#her purple arm has to hurt at least a LITTLE BIT

[cerebralpigeon]

i get WHY chronic pain isnt usually something characters have but that won't stop me from complaining

[xo-cori]

ok but get this

ellie is definitely the type to fall asleep while eating you out. gently tapping her head and you cant help but laugh. shes so cute resting her head on your thigh, completely pussy drunk that it made her so sleepyyyy

ok im done.

opiate this hazy head of mine

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

summary: no matter how tired she may be, she just can’t get enough of you.

warnings: smut (MDNI), slight overstim, brief mention of a minor injury, ellie snoozin

a/n: stop this is so cute. ellie b like… eat sleep repeat

Your eyes shoot up from the book in your lap when you hear the door to the room open, knowing exactly who it is before you even see her face.

It’s at least midnight and it’s almost painful how exhausted you are, but you’d made a habit out of waiting for your girlfriend to get home from patrol before ever going to sleep. As much as you assure her that it’s only because you want to be there for her after such a long day, you know deep down that your own anxieties play a big part in it. Every time she passes the gates to Jackson, there’s a little voice in your head reminding you that this could be the time she never makes it back.

She does, though. Every time. Your luck has been grand so far.

You smile as she trudges over to the bed, flopping down onto the mattress, breathing in the scent of the freshly washed sheets. You set your book down on the nightstand. “Long time, no see.”

“Too long.” Ellie groans, crawling up the bed until she’s settled between your legs, cheek pressing against your upper chest.

You wrap your arms around her and place a kiss on her frizzy hair. “Agreed,” you mumble, “but you know the rules. No outside clothes on the bed.”

Her chest puffs up before she lets out an exasperated sigh. “Come on. You can’t make an exception for me?”

“Not really, since the rule is specifically for you.” You gently push on her shoulders to make her sit up, which she does hesitantly. “Come on. The faster you change, the faster we can go to sleep.”

Ellie grumbles as she scoots to the edge of the bed so she can get to work with unlacing her shoes. While she does that, you stand up to retrieve the pajamas that you had laid out for her; a big, grey t-shirt and one of her many pairs of black boyshorts. You walk over to her and slip her shirt off over her head. “Oh, Els,” you sigh, reaching out to see that she’s got a bruise on her shoulder. It’s a big one and it’s already dark, a pretty mix of purple and yellow. “How’d you get that?”

“Kinda embarrassing, actually– I ran into this tree branch that was sticking through a window. It doesn’t really hurt as long as I don’t move my arm.” She shrugs.

You shake your head as you move down to start unbuttoning her jeans, which are just utterly filthy. Blood, dirt, and some other nasty shit that you don’t wanna know about; you aren’t exactly a clean freak, but you’d be caught dead before letting her stay in these clothes any longer than she has to. You pull her jeans down along with her underwear and pass her the pajamas. “I’m gonna go get a washcloth.”

As you walk away, you toss her dirty clothes into the laundry basket before wetting a rag with warm water in the bathroom, then taking a seat next to her on the bed. She’s already got her pajamas on and is rubbing the exhaustion from her eyes.

“Fuck, I’m tired.” She practically whispers.

You pick up her arm and run the washcloth over any bits of dirt that lingered on her skin. “I know,” you hum, “just want you to be comfortable.”

Ellie watches you clean her off with a focused care, handling her like a porcelain doll that could break at any moment. If it were anyone else, she would’ve gotten pissed off at how weak it makes her feel. But you aren’t anybody else. You’re the only person who can break down those walls she put up with nothing but a washcloth and a fresh pair of pajamas.

When you’re done, you just throw the rag on the bedside table and crawl back up the bed, motioning for her to follow you, which she does without a second thought. She lands herself in the same position as before, just a but cleaner this time; ear pressed to your heartbeat, sighing contently when she feels your arms wrap around her. “Yeah, this is pretty damn comfortable.” She says, though her voice is muffled by your shirt.

“Worth the thirty seconds it took for you to get changed?” You wonder, the snarky tone not making its way past Ellie.

She lifts her head to look at you with a huff. “You’re a lot prettier when you aren’t talking, you know that?”

You reach up to jokingly push her face away from you, but she takes it as an opening to latch onto your neck, chapped lips peppering kisses across your pulse point. Both of you know what that means, and you’d like to stop it before it goes too far. “Oh– Ellie, I think we should go to sleep,”

She hums against your throat, a quiet mm-mmm that shows her determination to finish what she’s started, regardless of how tempted she is by sleep. You sigh out in both disapproval and pleasure; a hypocritical combination that she pretends not to notice. Before you know it, her hands are sneaking under the fabric of your shirt, calloused fingers brushing over the soft skin on either side of your stomach. “You’re a pain in my ass.” You mutter.

Her only response is a quick bite to your neck, causing you to gasp and dig your fingers into her back, but she’s already moving down your body before you can react. Her hands smooth their way to the waistband of your bottoms, which happen to be a pair of her own boxers, she realizes with a smirk. “Come on. You put on my boxers and expected me to not get all hot and bothered?”

“Don’t ever say ‘hot and bothered’ again, but yeah– I know what makes you tick.” You reply honestly. She just rolls her eyes as she quickly pulls them down your legs, helping you kick them off to the floor. Not only can she already smell you, but the sight is enough to make her mind go blank. How are you already so wet? Had you been expecting this?

Her eyes momentarily flicker over to the book you’d placed on the nightstand and sees that it’s a familiar one; the one with a few portions questionable enough that you hurriedly stuff into one of the drawers before Joel or any of your friends come to visit. She grins at the realization. “Holy shit, you’re all hot and bothered too, huh?”

Before you’re even able to come up with another response, perhaps berate her for using that damn phrase again, you feel Ellie’s thumb swipe through your folds to bring some wetness up to your clit so that she can rub it in slow circles. Your hands grab onto the sheets and your legs fall open, making more room for her to lay between them comfortably. “Yeah, you are. Jeez.”

As turned on as you are, you can’t help but worry for her a bit; this is probably the latest she’s come back from a patrol, and if Maria hadn’t lectured her yet, she would definitely be in for it tomorrow. The dim yellow light from the lamp next to the bed gives you a clear view of those bags beneath her eyes, too, as she looks up at you like it doesn’t even phase her.

“Maybe, but you’re tired,” you whine, reaching down to stroke her freckled cheek with your thumb.

“Are you?” She asks.

You tuck some loose hair behind her ear. “No, but still, you–”

Much to your surprise (the best kind, you hate to admit), Ellie cuts you off by replacing her thumb with her tongue, immediately latching onto your twitching clit like it’s her sworn duty. Your hips jump as you gasp, taken aback by the sudden rush of pleasure that courses through you. Her quiet moans don’t do much to help. That hand on her cheek quickly comes up to grab her hair, clearly unsure whether you should pull her away or tug her closer. Either way, she doesn’t budge. You knew she wouldn’t.

Though it still feels good, way too good, you notice the tiredness creeping up on Ellie while she exhausts her last bits of energy into eating you out– slowly, more messy than usual, which is a welcome change. Little do you know, the only thing keeping her from completely dozing off is the feeling of your fingers tugging her hair (and the way your taste melts on her tongue like honey).

Due to this change in pace, it’s easier for you to keep your legs open wide for her, not exactly having the energy to struggle whatsoever and not wanting to tire her any more than she already is. If this is what she chooses to help her relax, then so be it; you’re getting something out of it too, after all.

A few minutes go by before you’re weakly crying out her name. “Els, I’m close,” you say, “just like that, okay? Oh, fuck,”

Ellie gives a tired smile as she pushes one finger into your clenching hole, softly curling it upwards into that spot that knocks the air out of you every single time. That’s all it takes to push you over the edge.

Your hand falls from her head and seeks out her free hand, twining your fingers together as she lets you ride out a gentle, quivering orgasm– but she doesn’t stop there. Of course she doesn’t.

It takes you a moment to process that she hasn’t stopped, even after removing her finger from inside of you. Her tongue is relentless as ever despite the ache in her bones telling her that her time is up.

“Ellie–” You hardly whine out, cut by a gasp. Still, though, you don’t make any attempt to fight back. You just squirm and cry as she licks up the mess she’s made of you with no regard for your sensitivity. It isn’t because she’s feeling mean, though. Just one glance down at her is all it takes for you to understand that she’s really just out of it.

You squeeze her hand each time she moans into you, the once pleasurable vibrations becoming torturous. Not before long, though, those moans turn to whines, then huffs, until you feel her head go limp against your thigh as she licks you one last time before letting out a low hum.

Relief floods you when you think she might just be done for the night

That is, until you look down once more and see that she’s completely knocked out.

Your eyes widen. Her lips glisten in the little bit of light in her room, her hands resting on your hips, cheek smushed against your shivering inner thigh. It’s a beautiful sight, really, but the context makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

Cautiously, you shake your leg, jostling her head and watching her brows furrow at the disturbance. “Ellie.”

Her squinted eyes finally flutter open and meet yours, obviously still well aware of her situation. “What, can’t a girl get some shut-eye around here?” She groans.

You shake your leg again before she can nuzzle back into it, which is her cue to hesitantly crawl up to your side, bringing the blanket over the both of you before wrapping an arm around your waist and burying her face into the warm crook of your neck. “Better?” Ellie questions muffledly.

You reach over to run your fingers through her (now messy) hair, successfully easing her sleepy state of irritation. “Much better, sleeping beauty.”

Though you expect your tease to be met with a dirty look or at least a snarky comment in return, you’re met with a very telling silence. Then, that big exhale Ellie always does whenever she’s completely fallen asleep.

[helluvapoison]

4. Trying to hide your injury from them, but failing miserably once you faint right in front of them, "5. Where does it hurt the most?" with Lucifer and reader

Injured Prompt

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

Did you know when you roll your ankle you’re not supposed to walk on it? You might’ve known that if the Pride Ring’s hospital ever answered the fucking phone!

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

If your boyfriend Lucifer wasn’t out and about today, making up for some odd months of meetings, he could’ve teleported you there in no time. Then again, if he was here he might summon Belphegor themself. Not wanting to bother anyone, you told yourself it would be fine. Besides with Hell’s “no checking out early” healing abilities, it would right itself on its own by tomorrow! That continued to be your mantra but as the day got away from you it became harder to ignore that stabbing pain in your foot.

