard in his lifetime.

Eddie slams you back against his steering wheel, thin jacket doing nothing to save the bruise that would form the next morning, his fingers ripping hurriedly at that zipper in an attempt to rid you of more clothes, determined to do exactly what he told you he would—fucking you until you had nothing left to say.

“Cute,” He smirks, staring at the sheer matching top to your skirt, hardened nipples visible through the material. His hand slides up the length of your stomach, breath quickening by the second, his touch like a brand against your skin, “I didn’t think it would be this easy—guess you’re just that needy, huh?”

You yank harshly at the fabric bound in his grip, a small stutter of confusion from Eddie before you’re shoving the material in his mouth, his cheeks pinched between your fingers.

“Don’t. Fucking. Talk.” You stress, letting his eyes search your own. There wasn’t a twitch or waver in your gaze, all seriousness as he stared back at you, nodding like the poor, wrecked man he was. “Condoms?”

Eddie shakes his head furiously, but not in the way that he seemed adamant about not using one—he just didn’t carry them in his van. It’s just your luck.

You hesitate for half a second before throwing all sensible thinking out the window, pulling at the button of his slacks and untucking his wrinkled button up, the smallest groan of relief escaping him as you finally unzip his pants.

“You can fuck me,” You tell him, instructing him to listen to you carefully, “but I don’t want to hear a word from you, got it?”

He nods furiously, teeth clenching against the material.

It takes a bit of skillful movement to get his pants down his legs before he’s quickly pushing at his boxers, letting them slip low enough that he can spring his cock free, painfully hard and resting stiff against his stomach from the curled and compromised position he was in.

You pout playfully, “Cute,” Your voice is soft, pulling your top high enough that your breasts hang free, and he’s quick to shoot a hand out, but not quick enough to escape your grip, “Nuh uh.”

He’s annoyed, eyebrows deep set into his face as his eyes widen. “You don’t get to touch unless I say you can.”

Eddie never felt like this—so willing to comply with your orders, despite how badly he wanted to take you in the back of his van—it didn’t matter how, but he needed that control. Still, he gave it up for you, allowing you to take the anger out on him; in some ways, it helped him too.

He nods obediently, a gentle acknowledgment, letting his hands fall to your thighs lightly, thumbs caressing the flesh there, smoothing against the soft inner most part of your leg.

You lick your hand wet, which shouldn’t make his dick jump the way it does, but there’s no point in hiding his bashfulness now, intrigued by your crass way of handling this—you were on a goddamn mission. You take him in your hand firmly, giving his shaft a few short tugs, thumb grazing against the ruddy tip, spreading the small bead of precum down his shift, helping in the slick slide of your hand, filling the van with the intimate noises of your skin against skin and the barely audible grunts of satisfaction that Eddie couldn’t hold back.

You chortle softly, a small huff of amusement through your nose as you pull at his dick teasingly, noticing how entranced he was in both your hands and the way your breasts sat on your chest, just out of reach.

“What did you think, huh?” You ask teasingly, voice barely above a whisper, “Probably thought I was some soft, easy girl that would do whatever you asked—that’s what you want, right?”

Eddie shakes his head desperately, eyes squeezing shut on a tight tug at his dick, before you slide back down, squeezing at the base. “You like the easy ones, don’t you? All eager to let you fuck them?”

Another pitiful head shake.

“Good.” You say with fervor, leaning forward to mouth at his neck, shoving his hair to the side to allow better access. “I could get real kinky—call you sir, or is that too far?”

He mumbles something around the material, eyes desperately trying to convey emotion. You give him the benefit, slipping the piece out momentarily.

“Shit—call me whatever you want, just let me fuck you already.”

Most of it was harmless teasing, but Eddie was so inherently desperate that he’d agree to anything at this point. You stuff the tie back into his mouth, lifting your skirt until the material was bunched at your waist, perching forward to rub the soft tip against your folds, letting Eddie moan desperately at the sensation.

His cock slides in easily, cunt swallowing him down as you welcomed the stretch, clenching against the perfect grip you had on his dick as you moved slowly, sighing in relief.

“Fuck, it feels good, doesn’t it?”

Eddie nods jerkily, almost approvingly, his hands forcing your legs further apart, which you didn’t really mind—it helped him slip deeper, buried to the hilt inside of you, dick pulsing with each gentle squeeze of your cunt.

You start at a slow, excruciating pace, hips dragging up far enough that the tip of his cock almost slips out, before roughly slamming back down, your chest flushing a deep red from exertion.

He’s suffering deeply, squeezing at the back of your thighs in earnest, trying to meet your own hips as you sink down onto him, again and again—and he’s a wreck, moaning wantonly around the fabric, head lolling back from where it’s still held tight in your grip; he’s never felt so powerless, but he’s almost okay with it.

“This is your fault,” Your voice is strained, Eddie aiming for something deep inside of you as his hips worked against your, “all your fucking fault.”

Eddie practically whines, hands traveling up to squeeze at your hips, before slipping over the curve of your ass—he was terrible at following rules, but you couldn’t be bothered to care, not when he was staring at you so openly, a surge of pleasure shooting through your body as his eyes squeezed shut, cunt clenching down on him at a particularly deep thrust.

He’s shaking his head, holding back the words being forced down by the fabric—and you have a heart, but it’s with deep regret when you slip the fabric from his mouth, soaked with his spit and useless as you toss it to the sound, head titled just over his as he speaks to you.

“My turn,” He remarks snidely, demeanor switching on a dime, left hand twisting in the root of your hair until your neck was straining back, your chest presented perfectly in front of his face, his lips connected with the hardened bud of your nipple as he bites gently at the skin before moving to suck a deep purple bruise on the underside of your breast, revelling in the noises you let slip, a flurry of high pitched moans as he works you over, “so fucking needy, yeah?”

