#fan fic writing ideas

[gothy-froggy]

Y'ALL OMFG

HEAR.ME.OUT.

Albert Wesker x reader. But Beauty and the Best.

HEAR ME OUT ON THIS PLEASE

I would DIE If anyone made this.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Just opened my fic document and found this

Thanks, past me. Incredibly helpful.

[thevioletcaptain]

i genuinely don't care how good a piece of ai generated art or writing looks on the surface. i don't care if it emulates brush strokes and metaphor in a way indistinguishable from those created by a person.

it is not the product of thoughtful creation. it offers no insights into the creator's life or viewpoint. it has no connection to a moment in time or a place or an attitude. it has no perspective. it has no value.

it's empty, it's hollow, and it exists only to generate clicks (and by extension, ad revenue.)

it's just another revolting symptom of the disease that is late stage capitalism, and it fucking sucks.

[cupid-styles]

only angel (tattoo artist/plug harry)

in which harry owns a tattoo shop, sells weed on the side, and has a big crush on y/n, a shy virgin who's very much enamored by him.

here is part one of tattoo/plug harry!!! I hope you like it :) please lmk if you'd like more from them <3

word count: 10.2k (!!!!)

content warnings: y/n's parents being unkind people, comments and discussions about weight/disordered eating, fainting (caused by a piercing), smut! (y/n's first time being fingered, dirty talk, harry being a soft dom)

masterlist | talk to me

part two

. . .

Y/N doesn't know why she's here.

If the glares from the employees of the tattoo and piercing shop are anything to go off of, they don't know why she's here either. And it all makes this whole thing even more embarrassing.

In reality, she does have a reason to be here. Mai, one of the few friends she's made in her grad school program, asked if she would drive her down to The Village for a tattoo appointment she had.

Y/N's eyes nearly bulged out of her skull when she asked, especially when she pressed for more details about this tattoo she was getting (it was a strawberry just above her hip, which Y/N didn't quite understand considering she thought tattoos were supposed to be meaningful). But, ever the pushover, Mai ended up convincing her, going as far as getting her to come inside — the one boundary she had — and wait while she got it done.

(Thankfully, her parents had some benefit charity thing going on today, so they weren't concerned with Y/N's whereabouts or where she was taking the car they bought her on a Saturday afternoon.)

The shop, called St. Mark's Place Social Club (aptly named, she supposes, considering it's located on St. Mark's Place), is nice. Unlike what she imagined tattoo parlors would look like in her brain, the spot Mai chose to get tattooed at seems sanitary and actually quite trendy.

It's not wildly crowded with customers hustling and bustling around, but there's a few artists at work at their own small stations. The walls are painted a cozy forest green, all donning frames upon frames of, what Y/N assumes are, sheets of tattoo designs. The receptionist who checked Mai in even offered them some water, which Y/N thinks was very nice.

"Are you nervous at all?" Y/N asks quietly as they sit in the rattan chairs in the waiting area. Mai's filling out some questionnaire on an iPad, but she shakes her head at her question, crossing her legs. 

"No, not really," she murmurs nonchalantly, "I have a few tattoos already and I've been here before. The artist that's doing it is really cool and he's so hot."

Y/N's mouth forms around an oh as Mai quickly taps her signature into the tablet. She stands from the rickety chair and walks back over to return it to the front, her heeled boots clacking against the wood floor as she does. 

Y/N has her gaze set low in her lap, eyes passing over her fresh manicure (her mother has a standing weekly appointment for her). She doesn't even notice that someone's standing over her — more so, towering over her — until the figure clears his throat, her head snapping up to address them. Assuming she's done something wrong (what it is, she isn't sure), she goes to apologize immediately, but the long haired man in front of her cuts her off.

"You have an appointment?" 

Instantly, she flounders. Her mouth drops open as she stumbles over an answer: "I— um, no, I'm not— no, no appointment."

"So you're a walk-in, then?"

"N-no," she shakes her head quickly, his all-black outfit forming a blur in front of her eyes, "No, I'm not getting a tattoo."

The man laughs. He actually laughs at her, and Y/N doesn't know whether she should be embarrassed or pleased that she's made this very attractive man smile.

"You're sitting in a tattoo shop. You know that, right?" the stranger crosses his heavily tattooed arms over his chest, and Y/N's eyes fly to the swirls of black ink covering his skin. They're everywhere; all different fonts and images and numbers and... she wonders if he even knows what they all mean or how many he has. 

"Yes," she finally manages out, folding her hands neatly in her lap. It's the default body language she goes to when she's nervous — when she was a teenager, her parents paid for her to go to social etiquette classes, and the instructor told her that this was a good way to show that she was in control of her actions, even if underneath her pastel pink turtleneck, her chest was covered in hives. "No, I'm not getting a tattoo. I'm here with someone getting one."

Thankfully (though Y/N would've preferred it happening about two minutes earlier), Mai walks back over to them, a grin taking over her features when she spots the man talking to her.

"Harry!" she greets excitedly, and Y/N watches as his eyes flicker over to her, flashing a tight smile in her direction.

"Ah. This is who you're here with." he — Harry, apparently — says to Y/N. She doesn't know what she's supposed to say to that (if she's supposed to say anything), but any response is once again cut off. "Hey. You ready?"

She only now notices the gum wedged between his teeth, his jaw moving in a hypnotizing way. His tone appears to be far more clipped with Mai, but Y/N is fast to chalk it up to some fluke. Maybe the other employees mentioned something to Harry and they thought she was in the wrong place or something. That would make sense, she thinks.

"Yeah, all good. I'll see you in a bit, Y/N," Mai nods, swinging her bag over her shoulder, focusing her attention to Harry, "So listen, I'm going to a show in midtown tonight, I was thinking maybe after we finish up here we can—"

"Are you coming back with us?" Harry's eyes fall back onto Y/N, and it's only then that she realizes he's talking to her again.

"Uh... am I allowed to?"

He smirks. Y/N's chest feels like it may concave in simply from the sight.

"I own this place, so yeah, you're allowed to."

Mai's tapping her foot impatiently now, her hip popped out slightly with her arms crossed over her chest. "My appointment started a few minutes ago, Harry—"

"Okay," he says curtly, turning on his heel to face her, "Go in the back and get ready then. You know where my station is."

Both Mai's and Y/N's jaws drop at that, his snappy tone clearly not one to fight back on. Surprisingly, Mai does just that, turning around and walking back to where Harry has his things set up. 

"You coming, then? Y/N, right?" 

The teasing smirk is still painted over his features, as if he finds humor in outwardly rejecting Mai's advances. Y/N doesn't know why her heart beats a little bit faster at that, warmth spreading from her chest to the rest of her body as he continues gazing down at her.

"Y-yeah," she answers, grabbing her purse and standing up. "If it's not too big of a deal."

"Course not. C'mon, you can follow me."

. . .

Mai's tattoo comes out beautiful.

However, Y/N can hardly focus on the artistry and apparent talent because she's far too busy staring at Harry, who also looks beautiful while he works.

It's distracting, embarrassingly so, that she barely even registers when he's finished wrapping her new tattoo in some sort of clear wrap, sending her back up to pay. Quickly, Y/N scrambles to grab her things, realizing that she's once again left alone with Harry.

"What, running away so soon?" He asks as he cleans up his work station, spinning around to face her in his chair. He has that smirk on his face again — the one that simultaneously intimidates her and makes her entire body burst into flames — and anxiety begins to eat away at her, nervous of saying the wrong thing.

"I just— you're done. So I was gonna go."

"How do you know Mai?" 

It bothers her somewhat that he ignores her, but being the subject of his intense glint, she shifts her stance from foot to foot, shrugging her shoulders.

"We're in the same grad program. We've had a few classes together." she answers obediently, clutching the strap of her purse closer to her shoulder. 

"Mm," he hums, tossing some paper towels in the trash, "You sure you didn't want any tattoos today?"

Y/N's face erupts into a hot flush for the thousandth time today and she instantly begins to shake her head. "No. No, thank you, I mean. My parents would kill me."

"Your parents?" Harry asks, a slightly stupefied expression on his face. "You're in grad school. Surely you don't make decisions on your appearance based off of them."

He punctuates his sentence by giving her a once-over and she feels nervous under his gaze. She's never particularly felt good about her appearance. She's always just felt... neutral. She grew up with a mother who was constantly dieting, imparting weight loss tips on her every chance she got. When Y/N hit puberty, her father made comments about how grateful he was to finally see her drop the "baby weight". Even now, her mother critiqued her, making comments about how important it was to maintain a good figure; that she'd never find someone to spend her life with if she didn't take care of her looks.

So, all in all, it was safe to say that tattoos were extremely off the table for Y/N. 

"It's complicated," she finally replies vaguely. She knows that most people in their mid-20s aren't as deep under the thumb of their parents as she is, but she wasn't lying when she said this — the circumstances weren't as black and white as she wished they were.

However, there was something she'd always been curious about, and she had seen the piercing rates out in the front of the shop.

"But, um— do you guys do piercings?" she follows up before Harry has a chance to question her parents any further. 

"We do," he replies slowly, "Well, yeah, I do. Why, are you thinking about getting something pierced?"

She swears his eyes quickly glance to her chest, but just as quickly as she notices it, they're focused back on her face. She clears her throat, willing herself to have an ounce of self-confidence. 

"I was wondering if I could get my ears pierced."

Harry quirks an eyebrow and stands from his chair. Her heart rate speeds up tenfold when he walks over to her, his hand reaching outward. 

"May I?" he asks, pausing before he makes any movements. She nods, hoping he misses the way her throat bobs in nervousness. Gently, he pushes some of her hair behind her ear, taking a look at the lobe. He does it to the other one and she wonders if he can sense that she's holding her breath. 

"Hm, you really don't have them pierced," he mumbles lowly, eyes flitting back to her face. "Yeah, we could do that if you'd like. You sure daddy won't get too pissed?"

He says it with a simper though she's not entirely sure why; she thinks if he understood the dynamic between her and her parents, he'd be more concerned than teasing. Nevertheless, she shakes her head. 

"Like you said," she says softly, blinking as they stare back at one another, "I shouldn't make decisions on my appearance based on what they want."

His smirk breaks into a grin, and for the first time, Y/N feels like she's doing something right.

. . .

Y/N didn't think she would be this nervous to get her first piercing, but between the gorgeous man invading her space with a needle and the fact that Mai definitely won't want to be her friend anymore, she's feeling a little tense.

Before getting situated in the chair, Y/N said that she needed to tell Mai she'd be a bit longer, but Harry waved her off and told her he'd take care of it. Apparently, that just meant peeking his head out from his work station and yelling out to Mai that Y/N was busy and wouldn't be driving her home. (Y/N thinks she heard Mai practically stomp out of the shop.)

So now, she's spending her Saturday the last way she thought she would: With her eyes squeezed shot, anxiety making her heart thump far too fast in her chest, with a long-haired tattoo artist hunched over her body. He's so close that she can smell the woody fragrance of his cologne, and she has to resist breathing it in as she inhales deeply in an effort to calm her heart rate.

"Alright, you ready?" Harry asks lowly, his tone a groveled murmur that sends tingles down her spine. She nods, feeling particularly speechless from his closeness and her nerves. "'kay, I'm gonna count to three. Take a deep breath."

Y/N imagines he looks especially gorgeous right now, but she's too scared to open her eyes and see the needle he's about to puncture her skin with. Instead, she simply nods her head again, mentally preparing herself for the countdown. 

"Breathe, dove," he says calmly. Her stomach jumps at the pet name but does as he says. "Good. Okay... 1, 2, 3."

She jumps from the bite of pain that stings her earlobe, instantly wedging her bottom lip between her teeth as he shushes her. 

"It's alright, that was it," he murmurs, though she can still feel him at her side, carefully wiggling the earring into the newly formed hole. "Y/N? You okay?"