It certainly didn’t help that you’d overexerted yourself by helping Charlie move things up and down the hall because Nifty had clogged the pipes (again) which resulted in minor flooding damage. The whole time it felt like Vaggie’s suspicious stare saw right through your poorly worn mask. Charlie asked no less than 22 times if you were ok to which you waved off her concerns. It took a few hours but the furniture was moved out of the room, leaving only a mushy carpet to deal with. Neither Kiki nor Alastor could be found and since Lucifer wasn’t there to snap the problem away, the princess attempted herself. However her powers were still a bit… undisciplined. The best she could do to try and evaporate the water had actually set the carpet on fire.

Vaggie rested her hand on Charlie’s shoulder with a soft smile, “It might be time for a break, babe. Don’t want you to overdo it.” She pointedly shot that part at you.

With a sigh the blonde conceded and allowed Vaggie to usher her out.

Simultaneously grateful but cursing the downtime, you waited a minute before leaving yourself. Now that you've slowed to a stop your ankle throbbed with vengeance. Peeling your sock back to take a peek, you gasped. Your foot was definitely not purple this morning! Shit shit shit, it was definitely time for a break!

You limped to the elevator, using the wall for support when Lucifer rounded the corner. Like the wall had tried to bite you, you yanked your hand from it and forced both feet flat on the ground. You grimaced, poorly trying to conceal it with a smile.

“Duckie!” You greeted through a wheeze. Has breathing been this hard all day?

With much more enthusiasm in his voice, he sang your name and rushed over. Lucifer lifted you off the ground to spin with you in his arms, unknowingly providing momentary relief. His laugh and smile were infectious. Just a second with him had swept you into the world you shared and washed away your troubles. Unfortunately they returned once he set you down and despite how gently he did, you hissed when you touched the floor again.

“What was that?” He asked with a tilted head, holding onto your waist.

“Oh, uh, I’m practicing my Sir Pentious impression!”

You’re unsure why you lied. Maybe a part of you wanted to pretend for a little longer. You think back to the time you got a paper cut and he forced you into bed rest for three days. Once he found out about your ankle nearly snapping in half, you would, inadvertently, send him spiraling into his mother duck state of mind! And the poor man never seemed to catch a break! You didn’t want to stress him out over something that would heal.

He seemed to believe your fib.

At least someone did because it was getting harder to convince yourself.

“It’s good, it’s good!” Lucifer nodded thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes. You instantly knew he was trying to recall just who the serpent fellow was. “Anywho, I ran into Charlie just now. Heard this place almost fell apart without me, huh?”

He nudged your arm with his elbow, prompting you to laugh instead of focusing on the pain. You forced the sound out a bit too much to try and make leaning against the wall look natural. It didn’t. You almost collapsed against the surface, sliding down as your leg began to give. Lucifer slipped his hands under your arms, doing the majority work of holding you up. Your head began nodding off and you realized you were face to face with him. Not a good sign considering your height difference. He was wearing his nervous grin that you knew all too well he only put on before he started panicking internally.

“Darling, is this part of the Sir Pina Colada impression? Starting to, uh, worry over here.”

“Nothing, nothing. I think… I just… nee..”

The last thing you see is Lucifer’s smile dropping entirely, pupils shrinking to worry-filled slits.

Then black.

~

There’s a moment while waking up where it’s pure bliss. You’re not you; you’re not anyone. You barely exist— and then you do. The worries, memories, pain; it all comes rushing up on you like a train and hits you just as hard. You scrunch your nose and pull your eyebrows together as you attempt to sit up. Silk under your palms have you acutely aware that you’re not in your bed, but Lucifer’s. And you know what they say about speaking of the devil.

“Oh no! Nonononono, I don’t think so,” He sings, gently pushing your shoulders back until you’re flat against the plushy pillows, “You’ve got some explaining to do. ”

“Fuck, ‘m sorry,” You groan, “I thought I had it under control! I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Au contraire, darling, I want to worry about you! Just maybe not that much next time, alright? I think I had a heart attack! If that’s what those feel like… Ech.” Lucifer was wracked by a shiver, shaking off the final wave with his head.

You let out a breathy laugh.

The man smiled at the sound and honed his full attention on you, forcing a serious, but soft, tone, “Now! Doctor Morningstar is here to help, so tell me, where does it hurt most? ”

“My ankle.”

You recoiled when he attempted to peel away your sock. He muttered an apology, studying your foot rather unfazed. As interesting as it was to watch him get truly somber about something, you couldn’t appreciate it right now. The fire spreading from your ankle stole all your senses and he wasn’t even touching it anymore.

“It wasn’t all purple-y yesterday right? We might have to amputate.”

“Lucifer.” You growled through grit teeth.

He chuckled. “Sorry. That one killed when Charlie was younger. Ok, ok! Pain management first, jokes later.”

There was a heavy knock on the door that made both of you turn your heads. Your eyes narrowed while a bright grin spread across his porcelain face.

“Are you expecting someone?” You asked suspiciously.

“Belphegor, of course!”

Of course.

[radioisntdead]

Omg i need more platonic Alastor and child overlord reader! Like i need child reader to be a menace to society! I need Valentino quivering in his boots as he glances at child reader! Like im talking reader was reason Val has a messed up entente. Alastor trying to manipulate the kid only for child reader to laugh it off and sip their juicebox. Child reader should definitely be an arsonist, having a thing for fire.

Good evening my dear! This is a little shorter then intended but I hope you enjoy!

Alastor & Child reader, platonic obviously.

Warnings!

FERAL CHILD READER, making this a prequel or au? [?] of the other one, reader became an overlord by accident, child reader is still a doll, I am still TERRIFIED OF PORCELAIN DOLLS

Alastor began to regret picking you up from the streets as your teeny tiny little hands patted his fluffy ears, it was fine the first few days as he tried to find your parents, after all you were a child.

He was unable to be rid of you, he tried to drop you off at a hell orphanage, you appeared again, put you back in the alley he found you, you appeared again, you were inescapable.

Alastor didn't even know you became an overlord until an invite to a overlord meeting was given to you sent by Carmilla Carmine, how did she know you became an overlord?

The overlord meeting was confusing, you didn't want to be there, they were confused on how you got there, you were sat sipping on a juice box that Auntie Rosie had brought you Infront of you a coloring book with crayons.

They were discussing something you didn't care about, overlord duties, territory issues blah blah blah, what did catch your attention though was the purple guy squinting at Rosie, he made a comment about making her a star causing Rosie to frown, the static that Alastor produced made your ears hurt and that pinwheeled into Carmilla asking the purple guy what possessed him to make that comment and kicked him out of the meeting and that was that.

For now.

Alastor held your hand as he walked you up to the Vees tower, he leaned over you

"Small one, do you remember that awfully tacky dressed thing from our little meeting today?"

You nodded,

"The one that made Auntie Rosie frown?"

"That's the one! Be a dear and do what you do best and-" he gently grabbed your arms and rolled up your sleeves, looking them over to make sure they wouldn't come loose and fall

"T̸̛͍͇͕̖͓̗̰̱̗̙̤̝̥̘̪͉̋̔̏̋̈͛̊͂͌̆̀͛̐͘͝e̴̢̛̘͔̩͍̣̪͈̞̘̖̦̤͙̫̾̽̌̌̐͗̈̾̿͐͗̆͂̒͘͜a̴̡̢̢͉̗̥̩̦͚̻̼͙͓̬͔̣͆̔̑̓̓̀͊̾̈́̃̀̉̓̇͘͝r̴̖͈̹͕͖͖̲̪͓̜̠̺̖̝̦̍͌̿́͒̈́̎͗͊̌̚͝͝͝͠͠ͅ ̸̡̡̢̥̣͍̖͙͍̰͕̟͍̯̲̍̎͑̎̅̎͗̈́̌̍̂͋̎́͠͠ͅh̴̛̞̰͍̪̘̞̜̗͍̞̞̝̖̩̼̠̓̋̿̅͐́̋̾͒̑̊̍̏̿͝i̵̧̢̛̳̗̗̠͒̓͋̈́̓̑͌̄̌̃͑̄͘͘̚m̶̢͚͚̞̯͕͍̬̩̭͖̦̯͉̖̭̒͌̈́̿̏̏̔̂̍̽̃̉͘̚̕͝ ̶̢̧̗͔̩̖̙̼̙̳͉̦̬̱̺̰͊̓̒̃̍̍͒̽͌̋̑̓́̌̕͝a̴̯͚͉̼̺̥͖̬̪̟͍͉̼̩̫̅͌́͗́́͑̽̇͆̐͗̋̒̾̕͜p̸̛̛̙͓̯͙͈͚̜͔̱͚͈̝̲̹̟̲͗̈́̓̆̀̆̌͆̔́͗̚͝͝a̶̢̨̝̘̮͙͕̼̰͍̹̲̮̮̥̥͛͆͐̾͐͛͗̃̑̂̾̑̒͐̚̚r̷̢̛͍̯̖̪͍̱̹̺͖͉̭̥̣̹̾̇͒̉̈̿́̒͋̓̈́̓̚͘͜͝ẗ̴̢͍̺̰̱̮̗͓̟̱̯̥͙̜̝͑͌͆̑̓̂͛̊̔͌̆̉̏̂͛͜ ̵̡̧̧̢͕̜͙̜͙͈̝̪̜̮̲̐̆̈́̌͑͛̑͗̐̍̚̕̕͜͝͝͝"

the static in his voice stung your ears but you didn't care too much because you just got permission to be absolutely feral, not that you needed that permission in the first place.

You skipped cheerfully into the tower sneaking past the receptionist and into an elevator, luckily for you the purple man from earlier came rushing into the elevator.

Valentino was now stuck with you.

Valentino was confused when the regular elevator music changed to boss music and that's when he looked down to see two large child eyes staring back at him.

"What the-aCK" he didn't even get to finish his sentence as you grabbed fist fulls of his wings and climbed up him, actively growling like a feral raccoon.

The elevator dinged as it opened up, Valentino fell out small puddles of what one could assume to be blood puddled out beneath him startling several employees,

You stood tall [or at least you felt like it], wearing Valentino's heart shaped glasses, the white bits of one of Valentino's antennas in your hand before you grinned and threw it up like confetti.

"Okie-dokie! I'm done, bye-bye!" You said gleefully before kicking the rest of Valentino out of the elevator and pushed a button to go back down humming cheerfully as the door closed and someone rushed over to Valentino.

He didn't come to overlord meetings after that, at least not when you were there.

"Little one, sign this."

Alastor said as he came to you holding a contract and your favorite flavor of crayon,

"No,"

"Please?"

"Nope"

"I'll give you candy and I'll let you go to bed at 9:30 instead of 8:45"

"No!"