And you can’t answer, mouth hung on a noiseless gasp, your impending orgasm creeping up on you slowly—you could just end it all yourself right now, but where’s the fun in that?

“Not so cocky now,” Eddie chuckles softly, mouth sliding up your chest until it’s settled just above your own, the eye contact so personal it makes your heart palpate—whatever hate you’d had toward him dissipated, replaced with the blinding urge to let him ruin you, exactly how he wanted, “if I knew that fucking you would shut you up—I would’ve done it a lot sooner.”

“Eddie—“ You hiccup, hands clutched against his clothed shoulders in an attempt to keep you balanced and upright, the brutal pace of his thrusts threatening to knock you off balance.

Eddie quirks an eyebrow—and you know, you know exactly what he’s asking for, the wordless gaze testing your own patience.

“I’m not—not calling you sir, it’s not—not right,” You force out, feeling the familiar nudge of a thumb against your clit, his hands like home when they finally touch you, “—thought you hated—hated that word.”

“Not when you say it,” He smiles daringly, his hand unwinding from your have to caress you face, head pulling back in his grip, the pad of his thumb dragging over the soft pillowy skin of your bottom lip, “—don’t think I don’t know what you like being called, it’s so fucking obvious.”

His thumb pressed firmly, rubbing quick circular motions against your clit, pleasure threatening to spill over, but he’s pulling back just as your keen forward, stopping you in your tracks, “What the fuck?” You ask breathlessly.

“Beg,” His voice is rough, nearing his own desperate search for an end, “or I can make this a lot worse.”

And you can play along, “Please—“ You reply sweetly, his thumb dipping in your mouth to press against your tongue, widening your mouth open in punishment.

“Not good enough.” He replies, his warm, calloused hand traveling to the underside of your jaw, face squeezed between his grip—it’s bordering on painful, eyes welling up with tears.

“Fuck—please—please, sir,” His face lights up in both lust and amusement, the words spilling from your mouth shamelessly, “god—just let me come, please?”

“Good girl,” He remarks sweetly, the quick work of his thumb against your sensitive clit bringing you over the edge, hitting you hard and fast, “—fuck, look at you.”

Your eyes squeeze shut, too overwhelmed by the warm sensation that spreads through your body, moaning brokenly against Eddie’s lips, barely grazing your own as you work through your orgasm, cunt clenching down against his own cock—a sharp reminder that he didn’t have much self control to hold out any longer, moving you off of him with just enough time to wrap his hand around himself, coming against the exposed flesh of your stomach, head tilted down as he works through it, bottom lip pulled between his teeth in anguish.

It doesn’t last long though, the blissful peace interrupted by your own voice. “I should go,” You adjust yourself, cleaning up the mess with whatever piece of clothing Eddie hands you, “Max is probably waiting for me.”

“I can drive you—“ Eddie begins to offer, but you can’t be bothered to listen.

“You got it out of your system, right?” You ask rudely, “You don’t have to pretend to be nice to me.”

Eddie stays silent, watching you adjust yourself in his passenger seat until you look somewhat presentable, unlike you’d just been thoroughly fucked over his lap, his hands making a mess of your hair.

“What? Not a fan of one night stands or something?” You ask harshly, watching the way his face twitches in annoyance. “We had sex. We can forget about it now.”

But, of course—Eddie’s nagging voice in the back of head wouldn’t let him. He didn’t want to forget about it. You knew he was fighting with an internal battle of right and wrong—was it really worth it?

“It’s not that.”

“You know what,” You tell him, voice gripped on the door handle as you turn toward him, “when you can finally figure out what you want, let me know.”

He didn’t need the time to figure it out. Eddie knew what he wanted, unfortunately—it was you.

—-

Max doesn’t bring anything up on the drive back to your dorm, which you’re thankful for. She knows, you know she does. It doesn’t ease that complete and utter emptiness you feel after leaving Eddie, both of you defeated from your inability to accept the truth—you weren’t finished with him either.

And your heart nearly drops into your stomach when Eddie catches your arm at the end of class, a long week of sneaking glances at each other, failing miserably at trying to keep your mind occupied on anything else.

“Hold on,” he says softly, your school day nearing its end—you were exhausted and you wanted to curl up in your bed and spend the rest of your day being frustrated there, out of his proximity, “let’s talk.”

“Here?” You ask carefully, “Are you sure?”

“There’s that big game tonight—no one’s planning on sticking around.” Eddie explains, watching the flurry of students and staff exit the building through the window tucked in his classroom door, “I just need you to hear me out.”

For once, you find it in yourself to listen, walking slowly to perch yourself on his desk, hands tucked against each other as you wait, noticing how his hands flexed—he seemed anxious.

“If we do this, we have to be careful,” Eddie explains, he knew that wasn’t possible. “—I can’t lose my fucking job.”

You nod quietly—the ramifications were serious, you understood that.

“And it’s just casual,” He insists, “right?”

Did he really need your confirmation?

“Are you asking me or yourself?” You question, watching his shift closer, thigh leaned against the edge of his desk as he rested, looking down at your tightly clasped hands.

“Answer me.” It’s not demanding, the look in his eyes anything but.

“I’m not going to fall in love with you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” You assure him, a smile pulling at your face—it’s the first time he’s seen it in a while, and he hates how it makes him feel; regretting every word that’s coming out of his mouth.

“And no special treatment,” He adds slyly, “I’m not passing you for sex, so don’t try it.”

“Are you sure?” You test him, finger reaching out to catch at the edge of his pants, pulling him gently until he gets the message, moving himself between your legs.

There’s a slight thrill that runs through you at the idea of getting caught.

“You haven’t let me suck you off yet,” You point out, “so you might want to withhold judgment on that.”