She blinks her teary eyes open and opens her mouth, willing her throat to push out a yes. Instead, Harry's face goes blurry as the images in front of her get hazy. In a panic, she tries to stand, the ringing in her ears sending loud alarms to her brain. She thinks she hears Harry tell her to sit down, his strong arms taking a hold of her own — but that's when everything goes dark. 

. . .

Harry's known this girl for all of two hours, and he's never felt panic ravish his body the way it did when she passed out a few minutes ago. 

Thankfully, she comes to less than two minutes later (he counted), but he remains by her side the entire time, gently stroking her hair back. As a professional tattoo artist and piercer, he's of course had people faint under the needle, but it's never happened from just a standard ear piercing. 

He supposes he maybe should've prepared himself for this. The sweet girl who accompanied Mai didn't look like she belonged at St. Mark's Social Club, but the moment his eyes zeroed in on her, he felt pulled to her. From the pastel pink top that stretched over her chest to the white ribbon tied in her hair, she was the opposite of any girl he's ever been attracted to — and yet, all he wanted was to tuck her under his arm, pull her into his chest, and spend the rest of his life protecting her.

Harry tells himself he's being stupid; some lovesick nerd that just needs to get his cock touched, but as he watches her slowly nurse a cup of water, warmth returning to her complexion, every doubt is thrown out the window. 

"I'm so sorry," Y/N pouts, lifting a hand to run through her hair, "I'm... I feel so stupid, I'm so sorry, Harry."

"Why are you apologizing?" he asks through furrowed brows. "It's not your fault. People pass out all the time here, you have nothing to be sorry about."

"Y-yeah, but this is annoying... you probably have another appointment coming up and—"

"I don't."

"Yeah, but—"

"Y/N?"

"What?"

"Stop it."

She huffs, but the apologies stop after that. With his arms crossed over his chest, leaning back against the wall, he watches to make sure she finishes her water. He can tell she's still feeling embarrassed and it bothers him that she thinks of herself as something to feel sorry about.

"Y'know, kinda looked like some kind of badass Sleeping Beauty while you were passed out," Harry says with a smirk, making her eyes widen, "Pretty cute, if you ask me."

Y/N's face warms and he chuckles, deciding that making this girl blush is his new favorite past time. 

"You're being silly." she mumbles, finishing off the water with a final swig. He shakes his head and takes the empty cup from her hand, tossing it in the garbage can behind her. 

"Would never lie to you, dove. We're going on what, three hours of knowing each other? I wouldn't even dream of it."

"Harry," she whines and it makes him immediately grin, especially as she pushes her bottom lip out in a slight pout, "Shush, stop it."

"Think I should just call you princess from now on, hm? Such a pretty face coming in here, think I got lucky having you pass out on me."

He laughs loudly when her lips part, her jaw slack from the compliment. She doesn't have a comeback for that one, but he assumed as much. He turns to face the cabinets behind him and grabs a paper towel and a pen, quickly scrawling out his number on it before handing it to her.

"This is my number. I'm not gonna do your second piercing today 'cos that sounds like a recipe for disaster, but I want you to text me when you wanna come in and get it done," he explains, "I only work here on the weekend, but I'll come by any day you're free, princess."

She shuffles her feet before nodding her head, stuffing the paper towel in her bag. "O-okay. That sounds good."

"Good," Harry breathes, reaching out to for her hand to help her up, "Do you need a ride home?"

"No!" her eyes dart away from his face, blinking quickly as she focuses on the dark green walls. "Um, no, thank you. You've done enough for me today. I appreciate it, Harry."

"Sure," he says slowly, narrowing his eyes at her, "Okay, well... get home safe for me, alright?"

"I will." she nods and punctuates her sentence with a harsh swallow. "Can I... is it okay if I text you when I get home?" 

A gentle smile wiggles its way onto Harry's face, warmth filling his body once again. 

"You took the words right out of my mouth, princess."

. . .

To: Harry (St. Mark's Social Club)

hi, im home!! im so sorry again for what happened but thank you sm for making sure i was okay. hope it wasn't too inconvenient! 

Y/N's never texted a boy she has a crush on (well, except for Jason Saunders in the 8th grade, but her dad found out within the hour and made her delete his number as he watched). She thinks she must still be lightheaded from fainting because there's no way she can seriously have a crush on someone she barely knows, but nonetheless, she pushes herself to message him to at least thank him for everything he did for her. 

She sighs as she throws her phone in her purse and climbs out of her Range Rover. Locking the doors, she crosses her fingers as she walks up the stairs and to the elevator of the luxury garage, pressing the penthouse button on the panel. She hopes her parents are still out — if they're home, she'll be on the receiving end of their badgering for the rest of the evening, and she still wants to work on a paper she has due later next week.

When the sleek elevator doors open, she's met with silence — the only telltale sign that she's alone, with the exception of her parents' private chef and maid. Relief floods her body as she steps out and into the apartment, toeing her shoes off in the entryway and taking quiet steps to her bedroom. 

She's exhausted from the day, flopping down on her bed with a sigh. Mindlessly, she feels for her phone in her bag, pulling it out to scroll through Instagram before she commits to doing work for the rest of the night. Instead, she's met with not one, but two texts from Harry.

Remember what I said about apologizing, princess?

Glad you made it home safely. Don't forget to text me about your second piercing — just name the day and I'm there. xx

She wants to let out a squeal, even if there's a large part of her brain that's constantly reminding her to limit her excitement. He's probably just being polite, she says to herself. 

Still, it doesn't stop her from replying a mere moment later, promising to restrain her apologies and message him when she's ready to get her other ear pierced. 

. . .

"Where were you yesterday?" 

Y/N blinks at her father as she sets down the spatula, shifting her attention from the buckwheat pancakes she's currently cooking. 

"Studying on campus," she replies easily, even if she had to coach herself all night to lie. She's never one to fib, let alone to her parents — she's always felt some type of fear when it comes to her father, but she knows he never would have approved if she gave him some vague answer about taking a friend to an appointment. 

He lets out a noncommittal humph. "You know there's no reason for you to be getting a masters degree when you'll just work at the company when you graduate."

Her stomach tightens. It's a frequent area of contention between she and her parents — their dream for her has always been to work at their jewelry company as soon as she graduated college, but she somehow managed to convince them to entertain her wish to go to graduate school for an English degree. They told her she could do it as long as she starts at their office as soon as graduation comes around.

She hasn't quite yet figured out how she's getting out of that one. If she even can.

"I know, father," Y/N forces out, redirecting her attention to flipping the pancakes on the pan. "It's just important that I get good grades."

"I can't imagine it's very difficult. You speak the language."

She bites her tongue. Her parents have never understood her love for books, always scolding her for having her head in the clouds from a young age. If she's being honest, books have served as a way for her to escape, always wishing she could be the girl getting whisked away by her romantic interest. 

Things always worked out in her books. Potentially having a happy ending like the ones she reads about is the only thing that keeps her going sometimes. 

Her mother, looking pristine as always even at 9 in the morning, enters the kitchen just as Y/N's sitting down to her eat. Turning stiffly, her eyes narrow at her daughter. 

"Those better not be full fat, Y/N." she says, jabbing her pointer finger at her plate. 

"They're not." Y/N says softly.

In response, she simply hums. "I don't understand why you don't just have Freya make you food. She's there for a reason."

Y/N quickly stuffs a bite of pancake into her mouth, shrugging her shoulders as she slowly chews. She's never felt comfortable requesting their chef make her anything to eat when she was perfectly capable of doing it herself. 

"Don't shrug. It's not ladylike," she scolds, Y/N's posture immediately straightening, "We have a lunch meeting with the Franklin family today. If you're available, you should come. You need to start learning the business."

"I have to work on a paper," the lie rolls off her tongue, knowing full well that she nearly finished it last night, "Finals are coming up. School is getting very busy."

"You know, Y/N, you're lucky we grant you all this freedom." her mother spits, the high heels of her Louboutin shoes clacking against the marbled flooring. "One day, you're not going to have this much of a choice in how you spend your time."

Despite only eating half a pancake, Y/N no longer feels hungry. Instead, she just nods her head and rolls her lips into her mouth. 

"You're right. Thank you for everything you do for me." 

She clears her dishes and goes back to her bedroom before her parents have a chance to see the tears streaming down her cheeks.

. . .

Y/N spends the better part of Sunday crying in her bedroom. 

She's so exhausted of this cycle. Her parents work so hard to tear her down all the time, never once taking into account what her dreams and aspirations are. She feels like she can't do anything right, as if nothing she'll do will ever please them. 

In her fit of anger and sadness, she decides she needs to leave Harry behind. He's just a pipe dream, a tiny little sliver of what her life could be if she had less restrictive parents. That night, when she's laying awake in bed, she decides that in the morning, she'll take the fresh piercing out and throw the earring away, delete his number, apologize to Mai, and pretend like this weekend never even happened.

That is the plan, anyway.

Until she wakes up to her alarm at 8 am and she has an unopened text from him, and her heart beats in a way that she's never truly felt before. She doesn't think she's ever smiled this wide after just waking up, the mere appearance of his name on her screen sending waves of hope and happiness throughout her body. 

From: Harry (St. Mark's Social Club)

How's the piercing holding up? 

After getting home on Saturday, he texted her a series of care instructions for the piercing, instructing her to clean it twice a day, twist the earring, and let him know if anything felt off. She wasn't sure what it was, but she felt particularly giddy when he told her what to do. 

To: Harry (St. Mark's Social Club)

good!! no pain or anything and ive been doing what you told me to :)

She has a class at 10 this morning and she knows she should follow her typical routine of a shower, breakfast, and getting ready, but instead, she just lays back in the fluffy tufts of her bedding, smiling to herself as she waits for Harry to text back. A minute or so later, her phone vibrates.

Good girl.

Think you'll come in for your second anytime soon?

Her stomach twists in a delicious way but she's not sure why. There's nothing inherently sexual about what he's messaged her, but it has her craving more, a steady heartbeat forming somewhere deep in her core. 

Her eyes read over his question and she bites her lip. She knows that less than 10 hours ago, she was planning to forget Harry, but the feeling he gives her is addictive. She doesn't want to stay away — so she won't.

yeah, if you don't mind doing it :)) maybe today? 

In reality, she doesn't want to go under the needle again so soon, but she's craving to see him. He did say he'd come in any day for her.

Harry: I'd love to. What time are you free?

Y/N: i have classes from 10 to 1 today.. would 1:30 work? i can come by on my way home from campus

Harry: How about I meet you at your last class and we walk to the shop together?

Y/N swears her heart is going to beat right out of her chest. Her parents have never allowed her to hang out with a guy outside of anyone they approved of — over the years, they've attempted setting her up with other men of their same financial and social stature, but Y/N was never interested. As a result, they all grew bored of her by the second date, and her parents would yell at her for not being appealing enough. 

She doesn't know if Harry will be bothered by the same thing, but she wants — no, she needs — to find out.

Y/N: okay:) 

Harry: Great. Can't wait to see you. x

. . .

Harry knows he's pushing it.

This girl may as well have wealthy virgin tattooed across her forehead, but he just can't get himself to stay away. It doesn't seem like she wants him to either, which just makes it harder. And as he's waiting for her outside of her lecture hall on a campus he's never even step foot on, he realizes that they're from very, very different universes. 

That doesn't really bother him. He can see the obvious differences — he wears all black, has over 70 tattoos (most of which were impulsive or practice while he was apprenticing), and gives people tattoos and piercings for a living. Y/N is smart and soft; an English major in graduate school, lives with her parents, and drives a car that costs more than his yearly rent. 

He's not blind. Although, if he was blind to pretty, innocent girls, he probably could stop walking around with a permanent boner from thinking about how gorgeous she'd look in his bed.