You shook your head and shouted before taking a sip of your juicebox, Alastor opened his smiling mouth to say something only to get interrupted by horrendous banging on the hotel doors.

"ANGEL, I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE COME OUT."

It seemed the purple man had come to do something to Angel dust, your favorite babysitter, you looked up and blinked at your forcibly adopted parent as if asking for permission, you weren't asking you were giving a forewarning.

Alastor just nodded smile growing larger as you skipped over to the hotel doors and swung em' open, stopping the moth mid door attack.

Valentino was stunned for a moment as he saw no one was seemingly there, you coughed to get his attention.

Valentino looked down at you, juice box in hand and a grin large on your little face,

A chill ran through his spine, he knew you.

He blinked, the juicebox in your hand was replaced with a lighter.

He opened his mouth to let out a scream attempting to scramble away from you before you took away his other antenna,

Unfortunately for him he wasn't fast enough in his escape as you had set his wings on fire, turns out they're really flammable!

Good evening folks I'm scheduling this for Monday at 8 am so hopefully it'll actually post! Thank you for tuning in I hope you enjoyed!

[russellsppttemplates]

Let me love on you a little more (Charles Leclerc)

Sometimes, it felt like what you were doing was a drop in the immense ocean, but Charles always made you feel a little better when you had the chance to go home

Note: english is not my first language. I based this on the news and stories I heard from people on the front line! This is in no way romanticising or summing up what happened, much less downplaying it! I hold huge huge respect and gratitude for healthcare workers!

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: Covid-19 pandemic and themes associated with reader being a front line worker as a doctor (mentions hospitals, tests, death)

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3

"You can follow the purple line to the testing site we have here", you told the elderly woman.

"Is it going to hurt too much? My neighbour had to get tested to weeks ago when she visited her family and she said it's uncomfortable", she mused.

"It's a little itchy, I have to admit it, but it shouldn't hurt you, just a little bit uncomfortable, Mrs. Loire", you attempted to soothe her, your usual hand on the patients' arm now a strongly inadvisable way to comfort them.

"Thank you, Dr. Y/L/N", he said, her eyes letting you know that behind her mask there was a big smile on appreciation and gratitude.

Taking temperatures and checking flu like symptoms was not how you thought your medical career would pan out once you chose your speciality, but the new normal was this and you were working your best to do what you got into medicine to do in the first place, improve and save lives.

"How many people have you sent to the testing site?", your colleague Marina asked you when she noticed that for now, there were no walk-ins or ambulances with new patients.

"Just this morning, twenty-five", you sighed, "the closest I got to a potential non-Covid case was the kid that broke his arm, but Ortho swooped him right from me".

"Are you truly so disappointed about not being on an Orthopedics case?", she chuckled, "you hated everytime you had to be on that floor", she argued.

"I'd do anything that isn't watching people die because we don't have enough equipment or because we don't know enough about this disease to stop it", you let your frustrations out.

"We're going to win this, Y/N", Marina squeezed your shoulder, "you're usually the hopeful one on the service, but I can hope for the two of us today", she replied earnestly, "I'm going to have lunch now, do you want to go with me and sit on opposite tables so I can at least look at your face without a mask from a distance?".

"Let's go, I'm starving and I'm going up to the ward this afternoon", you raised your eyebrows, tidying up the station for whoever would cover the afternoon shift there.

As you walked to the area you had lunch in, you were happy to find the sun shinning outside on the green park area where you or the patients' family would take them to get fresh air when they were still admitted and recovering. It wasn't a thing now for obvious reasons, so you and Marina ended up in there keeping a safe distance while enjoying the feeling on the sun on your bare skin.

"Do you sometimes feel like you're losing all sense of time in there?", Marina nudged to the big building, "my mother's birthday was yesterday and I thought it was still a month away - she called me to say she had left a piece of cake for me by my door".

"Yesterday, Charles called me and told me he has going to wash my favourite hoodie of his and then wear it around the house so that by the time I came home it was nice and smelling the way I liked it. Then I reasoned with him that it wasn't this weekend because how could it be? Then I realised he was right", you took a spoonful from the tupperware.

"Are you spending the weekend at home?", Marina asked, smiling at how you seemed to finally be taking care of yourself.

You had been one of the doctors who didn't mind staying for longer in the hospital, reasoning that you didn't have kids and fortunately your family members didn't need assistance so you could cover more shifts and work as much to keep everything running smoothly. It caught up with you as it did with all your colleagues so you set specific times in your calendar where you would go home and, barring any catastrophic situation at the hospital, no one would call you for the days you spent home so you could fully relax with Charles.

"Yes, five days at home and then I'm back", you sighed, "and you? How is your little one doing?", you asked.

"My wife texted me an hour into my shift to say that Milo had a Skype call with his class and their teacher and he said his mama was in the hospital being a hero", she gave you a big smile and looked up to control the tears, "it's hard being away from them, but these little moments help", she added.

"Charles does streams with his friends, and apparently he's always mentioning me and the people on the chat have been very supportive - whenever he calls me he tells me that some fans recognise my voice and my name from the virtual appointments and that they've been here and treated by me, too", you blushed, "He's always hyping me up and I can't wait to be with him".

Stopping by the coffee machine, you both got another expresso shot before parting ways since Marina wasn't on the Covid ward for that shift.

"We've just intubated three more patients", the doctor finished her rounding up to you and the rest of the team that would take over for them, "beds five and six aren't looking good and we've alerted their family members already", he nudged.

Everyone knew what it meant when it came to calling the families, so you nodded, "hopefully they'll get here on time, have them page me downstairs when they arrive, please", you asked one of the interns before you excused yourself to put your personal protective equipment on.

"Is that you, Y/N?", one of the younger kids you had treated said as you got out of the room.

"Yes, it's me! You have a good eye, Arlo!", you smiled before noticing nurse Francesca pulling his wheelchair, "are you going home, sweet boy?", you gasped.

Arlo had been the first child you treated in the ward, only having seen adults up until that moment and it changed a switch in you. A small child struggling so much seemed to shake something inside you, and every time you called his parents with updates, you wished that you'd never have to make the dreaded call.

"I am, my lungs are all good and I'm not warm anymore!", he smiled, "I finally get to go home, my parents are downstairs waiting for me. Did you give Charles my thank you hug for the cap?", he asked.

When you noticed the little boy talking about the last Monaco GP and how he hoped one day he would be able to meet his favourite driver, Charles Leclerc, you couldn't find it in you to keep your relationship undisclosed. So, when you went home the last time, you asked Charles to sign one cap for you and told him to be ready for a FaceTime with the little boy. Arlo was the happiest you had seen him since he had been admitted, lighting up when he saw your boyfriend on the screen and giving him a few smiles despite his tired and sick state.

"I haven't been home yet, but I will give him the biggest hug at the end of the week!", you smiled, "I'm so happy for you, Arlo!", you gushed, making the gesture to blow him as kiss as he waved goodbye.

There were good stories, and even though they in no way erased the sad ones, they helped you carry on with the fight.

Laying on the on-call room after your shift, you took off your mask since no one else was allowed inside it other than you, doing your usual routine and setting your phone in the window sill.

"Hey, amour", Charles said on the phone, "how was your day?", he asked as he watched you towell dry your hair.

"Hey, mon coeur", you offered him a small smile, "I'm so tired I can't guarantee I won't fall asleep in a minute".

"It's okay, I won't mind. Did you get tested?", Charles asked as he seemed to be tucking himself to bed as well.

"Yes, another swab up my nose", you flashed him two thumbs up, "I'll have the results in the morning and hopefully I can get out of here for a few days and spend them with you and not quarantine in a hotel room", you crossed your fingers, "I don't have any symptoms, but still, you never know with this bastard".

"We'll spend it together, amour", he comforted, "I already have a lazy couple of days planned out for us", he smiled as you too tucked yourself on the oncall room bed.

"That sounds amazing", you closed your eyes briefly, "I can't wait to be with you", you yawned.

Charles knew better than to start anything important, just happy to see you were resting, safe and sound, making small talk to lull you to sleep before he ended the call.

After attending the virtual meeting so you could update the next team on how the service was running before you left, the results from test came back negative, which meant you could finally drive home.

Unlocking the door, you stepped inside as you heard commotion coming from the living room, "stay away while I put all of this in the cabinet", you warned Charles.

He was quick to go to the bedroom, getting his hoodie and a pair of shorts for you, "as much as I'd love to hold you all day looking like that", your boyfriend nodded to your figure in just underwear, "I think you'll be more cosy in these", he approached you as you finally let him touch you, his arms going around your waist and pulling your bodies closer, "I've missed you so much, Y/N", he whispered.

"I missed you so much, too", you pulled your face away from his chest before kissing his lips in a proper greeting.

Charles guided you to the living room after you got dressed in his clothes, stopping by the kitchen door to check if you had a proper breakfast to which you said yes, so he took you to the sofa, snuggling you two under the blanket as he put one of your favourite shows on the TV.

"I love you, Charles", you would say every now and again, completing the affectionate moments with a kiss or a squeeze.

During the afternoon, you and Charles ended up napping on the sofa, Charles waking up with you still fast asleep on his chest, making him kiss your forehead a couple of times and pull the blanket to cover you up.

"How long was I out for?", you rubbed your eyes two hours later, looking up to see your boyfriend's smile.

"A couple of hours, it looked like a really good nap", he kissed your nose.

"Yes, it was", you squeezed his body, "I'm really craving some carbonara for dinner, do you think we have what the recipe needs?", you questioned.

"We do - I did the food shop earlier this week and I got all of the supplies", he smiled, brushing your hairs away from your eyes and behind your ears, "do you want to get started on it?".

"Yes - I need to pee first, but I'll meet you in the kitchen", you winked, pecking his lips multiple times before getting up.

As he watched you walk to the bathroom, thoughts came flooding in.

This is what he wanted with you. Cosy intimacy that went beyond what happened in the bedroom. The domesticity that went beyond just spending time together and that shines through in the little moments of intertwined routines, special requests and little talks in the middle of the night about random existential questions.

Stepping into the kitchen, Charles gathered the ingredients, pots and pans before you stepped inside too, hugging his waist and nuzzling your face on his back, "you're so comfy, Charlie", you cooed before he turned around so he could face you, cupping your cheeks and rubbing them.

"And you're so gorgeous, mon coeur", he complimented, making you melt inside as you focused on the pads of his thumbs against your skin.

Slicing the guanciale, you removed the rind and cut the rest into small pieces while Charles grated the pecorino cheese and added the egg yolks to the same bowl, the pasta already cooking with the timer on the side.