His hands move to rest on either side of you, flat against his desk as he leans in, perched forward, his eyes darkening at the admission, his face so close you could lean in and kiss him—you really wanted to.

“I can tell you’ve never been touched,” He says lowly, “At least, not the way you’ve always wanted to be.”

He could read you like a book, that was clear.

“Does that bother you?” You ask, breath ghosting over his face, his bottom lip pulling between his teeth in suspense, hanging on your every word.

Eddie nods his head slowly.

“A girl like you,” Eddie dotes, leaning forward to rest his lips against the shell of your ear, sending you into a full body shiver, “it’s a damn shame.”

“Want to know a secret?” You ask quietly, face blushing a deep shade of red as he crowded against you.

Eddie makes a small noise of approval, and idle hand slipping between the space of your thighs, squeezing gently. “Tell me.”

“That night in your van,” You take a pause, letting the silence linger, knowing that Eddie was brimming with anticipation, “I’ve never came before—not by someone else’s hand.”

Eddie’s hand grazes the seam of your jeans, cupping your front briefly, daring you to speak another word.

“I mean—my hands are great,” You laugh softly, “but yours—they’re so fucking good. You have no idea.”

“I guess I didn’t really take you for the type either,” Eddie notes suddenly, pulling back to look at you, eyes blinded with lust, “I didn’t even have to ask to fuck you raw, you wanted it.”

You nodded proudly, head tipping up as his fingers caught your chin, letting his other hand that gripped your thigh pull you closer, pressed firmly up against his groin, hard dick straining through his pants.

“Good girls don’t do that,” He whispers softly, “do they?”

You shake your head obediently, your own lip pulling in between your teeth. Your head tilts upwards under his grip, his eyes urging you to speak. You knew what he wanted to hear.

“No, sir”. You answer softly, and Eddie smiles devilishly.

“So we’ll make sure to be careful next time?”

Next time—you can feel your cunt clenching at the admission, nodding eagerly at his question.

Eddie laughs softly, “Good girl.” He comments for good measure, admiring the way your face lights up at his words.

And you wait, seeing if he’ll push it further; he doesn’t, enjoying the look of desperation he held you in, eyes never leaving your face.

“Can I kiss you?” It’s the last thing you expect from him, the normalcy in his tone, no malice or filthy intent behind the words.

“Please?”

He answers the question with his lips, pressing softly against your waiting mouth, tongue sliding over your bottom lip, mouth parting to let him in. It was nice to kiss him without the heat and anger that was there before, indulging in him just because you wanted to.

“Am I gonna regret this?” He asks against your mouth, hand sliding behind your neck to grip it firmly, fingers pressing into the skin.

“Definitely—and I still want my panties back, by the way.”

Eddie snorts into the chaste kiss he presses against your lips, “Not a fucking chance.”

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #my writing #1kfic

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myster-tea · 2 years

Text

Gender is confusing:

I like to dress up and wear makeup and have long hair and look feminine

But I want to be seen as a guy-

But when I dress masculine I get sad????? And I don’t feel comfy??????

But oh- oh yeah I wanna be a guy and be seen as a guy

…

BUT I GET SAD WHEN I DRESS TO BE SEEN AS A GUY-

I FEEL THE MOST MASCULINE IN FEMININE STUFF???????

Gender dysphoria is like: HA BITCH YOU WOULDNT EXPECT ME TO SHOW UP WHEN YOU ARE IN MENS SHORTS AND A BIG HOODIE WOULD YA??? WILD CARD MOTHERFUCKER >:]

#WHAT IS GENDER #WHAT IS ANYTHING IM SO CONFUSED #Max You’re Rambling Again #BUT WTF HOW DOES THIS MAKE SENSE

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steddiealltheway · 2 years

Text

Eddie is the only one to notice that Steve squints at everything.

Whether this is menus, street signs, other people in general… he’s always squinting.

It becomes concerning when Steve starts missing exits, brushing it off as if he’s distracted rather than admitting he couldn’t read the sign in time. Then, while Eddie and Steve are playing babysitter for the kids at the fair, Steve panics when he loses sight of them. But they’re not far away and pretty hard to not notice.

Eddie doesn’t say anything. He just points them out and watches as Steve squints into the distance, pretending to see them. At least he trusts Eddie’s sight.

After they’ve dropped off almost all the kids, Eddie hesitates to get out of Steve’s car. He ushers Max to go on, explaining that he needs to talk to Steve.

Steve pulls outside of Eddie’s trailer home and nervously fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “What’s up, man?” He asks trying to sound casual.

“Steve, you need glasses,” Eddie says as a statement rather than a question.

“No I don’t,” Steve attempts to argue.

“You do.”

“Really, it’s not a big deal-”

“Not a big deal?! What happens when it’s not just exit signs that you’re missing? What if it’s a car?”

Steve just looks down and shrugs. Eddie will unpack that later, but, for now, he knows exactly what to say. “What if you’re with the kids when that happens?”

Steve’s head snaps up to look at Eddie, fear and shame flooding his features. He clears his throat. “We’ll go tomorrow,” Steve reluctantly says.

“I’m driving,” Eddie says half jokingly.

The visit to the eye doctor goes pretty well, and it’s quickly determined that yes, Steve really needs glasses. Eddie can’t help but whisper, “I told you so.”

Steve rolls his eyes.

When it comes to picking out the style of glasses, that’s when Eddie and Steve really start to struggle for different reasons. Steve struggles with the frames that best fit his face while Eddie… he struggles with the fact that Steve looks really hot in glasses.

Steve settles on a classic square frame that makes Eddie’s mouth go dry. Maybe making Steve get glasses wasn’t the best idea…

The optometrist finds Steve’s prescription lens in that exact frame, commenting on how he’s lucky they were in stock.