The only thing that can tear him from his thoughts is the sight of her. He watches as she walks through the doors of the building, a slight pep in her step when she notices him, waving her hand with a smile. He licks his lips absently, willing the arousal pooling deep in his stomach to go away. 

"Hi," she greets as she approaches him, "How're you?"

"I'm good." he answers, trying his best not to let his eyes wander over her outfit, "How was class?"

"'s okay. Kind of boring. Almost fell asleep once or twice."

"Yeah?" Harry chuckles as they begin to walk towards the nearest campus exit. "Gotta stay awake in those smarty pants classes of yours, princess."

He already knows she's blushing before he turns his head to see the familiar flush flower over her skin. He points to the bag over her shoulder, pausing his steps. "Lemme carry that for you."

"Oh— no, you don't have to, I don't want to be annoying—"

"Why would that be annoying?" he asks with a quirked brow. She swallows, shrugging her shoulders. "I don't have to if it makes you uncomfortable."

"N-no, it wouldn't," she shakes her head and he nods, keeping his arm stretched out. She pushes the strap down her shoulder and hands the bag to him. "Thank you. That's very kind of you, Harry."

"What d'you have in here, a ton of bricks?" he asks teasingly as he slips the pink tote over his own shoulder. 

"No! I have to bring books to campus every day so we can discuss certain passages and stuff. I guess I've been doing it for so long I didn't notice how heavy it is."

"It's very heavy, Y/N," Harry says, stuffing his hands into the front pocket of his sweatshirt, "No wonder you're falling asleep in class, you're basically doing an upper body workout on your way there."

"It's not that big a deal," she replies nonchalantly. "It's just— it's what my professors want, so."

He continues grumbling, annoyed that anyone would ask this girl to shuttle all this weight to campus every day. 

"Can you start parking closer to your lecture halls, then? I don't wanna find out you dislocated your shoulder one day."

She shakes her head. "I don't drive to campus."

"Oh, is parking that bad?"

Y/N begins to fidget, wringing her hands out in front of her as they walk. Harry glances at her from his peripherals, soaking in the nervousness written all over her face. 

"No... my parents don't let me drive to campus, that's all."

He hums, attempting to stay unbiased, even if everything he's learned about her so-called parents has only made anger rise in his chest. 

"Do they have a lot of limits on things you can and can't do?" 

"Kind of. I don't know."

"Is... is that something that bothers you?"

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth as they stop at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to turn. He shifts his body to face her. 

"I've never really told anyone about how they are, but... well, they take care of me. They always have. They just have a very clear vision of what they want for me."

"Right," Harry nods, "Just because they care for you or pay for certain things doesn't mean they're good, though. I'm not saying they aren't— I just don't want you to confuse the two."

"I guess."

He decides to leave it at that, mainly because he can she's growing uncomfortable, but also because they're approaching the shop. He pushes the door open and holds it for Y/N, who sheepishly walks in, Harry close behind. 

He doesn't acknowledge anyone as she follows him to his station, but she supposes it's not out of the ordinary for him to do these things since he's the owner. Once they're safely sheltered by the walls of his space, Y/N lets out a breath, sitting down in the chair she was in on Saturday.

After setting her bag down, he washes his hands at the sink. A long-haired guy pops his head in, grinning when he sees Y/N. 

"Hey, H," he greets, "Didn't know you'd be here today."

Harry's tone is gruffer towards the man, even though he seems friendly. "Yeah. What's up?"

"I need a favor. I have an appointment that looks like it's gonna take a little longer than anticipated — last minute changes and all that to the design, but Jude is coming in to pickup at 2. You mind dealing with him?"

He glares at the man before assuming what Y/N is starting to call his signature pose — arms crossed over his broad chest, leaning back against some surface in his station (today, it's the tattoo bed).

"None of the other idiots can do it? Kinda busy."

"It's your off day, figured you could handle him," he shrugs, "Unless you'd like to introduce me—"

"Shut up." Harry replies, clenching his jaw. A spark zips up Y/N's body, though she's not sure why he seems to take offense to the man's words. "Yeah, I'll deal with it. What does he want?"

"Just some edibles and a few grams of bud. Nothing crazy."

Again, Y/N doesn't miss the way Harry shoots a glare at him, who simply raises his hands in mock defense. As if speaking through some sort of secret language, he backs out of the room, his Adidas sneakers sounding crisply against the wooden floors as he walks away.

"Sorry," Harry mumbles.

"Oh. It's okay."

He turns back around to look at Y/N, who somehow looks even smaller in the chair since they arrived.

"You have no idea what that was about, do you?"

She shrugs, though it's clear that Harry's right. She doesn't often like showcasing her naive nature, like it's some sort of party trick for people to laugh at. It makes her feel sad, a reminder of the "normal" years she could have had if not for her parents.

He sighs and lifts a hand to run through his messy hair. "A few of us sell weed on the side here. It's not really a big deal, but we just do it for some extra cash on the side. I would've rather told you on my own time, though."

Y/N's palms find her thighs, plucking at the hem of her skirt as she swallows, digesting the information. Weed? Her parents had always taught her that all drugs were bad. In their minds, weed was just as bad as heroin, but when Y/N read about states legalizing the former, she didn't quite understand how that made sense. 

"I hope that doesn't make you think any differently of me," he continues. "I'm sorry."

She keeps her eyes set in her lap, "Is weed... bad?"

She's expecting him to laugh at her but instead, when she looks up, she's met with a small, adoring smile on his lips. His eyes twinkle just a bit as he shakes his head.

"No, it's not bad, dove. What do you know about it?"

"Nothing, really. I know it's legal in some places but my parents always told me to stay away from any drugs."

"I think a lot of parents do that," Harry replies with a nod, "But it can actually be really helpful for people. Mentally, physically. And others just like it, they enjoy the feeling of being high."

She swallows before biting her lip. "Do you... do you like it?"

"I do." he says. "Is that okay?"

She thinks he could tell her he's a serial killer and she would be okay with it.

"Yeah. 's okay."

His grin widens. "Alright. Lemme get you settled with this other piercing. I'll have to step out to sell to Jude at 2, but after that, do you wanna grab something to eat?"

She nods so fast she feels like a bobblehead. A chuckle — the warmest, most melodic thing Y/N thinks she's ever heard — sounds from his mouth.

"Just don't pass out again on me, Sleeping Beauty."

. . .

Y/N takes her second piercing much better than her first. 

(And by that, she means she only teared up a little bit, and no fainting occurred.) 

She's actually more nervous about the whole weed... thing. She feels torn. There's a half of her that feels intimidated by it; the part that still has a foot stuck in her parents' world, she supposes, where they taught her to never even look at people like Harry. The other half of her is intrigued to see what happens. Fascinated by him, maybe, and the way she feels when she's around him, and she doesn't know whether that's a good thing or not.

"Harry!" 

Someone calls his name from the main room as he's cleaning up and he peeks his head out. 

"Yeah?"

"Jude's here!"

He looks a lot less flighty about it than she assumes he would. Instead, he simply walks back into his station and unlocks a bottom cabinet to reveal a safe inside. 

"Know you're watching, princess," he says, turning his head to flash a toothy smirk in her direction. She looks away, blinking nervously. "Don't reveal any of my grand weed secrets to anyone, hm?"

"I'm not," she huffs, making him chuckle, "I'm just... curious."

Harry hums, pulling contents out from the safe. When he's done, he doesn't even bother concealing any of the weed he's just taken out, instead just rising to his feet. 

"I'll be right back. We can talk about the curiosity in a second."

Y/N's not snappy enough to come up with a response so she simply watches him walk away. She's only seen drug deals go down in movies and TV shows, where they're dramatic and part of the mob and guns are a necessity. She doesn't think this is one of those drug deals, but who is she to assume?

Surprisingly, Harry returns less than two minutes later with a small wad of cash in his hand. He pockets it, smiling at her when he sees she's still sitting there, the same perplexed look on her face. 

"Steal any of my bud while I was gone?"

"Harry!" 

He cackles and shakes his head. "Alright, dovie, c'mere."

Hesitantly, she stands, shuffling over to where Harry is back to kneeling on the floor. He looks up at her with an expectant expression, a wordless command to do the same. She does.

"Okay. You said you were curious?"

She nods.

"I've always found that the best solution to curiosity is knowledge. This doesn't mean you have to do anything, but it's good to know about things that may intimidate you," he explains. "So, weed can be found in a few different forms. I only sell flower, which are these little buds," he pulls out a container, showing her the small green nuggets. "And edibles, which is just candy or chocolate, stuff like that, with different levels of potency." 

"Oh." Y/N furrows her eyebrows, a small wrinkle forming between them. "That's it?"

He chuckles, "Mhm. That's it."

"And what does it do?"

"Like how does it make me feel?"

She nods.

"It's different for everyone and strains — like, the types of weed — will affect people differently, too. For me, it just makes me a little more relaxed and giggly, more touchy and less in my head. It's nice."

"That does sound nice." she says softly. He hums as he pushes the container back into the safe, locking it back up in the cabinet. "Do you think I would like it?"

It's a question that kind of blurts out without thinking about it. When he turns to look at her, eyes serious and thoughtful, she feels small; the way everyone her age or older has always made her feel. She swallows harshly, immediately regretting it.

"I don't know the answer to that, but if you ever want to try, you can tell me. I'll make sure you have a safe experience."

It's not the answer she's expecting, but instead maybe the one that only exists in her wildest dreams. She looks down to hide her blush and he smiles to himself, ducking down to catch her eyes. 

"You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're a blushy little thing."

Her jaw snaps closed, wiggling uncomfortably at his blatant call out. Her mother always told her that her emotions were easy to read — she said it made her weak, though. 

"I like it," Harry quickly amends, throat bobbing, "I like it a lot." 

She thinks she notices his eyes zip to her lips, but just as quickly as they dart down, they're back up to her eyes. She swallows when she realizes they've somehow gotten closer, the distance slowly closing between them in millimeters. She doesn't know who's moving in — if it's him or her or both — but suddenly, she's looking up and his face is hovering over hers, blinking in silent permission. When she doesn't grant it because she's too nervous to speak, his tongue peeks out, licking over his raspberry lips. 

"Is this okay?" He asks, minty breath ghosting over her mouth. "Can I do this?"

She nods, because she thinks any noise that would come out of her mouth would be just that — a sad excuse of a squeal. Her heart is pulsing in her ears, her hands trembling over her thighs, and then it happens — he presses his lips to hers, so gently it's almost like they aren't even there. The last time Y/N kissed someone, it was in ninth grade in the locker room after school, and she doubts it even qualified as a real kiss. This is different, though. This is Harry. 

He feels the nervousness radiating off of her so he breaks away, despite the already addictive taste of her mouth. He's gone too quickly and it makes Y/N's heart rate quicken even faster. 

"Need you to relax, princess." He says with his forehead pressed against hers. "Just follow my lead, okay? Promise it's not hard."

Embarrassed, she nods again, willing him to close the gap for a second time. This time, his lips are quick to move against hers, and it initially takes her by surprise. But she does what he told her to, mimicking his movements in tentative paces. With each passing moment, he's kissing her more and more breathless, and she lifts a shaking hand to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. It's a bold move for her and she swears she feels his signature smirk form into their kiss. 

Time doesn't feel like it moves much when Y/N's mouth is on Harry's, but she knows it is because she needs a break to breathe. With panting lungs, she pulls away, watching as Harry's eyes flicker open. His lips are pinker somehow and swollen with spit. The image makes her core throb. 

"Y'okay?" He asks. Y/N notices his pupils are darkened and he shifts from his seat on the floor, adjusting his lower half. 

"Y-yeah," she nods, "Needed to, um, breathe."

He chuckles. "Yeah? Get a little dizzy there?"