Scrambling everything into the pot one last time before adding the pasta water a little bit at a time until it was spot on as you liked, making you serve it up in the plates and head back to the sofa.

"Haven't you had enough of the sofa?", you giggled as Charles let you sit before he placed the tray on your lap, doing the same with his own, "I know I haven't had the energy for much else, but maybe tomorrow we can go hike if you'd like", you suggested.

"I want to spend time with you, wherever you are - you're in the sofa, I'm in the sofa, you're in the kitchen, I'm in the kitchen, if you're in the bathroom, I'm in the bathroom", he stated like it was clear as water.

"Maybe not when I'm in the toilet, though, okay?", you squinted as he laughed at your antics.

Charles tidied up after the both of you, sending you to the ensuite bathroom for a bath he'd join you in as soon as he was done.

"You didn't get in?", Charles slumped his shoulders slightly as he saw you sprawled out on the bed.

"I was partially in a food coma, but also - I didn't want to get in alone and the water was a little too hot so I had to let it cool for a bit", you smiled, letting him pull you up and into the bathroom.

Stepping inside the bathroom, Charles grabbed your hips, "let me love on you a little bit more, mon coeur", he said as he pulled you to him, grabbing the hem of the hoodie you were wearing and taking it off of your torso, kissing the skin on your shoulders.

As he stopped his ministrations on your skin, you took the opportunity to take his t-shirt off while you shimmied your shorts and underwear, caressing his muscles before he also took the rest of his clothes off.

"Feels good", Charles dipped his fingers in the tub, getting in himself so he could help you sit between his legs and lay your back on his chest.

Your boyfriend brought his hands together and formed a shell shape with them, collecting water in them and wetting your shoulder blades, then letting it cascade down your neckline, boobs and tummy before he let his hands wander around to feel your body, hoping it would show you his love and appreciation for you.

After you got out, Charles rubbed your products on your face, giggling when you made little faces before you put on pyjamas, tucking into bed and cuddling his chest.

"You know I've missed you so much, but our bed feels heavenly right now", you chuckled, kissing his naked chest, "I love you, Charles", you mumbled before sleep took over you.

"I love you, beautiful girl, sleep tight", he whispered against your hair, kissing the top of your head before he rubbed your back.

Charles was woken up from your body moving a lot and the clammy feeling of your hand on his chest, looking for your face and noticing the crease on your forehead, "hey, amour", he gently shook you awake, "wake up for me, please, it's okay, you're okay", he urged as you opened your eyes wide as you took in where you were.

"I'm home, I'm home", you mumbled, taking deep breaths like Charles encouraged you to once you sat up, doing them with you a couple of times until you calmed down.

"You are, mon coeur, you are", Charles kissed your forehead when you rested your back against the headboard.

After standing there in silence while Charles played with your fingers on your lap, you were able to speak about it, "I hit five this week", you mumbled, "five people who have died on my watch since this thing started, five family members I've had to call to tell them their loved one didn't make it.

"And it's a small number when you compare it to other countries - so many colleagues are already on their one hundredth, but Monaco is so small", you reasoned, "I haven't had a number this high since I started at the hospital - in my regular service, I never lost five people".

"It's not your fault, amour - a virus is out there and you're working so hard to contain it", Charles pulled you to his chest, rubbing your arm up and down and kissing the side of your head, "the work you're doing with the testing site, making sure to slow the spread and ensuring everyone is as healthy as they can be - you're part of that, Y/N, and even though it doesn't seem like it, you're still winning, you're still beating the universe".

"I couldn't do it without you", you mused and Charles' scoff alerted you, "it's true, Charles! I would never be able to stay at the hospital for so long if you weren't supportive, if you weren't helping my parents and making sure they're doing okay when I can't do it! The way you support me and are there for me - the way your holding me like you always do", you snuggled further into him, "this helps me keep going - you do", you kissed his jaw, seeing his blushed cheeks in the dimly lit bedroom.

"We're a good team then", he accepted the compliment, kissing your temple again, "do you think you can go back to sleep or maybe we could have a chat, watch some TV, have a lazy makeout session", he wiggled his eyebrows.

"That last idea sounds great, I've missed that", you rolled over properly, taking his lips in yours as his hands roamed along your tummy.

[jiwoneiric]

give me your forever

the world is against you, except one.

pairing: non-idol!pham hanni x bestfriend!reader

genre: hurt comfort

tags: y/n got her heart broken, pham hanni isn't having any of it, y/n is ofc a '04 liner, y/n is much taller than hanni.

warning: cursing, self-hatred, injuries, self-doubts

word counts: 1.8k

playlist

you are never going to be enough for anyone.

the last sentence your girlfriend said to you lingers in your mind.

wait, no.

she’s your ex-girlfriend now.

it was the last thing she said to you and the last thing you have heard from anyone since you drowned yourself in the comfort of your bed. you’ve cried a lot. too much to the point you can’t physically cry anymore. it’s like you have run out of tears to let out. your friends have simultaneously come and go to your dormitory room but no one could get over the other side of the wall. 

well, at least, not yet.

you know deep inside that you will only allow your best friend to do so but her being MIA for the past few days got you worried, and inevitably hurt. 

where did she go? is she sick? or is she just going to abandon you like jinah did?

her absence affects you so much but you don’t have the energy to reach out, adding to the fact that what jinah said to you has affected you significantly.

so, you just wait, albeit the sting on your heart starts to grow into a punch on your heart.

you know your friends are getting worried with the nonstop notifications and ringtones ringing from your phone but you still lay lifelessly on your bed.

it is not that you like jinah that much but the way she took your heart and stomped on that poor thing two days ago hurt you a little bit too much. you hated how you remember vividly the way she slipped out all those words about you being undeserving of being loved, about you being so egoistic that no one would dare to look your way again.

and it is all because of the dare she took from her best friend, who turned out to be one of the suitors you have rejected in the past.

was your rejection too harsh? you don’t think so. you rejected her politely, saying how she is a good person but you are not interested in having a romantic relationship with her. so, why was jinah’s best friend so mad?

or was it jinah who was mad all along?

you don’t know and thinking about the possibilities hurts your head so bad so you shrug it off.

and a soft knock on your door pulls your attention.

“choi y/n?”

the long-awaited voice has finally arrived. you smile bitterly before standing up to open the door for her.

“hey—”

you hadn’t finished greeting her when you got engulfed in a tight hug from pham hanni. reciprocating the hug, you freeze when she lets out a wince.

“han?”

“i’m fine, i’m fine.”

not convinced, you break the hug immediately and the sight in front of you causes you to gasp loudly.

hanni has bandages all over her arms. her left cheek is in the shade of dark purple, most probably from a punch or two.

“w-what happened?”

your sorrow is neglected as worries fill your entire system. knowing that han won’t budge, you immediately yet carefully guide her to take a seat on the side of your bed.

“y/n—”

“who did you beat?”

you say sternly, giving hanni zero chance to change the topic.

“or, should i ask, who the hell beaten you up?”

you let out a grunt when all she did was look away, avoiding your questions like the plague. you are not in a good mood so her act irritates you more than it should.

“if you are not going to tell me, just go.”

that sentence was what you needed to make her look your way again. you know you caught her off-guarded with those words, causing her to panic almost instantly.

“o—okay! i’ll tell you! just…”

her voice dies down but you wait, knowing how she needs some time to rethink her decision and let the silence engulf the room.

“i kinda need a hug…”

you noticed the pained and drained look on her face and immediately agreed in silence as you climbed your bed to lie down before patting the space beside you.

once you think she’s comfortable in her position, you pull her into your embrace. a smile formed on your face when you heard her contented sigh.

“so, the thing is that i was really really mad, and still am, to be very honest, at that damn jinah so i kinda went up to her when i saw her walking outside yesterday.”

“so you throw the punch first, hm?”

you giggle softly when hanni can only let out a whine.

“i mean, she looked so smug at that time i couldn’t hold myself back any more!”

you feel hanni’s grip on your shirt tighten. you love how you can read hanni like an open book and the fact that she only acts like this with you. you keep caressing her silky hair that recently got shorter since she said she wants a change in her so-called dull life, in an attempt to comfort her and yourself. 

“oh no, yn…”

you are so surprised by hanni’s words that you pull back from the embrace to ensure she’s fine.

“why? why? are you hurting somewhere?”

you are left confused as hanni buries her face into your neck.

“the one who should do the comforting is me, not you…”

oh.

you are dazed upon the realisation that you forgot about your feelings the moment you saw hanni in front of your door earlier.

“it’s ok—”

you couldn’t finish your sentence when hanni wiggled her way out of your embrace and sat up immediately before looking back at you.

“what did she say to you?”

you stifled your laugh upon seeing her sudden serious face but to be honest, she just looks super cute right now with her lips pursed and her eyebrows so close to each other.

but still, your smile wears down while sitting up when you get taken back to the scene that happened two days ago. when jinah took your heart and stomped it on the ground heartlessly—as if she’s the one being taken her heart away—before throwing out the haunting sentence that filled up your mind.

you didn’t realise how long you were completely quiet until you registered han’s soft and gentle touch on your arm.

“do you want to tell me what happened?”

you hesitate a bit, wary about putting burdens on your best friend’s shoulder.

but the said best friend can also read you like an open book. before you can decline her, she encourages you first.

“just so you know, you won’t burden me with this at all.”

your heart suddenly clenched, your eyes suddenly filled with tears and your head hung low as you bit your lower lips when hanni started caressing your hair.

your resistance has proven weak, especially in hanni’s arms when you started sobbing your heart out while the caressing on your hair gets even gentler than you thought was possible.

“it’s okay, y/n. let it all out. i’m here to catch you. i’m here.”

hanni’s heart breaks when she feels your grip on her shirt tighten alongside your loudened sobs. a tinge of anger seeps inside her heart upon the thought of what jinah had done to make you cry so miserably. even if you won’t tell her what happened, she’ll make sure jinah will pay the price.

“sh-she said that it was all for a revenge b-because i rejected her best friend before.”

you managed to slip it out without stuttering much. you expected hanni to shout her anger like she always does when you’re feeling down because of someone else but all she did was furrow her eyebrows and caress your hair, signing that she’s trying her best to let you let your feelings all out.

“and sh-she said that,”

you gulp your tears down, feeling your heart clenched even harder at the flashback in your head.

“that i will never be enough for anyone…”

the way your voice quietens down hurts hanni’s heart so bad.