As soon as Steve puts them on, his eyes widen and jaw drops in awe. He looks around the room at the lights saying, “They’re… not blurry. I can see the bulbs.” When he looks outside at the trees he excitedly rambles, “The trees! I can see the leaves! And… the sign all the way down there… I can read it.”

Eddie chuckles which gets Steve’s attention. His gazes travels over the Eddie, and he freezes. It’s as if he’s seeing him for the first time. Which… he probably actually is.

Eddie shifts uncomfortably under the gaze, overly conscious of all the flaws Steve can now see clearly. Steve won’t stop staring.

The eye doctor clears his throat. Steve quickly looks away and hurries to pay. Eddie sighs in relief.

On the drive back, Eddie can’t help the wide smile that is permanently etched on his face as Steve shouts out all the different things he can see.

-:-:-:-:-:-

“What the hell? Since when do you wear glasses?” Dustin asks getting in the car.

Steve self consciously pushes the glasses up his nose. “Since yesterday.”

Mike laughs but stops when Eddie shoots him a look. “They look great, don’t they?” Eddie asks, trying to get everyone to agree so Steve doesn’t convince himself that he doesn’t need them again.

“They really do,” Max replies with a smirk. Christ. Lucas rolls his eyes and agrees with Max. Will nods enthusiastically, and Mike remains silent.

Steve beams and looks over at Eddie, eyes flicking down to his lips and back up to his eyes. And for the life of him, Eddie cannot understand why Steve has been so fascinated with his lips since getting his glasses. It’s only been a day, and Steve has looked at them over a hundred times.

He shakes off the thought, listening to Dustin ramble on about Suzie as everyone else groans.

A few days later, when Steve and Eddie are hanging out alone, it finally becomes unbearable because Steve. Won’t. Stop. Staring. At. His. Lips.

And Eddie keeps nervously licking them, which has caused his lips to chap. So maybe that’s why he’s staring? But then, he puts on chapstick which maybe gives him another reason to stare?

Honestly, he’s about two seconds away from breaking.

Steve looks at his lips again. That’s it…

“Why the fuck do you keep staring at my lips? What is so fascinating about them? Are they weird looking? Do you have a sudden new interest in lips because of your glasses?” Eddie rambles on, knowing he sounds ridiculous but seriously. What is wrong with them?

Steve turns red and his mouth opens and closes a few times. “Uh…” is the only thing he can say apparently. He glances down at Eddie’s lips again. Eddie raises his eyebrows.

“Do you really want to know?” Steve asks.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t,” Eddie says now concerned at what the hell Steve is going to say.

“This is going to sound so stupid, but… ever since I got my glasses and saw you… it was like… seeing you for the first time all over again. And…” Steve swallows and runs a hand through his hair. “I haven’t been able to see you the way I did… before.”

“What?” Eddie questions because what?

Steve runs a hand over his face and takes his glasses off, as if it’s going to help him to think. “I can’t stop thinking about the way your eyes shine and have such intense depth. The way the corner of your eyes crinkle when you smile. How I can see every strand of your hair and it looks… so soft…” Steve trails off and reaches for a curl, feeling it between his fingers before releasing it.

Eddie swallows. There’s no way that Steve means what he thinks he does.

Steve puts his glasses back on and stares at Eddie. He glances down at his lips and says, “And I mean it when I say I can’t see you the same way as before because I keep staring at your lips, and I want more than anything to kiss them.” His eyes flicker back to Eddie’s, pleading and scared. Steve corrects himself. “I want to kiss you.”

“Making you get glasses was the best thing I’ve ever done, then,” Eddie says, cupping Steve’s jaw and kissing him gently. His nose nudges against the frames, but he can’t complain.

Steve pulls back and takes the glasses off. “And taking them off is about to be the second best thing I’ve ever done,” Steve says before kissing Eddie again.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie ficlet #Steve in glasses

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silverstonesainz · 6 months

Text

mine, mine, mine

─── the one where you and carlos have that dreaded conversation frat!carlos x reader 5.4k words prompt: "wait, don’t go yet, please” + “you're all mine, you got that? i'm not sharing” + accidentally referencing them as my’ which led to the ‘what are we?’ question warnings: profanity, alcohol consumption, mentions of drugs, kind of suggestive, descriptions of a toxic relationship.

d rambles. . . i combined a couple of prompts because i thought they would all work really well together, hope that’s okay!! anyways, i did what i always do and made this… well happy reading!!

come over tonight

you stare at the text on your screen, thumb swiping against the screen. a grey bubble pops up, three dots. he types, then it disappears.

to study … or not.

you bite down on your bottom lip, placing your phone screen down on your chest as you stare up at the ceilings. there was an easy answer to his invitation, and it ends with your pride and ego intact. you won’t have to suffer through another round of self-doubt or the imminent heartache the boy always seems to leave you with.

but it also means no carlos. it would make today three weeks since you saw him last, three weeks since he was all over you, every inch of you. you shudder at the memory, the ghost of his touch against your skin.

you inhale sharply, picking your phone back up as you type out a response.

text you when im on the way

the closer you got to the fraternity house, the worse your gut feels. you have your hands slot between your arm and sides to keep them warm from the crisp autumn air. it’s uncharacteristically quiet on 5th street. no parties or kick backs, it’s pretty much a dead week for greek life. but even so, there were still cars lined up outside of the phi gamma theta house, some you’ve seen and others not. carlos’s blue ferrari is parked just a couple feet from the walkway to the door. you glide your hand along the glossy paint, the warmth seeping into the pad of your finger. he must’ve arrived not too long before you.

the music is loud, loud enough that not even the walls could muffle the beats. the bass thumps against the door, shakes the knob as you reach out to twist it open.

it’s almost embarrassing how unphased the brothers in the foyer are by your entrance. even more so at the way lando seems to have been expecting your arrival.