"A little bit." 

"Cute," he murmurs, lifting his thumb to swipe a bit of spit away from her bottom lip. Instinctively, her mouth opens, and she watches as his eyes flicker to hers. Through labored breath, he slowly moves his thumb along her plushy lip, resisting the urge to sink it inside. She's not sure why something as small as this is stirring her insides, but her eyes widen when he breaks away, pushing the finger into his own mouth. 

"Oh." She breathes out. 

"I don't wanna scare you," Harry whispers, "But I'm completely fucked when it comes to you, dove. If you don't want this... want me, I need you to go now." 

She swallows. Slowly, she rises to her knees and inches towards him, closing the small gap that formed between their bodies. She's hesitant in her movements but pushes herself to straddle him, gently sinking her ass down into his lap. His eyes widen. 

"I want this. I want you." She says. 

"Good," Harry mumbles, brushing his lips against hers for the third time that afternoon, "Good." 

. . .

Y/N thinks she could go pro at lying to her parents.

A month ago, she had to spend hours preparing the perfect fib, coaching herself on how to articulate it just casually enough so it didn't seem fabricated. These days, they come out like nothing. 

I'll be home late, I have a group project to work on in the library.

I'm going to a tutoring session for one of my classes, I probably won't be home until dinnertime.

I'm spending some extra time on campus today so I can get a head start on a paper.

In all truthfulness, school couldn't be the furthest thing on her mind right now. Harry is.

Ever since that day they kissed at his shop, they haven't been able to spend more than a day apart. Mostly, they follow the same routine from that very afternoon, where he'll pick her up from her last class of the day and they'll walk back to St. Mark's together. Sometimes, Harry will have deals to do so they sit and talk in the downtime. Other days, he'll have actual work to tend to, accounting and whatever it is he does as a business owner, so she'll do some homework, enjoying the silent companionship. Y/N never stays too late into the evening, not wanting to push her luck with her parents, but Harry always sends her off with a kiss that leaves her breathless, making her promise to text him when she gets home.

And the kissing... yeah. 

Y/N likes to think she's gotten better at it from all the practicing they've been doing. She still gets a bit flustered, but it's one of her favorite things to do with him. The second they shuffle into his station, Harry closes the door so they're finally in private, and it's like a switch is turned on. Within seconds, they're wrapped up in each others arms, mouths wet and hot against one another. She's discovered that her favorite place to be is seated in his lap while his tongue explores her mouth, breathy pants parting her lips. He loves to squeeze her ass over the pleats of her skirt, knowing that it riles her up in the smallest forms of contact — tiny rolls of her hips, nails being pressed into his skin, a slight pull of his hair. 

She doesn't think things could get much better with Harry until today, during their typical makeout-and-grinding session, when he ducks beneath her jaw, pressing messy kisses to her soft skin. It's then that the words leave his lips. 

"Can I feel you under here, dove?"

His hand is fisting the hem of her skirt and the low tone of his voice makes lightning zip through her body. She doesn't know how to reply — she wants to say yes, but her mouth is dry from immediate anxiety. 

"N-no one's ever touched me there," she whispers, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Harry hums, unbothered, kissing her jaw once more before backing away slightly.

"Don't have to do if you don't want to. We can just keep doing what we've been doing if you'd prefer." he replies nonchalantly, his lips swollen. She swallows nervously, perturbed by his frank nature.

"I— I do want you to feel me," Y/N mumbles. It's not a lie — yes, she's a virgin who knows next to nothing about her body besides its reproductive process, but sometimes, when she goes home in the evening, she thinks about what it would like to keep going. She's seen movies and TV shows, but those have only made her even more curious. Sometimes the guy takes it slow and makes it romantic, other times it's painful and uncomfortable. She can only hope Harry would take care of her.

"Where, princess?"

Well, she can only hope that Harry would take care of her in his typical teasing ways.

Huffing, she shakes her head. "I can't say that, H."

"Can't touch you if I don't know where you want it," he murmurs, kissing her cheek lightly. "Wanna hear you say it. Ask me."

"Harry," she whines. "Please? You know... where."

"Here?" he asks, pressing his the warmth of his hand to her thigh. "This where you want me?"

"No."

"Hmm, how about here?" he moves his hand up just a bit further, inching underneath the fabric of her mini skirt to the crease of her thigh. Again, she shakes her head. 

"Dunno where you want me then, dove. Thought you were my good girl."

"H-higher." she mumbles, attempting to push her body closer so he gets the hint.

"Higher?" he echoes with a smirk, "Here?"

This time, his fingertips have found the waistband of her panties. It immediately feels wrong, but not because of who's touching her, but rather the act of it. She takes a deep breath and tries to ignore the voice in her head. Slowly, in an act of false confidence, she bunches the fabric of her skirt up at her hips, watching as Harry's eyes widen. They instantly dart down to the small wet patch between her thighs and it makes him groan softly.

"Jesus," he mutters, forgetting about his little game. He gently thumbs at her clit through the material and she jumps. Using his other hand to squeeze her hip, he tries to keep her steady, mumbling out an apology. "Am I allowed to see this cute little pussy?"

She clenches at his question, surprising herself with how turned on she feels from just a few words. 

"Yes," she nods, "Please."

"'Please'? Aren't you just the sweetest wet dream, hm?" Harry murmurs. He pushes the width of the fabric to the side, making Y/N shiver from the sudden exposure and being under his gaze. "Are you always this polite or is this just for me, princess?"

She licks over her lips when he parts her pussy with his ring and middle fingers. He hums, dipping a fingertip into her crease and lifting it to his mouth. He looks at her expectantly and she realizes she hasn't answered him yet.

"J-just for you." 

"Pretty, swollen pussy just begging for attention. Do you always get this needy when we kiss?" 

She nods, her eyelashes fluttering as he runs the tip of his pointer finger through her wetness. 

A poor excuse for an answer sounds through her lips, the affirmative tone being the only thing that gives him an idea of what she said. He snickers boyishly, Y/N's jaw dropping when they both feel her pussy pulsate. 

"I think my girl is a bit naughtier than I thought," he breathes, moving his finger back up to her clit to form slow, small circles. She gasps from the intensity, a new sensation of overwhelming pleasure that she's never received before. "Is that the truth, dovie? Do you wanna be my naughty girl instead of my polite one? Tell me." 

"Harry," she mewls, arching her back to press deeper into his touch, "P-please— feels really good."

"Yeah?" he smirks, a mocking tone to his voice that makes Y/N squeeze her eyes shut. "Yeah, does it feel really good?"

"You're— you're being mean—"

"Oh, I don't think so, dove. I think I'm letting you use my fingers to get off, petting this pretty little clit until you cum all over my hand. I don't think that's mean, do you?"

He stops stroking at her and her eyes snap open. She can feel how warm her face has gotten under his touch, quiet puffs of breath ghosting over his lips as his eyes twinkle, knowing what he's done.

"Why'd you stop?" she asks in a small voice.

"You said I was being mean," Harry replies with a shrug, "If I were really mean, I'd leave you here high and dry. Do you want to learn about edging today, Y/N?"

She shakes her head, her bottom lip pushed out in a pout. He hums and lifts his hand to his mouth, his pink tongue darting out to swirl around the fingers that were just caressing her. She watches him with wide eyes. She doesn't think she's ever been this turned on in her life.

"Do you like when I tease you?" he asks lowly. They both know the answer — her body couldn't lie even if she wanted to, and Harry noticed it the second he felt her pussy clench against nothing at his mocking tone.

"Y-yes." she whispers.

"Dirty girl," he murmurs, moving both his hands down to her hips to give them a squeeze. He tightens his hold on her and gently moves her up to the tattoo bed, helping her lay down. "We have all the time in the world to learn about what makes your pussy wet, but right now, I wanna make her cum. Can I do that, dovie?"

Y/N nods, allowing him to adjust her body however he wants. He smiles at how pliant she is for him, sticking to her good girl demeanor. 

"Need you to tell me if I go too far or if something doesn't feel right, okay?" he reminds her as he fits himself between her thighs, "At any point, you say stop and we do, no questions asked." 

"Yeah. Okay."

It's apparent to her that Harry is experienced, because it takes no time for him to wiggle his fingers back to their initial position. His thumb is applying the smallest bit of pressure to her clit, still sensitive from when he was playing with it before, but now he's circling over her hole with one of his larger fingers. She gasps at the slight intrusion. 

"Have you ever put your finger in here, princess?" 

She shakes her head. "N-no."

"Do you want me to?" he asks, though he can already feel the way her hole is all but sucking him in, "It won't hurt. Promise."

She trusts him — maybe foolishly, because she knows her parents would disown her if they knew the position she was in right now — but she pushes the thought to the back of her head, instead simply answering his question with a nod. He keeps his eyes on hers as he slowly pushes in, a gasp instantly falling from her plushy lips. Her immediate reaction is discomfort, but as he starts to stroke at something towards the back of her walls, it feels... good. Overwhelmingly good. So good that a loud moan frees itself from deep in her chest and he jumps up, gently pressing his other hand over her mouth. He ducks down and presses a kiss to the shell of her ear.

"Know I'm making your little hole feel so good, but there's other people here. I wanna keep those moans just for myself, okay?" 

Her eyes roll back as he continues to pump his finger inside of her, the assault on the magic little spot never stopping. She can sense the smirk that's likely formed on his face but she can't find it in her to care because she's never, ever felt this good before. She whimpers against his palm and he groans quietly, the sight of his gorgeous girl writhing beneath him nearly too much to handle. He wills his own raging hard-on away, instead focusing on Y/N's need to cum before he can even consider getting himself off. 

"H-harry," she sounds beautiful mewling his name even when it's muffled by his hand, "I feel— I'm—"

"I know, dove, I know," he coos, quickening the loops around her clit. She's growing increasingly sensitive from his touch as her hole throbs around his finger. "Let go for me. Let go for daddy, lemme see that pretty pussy soak me."

Realistically, he would've preferred introducing her to the whole daddy kink thing on different terms, but he's instantly reminded of how insanely lucky he is when those are the words that push her over the edge. His jaw drops as he watches her squirm underneath his hands, riding out her orgasm and squeezing him in the most delicious way. 

"Fuck, you're so fuckin' beautiful," he groans, unable to stop himself from lightly grinding his covered cock against her inner thigh. He can feel the warmth radiating off of her core and his desperation to feel her grows by the second. 

When her orgasm finally subsides, she's panting heavily and he swallows, palming himself over his pants. 

"Is this okay?" he asks breathily. Y/N raises up onto her elbows, her eyes growing a bit wide when she sees what he's doing. Despite how exhausted she is, she still nods, the curiosity of what he looks like when he comes steadily building inside her. "'s not gonna take me long — that was the prettiest thing I've ever fuckin' see. Jesus."

She blushes but he doesn't notice as he pulls his cock out from under his pants and boxers. He spits into his palm and starts to stroke himself, his gaze glued to the swollen mess between her legs. 

In college, Y/N watched porn once. It was with her roommate and her friends, who found out she was a virgin and asked if she knew anything about sex. She didn't, so they had some sort of debauched education night for her, which was really just an excuse to giggle and make fun of the way guys moan in porn. It made her feel weird, watching this couple have sex on camera, but what she does remember is the girl encouraging him to cum. Once she started begging, it pushed him to her orgasm, and Y/N was pretty impressed with that.

So, she swallows her self-conscious nature and gazes up at Harry as the slick pumps over his length grow clumsy. She can see the pre-cum bubbling at the tip and the way he gathers it with each stroke, using it to further lubricate himself. 

"Want you to cum for me," she breathes out, the words sounding foreign when they leave her lungs, "Please. Wanna see it."

Harry's eyes nearly bulge out of his head and she assumes she's done something right by the way he quickly squeezes them shut, a quiet fuck falling from his lips. 