“you might not believe me now, y/n but you are more than enough for me”

“how can i be, han?” 

you deny weakly. everyone who knows choi y/n know how strong-minded you are, and how you never get wavered by people’s talks. how you always managed to stand straight no matter what fell upon you.

but this time, it hurts you so bad knowing that someone you allow yourself to be vulnerable with thinks of you like that.

“y/n..”

“jinah won't say it if she didn’t mean it, didn’t she?”

“either she meant it or not, she’s so wrong, y/n. you are everything to me, you are enough to be my best friend, you are enough as my listener and you are also enough to be my menace too.”

you smile a bit when hanni ends her assurance with a light chuckle.

“really?”

“yeah.”

“even when i ghosted you for two days straight?”

“it’s understandable, y/n. you were hurt, still are, and it is just right for me to give you space for a little bit.”

the past few days you were so mad at her for not checking up on you when all she was trying to do was to give you space to recollect yourself. a small frown appears upon the disappointment hits you. you were cut off from your thoughts when you felt hanni’s small fingers drawing circles and patterns on the back of your hands.

“what’s wrong, hm?”

“I was so mad at you thinking that you didn’t care about me but it turned out that you care the most…”

your heart breaks a little upon seeing the surprise on hanni’s face.

“oh, y/n… i should have told you first, shouldn’t i?"

you shake your head, disagreeing with her.

“no, no. i should have known better, han. seriously.”

she probably sensed that you are not hiding anything as she proceed to tuck your head under her neck while caressing your hair.

a comfortable silent fills the room, driving you sleepy with the warmth of hanni’s embrace. 

"you're not falling asleep on me, are you?" 

"uhuh..." 

you try to force your eyes open for just a little while but the sleepless nights have caught on you. you let hanni lay you down before pulling you into her embrace once again. hanni’s soft chuckle is the last thing you heard before you were taken to dreamland.

hanni smiles fondly, letting her finger graze on your face, touching every detail on it that she had long engraved in her memory.

“have a good sleep, my love.”

she kisses your forehead so softly as if you are a valuable masterpiece. her heart swollen upon hearing your contented sigh.

“i wish i could hold you like this forever, y/n.”

hanni confesses, pulling you impossibly closer to herself as she, too, drifts into dreamland.

a/n: thank you for giving this a read! feel free to leave a request on my ask :D comments and reblogs are so appreciated :))))

p/s: might do a second part since I'm on my sem break idk hihi

[fictionalgap]

Roommate: Too Hot 🔥 (chapter 4)

Pairing: Hazel Callahan x Reader (Characters are not minors. They are college students who are at least 18.)

Summary: Things get a little bit heated.

Warnings: 18+ themes, swearing,sexual themes (SMUT), nsfw

Other Chapters: Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3, Chapter 5

Song Recommendation: I Want Her - Blind Truth (feat Georgia Harris)

Hazel pulled from you and you stood there frozen when she did. Her smile was radiant and contagious. You both stared into each others eyes for a minute.

When you see her getting close again, you put your arms around her neck pulling her closer.

She put her hands on your waist.

"Do you. maybe. want to. go to. the.-" you asked between the kisses.

"Yes." She pulled your hand as she was walking to her room and pulling you with her. You both got in the room, she still didn't let go of your hand. You were facing back of her head when she closed her room's door. Her shoulders were rising and falling before she turned to face you. There was something new in her eyes. It reminded you of the Hazel from the sex dream. Her pupils almost covered her blue irises and somehow got darker and darker but the twinkle in them was the brightest thing you had ever seen. She had a smile on her face and her breathing was ragged. It was better than the dream. I mean she hasn't said "It's all yours." but you know.

It was perfect cause It was happening.

It was perfect because It was happening with Hazel.

Before you know what you were doing, you pressed her back against the door, put your one hand at the back of her head, your other hand on her back, to prevent any hurt. The door made a sound but not so loud to wake the other two in the house.

"Fuck, Y/N." corner of her lip went upwards. You knew she wasn't expecting this. You were kissing again and this time it was filled more with eagerness and lust like you both had to have each other there right there right know. Her hands were groping your breasts and you were touching and squeezing her arms, wanting to feel those muscles and veins for so fucking long.

You were both out of breath and still couldn't have enough of each other. She was kissing your jaw then she went straight for your neck hungrily. Your breaths were getting shorter and you knew your face was already red. You put your hand at the back of her shaggy, messy hair which was perfect and you liked it just the way it is. She licked, sucked and owned your neck like a hungry vampire. You tried to look down to see her. She was licking your collarbone and she grazed her teeth there for a while before she turned her hungry eyes right into yours. You never saw her like this but you liked it very much.

She was asking for persmission to mark you.

Who were you to say no?

You tilted your head to give her better access.

You moaned quietly to the sweet pain she offered. She was sucking and licking the newly forming hickey to soothe it.

You felt her hands right above your hips getting under your shirt. You shivered when her cold rings touched your warm back. She was kissing above your chest. You needed to taste her too. She smelled like baby powder and honeysuckle. You licked behind her ear and you heard her grinning. You started to suck her earlobe. It was so fucking soft. You bit it slowly and and you heard her gasp. You could feel yourself getting wet.

You started sucking the soft spot behind her earlobe and you started grazing your teeth there, repeating what she did. You held onto her neck tighter with your both hands. You heard her chuckling. She caressed your hair and said "Go ahead sweetheart." and you gave her a pretty purple spot.

She moaned so pretty that you wanted to make it your ringtone.

"Ha…zel" your wet lips brushed against her neck and stopped on the middle of her chest. You stared at her with needy eyes.

"Please. Can I lick them?" you said with puppy eyes.

Her breathing was getting shorter and shorter by minute.

"Baby they're all yours." she said quickly with a raspy voice and gulped.

Your eyes got darker and you smiled mischieviously while you were getting rid of her clothes like a kid opening their Christmas present. She was wearing a dark green sports bra. You saw that one before, dark green became your third favourite color. Your first favourite was, her blue eyes. Second favourite was the pink shade of her pretty lips.

You got rid of the sports bra with one hand and threw it onto the floor. You looked at her breasts.

You took them with both of your hands, felt the soft and warm skin. Your mind was getting dirtier by minute to the thought of what could be done with them. You licked your lips and gulped. You could feel her breath on your forehead.

"Hazel. How can you hide them?" you asked without actually waiting for a response. They were perfect.

"I-" she moaned and it was pornografic as you took one of them in your mouth and started swirling your tounge, your other hand groping the other nipple.

"They need. so much. attention. poor babies." you told her between your sucking and licking.

She started squirming, wiggling her hips. You knew she was getting eager.

"So. so good. Feels -" she moaned again with her head tilted back.

You switched to the other boob to suck and she you felt her petting your head which made you wetter.

You moaned quietly together. PJ and Josie were sleeping.

You hoped...

You whined and she moaned again when you gave her an another hickey on her left boob witout asking for permission this time. After all she said they're all yours. You felt her tugging your hair and you moaned again.

You kissed her tummy as she rubbed your back. Your hand started traveling down her pants.

"Y/N?"

"Hm"

"Wanna touch you too."

"Okay but…"

You opened her pants to reveal her black boxer and slided your hand to feel her soaking.

She was soaking.

"You seem very needy here, angel." You looked up to her and met her eyes.

You started to draw circles on her clit while she still had the boxer on.

You kissed her thigh without breaking eye contact.

"Fuck."

"Hazel, let me go down on you first. I mean…If you want that too." your eyes stared at her filled with lust, half closed.

She sighed with a smile and her hands held the sides of your neck.

"How can I say no to that?"

She layed down on her bed and you helped her pulling her boxers down and threw it to the floor.

She was totally naked. Except her chain.

"You're so fucking pretty, you know that, Haze?"

She whimpered at your words and how your finger felt on her clit.

It was needy, wet and ready for you.

You pushed your middle finger inside and she made a relieving sound. Your finger was still inside when your face met with her enterance and you licked it all the way before you start sucking it. You sucked and licked until you took your finger out and you started to swirl your tounge inside of her.

You felt her hand on your head again and she tugged it real hard which made you gasped.

You left her pussy for a second which resulted in an adorable whine from her.

You put your hands under her legs and pulled her quickly to meet her pussy again more intimately. You licked and sucked until you made your tounge like a straight line and start fucking her with your it. You felt her clench against your tounge. You grunted as your eyes fell backwards.

You pushed your head and tounge as much as you can and you heard Hazel's angelic moans again. You saw her toes curling with the corner of your eye.

"Quiet angel."

"B-baby, I-I think I'm-"

"Come for me, Haze. Come on my mouth!" you whisper-shouted.

She came when you told her and she was so fucking sweet and you devoured every last of her precious cum.

You gave small kisses on her clit before grinning. You were kinda pussy drunk. A silly one.

Who couldn't be?

Hazel smiled sheepishly as you layed down next to her.

Suddenly she got on top of you and stared into your soul.

"Hazel you must be tired and It's l-" she started kissing you hungrily. She took your hands and positioned them at the top of your head and hold them with one hand. You saw the veins popping on her arms and you felt dizzier than before.

You catched her chain with your teeth and looked into her eyes. She smirked at you.

"Let it go, hun. Can't fuck you like that, can I ?"

You felt your cheeks burn as you did as your told and she held your chin as she started to go down on your body starting from your neck. She got your clothes off so quick you didn't even comprehend what was happening. You felt her rings on your breasts.

You shivered at the contact.

She looked at you worriedly. "Should I take them off?"

"No!"

'Fuck. It was a bit loud.' you thought to yourself.

She smiled how quick you answered. "I knew you liked them."

You averted your gaze and blushed immediately. "How come?"

"Well, you look at them from time to time and I catch you looking at them from … time to time." she whispered as she took one of your nipple in her mouth and started sucking.

"Haazel…Fuck." You moaned. You felt shameful about being so obvious about checking her fingers. She played with your other nipple. She twisted and squeezed and you started squirming.

You felt cold when she stopped being busy with your breast. You groaned. She let go of your arms and positioned herself so that she can finger you as she likes. she put one finger and then added the second one and the third. "Hazel!" you closed your mouth to prevent any loud noises to wake PJ and Josie.

"Shh…" she put her other hand on your mouth. "Gotta be quiet, hun. Can't wake those two. They won't leave us alone to do anything." she whispered.

"Mmhm." you tried to confim.

"Fuck... You take my fingers so well, baby." she whispered.

Sound of your wetness filled the room then Hazel pulled her finger and positioned herself on you again. She leaned down on you and her pussy's lips meet yours. Both of your vaginas rubbing each other was wet, warm and intense.