“hey you!” the brit grins widely, arms outstretched to pull you into a hug. “haven’t seen you in a while. missed having you here at the house.”

your arms go around him, hand rubbing his back as he squeezes you tightly in return. “been busy.”

“you’re always busy,” lando pulls away, hands gripping your shoulders as he looks you up and down. “carlos is in the kitchen with max.”

you blush, nodding as you mutter a soft thanks. lando pats your back, walking past you and over to oscar who is nearly asleep on the couch. you wave and exchange subtle nods as you walk across the house and into the kitchen. it smells heavily of garlic, a little too much like garlic. you scrunch your nose, making your way over to the counter where carlos and max are leaning up against.

max spots you first, smile wide as he waves. it closes their conversation, forces carlos to turn towards you. you try not to read into his reaction, the way he smiles or the bit of relief as he sighs. you try not to acknowledge that he might be happy to see you.

it’s nothing. this is nothing.

the dutch boy opens his right arm for you and you gladly walk into him. he gives you a squeeze, tight against his side as he calls you something in his mother tongue that you can’t quite place. the moment is short lived, releasing and allowing you to walk the two steps over to the man who invited you in the first place.

“hi.” you say softly, head tilted up towards him with a shy smile.

he smiles back, leaning in to press a kiss onto your lips. “hi.”

your cheeks heat up, stepping over to carlos’s side as he and max pick up their conversation again. they exchange a couple of words about some event they’re throwing before the spaniard is patting his brother’s shoulder and the boy walking away with a soft see ya.

carlos hums, pulls the strap of your backpack off your shoulder before slinging it onto his own. he holds his hand out, muttering a soft c’mon. you take his hand, slotting your smaller fingers between his own ad allow him to lead you out of the kitchen. the house is buzzing with conversation, competing with whatever mix is playing on the loud speaker. “was the drive over okay?”

“yeah,” you breath, “yeah it was fine.”

he let’s go of your hand at the base of the staircase, gesturing for you to step ahead of him and you oblige. several brothers say goodnight as the two of you make your way up, and you return a tight lipped smile and wave. the further up the stairs, the further down the hallway, the quieter the house becomes. most of the doors are left open, some a crack and others wide enough to see a mess that makes your skin crawl. you stop at a forest green door, waiting patiently for carlos who just smiles.

“it’s unlocked.”

you nod awkwardly, gripping the bronze knob and twisting the door open. contrary to the rest of the house, carlos’s room is neat. freakishly neat— like sheets tucked under the mattress and pillows stacked by size neat. it smells of cologne and weed. it smells like carlos.

you kick off your sneakers and placing them by the door before plopping yourself onto his bed. you watch as he moves about his space, setting your bag down next to your feet before he begins to fiddle with the himself. he pulls his sweatshirt off hangs it off the back of his chair before pulling his sneakers off his feet and pushing them into the bottom of his closet. then he turns, scratches the back of his head as he looks you up and down. you smile awkwardly, lips parted to break the tension but carlos beats you to it.

he takes long strides across the tiny room, right hand cupping your jaw as he presses his lips hard against your own. you yelp, surprised as you fall back onto the bed. carlos breaks his fall with his opposite hand, lips not missing a beat in your new position. you’re stunned only for a second before your fingers find their way into his hair as you kiss him back with just as much veracity. it’s messy, desperate, makes your heart beat so fucking hard you’re sure it’ll crack through your ribs,

he digs his teeth into the soft flesh of your bottom lip gently, prodding a moan from the back of your throat. it’s soft, quiet as you try to keep up with carlos, but enough to have him smirking into the kiss. he pulls away, eyes wide as he scans your face.

“missed you.”

“did you?” you tease, pushing a strand of his hair backwards.

“i always do.”

butterflies. it flutters, sits in your gut as you try to bite back a smile. you tried to look unconvinced, rolling your eyes playfully as you push back on his chest and effectively off of you. he chuckles, leaning back onto his elbows as he watches you reach over his bed to pull your bag up.

“you don’t believe me?”

you pull your computer out, “mmm, not really. i just think you’re horny.”

it’s carlos’s turn to roll his eyes. he pushes himself up, leaning over to you to kiss you again. “i can’t miss you and be horny too?” you snort, shaking your head as your fingers begin to click at the keys. you can see carlos tilt his head in your peripheral. “what are you doing?”

“studying”

his hand rests flat against the back of your laptop, shutting it in your lap and taking it away to place on his desk. you sigh his name, protest quietly as you let him drag you onto his lap, legs settled on either side of his hips. you whine when his hands sneak their way up your shirt and begin to palm your breast over your bra.

“carlos.” “hm?”

his fingers slip beneath the padding, kneading harder. you inhale sharply, shakily, looking down at him. he pays no mind to the look you give him, jaw slightly offset as he watches the way his hands move beneath your top.

“study.” “mmmm… no.”

his hands pull away from your chest, coming down to the hem of your shirt so he can peel it off you.

you let him.

“but you said-“ “later, bug. relax, let me show you how much i miss you.”

studying happens an hour later, spent on your stomach on his bed while he’s at his desk scribbling away. the house has quieted down, the music no longer thumping against the door and the mixed chatter all but died in the night. it’s nearly eleven.

you hum, shutting your computer and pushing yourself off your comfortable position. you begin to pack away your things, stuffing notebooks and highlighters away where they belong before picking up your clothes discarded on the floor. jeans and an old t-shirt, and the beige bra by the door. carlos drops his pencil, turns in his chair as he watches you pull his shirt off your frame.

“what are you doing?”

“it’s late.” you say matter of factly, folding the grey material before tossing it on his bed. you pull the straps of your bra onto your shoulders, reaching behind you to clasp the prongs together. “gotta get home.”

“spend the night.”

you snort, shaking your head, “i have an eight am tomorrow.”