"Please cum for me, daddy."

Much like it was for her, the use of his honorific is what finally pushes him to his finish. His jaw goes slack and his chest vibrates with muffled groans as spurts of cum rain down on Y/N's mound, eliciting a small gasp as the feeling. It's messy, but she's enamored by how gorgeous Harry looks when he comes: swollen lips, clenched abs, flushed cheeks, his large hand fisted around his length. 

"Shit," he mutters, reaching up with his clean hand to push his curls out of his face, "Are you alright? Was that okay?"

She nods far too quickly for her own good. She'd be lying if she says she isn't slightly overwhelmed, but she wouldn't take any of it back. She never wants to forget how good he made her feel, while the knowledge that she's the one that turned him on like that is a boost to her confidence. 

"Lemme clean you up, hold on," he says breathily, reaching over to grab one of the folded hand towels in the cabinet. Gently, he runs the fabric over her sensitive bottom half, shushing her softly. He does the same thing for himself and then helps her shimmy her panties back up. "You sure you feel alright, dove? You're being quiet." 

"'m okay. Just tired." She replies truthfully, sitting up to lean back against the wall. 

"Yeah? One little orgasm and you're ready for a nap?" 

She giggles and buries her head into his shoulder,  her limbs feeling particularly jelly-like. He wraps a loose arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer, chuckling as he presses a kiss to her hair. 

"That's alright. I'm happy to take care of you however you need, princess." 

. . .

"When were you planning on telling me the bookstore is hiring?"

Harry's eyes widen at Y/N's unusually bold demeanor. He glances down at her, following her gaze to where she's staring at the small bookstore across the street. Sure enough, there's a help wanted sign in the window. 

"I didn't know you were looking for a job, dove," he replies with a shrug. In all honesty, he's never really paid attention to the business across the street from his own. 

"Well... I'm not really, but I do want to start making my own money." she says softly, biting her lip. 

He raises his eyebrows, "Yeah? You wanna go see if you can fill out an application?"

Despite her nerves, she still nods her head. Harry smiles and intertwines their fingers together, guiding her across the way to the bookstore. He holds the door open for her and she swallows anxiously, stepping inside the quaint store. With his hand pressed to the small of her back, he gently ushers her to the cashier. 

"Hi," she says shakily, "I saw you're hiring people and I was wondering if I could apply." 

The woman at the front grins, immediately launching into a conversation with Y/N about how excited she is that someone's interested in working for them. As she pulls a paper application out from a drawer on the side, Harry smoothes his hand over her back, rubbing it gently. He's so proud of her, his heart feels like it could burst. 

It's only when she's finishing up filling out her information that someone says her name. They both turn, Y/N's eyebrows instantly furrowing in confusion. 

"Y/N," the woman hisses, and Harry glances down to watch his girl's face crumble, "What are you doing?"

"Y/N... who is this?" Harry asks, his possessive instincts immediately taking over. 

She swallows harshly, tugging at the sleeves of her sweater. 

"Um... this is my mom."

read part two here!

[stevieschrodinger]

So one day, I'll write this, but today is not that day.

Steve point blank would not go and work for his dad, he still took the money he was offered though. Argyle pitches a pizza place; Steve thinks, fuck it, and invests.

Jon does deliveries, Robin does the accounts, Nancy swings in once and a while and makes sure they're insured and up to code. Steve does whatever Argyle tells him on busy nights.

It does so good in little old Hawkins. It does so good they expand. Steve buys a run down diner. Steve knows how to cook, and Argyle has taught him how to cook large scale. Steve falls in love with the line cook gig.

The expansion is crazy, within five years Nancy becomes site manager for their 12 restaurants; they have diners, pizza joints, and one fancy Italian place that Steve has been inside of (Maybe) five times total. Robin is the company accountant, Jon still does deliveries, but now it's more logistics and stock management; if a location is stuck for something Jon is the guy they call.

It's all successful enough that Steve just...stops being involved. Nancy is pretty much running the show, he can just...be paid his CEO salary, and take the midweek nightshifts that no one wants. He loves that Diner; it was the first one they opened and it has a special place in his heart.

He loves the quiet of the night shifts, just him and his grill plate and the slow but steady orders for the lonely people who can't sleep, just like Steve.

And then there's this new hire. This..kid, who granted is stupid pretty, but he's all long sharp limbs and clumsy pointy joints and he smashes like, three things on just the first night and Steve is gritting his teeth because his quiet serenity has been disturbed ...because this kid will not shut up.

He has no idea Steve actually owns the company, but that doesn't stop him apologising every thirty seconds for one thing or another. If he's not apologising he's talking about his nerd games, or music, or asking Steve what he's into, not loosing any steam at all of Steve doesn't even answer. Eventually, Steve growls at him to shut it for a bit. And the kid just kind of. Droops.

And Steve feels pretty shitty, and that same night a rowdy bunch of kids come in and even from behind the pass, Steve can see that Eddie Does Not Want To Serve Them.

But he does. It's his job.

And Steve can hear these kids calling Eddie ta freak or whatever. And Steve is not having that; he throws the kids out by the scruff of their necks and tells them to never come back again.

And Eddie's just looking at Steve with his big pretty brown eyes like Steve's an actual Hero. And yeah. Steve has a.problem.

They definitely fuck about it in a supply cupboard or a bathroom or something at some point. Maybe in the pantry and Robin pulls a face about kitchen hygiene. Or something.

Maybe I'll make it A/B/O and put Eddie in a cute little uniform, just to really stress Steve out.

[bitterie-sweetie]

Heyyy! If you’re open for requests, there’s this TikTok that I saw where a pregnant lady had her husband lift her heavy belly for a few minutes and it gave her some relief. I somehow could see Mingyu do that. His wife having a hard time getting used to her growth and him trying his best to help her 🫠🫠🫠

baby ⇢ mingyu x reader, 1k, fluff, domestic au ⇢ warnings: pregnancy, "baby" as a term of endearment, mingyu being his usually sweet self (mostly), established relationship

"This is all your fault, you know."

At the sharp tone of your words, Mingyu looks up from his phone. 

"This," you gesture at yourself, at the unmistakable way your stomach now protrudes, a little larger each day as time creeps closer to your due date. "This baby is already huge and we're not even halfway there. It's all your fault, Kim Mingyu. You and your—your stupidly big bones and your long limbs and your giant frame and, and—" 

It's another empty complaint, that's all. Lately that's been much of what comes out of your mouth the moment your sore feet touch the floor, having to support your new weight, and when you're rushing to the bathroom again after just having left it. And when you hear Mingyu's mom lament about how heavy he was at birth, you don't even want to think about how the next few months are going to go. 

This pregnancy is both a blessing and a curse.

You get up from your chair, eager to crawl into bed and let sleep magically melt away your problems if it comes at all tonight. But before you can take a single step, Mingyu is there. It takes him two steps to cross the room and come to your side, and while he usually wears a big smile whenever he looks your way, now it's been completely replaced with a frown. A solemn expression.

"I'm sorry, baby," he says softly, gingerly pulling you into a hug. 

"W-what? What are you apologizing for?"

"All of it."

You take a step back and try to wiggle out of his arms so you can properly read his expression. "Hey, I was just joking—"

"Y/N," he says, shaking his head as he loosens his arms, "it's hard going through all this alone. You know I would help if I could." 

He's being genuine—that much you can see, but that makes you all the more concerned. Is there something going on? What does he mean? So much of your attention has been focused on preparing for the baby ever since finding out the good news that you hardly had a moment to stop and consider his feelings in all of this, and for a second your heart drops at the thought that there might be something wrong. 

Mingyu's never been one to hide anything though. He always wears his heart on his sleeve and speaks without a filter—which is only a bad thing when he showers you with overly cheesy compliments—and even now, one look in his eyes tells you exactly what you want to know. You can see the excitement floating in his eyes, the absolute adoration at the start of this new chapter in your lives, the nerves of being a parent for the first time. 

But also mixed in there is a ton of guilt. 

While none of it is his fault, you can tell that he's feeling the immense guilt of watching you suffer to bring a child into this world while he is, well, still very much his regular self. 

"Mingyu, you are helping. You've been doing all the cooking and running around to get me whatever I'm craving, which has been a lot these days. You set up the baby's room all on your own, and then there are your massages—I'm going to get so used to having this luxury that I'll be asking for them even after all this." 

His frown only deepens. "Baby, that's not enough. I hate seeing you in pain and being unable to do anything about it. I wish I could take it from you." 

"Hey, look at me." You heave a sigh, reaching to take his face between your hands. "I'm fine, Mingyu. You know how strong I am, right? I can handle it. In fact, you should worry more about what this kid might do in the future."

"Knowing the two of us, that's probably true." He wavers for a second before a smile starts to creep onto his face, but he holds it back, almost shyly. "Y/N, can I try something?"

"Like what?"

Mingyu steps closer until the space between you diminishes, leaving only your belly pressed against his. Then in one motion, he takes his hands and carefully places them under your belly, and then lifts. 

"Does this help at all?" he asks, face gleaming with tentative hope.

You slowly relax into his hands and take notice of how everything shifts. The weight pressing on your bladder is alleviated immediately, and your sore lower back feels much better. Even your feet aren't quite as in pain as before. "Yeah, actually. This helps a lot. Thank you, baby." 

"Good. Then I'll do this for you all day." Then he nuzzles even closer to you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as you wrap your arms around him as much as you can. There's still too much space between you with the baby in the way, but when you close your eyes and listen to the sound of Mingyu's steady breaths, it's enough to spread a warmth in your heart that takes you back to the early days of your relationship. 

"Hey, Y/N?" Mingyu pulls back slightly to look at you.

"Hmm?"

"Do you really think we should be worrying about how our kid might turn out? What they might be like?" 

You study him, looking beyond the spark of anxiety in his eyes. "Well, yeah, but they'll be fine. Trust me, if they have your genes, they'll basically be perfect already. You were a perfect kid." 

"I guess I kind of was." He stays still for a moment, but when he meets your eyes again, there's a mischievous smile threatening to creep across his lips. "Yeah, see, I wasn't exactly worried that the kid might turn out like me." 

"Hey, Kim Mingyu!"

[beelmons]

A/N: There's a trend on tiktok where men are saying how after they started... uh... doing hardcore cunnilingus... their beards started to turn orange. so.... bearded spencer with a girlfriend he likes to treat right?

cw: slightly NSFW, not recommended for minors!

Spencer is a man you could describe as "raggedy". Hair always dishelved, tie slightly crooked, pants that don't ever quite fit him as they should. You never cared, and neither did he, because everything else made up for it. Your boyfriend was hot, and after he decided to let his beard grow a bit, he was hotter, if possible.

Of course, using your girlfriend privileges, meant you got to use his new attractiveness to your convenience, and boy, was it going great. People at the office began to notice him being more relaxed and even focused. They had started to pay closer attention to Spencer and how his demeanor changed. Sure, they didn't exactly know what you did to him, and no one dared to ask, but they were sure it had to be sexual in nature. No one could be that happy out of the blue.

It wasn't until one day where Luke noticed something a little off about his friend that the conversation finally arose. "Whoa, whoa, slow down Reid." he said, his hand pressing against the doctor's chest to stop him from walking any futher. JJ, Tara, and Penelope, who was visiting the bullpen, gathered around them with curiosity.

"What? What's wrong?" he asked, confusion written all over his face.

"What's that on your beard?" Luke teased with a bright and playful smile.

"What's what on my beard?" Spencer continued to be unable to understand the situation around him. However, he noticed how his female coworkers seemed to lean closer, trying to get a detailed look of his face.

Without much space for them to move, due to Spencer having a file on his hands, Luke decided to open a wide path and removed the document from him.

"You're right, Luke," JJ started to observe "it kind of looks like orange hairs on his beard?"