You moaned together quietly again and again and again.

You felt something in your stomatch. "H-Haze I'm gonna-" you mumbled quietly.

"Come with me, Y/N." she whispered quickly.

You both came at the same time with a relieving moan.

She got off on you only to get closer to your vagina. She put two fingers inside, taking your juices. She made eye contact with you as she put them inside her mouth and sucked them clean.

Hazel fucked you.

You fucked Hazel.

It was fucking real.

[lovebugism]

hi hello "love you on purpose" absolutely devasted me with it's cuteness and i cannot wait for part two!!!! 💗

✶ ┄ LOVE YOU, ON PURPOSE (ii)

part one | part two

summary: steve can't seem to stay away from the local freaks. he's more surprised to find himself falling for one of them. you have trouble believing that someone like him could want you in the first place. he wants to prove to you that he's not king steve anymore. (18k)

pairing: steve harrington / eddie's bff!reader

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, idiots in love, slight angst, hurt to comfort (sorta), fem!reader TW smut 18+, lots of intimacy and affection and awkwardness, p in v sex, talks of insecurities, reader has an allison reynolds-esque transformation but with a better ending (outfit inspo x, x), probable typos

a/n: welp. here it is. the final part of this 30k+ word fic. it was very fun and very painful to write and i'm very glad it's finally done and out in the world! thanks for all the love on the first part btw reading all the feedback has easily been my favorite part of writing this <3 with that being said, get comfy, get a snack, and enjoy! xoxo

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Falling over you is the news of the day.

If yearning had a shape, you’re pretty sure it’d look an awful lot like you. 

The clumsiest of humans, fresh into her adulthood but still feeling like a child most days. Soaking wet, born yesterday. A caterpillar weaving her cocoon and trying to figure out where she fits in the world. The girl who decides she belongs right next to this big, boisterous, multi-colored butterfly she couldn’t stand a year or more ago.

And Steve Harrington, he was… Well, he was the kind of poem people spend their entire lives trying to write. 

He was the perfect mixture of beauty and warmth, of mystery and obscurity — the line where the pink of a sunset meets the purple of a starry night. He was all of this rolled up into a twenty-something-year-old boy. A fumbling butterfly that’s getting used to his new wings.

Maybe if you were talented enough, you could write the thing yourself. There’s something powerful in knowing that you could compose some dainty requiem so much bigger than yourself. A beautiful thing that would stand the test of time because there would never be anything else like it. 

It wouldn’t be because of you, though. You passed Ms. O’Donnell’s English class by the skin of your teeth, so your writing leaves much to be desired. It would be your muse that would enamor the masses come the next several centuries, because there will never, ever be another Steve Harrington.

At the very core of this poem would read a universal truth: I have fallen in love with his enigmatic being, and now I’m dealing with the consequences.

Well, you’re trying to deal with them, at least. You’re not having a very easy go at it.

Most of the time, you feel like a thousand bricks have piled on top of you. The jagged edges scrape up your arms and press varying shades of purple into your skin. They crush you underneath their weight, but you don’t try too hard to climb out from under them. You couldn’t even if you wanted to.

You feel a little stuck underneath all the feelings you have for Steve. 

You’re not quite sure what to do with them all. They’re too heavy to lift; there’s too much of them to crawl out. It all leaves you feeling a bit trapped. 

It’s a good kind of trapped, though. 

Once the hurt passes, the weight starts to feel like you’re being swaddled in a blanket. Or a cocoon. 

As scared as it makes you, as overwhelmed as you feel, you don’t want this puppy-like adoration to end.

But sometimes, the scrapes sting more than they usually do. The scabs split and start to weep. The faded bruises turn purple again, then to blue and black, and they ache all over. They remind you that girls like you don’t end up with guys like Steve, and the harsh realization turns the comforting weight of being in love into feeling like you’re being buried alive.

Steve is a pretty boy. He’s a rich, prettyboy who wears vintage jeans and drives a new Beemer and has never wanted for anything in his life.

And you’re… whatever the total opposite of that is.

You wear whatever’s cheapest at the thrift store or what Eddie lets you steal from his closet. You drive a rust bucket that belonged to your dad until he lost his license, so the thing practically rotted in the backyard until you got yours. And all you’ve ever done is want for things because you’ve never had anything.

And the one thing you want the most is something you’ve never been able to admit to anyone. Not even Eddie. Not even yourself. 

Screw new clothes or a car fresh off the lot. You don’t want popularity — you don’t even want money (though it certainly wouldn’t hurt). You want so desperately to be loved that it makes your bones ache.

All you want is someone to hold your wrists and kiss your palms, to cradle you when the thunder is too loud and the cracks of lightning make you shake, to be a hiding place where you can keep every secret and be certain it stays safe.

You want someone to smile at you the way Steve smiles at you. You want to feel held the way he makes you feel held — without ever touching you. You want to feel wanted the way he makes you feel wanted.

You want Steve. 

And you’re not sure how long silly love songs will substitute your yearning.

“What do you think about Steve?” you ask Eddie out of the blue.

He was in the middle of a rant about his latest campaign, but you hadn’t heard a single word of it if you’re honest. The butterflies in your stomach were too loud.

The boy sits across the room at his desk, back hunched, while he scribbles ideas into his tattered Dungeons and Dragons composition journal. You’re sprawled out in the middle of his bed like you have been for the past hour, making constellations of Steve’s face from the marks on his ceiling.

“I think he’s an asshole,” Eddie answers without missing a beat.

It makes you roll your eyes. You shouldn’t have expected anything less out of him, really. You toy with the frayed hem of your crop top and rephrase. “Okay, but do you think he likes me?”

“I know he likes you,” he scoffs. “That’s the problem.”

You smile widely to yourself, then purse your lips to the side to keep it hidden. There’s no one looking to see you grinning like an idiot, but it doesn’t make you feel any less like one.

“He wants to take me on a date tonight,” you confess out loud for the first time.

It wasn’t like you to keep something like that from Eddie. Or anything. At all. But you found yourself hiding it like some kind of dark secret. A distant part of you was terrified that it was all in your head, but it’s been three days since Steve asked you now. Which means you’ve spent three days pinching yourself.

You haven’t woken up yet.

“Like, a date date,” you clarify and rise on your elbows to study the boy across the room. 

You feel the need to explain yourself because movie nights and rides around town and hanging out in the break room after closing don’t feel nearly as serious as Steve wining and dining you. It feels much more official now, as though the line between liking someone and like-liking them has been drawn.

“And I’ve never been on a date date before—”

“What about the one time you went out with, uh…” Eddie trails off as he aggressively erases something on his paper. He stills and squints over his shoulder at you. “What was his name? Matt? Marcus?”

“Mason,” you correct and try not to shudder at the memory. “And I left him at the restaurant because he asked me how big my boobs were within the first ten minutes, so he doesn’t count.”

A grin pulls at the boy’s face. He chuckles to himself. “Oh, yeah.”

“And I know I shouldn’t be so nervous about it ‘cause it’s just a dumb date, like… We’ve been alone together a billion times now, you know? It’s just…” you ramble in one breath, then trail off with a huff. You flop back onto the mattress rather dramatically. “Steve Harrington doesn’t date girls like me. He dates girls like Nancy Wheeler. And, as far as I’m concerned, they were a matching made in fucking heaven— I mean, I didn’t know them back then or anything—”

“Obviously,” Eddie murmurs. “That was a train wreck.”

“—But they looked fucking perfect together, Eds!”

The image of them walking the hallways of Hawkins High isn’t hard to picture. You can still see Nancy in her pretty pleated skirt and pink manicured nails and Steve with his stupid hair and brand new Ray-Bans. They owned the school like their parents owned Hawkins — it was practically kismet. 

You try to picture him and you together, and it doesn’t come as effortlessly. 

It’s like trying to wedge pieces from opposites puzzles together; it just doesn’t work. 

And it’s different from anyone Steve’s ever dated. It’s different from anyone you’ve ever dated. People look at him and his pretty girlfriend and gush, “oh, wow, they look good together.” People look at you and a guy with smudged eyeliner and heeled boots and whisper in disgust, “oh god, they deserve each other.”

You won’t get any of the kindness that Steve is used to, only stares from strangers as they try hopelessly to figure out whether or not you’re dating — because surely, he wouldn’t stoop low enough to date someone like you.

“And I don’t wanna…” you waver, trying and failing to put your fears into words. “I don’t know, I guess I’m just scared.”

Eddie shakes his head to himself. “You don’t need to be scared, okay?” he mumbles, his attention still turned down to his notebook.

“Oh, thanks, Eds. I’m cured,” you monotone.

“I just mean that—” he cuts himself off with a deep sigh and swivels in his chair to face you completely. “Steve’s a douchebag, alright? But he’s a good douchebag.”

Your brows furrow. “…What?”

“He used to be an asshole and everything, but… I don’t know, I guess he turned out to be a pretty good guy— and if you tell him I told you that, I will kill you,” Eddie explains in one breath. The half-hearted threat spills from his mouth,and he goes suddenly soft. “He’s not gonna hurt you, okay? I promise. I mean, the guy’s practically a fucking teddy bear.”

A smile pulls slow at your lips. 

It’s the nicest thing you’ve ever heard him say about Steve, despite having been friends with him for nearly a year now. The foreign kindness comforts you well enough. If Eddie didn’t think Steve was every bit the good douchebag he says he is, there’s no way he’d let you go anywhere near him.

“Yeah?” you mutter.

“Yeah,” he echoes with a huff, obviously upset about having to admit such a truth. Then he shrugs. “And if he does hurt you, I’ll beat him up. Which, with his track record, I’m guessing it wouldn’t be too difficult.”

A laugh tumbles from your mouth. “Thanks for looking out, Eds.”

He only grumbles in response.

And even though he complains the entire time, he drops you back off at your place and helps you agonize over what to wear. He sits on your bathroom counter to keep you company while you shower, then holds your makeup bag in his lap while you get ready. He only comments once about how differently you’re doing it.

Then the boy lounges on your bed, legs crossed and back propped on the headboard while you rifle through your closet. In true Eddie Munson fashion, he’s got something to say about everything you pick out.

Your white sweater is too tight, he tells you, and the fuzzy texture feels too weird. The plaid skirt you pull from the depths of your closet is too “christmas-y” and “totally not your color.” He tells you he likes your boots better as he helps you with the finicky buckle of your Mary Janes, then snaps the band of your knee-highs when he stands again.

Eddie tells you all of this because it’s easier to tease you than to say what he really thinks — that it feels like you’re in high school again and trying out styles that don’t suit you.