“so do i.”

you jump into your jeans, buttoning them before leaning down to press a kiss to his lips, “can’t tonight carlos. but maybe tomorrow?”

“well i got a date party tomorrow, but…”

you freeze, but only for a second. it’s brief, just a moment where you feel your spirit shake beneath your chest. just one second then you’re reaching down to swipe your shirt off the floor. you didn’t now of any date party, and you could feel a dull ache in your chest over the fact he didn’t invite you. he isn’t obligated to, he’s not obligated to do anything when it comes to you. but you just thought—

you shake it off. you thought. you thought. that means nothing. you have nothing left else to say, so you pick up the pace. you rush to pull your bag over your shoulders.

“then, i’ll see you when i see you. three weeks from now maybe?” it’s a petty dig, a poor attempt to get the last word in as you force your heels into your beat up sneakers.

“ai, don’t be that way.”

“i’m not being any way.” you insist, hand clutching the knob. you’re about to pull it open but carlos is quick to lean his weight against it, left palm flat on the dark green wood.

“it’s not my date party. i was invited, okay?” he tilts his head, cranes his neck so he meets your eyes even if you so desperately try to avoid his gaze. “lando is getting with the girl’s little and… i’m there for moral support. i’m there for him.”

his thumb and index finger pinch your chin gently, force you to look up at him and his stupid stupid wide eyes. he doesn’t say anything else, just watches and waits to see what your next move is.

you don’t want to show that you’re relieved, you’d hate for him to see what kind of effect he has on you even if you’re pretty sure he already has a clue. that’s why he explained himself, why he makes you look up at him while his stare remains so soft— so reassuring. but you are. you’re slightly relieved, reassured, and not as upset as you were working yourself up to be.

but only just slightly.

“fine.” you mumble. “well. just text me when you have the time.”

it’s snarkier than you mean for it to be. you can tell by the way his expression falters for a second— just one second— before he pulls his weight off the door and allows you to open it.

“i’ll walk you out. that okay?”

you nod, hands clutching at the straps of your backpack before stepping out into the hallways. you walk several steps ahead of them, past shut bedroom doors and composite photos that dated back before your time. you hear carlos pad behind you, making no attempt to close the gap between you.

it’s weird to see the house so quiet and with so many lights off. most of the men have retreated back into their rooms, only oscar and jack in the kitchen as they talk quietly with each other. both australians don’t notice you or carlos as you pass, too deep in whatever it is to care. carlos stops to push the door open, muttering something about finishing up and going to bed, before he continues to follow you to the front door. speakers are left set up, lando’s dj equipment left messily on the pong table. it’s a mess of wires and a poor attempt to make the foyer looks party ready.

carlos pulls the front door open for you, shuts it behind you as he follows you to your car. and it’s only when you’re about to pull at the driver’s door does he finally pull at your wrist. he turns your body towards him, fingers gliding down to cup your hand in his larger one.

“we’re gonna have a kickback here after the date party. come by.”

“not sure my presence would be appreciated.” “well i don’t care. it’s not their house and you’re my—“

he stops himself. you’re my and then nothing. your heart stops in your chest, knocks the air out of your lungs. you wonder if you’ll ever hear the end of that line, if you’ll see the day he’ll say it.

carlos exhales through his nose, smiling as he releases your hand to cup your cheek. “just come tomorrow. okay? and if anyone has an issue with it then they can fuck off.” you cough a laugh, a short ha ha that makes him smile wider.

“i’ll text you.”

“okay.” “okay.”

quiet, comfortable silence. you ignore the way your stomach does backflips, let yourself instead settle in the bit of security his invitation provides. he wants you around. maybe this time it’s different.

carlos leans in, pulls you to him as he kisses you for the last time that night. it’s firm, warm, soft. it fills your chest, makes it swell as you kiss him back. he pulls away for a moment before planting one last peck.

“drive safe, okay? text when you get home.”

what time will you be back at the house?

you were ready. embarrassingly enough, you were ready to head to the phi gam house and carlos had yet to text you when it was appropriate to arrive. and from the multiple instagram stories you just watched, the date party was likely still ongoing.

your phone pings, and you unlock it in an instant. embarrassing.

date thing just ended. come in 30? we still have to set up. new members didn’t do it right annoying

you grin at your screen. embarrassing.

maybe older brothers should be setting a better example i’ll come around 10 then. need me to bring over to the house?

you push yourself off your bed, sit at your vanity as you stare at your make up for n-th time in the last hour. you press down on your smile lines, flatten any creasing, blend your blush. you do just about anything to make thirty-something minutes fly by quickly. your phone pings again, one with a reaction to your text and then another reply.

just bring yourself. see you soon bichito.

you leave it at that. homework makes thirty minutes fly by quickly. a little too quickly. after submitting your discussion for the week, forty minutes have flown past you and you were scrambling out of the house. you say quick goodbyes to your roommates, who only give you a funny look when you take a pizza from the box on the counter and yell goodbye. you type a quick text to carlos to let him know you’re on the way before starting your car and driving towards 5th street.

you see the purple led lights through the window, hear the soft thump of lando’s mix muffled by the walls of the phi gamma theta house. the closer to the door, the louder the crowd becomes. the door swings open, alex smiling down at a girl as he holds it for her. his eyes meet yours, wide with shock. but a happy sort of shock.

“hey you, didn’t know you were coming tonight!”

you ignore the way the girl looks you up and down. “yeah. hope that’s alright?”