"You gotta have that looked at, boy genius, could be a bad sign." Penelope made a concerned remak.

"Could be because of the stress" Tara added.

"Nah!" Luke blurted out with a loud laugh "If anything, it's just proof that he's less stressed, or rather, that that girlfriend of his is way less stressed." he continued to chuckle as he spoke.

"How do you mean?" Reid asked, still unsure of the insinuation his friend was making.

"Did you know, ladies, that vaginal PH can bleach almost anything? from underwear to facial hair if the exposure is constant enough." he made sure to stare right into Spencer's eyes as he spoke, the smug, cheeky smile never leaving his face.

There was a collective and teasing 'ooooooooh' coming out from every girl around him, and Spencer could feel how the red tint began to spread from the base of his neck towards his face.

"That's my girl, always putting herself first!" Tara exclaimed with a laugh of her own.

"I didn't know you had it in you, Spence, good for you." JJ added as she squeezed her friend's arm.

"She's so lucky." Penelope grunted.

Luke's shitty grin disappeared from his face the moment Reid laid sharp daggers on him coming directly from his eyes. His hands darted to aggressively snatch the file back from his partner's "Decoloration of the facial hair can be due to genetic mutations or overexposure to the sun, so get your facts straight before you start talking nonsense." he said with a clearly pissed-off tone before he bolted off somewhere else.

Behind him he could still hear laughs and giggles, and they didn't help the still present crimson color of his face. His anger hadn't been because they were disrespecting you, you were well aware they could tease you like that, but rather because he felt seen through. Regardless of the wrong hypotesis, Luke had been correct. Ever since he grew out his beard, he was kept on a fluid-based diet. Your fluids, mostly.

[violetsteve]

If you prefer, this is also posted on AO3

After the almost end of the world, Steve decides he’s going to put the moves on Eddie Munson.

Robin may or may not laugh in his face when he announces it.

The thing is, despite Robin almost laughing him out of the building, the thing is Steve is still figuring out his sexuality. He knows he likes girls, he’s always liked girls, but then Robin pointed out that maybe he couldn’t figure out what he wanted because he wasn’t looking in the right place and Steve realized she was right . Sure, Robin had meant more of a ‘ stop going after girls who are traditionally pretty and from well off families and try going out with girls whose company you actually enjoy’ and not a ‘ hey, dudes are kinda hot, too, right? It was real weird how transfixed you seemed to be on Eddie Munsons lips while we were actively fighting demon monsters,’ but Steve has always been good at reading in between the lines. Or, more like inserting what he wants in the gaps of what people leave unsaid.

So, no, Robin did not tell Steve to open his eyes and realize that straight guys don’t exactly think about how another guys lips will look slick with spit, how they’ll feel under the pressure of his thumb, what the sweet satisfaction of them partying so readily under his will feel like, but she did tell him to broaden his horizons and honestly, they were basically the same thing.

Which is why Steve feels like she should be more supportive of his plans to woo Eddie Munson onto his couch—and maybe, if he’s feeling ambitious, eventually into his bed.

“Robin, come on . I’m serious!” Steve will never admit, even under Russian torture again, that he whines it. He’s coming to Robin as a sounding board, not so she can make fun of him. If he wants someone to make fun of his lack of prowess, he would go talk to Dustin. 

Or, yeah on second thought no. He’s not actually sure his ego could take that much of a hit at the moment.

“Sorry, sorry,” she gasps, gripping the—newly rebuilt and polished—family video counter in front of her. “I just—Steve, that’s-that’s so ambitious . You literally just came out to me less than a week ago and you’re already talking about getting with a boy. And Eddie Munson at that.”

Steve scowls at her, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that he knows looks bitchy, but he can’t help it because—

“Don’t say his name like that. He literally almost died to save us all. He’s not fucking dirty .”

Robin immediately sobers, a guilty, but irritated look on her face. “That’s not how I meant it, Steve, and you know it. Don’t get bitchy at me just because you’re feeling sensitive about your feelings for a boy.”

And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? Steve isn’t really angry at her for laughing—Robin makes fun of him at least 7 times a day, Steve would be more concerned if she didn’t make at least one joke about this—and he isn’t even mad at her for putting a weird emphasis on Eddie’s name. No, he’s all twisted up about his feelings and he’s never been good at expressing them, let alone talking about them. He’s feeling self conscious and his skin is prickling with embarrassment and the easiest thing to do is lash out about it.

“That’s not—“ Steve cuts himself off, looking away from Robin as his shoulders slump. “You’re right,” he mumbles. “Sorry. I just. I wanna fucking kiss him so bad , Rob, and that freaks me out a little.” Steve untucks one of his arms to scrub a hand over his face, leaving the other one tucked around his waist to protect his vulnerable bits.

“Hey,” Robin murmurs, closing the distance between them so she can settle her hands on his shoulders. “I get it. Do you think I acted like a sane person the first time I realized I wanna kiss girls? I think I cried for a week. Kerry the stuffed Koala had to go to therapy because of all of my crying. It was a serious time in the Buckley house.”

Steve smiles behind his hand. He loves her so much. She’s really his best friend. He’s so thankful for her.

“You still cry about kissing girls,” Steve says, rather than admitting any of that. She already knows she’s smart, Steve doesn’t need to add any more to her ego. It just gives her more brain to bully him with.

He drops the hand covering his face to look at her. “Only now it’s more of a,” Steve puts on a high pitched, whiny voice, “‘why do I have to go to work when I could be spending all day making out with my girlfriend.’” He brings both of his hands up to clasp in front of his chest, batting his eyelashes at her in a fake-coy way.

Robin shoves at him, catches him off guard and he goes stumbling backwards into the counter, laughing the whole way. 

“Shut up , you absolute dickhead, ” she all but screeches, reaching out to give his chest another shove for good measure. “You literally have no room to talk considering you started this shift by announcing your intentions to, quite literally, crawl into Eddie’s lap and kiss him stupid . That’s almost verbatim what you said, Steve.”

Steve’s still chuckling as he rights his position a little, leaning back against the counter more comfortably. “Yeah, I did say that.” He sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth before he continues with, “I really, really wanna sit on his lap and kiss him until he can’t focus, Rob.”

Robin rolls her eyes, but it’s more fond than annoyed. Steve can tell—he’s been on the receiving end of about 90 percent of Robin’s eye rolls, he’s getting good at distinguishing the emotions behind each one.

“I still can’t believe you have a crush on Eddie Munson of all people. He’s so weird ,” She laughs, but Steve can tell that that, too, is fond. Robin and Eddie have a weird friendship. They geek out over obscure instruments and the nuance of tacky movies together. Steve doesn’t get it, but he enjoys watching how expressive both of them can be. He once watched Eddie climb onto a table while arguing with Robin about one of their movies. Robin followed him up shortly after, though, so Steve isn’t sure why she thinks the weird is limited to Eddie.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, and he’s man enough to admit that it sounds dreamy . God, he’s pathetic over Eddie. It scares the shit out of him. “You know, the other day he gave me a rock. It wasn’t even, like, a cool rock. It was literally just a rock. When I asked him why he just shrugged and was like ‘I dunno, it made me think of you.’”

Robin’s grin grows. “Oh my God. What did you do with the rock?”

Steve shoots her a disgruntled look. “What do you think I did with the rock? I put in my pocket and then brought it home and set it on my nightstand. Eddie gave it to me, I wasn’t just going to throw it on the ground again. That’s rude.”

Robin absolutely cackles at this, there’s no other way to describe it. She’s awash in glee as she claps her hands together a few times. “ Jesus , Steve. You’ve got it so bad for this man.”

“God,” Steve mutters, running a hand over his face again. “That’s not even the worst part, Rob. He like. He grabs his utensils with his whole fist when he eats. It’s so weird, and it’s so messy . It makes fuck all sense. He doesn't even grab a pencil that way. Just his fucking eating utensils . 

“And he walks so chaotic. He just randomly breaks into a sprint. Just starts fucking running out of nowhere. And he bounces. As if the random running wasn’t enough, he just fucking starts jumping. Sometimes he jumps at me, and it’s all I can do to actually catch him before he eats dirt. Or- or he’ll just. Spin. Just twirl in the middle of the sidewalk while still carrying on a conversation.” Steve slumps, his back getting slightly scraped against the counter as he sinks to his butt.

“The man has zero regard for personal space and he always makes way too intense of eye contact. Sometimes he’ll use one of his character voices in the middle of an otherwise totally normal conversation, and he’s always climbing on things. He’s loud and he’s weird and I wanna wrap my fingers around the collar of his shirt, shove him against a wall and then shove my tongue down his throat , jesus christ. ” Steve buries his face in his knees, his mind playing an endless loop of Eddie smiling with those stupid lips that are always cherry red and raw from his constant gnawing. Steve wants to bite them for him.

“Oh, my God, Steve.” Robing sinks down to sit across from him. “This is pathetic . I, like, knew you had a crush on Eddie but this is like. Dangerous territory. Like, the next step might be the L word level territory.”

Steve makes a small squeaking noise, his face still buried in his knees. Robin’s words hint at something that Steve is so not ready to admit to himself yet. She’s hitting way too close to something Steve has been avoiding actively and vehemently since he realized the attraction he feels for boys is decidedly not of the straight variety.

For a moment, neither of them say anything. Then, like the angel she so clearly is, Robin says, “So, wanna tell me about operation ‘crawl into Eddie’s lap and makeout with him?’”

Steve laughs, the tightness in his chest slowly easing. He lifts his head, and then spills his guts.

***

The plan starts simply. First, he needs to get Eddie alone . No annoying tagalongs to potentially interrupt.

It’s easier said than done. For two days straight, Steve asks Eddie to hang out and, somehow, one of the kids manages to weasel into their plans.

It’s driving Steve nuts.  

He casually asks Eddie to watch a movie, give him a proper education like him and Robin are always going on about, and Dustin overhears and invites himself.

He asks Eddie to go for a walk, makes an excuse about it being gorgeous outside while he plots ways for the walk to end right outside his house, isn’t that neat, but Lucas and Max overhear and suddenly it’s a group affair.

He asks Eddie to get milkshakes, plans to lure him back to his house with the promise of complete control of Steve’s record player, but El overhears and asks if she can tag along and Steve just can’t look into her big, earnest eyes and tell her no. He’s not a monster.

So they get milkshakes with El, and it’s fun . Of course it’s fun, but Steve is getting desperate . It’s been a little over a week since he hatched his mad plan with Robin and he’s about to start climbing the walls with anticipation.

It doesn’t help that Eddie has a mother fucking oral fixation. At every opportunity he’s either putting stuff in his mouth or chewing on something. It’s fucking rude, is what it is. It’s like he doesn’t even realize Steve is suffering.

It all finally comes to a head a full week and four days after his conversation with Robin on the floor of Family Video. He’s stopping by Eddie’s house to grab something Dustin left behind because Dustin asked and he’s nice . It’s maybe also because it’s a great excuse to see Eddie, but Dustin sure as shit doesn’t need to know that that’s the sole reason Steve said he will.

Eddie is slightly bent over, riffling through his Dungeons and Dorks stuff, and Steve is trying so hard to pretend like he’s not entirely focusing on his ass and the line of exposed skin above his belt. If Eddie turns around right now, he’s busted for sure.

Eddie’s just mentioned some kind of dragon when he lets out a triumphant noise, his story coming to an abrupt halt as he spins on his heel to face Steve.

“Aha!” He exclaims, thrusting a notebook in Steve's direction. 

Steve automatically reaches out to take it, his fingers brushing over the backs of Eddie’s in the switch over. Eddie bites his bottom lip at the contact, avoiding Steve’s gaze, and suddenly all Steve is thinking about is his mouth.