He loved you the way you were, in black and leather and silver chains and fishnets, because he knew that’s what you felt good in. You found your identity in your unconventional style and you sparkled in it.

And you were still pretty like this, dressed in brighter colors and looking like the girls that used to bully you in high school, but it’s so obviously not you. More than anything, it irks him that you’re doing all of this for Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.

But Eddie knows that you’re nervous — he can tell by the way you’re talking a thousand miles a minute and checking your appearance in the mirror every couple seconds like something might’ve changed. He also knows that you’re still skeptical about this whole thing. Because you have no idea that Steve looks at you like the whole world could crumble around him, and he wouldn’t even blink.

You don’t know that you have nothing to worry about.

So Eddie figures he’ll wait to make fun of you. Save all his teasing remarks for when you’re gushing about the date the next day.

But you’re already aware of all this — how different you look. You hardly recognize yourself when you look in the mirror. You’ve traded in your shades of black for something brighter. Your blowsy hair is clipped back out of your face. Your makeup is more conventional and modest than you’re used to.

You look less like the freak you usually are and more like a wild thing that’s been tamed.

You feel pretty. 

Or, at the very least, the idea that Steve will think you’re pretty makes you feel pretty.

It makes all the imposter syndrome worth it. 

You stand in front of the full-length mirror and tug the scratchy socks up and over your knee when they start to slip down. You rise once more, giving yourself another once over, then nod in approval — pleased with the costume you’ve put on.

A fleeting through with a mean, green, bleeding heart and a mind of its own scratches bitterly at the confines of your skull.

Eat your heart out, Nancy Wheeler.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

The ghost in you, she don't fade.

Steve, riddled with chronic feelings of inadequacy, overcooks the chicken and spritzes too much cologne on himself.

He had always been the kind of boy that loved things a little harder than he should’ve. 

Ask any plant he’s ever owned that he accidentally killed with every leaf he overwatered, frightened that anything less would be neglectful. He was always so scared of them dying that he suffocated them until they wilted anyway.

He thought he might’ve grown out of all that until he realized he did the same thing with Nancy. 

He squeezed her too tight and she squirmed at his smothering, called him bullshit and pushed him away so she could breathe again, then stomped on his heart until she was certain it stopped beating for her.

And therein lies the state of limbo Steve Harrington has lived in all his life — between loving something too much and not enough. He hasn’t yet found that balance that stops plants from dying and people from running away.

He isn’t quite sure how to be anything other than the man he is now. 

His conscious clings to your every move. He thinks about when he’s awake, and when he isn’t, he hopes he’ll be lucky enough to dream about you. He bothers you at work all day, then asks if you want to go for a ride when you’re off because he hates being away from you. The nights get too cold when you stray too far. And even though he’s never been much of a chef, he offers to cook for you because he wants to show you he cares enough to try.

Steve’s the kind of guy that overcooks his chicken because he’s terrified that you’ll get sick if it’s not done enough. He’s the kind of guy that douses himself in cologne, then breaks the bottle because he’s terrified of not smelling good enough. He wants everything to be enough for you. 

Steve Harrington, for once in his life, wants to be enough for somebody. 

But now all he is, is a stupid boy that never learns, who smells like he’s trying to overcompensate for being a terrible, terrible chef. 

When Nancy broke his heart, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to be this person again. Steve was scared he’d become someone he didn’t recognize — someone who didn’t care enough to water plants because, hey, they’re gonna die anyway, right? Because he gave and gave and gave, and had nothing to show for it but a stupid wilting flower.

Steve made a dark room of his broken heart. A boogeyman lived there, too. It made him scared that he’d never be able to love someone like he loved Nancy.

But then you came out of nowhere — this beautiful, loud, and mysterious thing that exudes every color of the rainbow when she laughs, despite her blacker-than-black wardrobe. You smile at him like you’ve never been hurt, like a sun that’s never known the night. It makes him feel like he can be that too.

The two of you seek a similar solace in one another. You fill each other’s voids without effort and without trying, like puzzle pieces or halves of an orange.

Steve met you and he realized that he didn’t get his ability to love from Nancy. He had always been a lover, a boy who could love something deeply, and that didn’t go away when she broke his heart.

And sometimes it was awful. It was painful and frightening more than it was anything else — love. It was doubtful and envious and distant. 

Love makes you selfish and creepy and uncharacteristically overbearing. Love makes you worry about your hair and overcook your chicken and drench yourself in cologne. Love takes a hell of a lot of hope, and that’s what he feels like when he’s with you — hopeful. Like he’s never been hurt before.

A surge of optimism and apprehension hits him like a bolt of purple lightning just behind his ribcage when the doorbell rings. Mostly because he knows you’re waiting on the other side of it. His hands shake when he opens the door, but not because he’s scared. He’s just full of hope and buzzing with its foreign intensity.

Steve finds the rest of his life standing on his front porch, dressed in all the trappings of his past.

You’re smiling wide when you see him, the same whizzing ball of hope that he is now, and clutching a bottle of wine. You’ve traded your usual grocery store alcohol for something bottom shelf from an actual liquor store. The sunshine grin you’re wearing is about the only thing familiar about you now.

With your hair pulled back, brows combed neatly to match the pretty makeup you’ve spotted gingerly on your features, dressed in foreign colors with knee-high socks and kitten heels — you look nothing like yourself. It’s a costume you’ve got on, still so pretty but pretending in some way.

It has Steve startled for a moment, thinking Halloween came a whole six months earlier and he never got the memo. Then he realizes you must’ve gotten all dressed up for him, even though you never had to. Just like he didn’t have to try and play chef to impress you.

Both of you are just stupid idiots who care too much, making it painfully obvious despite your best efforts to keep it hidden.

“Hi,” you grin sheepishly through a foreign, pale pink, and glossy mouth.

Steve’s too busy gaping at you to respond in a timely fashion.

The wind billows through your hair and sends strands of it flying in your face. And even though he can’t remember a time when you’ve ever worried about the wild halo on your head, you’re quick to tuck them back into place again. 

With most of it pulled back and combed with obvious intent, your face is left unhidden. Your neck and shoulders and collarbones are too. And you’ve got on this tight sweater and pretty skirt and tall socks that make your legs look longer. All of your usually concealed features are heightened. 

The dainty swipes of mascara, eyeshadow, and blush only accentuate them further, though your spots are attentively covered with foundation that isn’t exactly your shade. It’s a bit lighter than your skin tone, like you’d gotten it some time ago when you were still a bit paler.

You look less like the loud, plucky girl he’s come to know and someone more timid, delicate, and polished.

You’re so pretty he damn near forgets how to speak. His tongue swells and every word he could use loses meaning at the sight of you. But it isn’t you, and that only confounds him further.

It’s like you’ve covered yourself in body paint. The real version of you is hidden somewhere underneath it all, glimmering somehow more golden than the flaxen you’re playing pretend in.

When Steve realizes he hasn’t yet answered you, it feels like it’s been ten minutes or more. In reality, no longer than five seconds have gone by.

“Hey,” he greets finally, in an exhale that gets caught in his throat halfway through. He clears it and smiles shakily. “Hi.”

He steps to the side of the doorway and ushers you inside. He wipes his sweaty palms on his slacks when he thinks you aren’t looking, but you catch him in the act when you turn to face him again. Your grin widens and you trap it between your teeth.

“Smells good in here,” you compliment, walking slowly backward with your hands clasped behind your back.

“Thanks,” he accepts your flattery with an awkward hand on his neck. “Yeah, uh— I kinda burnt the chicken a little bit, but everything else should be good. At least, I hope it’s good. It’s kinda hard to mess up a salad, right?”

He laughs under his breath, then starts to ramble without realizing it.

“I’m not the best cook, as it turns out. I mean, I thought I could at least fake it, you know? Fake it ’til you make it, or whatever that bullshit saying is — but there is no faking the tornado I just had in the kitchen. I don’t think I’ve made a bigger mess in my life. But, uh, yeah… And don’t worry! I didn’t put tomatoes in the pasta. Or the salad. Or the sauce. I know you don’t think them, so…”

You’re in the middle of beaming and trying very hard not to laugh when he hits you with that one. 

Steve, like you, is having a very hard time shutting up just now. He’s in the same web of nervousness that you’re spun up in too. He’s all tangled and trying to weave words that make sense, though everything things his mouth in half-thoughts.

But then he says something so strangely profound out of nowhere, and it makes your pounding heart stop without warning. He’s just talking about fucking tomatoes, but you understand that — in some weird, roundabout way — that it’s much deeper than that.

You’d told him the mundane little detail in passing some time ago. At the diner, when you picked the fruit from your burger with a grimace on your face. You said it tasted like battery acid and tainted everything it touched. He took it back to the counter when you weren’t brave enough to. 

“Here you go, Punchy. Your battery-acid-free burger,” he’d joked when he set the fresh plate in front of you.

And he remembered all that. He tucked that tiny piece of information about you into the very back of his mind so that he could use it to make you happy later on.

That’s adoration at its core, you figure. Somewhere in all those minuscule remember-ings.

“You remembered that?” you wonder aloud in a bemused sort of whisper.

Steve has already moved on. He’s rambling about the broken spout of his cologne bottle but stops the second he realizes he’s doing it.

Of course, I did, scoffs the little voice in his head. I’m sorta obsessed with you, as it turns out.

He doesn’t tell you that, though, for reasons he finds are quite obvious — the most significant of which would be running you off entirely. So instead, he just shrugs and tries to be cool, despite having already established how terribly uncool he is.

“Yeah. I remember everything.”

When the two of you settle at the dining table, Steve realizes he’s eaten most of his dinners alone until now.

His parents stopped caring sometime around middle school. His dad got too busy with work, started staying after-hours to catch up on paperwork or screw his secretary. And his mom didn’t care because she was too busy getting wine-drunk on the phone with whatever book club friend that was just as miserable as she was. 

Steve would fork at his cold pad thai while he listened to his mother’s muffled rant about who went where and who wore a hat.

He couldn’t find it in himself to eat in his room. The empty dinner table was the only sort of stable routine he had in the swirling uncertainty of being a teenage boy.

But now he’s got you. 

He hopes he never stops having you. He doesn’t want to go back to being alone like that again, not after he’s found someone that can fill an entire room with their laugh.

The cackle you let out at Steve’s terrible, terrible cheese pun — “yeah, I guess you could say I cooked this all on my provol-own — echoes through the dining room. Even though he knows you’re laughing at him and not exactly with him, he figures it’s a small price to pay to keep hearing such a heavenly sound.