“of course. carlos is inside, bar i think.”

you mumble a thanks, walking past him into the house before he closes the door. the kickback is a little bigger than you anticipated, with enough bodies in the room for it to feel stuffy. you smile at girls who smile your way, say hello to brothers who are excited by your arrival. and time and time again, you are directed in the direction of carlos.

as alex said, he’s at the bar. he’s leant up against the bar in a grey long sleeve and black jeans, red cup already in his hand. leant up against the bar talking to charles, laughing at something he said. he looks glorious, leant up against the bar.

god.

carlos sees you before you get to him, smiling over at you as he raises his arm to make room for you to fit into his side. he presses a kiss to your temple when you’re close enough. “was wondering where you were.”

you say hi to charles, and to yuki behind the bar. “sorry. got caught up on homework.”

he hums, nods. yuki sets a red cup on the edge of the bar, flicking his chin. “vodka sprite?”

you smile gratefully, saying thank you over the music as you lean across carlos to grab the cup. you ask how was the date party— mini golfing, if you want to get specific. it’s a simple question, one that sets charles off into a list of complaints and carlos into a fit of laughter. he’s such a fucking cheater! no charles, you just suck.

“i saw him nudge the ball, i swear!” charles protests, handing his cup over to yuki who refills it immediately.

“mate. what the fuck do you think we’re supposed to be doing in mini-golf?” carlos laughs.

“not nudge the ball before it’s your turn.”

you laugh, leaning back into carlos as he tightens his hold around you. “i dunno charlie, it sounds like you’re just a sore loser.”

the monegasque scowls, eyes squinted and lips pursed. “you’re biased.”

“of course she is,” carlos answers, “she’s my girl, who else would she side with.”

my girl. my girl, my girl, my girl. you smile, even if your heart is racing at a thousand miles an hour, even if your throat tightens and seems to run dry. you sip on your drink, watch as charles smirks and rolls his eyes.

“whatever.”

you try not read into it. try to go about the night not thinking of the way carlos called you his girl, how sure he sounded. but it’s hard, hard when it’s all you hear as the night carries on. that’s my girl is imprinted onto your skin when he says it after you sink a ball during a game of pong. my bug when you return from the bathroom. mine, when an unknowing brother has your attention for longer than carlos liked.

“you're all mine,” he whispered when he finally pulls you from your conversation, “you got that? i'm not sharing"

my, mine. my, mine.

his. his. all his.

you’re attached to carlos until he is whisked away to help george with something. then you’re left alone, wandering around the house. you hop from conversation to conversation, play catch up with a few girls until you finally make your way to the dance floor. lando stand before the turntables, twisting knobs and pushing buttons as he smoothly transitions into the next mix. you dance some, alcohol loosening you at your joints and making it so much easier to move. you swing your hips left to right, jump up and down, do it all until your legs ache and you’re out of breath.

you squeeze between bodies, eyes searching the crowd for carlos. but you see everyone else but him. he’s no where to be seen, but neither was george so you shrug it off and push yourself towards the clearing of the crowd. you walk around people, making your way up the makeshift platform and over to lando, who shoots you a toothy grin as he presses one last button and backs from his equipment.

he hugs you into his side briefly, lips moving into your ear, “thought i saw you! where’s carlos?”

“with george!” you answer, eyes falling to the table. “how much longer you up here for?”

“ah, on my last song before we switch back to aux… wanna have a go?”

you shake your head, but he smiles and tries to convince you otherwise. he explains the basics, none of it sticking to your vodka-muddled brain. and just as another beat drop approaches, he points to a button lighting up blue. press on this when i say. he smiles cheekily, pushing levers and twisting knobs before nodding and calling out now. you do as you're told, bringing a semi-smooth transition into the last song of his set. you laugh, lando smiles. he holds his palm up for you, one you gladly slap enthusiastically while he praises you.

“now you can dj for us at our next party!”

you giggle, shaking your head as you stand back, watching as lando begins to slowly transition out of his mix and plugging the aux line into his laptop to play a playlist made for nights like these. then he’s stepping off the platform, holding his hand out for you to help you down. you walk with him, around the house and past his drunk brothers and sorority women, all the way to the bar where oscar now stands. lando convinces you to a round of shots with him, and refills your drink halfway. your head is light, body floating. you were on cloud nine and all you need…

your head whips around, eyes scan the room. you look for a mop of dark hair, the broad shoulder, looks for just glimpse of him but once again, he’s nowhere to be found.

“you know what carlos went to help george with?” you lean in towards lando, setting your cup down on the kitchen island. you watch him look around the room the same way you did just seconds earlier before shaking his head.

his eyes are still across the room, but he leans in towards you so you can hear him over the music. “no clue, but george is over there talking to mick so… carlos is probably around here somewhere.”

you try to hide the disappointment, the bit of anxiety that is starting to make its way through your bloodstream. you snatch your cup back up again, bringing it to your lips as you drink the remnants of your mix before tossing the red plastic in a bin. you let the brit know you’re gonna take a lap before making your way around the house. you’re pushing past people again, finding your way through every hallway and room, pathetically looking for a man who has seemingly ditched you at his own house. you’re walking in circles like a lost puppy.

carlos walks back into the home through the front door. you catch him just as he shuts it behind him, with his hair in disarray and eyes glazed over. he’s confused, disoriented, trying to adjust to the stark contrast between the quiet outside and the chaos inside. you watch as he scans the room, acknowledging brothers who wave over at him with a flick of his chin and a half effort at a wave hello. he looks and looks, and finally he sees you.

you’re about to walk over, to greet him and ask him where he’d been. but then the door opens and she walks in. you’ve never met the girl, never seen her in your life. but what you have seen is that glow. the shy smile she wears as she tucks her hair behind her ear and retreats to her sisters that wait excitedly for her. you recognize that look, and that’s when it clicks. the hair. the eyes. the disappearing for god knows how long.

you feel sick.

you want to run. you want to scream. your skin is on fire with rage. you turn on your heel before he takes his first step, storming into the living room area in search of your purse. brothers and their partners for the night are scattered around the room, and you try to ignore the multitude of making out and groping going on as you search for your purse.

you hear him call your name behind you, but you ignore him. you pull at the pillows and he calls your name again. you move over to the next couch, and all of sudden you feel his hand on your wrist and you’re yanking yourself out of his hold. your eyes are wide, angry, with your index finger in his face as if to tell him to stop.