Steve debates with himself for a moment. This isn’t really how he planned to seduce his way into Eddie Munson’s lap, but he’s adaptable. If the years of almost apocalypses have taught Steve anything, it’s that sometimes you have to make do with what you have.

And what Steve has is an empty trailer save the two of them, and a couch less than ten feet away. He’s got the object of his affections standing in front of him, and Steve decides to adapt.

He wets his own lips, stepping towards Eddie. His hand is still holding Eddie’s hostage over the notebook.

“Thanks, Eddie,” Steve murmurs, ducking his head so he can look up through his lashes.

Steve watches Eddie’s breath catch, watches him stutter over his next sentence.

“Y-yeah,” he breathes out, his eyes flicking between Steve’s eyes and his mouth at a rapid speed. “Of c-course. I mean, it happens. Kids forget things. I’m sure Dustin just wanted to, like, go over the last session's notes for anything he missed.”

“Of course,” Steve agrees, taking another step into Eddie’s space. He’s aware that he’s primarily staring at Eddie’s lips, which is probably rude, but he can’t help it. They’re wet and shiny and Steve has been thinking about them an obsessive amount for the last week and a half.

“We’re, um, I-I mean they’re going against a red dragon,” Eddie continues. Steve’s aware of this. It’s what Eddie had been telling him when he’d found the notebook. “They’re very powerful, almost impossible to defeat.”

“Are they?” Steve’s only half following the conversation, but that’s not saying much. He has a hard time keeping up with the DnD talk on a regular day.

“Oh yeah,” Eddie says, and then he’s off. He starts spitting words so fast Steve wouldn’t be able to keep up even if he were paying complete attention.

“Eddie,” Steve says, but Eddie is still talking, still mumbling along about the red dragon.

“Eddie,” Steve tries again, but it’s like he’s shouting in an empty room. He knows Eddie knows he’s talking to him, can tell by how wide Eddie’s eyes are, how he’s not even trying to not slur his rapidfire words together. If Eddie was talking about dragons for the hell of it, he’d be gesticulating and probably climbing on things. As it were, he’s got his gaze fixed on Steve, eyes comically wide as his words rush together—barely getting one out before the next slew rush into it in a truly amusing word traffic jam.

Eddie’s nervous , and fuck if that doesn’t thrill Steve to his core. Steve takes the final step towards him to completely close the distance and—

Eddie takes a step back, his words stuttering along with Steve’s heart in his chest. He wasn’t expecting that, wasn’t expecting Eddie to back away from him so quickly. Steve has half a second to be hurt, to mentally kick himself because get a fucking clue , Harrington, before he catches Eddie’s eyes darting down to his lips, his tongue unconsciously swiping along his lower lip before his gaze skitters back up to Steve’s.

And, oh, yeah , Steve has him exactly where he wants him. Eddie isn’t stepping back because he doesn’t want Steve. No, he’s stepping back because he’s prey . Steve is stalking towards him with a single minded focus and Eddie is skittering backwards like a scared rabbit—bouncing back step by step as Steve approaches until his back collides with the wall. That, finally, seems to knock all their air out of Eddie. The dragon conversation dies on his lips as Steve finally—fucking finally —closes the remaining distance between them. He reaches out, cupping Eddie's cheek in one hand, his jaw in the other, all while pressing up against Eddie from hip to chest.

“ Eddie, ” Steve murmurs, his eyes hooding. This time, Steve feels Eddie’s breath catch, feels the way a tremor works its way through Eddie’s body. He’s staring up at Steve with wide, wild eyes. He looks like a deer caught in a trap—ready to break his leg trying to get away if he needs to.

Steve isn’t sure why that makes him feel a little wild, but it does.

He stretches his thumb out to swipe across Eddie's bottom lip—already bitten and red from Eddie’s nervous chewing. God , it drives Steve crazy . He has a half-hysterical thought about offering his own up for Eddie to chew on when he’s nervous. Eddie makes him crazy .

Steve licks at his own lips as he watches the way his thumb catches and drags and the swollen skin of Eddie’s bottom lip. Eddie’s trembling in earnest now, and Steve feels his pulse thundering in his ears. He wants to kiss Eddie so bad his fucking toes are curling with the anticipation.

He flicks his gaze up, away from Eddie’s lips up to his eyes and he has to fight back a groan. Eddie looks fucking wrecked and Steve hasn’t even kissed him yet. His eyes are wide and wild, his pupils blown and there’s a scarlet flush in his cheeks. He’s fucking panting against Steve’s face and he can’t take it any more. He really, really can’t. He has to kiss him—screw anticipation, screw driving Eddie past the brink. He needs and he needs now.

“ Eddie, ” Steve practically gasps . “Eddie, please.” Steve squeezes his eyes shut as his body unconsciously rocks forward, seeking even more of Eddie out. “Wanna kiss you so bad, please say I can, please—”

And before Steve can get another plea out, Eddie’s slamming his head forward with enough force to knock their teeth together in an uncomfortable clack ; enough force that their noses knock together in a painful way.

But Steve doesn't care . He doesn’t care because Eddie’s lips are on his and he feels like there’s liquid fire coursing through his veins. He feels lit up from the inside out as Eddie finally, finally touches him back. He fists a hand in the back of Steve’s shirt, the other winding through Steve’s hair and fuck it’s finally happening. After night upon night of imagining what kissing Eddie Munson would be like, Steve’s finally doing it.

And goddamn is he doing it. Eddie’s lips are slick against his, hot and encouraging . They slide together in a way that has Steve’s mind going blissfully blank, his only thoughts being hotwetyesmore.  

He kisses him messy, lips moving together in a too fast pace that neither of them can keep track of; bruising force in the way their lips slide, spit sliping from their parted lips in a slow trickle that has Steve’s fingers curling against Eddie’s jaw.

He uses that hand to tilt Eddie’s head up slightly, angling it enough that Steve can get his bottom lip between his own and suck slightly. The first slid of Eddie’s lip between Steve’s own has him seeing fucking stars . 

A punched out groan breaks free from Eddie’s throat and he rocks forward into Steve, seeking more . The hand in the middle of his back pulls and Steve is helpless to do anything but push Eddie more firmly into the wall. He knows it has to hurt, has to be restricting Eddie’s breathing with how tightly they’re pressed together, but he can’t take enough focus away from Eddie’s mouth to care . Plus, if Eddie minds that much he wouldn’t be pulling Steve closer .

Eddie breathes a wet gasp into Steve’s mouth when he takes his teeth to the lip still tucked between his own, and Steve can’t help but let out a gasp of his own. Eddie tastes fucking phenomenal. He can taste the lingering tobacco on his tongue, the salty tang of the popcorn he must have had earlier, and just the overwhelming taste of Eddie. Hot, sweet, fucking sublime. Steve‘s never been a particularly religious man, but he feels like he’s drinking heaven straight from Eddie’s mouth. With every gasp, every moan, every brush of Eddie’s tongue, he feels one step closer to absolution. It’s addicting .

God , he wants more. He wants Eddie’s hands all over him, on bare skin. He wants those deft musicians fingers to snake into his hair, tug a bit. He wants Eddie over him and under him and—

He stills suddenly, a thought occurring to him. The line that had triggered this whole thing—his announcement to Robin back in Family Video—and suddenly there’s a burning need in Steve’s gut. God, he needs to sit in Eddie’s lap right now. Needs to feel his strong thighs under him, needs Eddie’s hands on his ass and his tongue in his mouth.

“ Fuck, ” Steve bites out when he pulls back. Tearing his mouth away from Eddie’s is so much harder than it has any right to be.

Eddie’s staring at Steve with glassy eyes, his lips shiny and red and oh fuck even his chin is glistening with their spit. Steve wants to devour him.

“Go sit on the couch,” Steve says, and is pleasantly surprised that his voice only sounds a little rough, a little shaky.

“What?” Eddie croaks out, staring at Steve for a beat. Then, miracle of miracles, he does it. He stares at Steve the whole time, the glassy look getting a little clearer, and Steve thinks that simply will not do.

The minute Eddie is seated, Steve’s crawling his way into his lap. He wedges his knees into the crease at the back of the couch, shuffling as far forward as he can so their chests are pressing together, their clothed crotches aligning. Then, without giving Eddie a chance to adjust, he drops down, pressing the full weight of his ass into Eddie’s thighs and, by proximity, his dick.

“ Jesus Christ ,” Eddie swears, his hands shooting out to grab at Steve’s ass on instinct. Steve almost giggles . It’s exactly what he wants.

“You can just call me Steve,” he mutters, and before Eddie can reply, he’s sweeping in and claiming Eddie’s lips again. Eddie huffs against his mouth, but let’s Steve have the last word. Steve’s glad because he has plans .

Plans that start with Steve winding those thick curls around his fingers as he slides his lips against Eddie’s. Eddie pushes his head back into Steve’s hands like a cat, and it makes Steve smile into their kiss, which makes Eddie smile into the kiss. It’s like a domino effect—once Steve feels Eddie’s smile against his, he starts giggling like a schoolgirl. He can’t help it, this feels unreal in the best possible way.

Then Eddie’s off, giggling back into Steve’s mouth. They’re both just sitting there giggling at each other, eyes squinted and happy . God, Steve feels euphoric in this moment, perched in Eddie’s lap like it’s his throne, with Eddie’s hands on his ass.

Eddie pulls back after a moment, when their smiles are too wide to actually kiss. He brings a hand up to gently brush a strand of hair away from Steve’s eyes, tucking the long lock behind his ear before putting his hand back on Steve’s ass. 

“You’re unbelievable, Steve Harrington,” Eddie whispers, eyes so full of affection that Steve feels his insides turn to mush. He squirms in Eddie’s laps, ducking his head to mouth at Eddie’s neck because if he stares into his eyes any longer he’s going to do something stupid . Stupid like admit that he’s pretty fucking sure he’s in love with Eddie, has been since he gave him that dumb rock for no decernable reason other than he wanted to, because he was thinking of Steve.

Steve tongues at the tendon in Eddie’s neck that’s stretched taunt, rubs his nose along his jaw and up to the hollow under his ear. Eddie laughs, tilting his head sideways to give Steve easier access.

“Oh, now you’re gonna be shy? After you practically pounced on me earli—”

Eddie’s words cut off in a choked groan as Steve bites, hard , at the tendon he was just showing attention to.

“ Steve, ” Eddie gasps, but Steve doesn’t let him do any other talking. No, he’s not going to let Eddie derail him again. So, he dives back for Eddie’s mouth, licking into it, not slowing down and not giving Eddie a chance to catch up. He smooths his tongue alongside Eddie’s, lets Eddie push back against it with his own for a millisecond, before he’s switching tactics—licking behind the top row of Eddie’s teeth, sliding his tongue over Eddie’s bottom lip. 

Eddie squeezes his ass at the sudden onslaught, and Steve can’t help the small jerk his body gives at that. He grinds down, a gasp trapped in the humid air between them as sharp waves of pleasure shoot up his spine. He’s trapped in between Eddie’s lips and his hands and he feels like he’s high with it.

He’s enjoying himself so much.

He slides his tongue along Eddie’s again, enjoys the way it's slightly rough and gloriously slick against his own. Enjoys the way it makes his pulse thrum a little faster, his fingers grip a little tighter where they’re fisted in Eddie’s hair—the way it makes Eddie squeeze a little tighter, which makes Steve grind down a little harder.

Steve feels the evidence of Eddie’s interest, has been feeling it, and knows Eddie has to be aware of Steve’s own. And Steve’s fantasized about Eddie’s lips for so long that he’s tried to keep it to just that—tried to focus on the heady drag of lips on lips—but it’s hard to ignore the way Steve’s own hips are twisting down, seeking as much of Eddie as possible. Hard to ignore the way Eddie has his own feet planted on the floor, meeting Steve’s hips with firm thrusts of his own.