“don’t you dare.”

“it’s not what you think.”

you scoff, turning around and pull at the pillows again, finding your bag beneath the mess of throws. “it’s never what i think, always what you say. that’s what’s always right, right?” you sling the thin strap over your shoulder. you don’t bother to wait for his answer, pushing past him as you make your way towards the front door.

he calls out your name again, a groan following after. “can you… just wait. don’t go yet, please.”

you ignore him, ignore the looks you’re getting, ignore the whispers, everything. the door swings open as you twist the knob, but you never hear it slam shut because carlos is hot on your heels.

“you’re mad over nothing!”

that makes you stop. it makes your blood boil, makes the anger grow, and it makes you stop. you inhale sharply— shakily. “nothing?”

“there wasn’t anything going on, nothing was going on. you’re upset over nothing.”

you turn on your heel to look at the man who stands three feet ahead of you. his brows are furrowed— annoyed— and his lips are parted as he breathes.

“it’s always nothing. it’s always no big deal.” you scoff, “i’m always overreacting. right?” he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even bat an eye at the words that spill out of your mouth. “you are the most insufferable man i have ever met, carlos sainz. you drive me fucking crazy, and not in a good way.” you push your hair back roughly, pulling at the strands as your fingers glide down the length of it.

“will you please come inside so we can talk?”

“no, i’m going home.” you turn again, pushing around your little purse for your car keys.

“you’ve been drinking.” carlos reasons, to which you laugh.

“not enough!”

“for fucks sake, can we just-“ he tries to pull you back to him again, and you pull out of his grasp immediately.

“no! we cannot just. i’m so…” your eyes begin to water, tears blurring your vision. god you hated every second of this moment. here are again, showing just how fucking weak you are for man who continues to play with you. for a man who has given you no good reason to stay and yet is also a man you always come back to. “we’re not talking about this. i’m so tired carlos. i really am.”

“come inside please. let’s just—“

“i’m not coming back inside!” you scream. “i’m not going to walk back in there and let you convince me to spend the night, because i will. i don’t want to lay in your bed while you try to convince me that i was just seeing things because… you will. and i’ll be stuck in this fucking cycle and i just can’t fucking do it anymore.”

carlos’s lips are clamped together, nostrils flared as he stares at you. he watches the tears that escape you, the tension weaved into every muscle of your face. you both stand there, unsure of what to say, unsure of what to do.

then he says your name, resigned. it sounds deflated, like smashing against the keys of a broken piano. “but this time, it wasn’t anything i swear. whatever you’re thinking, it didn’t happen.”

you look up, hoping to stop the tears from falling but it’s hopeless. you’re so fucking hopeless.

“so you didn’t fuck her?” you sniffle, looking at him with bloodshot eyes. he shakes his head and you stiffen up. “didn’t touch her?” he hesitates, but shakes his head anyways. and you scoff. “you touched her.”

“i didn’t fuck her.” “but it doesn’t negate the fact!”

your shoulder slump, defeated. your heart aches in your chest, crumbles at you feet and onto the cold pavement of fifth street. “it doesn’t fucking make a difference carlos. it still fucking hurts. it’s still a fucking slap to my face.”

the wind is cold, prickles at your skin like needles. your eyes fall shut, pushing tears from your eyes and onto your cheek. you feel the pad of his thumb against the skin of your cheek and you flinch. your body stiffens, but you allow the ounce of affection. you allow yourself to soak in the false sense of security for the briefest of moments, just to quell the ache that is burning in your chest. but then you open your eyes and you’re reminded that when you walk away— if you walk away— it will hurt a million times more.

truly, you were sick of this cycle. of running back to him after he keeps you at an arms length away for weeks. you let yourself enjoy the little moments of security, knowing full well how it ends. you’ve been here before, you’ve walked this walk. but no matter how many times you go through this, the ache never dulls.

carlos cups your cheek, the pad of his thumb rough against your skin. and you lean into his touch because it’s comfortable, because it’s the only thing that feels right in a moment filled with so much wrong.

you open your eyes to look up at him, blink away the tears that obscure your vision. you inhale shakily. “what are we doing carlos?” a soft hm buzzes past his lips, and you sigh. your hand comes up to grip his, to pull it off your skin. but you keep it in yours, stare down at his rough palm that lays open in your hands before looking back up at him. “you say i’m yours. say you’re mine, mine, mine. and i just… what are we? what are we doing?”

you release his hand, watch as he stares at his palm, flexing his fingers before letting it fall to his side. carlos bites down on his bottom lip, breathing steady, and his eyes stuck on the pavement. it’s a beat, and another, before his chest heaves as he draws a deep breath in.

“you are so important—“

you shake your head, the tears come back and you make your way to the driver’s side of your car. important to me, he finishes as he follows behind you quickly. he chants your name like it’s meant to convince you to stay. like it will heal you of all the hurt he’s caused, like it makes his answer okay.

and maybe it is. logically, it’s a perfectly acceptable answer. if you were a friend. and maybe you toed the line a bit, maybe to him you were just a friend. but to you, carlos is more than that. he’s more than some guy that you have a bit of fun with, but a guy you’ve slowly begun to fall for. and you fall and fall, brace yourself for impact because you know he’s not going to catch you.

he calls your name, says please with so much desperation in his voice as you pull your door open. begs you to stop, and you do. you stop halfway into your car to look at him with the tears still pouring from your eyes. you smile sadly, pathetically, as you shrug.

“important,” you say, “but not enough. right?”

#🔖 house party #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz one shot #carlos sainz blurb #frat carlos

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