They’re sharing humid air and sharp gasps, their lips swollen and honestly sore . Steve’s lips ache in the best way he’s ever felt, and Steve doesn’t want to stop. Wants to sit right here on Eddie’s strong thighs, wants to feel Eddie’s teeth nipping at the too sensitive skin of his mouth, wants to kiss Eddie for the rest of his life .

They kiss and kiss and kiss, and Steve has never just kissed someone like this. He’s never kissed just to feel, kissed just for the pleasure of it with no expectations for what’s to follow. He feels intoxicated. He’s utterly, wholly blissed out on Eddie Munson’s mouth and he never wants it to end.

They kiss for so long that Steve has honestly started to lose feeling in his lips. It’s weird feeling them so sore, so numb. But they are, so he slowly, so slowly pulls back. Leaning down for a few lingering pecks as he puts a little distance between their mouths.

Eddie’s mouth is bright red, spit slick and so tempting. Steve watches with fascination as a single string of spit connects their lips, stretching until he’s put enough distance between them that it breaks.

Steve bites his lip on a moan, thinks that’s one of the hottest things he’s ever seen.

He meets Eddie’s gaze. His eyes are wild, pupils blown out. His hair is an absolute disaster from the way Steve’s been running his fingers through it, and his cheeks are flushed so prettily. Steve can’t resist sneaking one more kiss in, lingering around afterwards to rub their noses together.

“Hi,” Steve finally murmurs and fuck, is that his voice? Jesus, he sounds wrecked.

“Hi,” Eddie says back, his smile verging on loopy. “Did you know that some corvids can understand physics?”

Steve stares at him for a beat, a little stunned and a lot confused by the abrupt topic switch. Eddie stares back, a look on his face that Steve can only take for regret, his already pink face is turning positively crimson. 

It’s dead quiet for a moment, then Steve bursts into laughter. His chest absolutely swells with affection, with, fuck it, love. God damn , he can’t deny it any longer. The love he feels for this boy sitting under him is overwhelming at the best of times, and it feels like it’s just bursting out of him at this moment. He’s coming apart at the seams with his feelings for Eddie, and he’s done trying to pretend that they’re anything but that.

“Oh my God, ” Eddie mutters, bringing his hands up to hide his face. It’s so endearing. Steve is endeared. “Sorry, fuck. I don’t know why I just said that.”

“Jesus Christ, dude.” Steve’s still grinning down at Eddie, moving his hands to clasp around Eddie’s wrists, trying to pry his hands away. He never wants to not be looking at Eddie. He’s so fucking weird and Steve likes him so much. “I like you so fucking much .”

Eddie lets Steve pull his hands away, and he…there’s no other word for it, Eddie just absolutely lights up. It’s like Steve’s staring directly at the sun. Eddie is beaming up at him, his smile so wide that his eyes are basically closed. He has laugh lines, and Steve is already obsessed with them, already thinking of ways to make Eddie smile this wide, this radiant all the time.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks.

“Oh, yeah,” Steve confirms. “Just ask Robin. I’ve been whining about it for weeks .”

Eddie laughs again, his grin not dimming in the slightest, and Steve just has to taste it—has to get his mouth around Eddie’s happiness. So, he swoops back in, feels Eddie’s laughter transfer to him via their connected mouths, feels a piece of himself that’s long been looking for a home finally slot into place.

[enthyrea]

friend of mine gave me the brainrot so. top gun ‘86 but they’re in a band!

goose and mav had the idea to start the band after a night at the o club- goose drags slider into it who drags ice into it (who wanted to join anyways but was too proud to admit it) ice and mav argue about who gets to be lead vocal but eventually ice relents, and it’s not just because of the smile on mav’s face… definitely not (icemav worms got to me)

anyways this is super self indulgent but very fun to draw so pls enjoy

[aberrantcreature]

Obikin - World Between Worlds

Imagine this, if you will, a universe in which Anakin is brutally killed. He dies never knowing how much Obi-Wan loved him, because Obi-Wan never told him. His master never admitted how deep his attachment and fondness for his padawan went. How proud he was of him, how highly he thought of him, how much he loved him more than anything. Obi-Wan has to see his beloved Anakin die and know that he died never knowing any of that. Anakin died thinking his master cared about him in a more basic way, and Obi-Wan is swallowed whole with regret and sorrow.

It’s a regret he cannot live with. A world without Anakin is not one Obi-Wan can live with.

He leaves the Jedi Order, everything behind, with only one goal: to get Anakin back. The darkness offers him power in ways the light never could, methods and ways to possibly get him what he wants. He accepts the help willingly, exhausting every effort and getting rid of every obstacle in his way.

Eventually, his tunnel vision goal, the only reason for his continued existence, gets him to the World Between Worlds.

He walks down the passages of starlight searching and searching and searching. Looking into the doorways and not finding what he’s searching for. After all this time, after all he’s done, and he gets nothing for it?!

Just as he debated taking his red saber and ending his journey, he sees another figure down the path facing him.

Anakin. One with some grey in his hair and vibrant gold in his eyes. Tattered and tired and ruthless and goal-driven. Obi-Wan knows because he sees the same thing in the mirror every day.

It’s an Anakin that had lost his Obi-Wan.

And here, they meet.

[elvesandlanterns]

Pretty sure we’ve all seen the post ( if you know the one please help me! And put it in the comments :) of Jason getting invited to Jokers trial in the Ghost zone right?

And all those the batfam find out what Tim went through fanfics.

Well how about…

Tim being invited to stand witness for the trial of Ras Al Ghoul?

And that’s how everyone finds out about it. His missing spleen all of it. Not because they were clever detectives or an aware family or because Tim choose to tell them but because of fucking ghost law.

Also Tim playing up the trauma as much as possible for the jury and judge (Danny) to absolute horror of his family. XD

Oh also maybe Damian’s clones get invited I always felt kinda bad for them. But not Damian himself- he’d be so mad lol

[gothy-froggy]

Just Imagine:

After collage you and your lover, Azul are living together. While looking through boxes of old stuff, you stumble upon Azul's old mummy Halloween costume. And you notice the harness garters...might as well put them to use

Warning: suggestive, the tweels breaking in

------------------

“Azul, hun, come look at this!” They called out to their loved one. Azul climbed up into the attic and glanced at his lover. They were crouched near piles of boxes. Azul wanted to get rid of the boxes as he saw them as unneeded items. But, they insisted on keeping them. His pretty pearl always said that they’ll find memorable things together within the boxes. The time finally made it way into their lives.

Azul joined them.

“What is it, dear?” He looked down at their hands and saw his old Halloween costume when they were in Night Raven Collage. His old mummy one.

“Remember that Halloween? It was so strange.” How could he forget? He left out a soft huff of amusement.

“How could I forget? It was quite a long day..” Azul glanced back at the costume.

“I didn’t know we still had it.” He mumbled. He watched them fold it back in their hands towards their chest.

“Azul will you put it on?” He paused. They want him to put it on? It’s far from Halloween. He doubts it’ll fit anyways. But he couldn’t say no to them.

“It’s been a while since I last wore it, dear. I don’t think-”

“Please?”

Few moments later, he was in it. To his surprise it still fits him. They placed the hat on his head and adjusted the outfit.

“Still look so handsome in it.” They whispered. Somehow his love still manages to make his heart race. The way their fingers danced around his chest. They tugged on the harness garter close to them. His human legs felt weak.

“I think this costume can be used again.” They kissed his jawline. His face was hot, already turning red.

“Dear, Jade and Floyd are on their way..In fact they most likely let themselves in already-”

“Then hopefully it’s a lesson for them to be patient.” They shed the jacket off of him.

“We’re wasting too much time. Let’s put this to use, yes?”

Azul loves them so much. They’re truly a blessing.

——————————

Please someone make something out of this 🙏

[1-8oo-wtfbro]

idea for a fic: Jason loses his memory after the pit, right, and instead of training him like she did, Talia sees a opportunity. She wants them both (her two sons, Jason and Damian) to live normal lives, so she send them to Gotham, with Jason under the impression that he’s just a normal guy who’s raising his little brother. Sure he still has like, training, but he doesn’t know it.

no, he’s always had super good reflexes ma’am, here’s the cup that u were ab to drop. No, he doesn’t really work out a lot, but he can totally help with those he groceries.

Damian, of course, is rlly young, but still has some training (Jason is always taking the knives from him, and telling him not to ‘play’ with them), and does his best to ‘protect’ his big brother.

and coincidentally, Jason gets a great job

At. Wayne. Enterprises.

[artificergorgug]

Fics I would like to see based on last episode but don't have capacity to write:

AU fic where Riz is alone in the mirror room with Baron (rather than Adaine shattering the mirror)

Fic exploring what's happening outside o the briefcase (especially focused on Aelwyn trying to get her sister back) (I'm sure we'll get some of this next week but Not Enough)

Gorgug POV breaking through his frightened and charmed conditions because of his intense need to protect his friend

something something that one time Fabian got possessed by the nightmare king in fhjy and how he got possessed by Baron this ep

[nostalgicish]

thinking abt fic ideas as someone who can’t write is painful…. like. i’m obsessed w modern aus rn

(i have a few mutuals that write so if you guys wanna……….. 👀 take inspiration from this…… 👀 tag me so i can read it !!)

Lance and Hunk work at a library and like to people watch, guessing what genres they like to read. a grunge/punk guy with the worst RBF walks in and they’re really surprised to see he’s checking out classic romance literature.

idk something with public transportation? like they take the same train/bus/subway every day but they never actually talk— just eyes that meet occasionally and a polite smile but nothing more. until one day, the other guy just.. stops showing up? and Lance is pretty bummed but what can he do? (and then he sees a familiar mop of black hair at the grocery store or a café or something and is like “!! it’s you!!”)

The trio go out to see the next installment of their favorite movie series, but Lance keeps sneaking out of the theater to buy more snacks (and definitely not to talk to the hot guy running the concession stand)

Keith works at a convenience store/gas station and this tall, beautiful man comes in occasionally, but no matter what he buys, he always always always gets a bag of candy that just so happens to be Keith’s favorite too— he always has a bag at his station so he can snack on it throughout his shift. One day, the man is in line without the candy and he honestly looks like shit— he’s definitely not his usual, happy self. Keith asks about the candy. The man replies, “Oh, i couldn’t find any today... You guys must be out.” So Keith gives him a bag from his stash. “You look like you need it more than me.”

Lance goes to the campus library to check out books for his literature class, but every single time, without fail, someone else has taken the last copy. “What do you mean someone else checked out the last copy?? Who??” “That guy.” *insert Keith* (it would be funnier if Keith isn’t even reading them for class, he’s just reading classic literature for funsies)

Lance checks out a novel from the library and there’s an envelope inside with a name written neatly on the front of it. it looks like it’s important so he resolves to find and return the envelope to K. Kogane, whoever that is (another library one?? yeah sorry idc i love public libraries and books and love stories . sue me.)

Keith is a barber/hairdresser and Lance’s regular stylist isn’t available so he’s stuck with Keith -OR- Lance takes his nephew to get his hair cut and Keith looks kinda scary but he’s actually?? really good with kids?? (insert mullet joke here)

Keith meets Pidge’s friends from a different class. Keith is super into Pidge’s hot, tall friend but is discouraged from acting on it because he’s constantly glued to Hunk’s side and making comments like “this is why I love you, Hunky” and (wrongfully) assumes they’re dating (but Lance is just that kind of guy! yk! he says “ily” to his friends all the time!)

bartender Keith is so good but think abt bartender Lance……… yeah….. need i say more??

[hack-saw2004]

this song as the base for a steddie fic with past tommy/steve would be soooo scrumptious...

with these lines as inspiration for how tommy made steve feel ooooo baby my ideas are FLOWING !!!!