It reminds him of the real you, the one underneath all the foreign regalia. 

The rays of your usual sunshine peek from the clouds you hide behind. You’re way too bright to stay hidden.

Steve can tell you’re watching his every move. You eye him from across the table with the intent of doing everything he’s doing, lest you might do something wrong. He puts his napkin in his lap, so you put your napkin your lap. He cuts his chicken with his fork and knife, so you cut your chicken with a fork and knife — though you quickly realize you’re not quite as dexterous as he is for all that.

It’s endearing. The kind of cute that makes his heart hurt just a little bit. He hides his smile and happily abandons the conventional things he’d been taught to do. He eats with his fingers and then licks the pads of them, grinning when you giggle and do the same. 

It’s not something he’s used to — grabbing pieces of cut chicken with bare fingers and slurping noodles without having cut them first — especially not when he’s trying to impress a girl. But he can tell the lack of etiquette makes you more comfortable, and that’s all he really cares about.

He offers you another serving once you’ve finished your first. You decline politely with the mutters of “oh, no, I couldn’t,” but he’s seen your appetite. You could down five burgers at the diner and not break a sweat if you’re feeling hungry enough.

It’s one of those little heart-wrenchingly adorable things you do that both shock and enamor him. But, for a reason he can’t name, you’ve decided that part of yourself was too deplorable to add to your costume.

Steve only scoffs at you in response. He scoops more chicken and pasta onto your scrapped-clean plate despite your refusal.

You’re grateful he doesn’t let you get away with your stubbornness. Truth be told, you were still sort of starving.

He’s just grateful you don’t think his mediocre cooking skills total a complete dealbreaker.

Steve tries to fight you when you offer to help him clean up the kitchen. He tells you to make yourself at home on the couch while he tidies up, ushers you to pour yourself a glass of wine and pick out a record while you wait for him. 

But you have issues with authority and take little fondness in being told what to do. So, in true Punchy fashion, you do the exact opposite of what he tells you to do.

You roll up the sleeves of your pretty sweater and stand next to him at the deeply set sink in his kitchen island. “You wash, I’ll dry?” you offer.

He doesn’t argue, only nods. 

He’ll let you take the blame for not wanting to be too far away from him. It’s easier than admitting his own guilt in the matter. ‘Cause sometimes his heart breaks when he blinks and he has to miss you for the faintest fraction of a second. 

“You seriously don’t have to, you know—”

“Stop saying that,” you scold and snatch the dripping plate from his hands. You swipe a towel over the ceramic with a meticulous ease. “I actually like doing dishes, okay? I do them at all time. I’m practically a professional at this point.”

“Yeah?” Steve laughs, shooting you a grin as he dunks his hand into the warm, sudsy water.

You love that stupid smile so much you’ve started to hate it. 

It’s soft and so sincere, just wide enough to reveal the dimple in his left cheek. The gentle grin drips with so much honey you can practically taste it. It’s so tender it makes you feel unworthy, so full of love it fills you with a distant rage that he might’ve looked at someone else with it.

You have to duck away from his gaze before he can catch you blushing. 

“Yeah. That’s, like, my one chore when I’m over at Eddie’s,” you respond with a shrug. “Because, you know, Wayne’s always working and Eddie’s… Eddie, and he really shouldn’t be trusted with anything remotely sharp or breakable, so…”

“What about when you’re home?” he wonders, simply for the sake of keeping the conversation going, but noting how the mention of home makes you tense.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, considering every time I go back, it looks like there’s been a tornado, doing dishes is just one part of the shit pile that I need to clean up, you know? My parents are usually on some bender — or still passed out from said bender — to take care of the place while I’m gone.”

Steve sees how distracted you’ve gotten as you keep wiping down a bone-dry plate.

“But, uh, anyway. Point is, I think I’m destined to have a career as a professional dishwasher.”

When your gaze flits back to Steve’s, he forces a smile at you.

He’s noticed how you always seem to talk about your best friend and his uncle without ever mentioning your parents. He understands now that it’s because they weren’t your family, not like Eddie and Wayne were. The small Munson clan was your home, it seems, and he fights to steer you back that way.

“So, you stay with them most of the time, then?” he redirects innocently as he hands you a freshly washed wine glass.

“Yeah. I think I’m pretty much Eddie’s personal caretaker these days.”

“Wow,” he marvels playfully, wide-eyed and grinning. “On top of being a professional dishwasher? You’re really doin’ it all, aren’t ya, Punchy?”

“Mm-hmm. I am a real jack of all trades, Harrington,” you joke back with a commendable finesse and flash a teasing smile up at him. The pastel-colored lipstick has mostly disappeared from your mouth now. You look more like yourself.

“And Eddie— he’s got this crazy scar on his hand from when he was a kid, and he was helping Wayne wash the dishes. He, like, blindly reached into the water or something and stabbed himself. Knife went straight through his palm.”

Steve winces.

“Yep. Now he says he’s too traumatized to help do the chores,” you reminisce with a distant laugh and set the glass upside down on the drying rack. “I don’t mind, though. I like doing them on my own. Gives me time to think, you know?”

“I’m standing right here,” the boy beside you scoffs, feigning offense.

“You can be the exception, Stevie,” you assure with a grin.

Maybe it’s the look you give him. Maybe it’s the nickname he used to hate, but now makes his heart skip a beat or two — or three. Maybe it’s all those things and the way your fingers brush his wrist when you move to take the pot from his hands. Either way, something shifts and he forgets how to use his fine motor skills.

The pan slips from his fumbling hands and yours and plops back into the water. The metal bangs loudly when it hits the bottom of the sink. Both of you jump back to avoid the splash.

“Shit. Sorry,” he apologizes, eyes scanning your form to make sure he didn’t make a total mess of you.

“It’s okay,” you promise with a gentle laugh and swipe the towel in your hand over your sweater to remove the droplets clinging there.

Steve scrunches his nose. “I feel like I might’ve just ruined my co-dishwashing privileges.”

“Just a little,” you quip.

You give him no warning before bringing the waffle-patterned nettle up to his cheek to dry him off, too. He flinches at the suddenness of the action but melts into your touch without thinking twice.

“You know, you have a pretty cool scar, too,” you tell him, mostly out of the blue, while you dab at the stubble on his jaw.

Steve’s gotten used to all your abrupt mannerisms and the way you flip-flop between topics with an expertise only you seem to possess. He likes that about you, though. There’s never a quiet or still moment when he’s with you.

“Yeah?” he hums back.

You nod and move down to his neck. “I felt it a while ago, during our Night of the Living Dead marathon—” of which Steve has no recollection. He can’t remember a damn thing from those movies, but can still feel the tingle of your mouth against his own. 

“—On the back of your head. Felt pretty gnarly.”

You switch the towel to your other hand and use your free one to swipe through his hair. Your fingers muss at his hour or more of hard work, but your touch is a far better reward than nearly quaffed hair. You weave through the chocolate strands until you reach a marred, barren line.

“Right… there.”

Steve, still buzzing with your touch, manages a breathy chuckle. “Uh, yeah. It’s a… It’s a really long, really stupid story.”

“Wanna give me the short version?”

The grin you give him is impossible to say no to.

“I’m a super klutz,” he summarizes with a shrug and a sloppy grin. 

He mourns the loss of your touch when your hand slips from his hair. “Well, now I have to hear the story.”

“It’s dumb. Like, seriously—”

“I like dumb,” you assure quickly to stop whatever self-loathing he was about to spew. “I’m best friends with Eddie Munson. I think I can take it.”

“Touché,” he chuckles under his breath. The remaining dishes are left forgotten in the depths of the soapy water when he turns his back to him. He leans his weight on the countertop and grips the edges of it in his hands. “You see, I did this really smart thing when I was a baby where I’d, you know, crawl backwards—”

“Crawl backwards?” you repeat with an incredulous laugh.

“Yeah. I’d push with my hands — beep, beep, beep,” he flattens his palms and presses them against thin air to demonstrate it for you. “Always in reverse. I mean, it makes sense, right? You gotta push to move.”

“Sure,” you shrug. A laugh tumbles from your mouth shortly after.

“Did that until I reversed my way down a flight of stairs and hit my head pretty damn good,” he concludes with a wince. It’s like he can still feel the pain sometimes.

“Wow,” you marvel. “So, like… When people ask if you were dropped on your head as a kid, the answer would be—”

“Yep…” he sighs, then laughs when it makes you laugh. He looks over at you with sparkling cinnamon eyes. “It explains a lot, doesn’t it? I think, like, right out of the gate, I’m super confident, you know? But I’m also a total idiot, which is just a brutal combination.”

“I have noticed that, actually,” you confess with a gentle sort of smile.

“Yeah?” he winces.

“Yeah. You do this thing sometimes where you get all… suave and cool,” you tell him, squinting and lowering your voice a few octaves for effect. “Like you’re trying to be King Steve all over again. And then you, like, trip over a stack of DVDs or something because the universe is trying to humble you.”

“That is a… really good way of putting it, actually,” Steve confesses with a laugh.

“I think it’s sweet.”

“Well, the good thing is, I get a big enough thump on my head, I can change, you know? I can learn. So, I guess I’m pretty glad somebody bumped my head before we met. ‘Cause things probably would’ve turned out… a whole lot differently.”

Steve watches your face contort from understanding to confusion. Your manicured brows pinch together and your doe eyes squint over at him. He watches you break down his words in real time. 

“Somebody…” you murmur under your breath. “You mean… Are you talking about Nancy?”

“Yeah, uh… She gave me a— a pretty big thump, you know? Worse than the one I got falling down those stupid stairs,” he tells you with a reminiscent smile. 

It makes you feel like a total idiot, standing in front of him like this — a carbon copy of the girl that tore his heart to shreds.

“I deserved it, though. I mean, you knew me back then, I was a… a total asshole. And sometimes, I think I still would be if she didn’t, you know… if she didn’t… totally rip my fucking heart out,” he concludes with a sad sort of laugh. “Now I’m kinda grateful she did. As bad as it hurt — as angry as it made me — I think, in a lotta ways, it made me better.”

“Better?” you echo quietly.

“Yeah… If she didn’t break up with me when she did — if I didn’t get that dumb thump on my head — I wouldn’t have changed. I wouldn’t be… here right now. With you,” he confesses, revealing more of himself than he ever has before, to a girl he wouldn’t have been caught dead with a couple of years ago.

He looks beside him at this costumed girl — at you — and he sees someone he probably would’ve given the time of day back in high school. The lack of dark, baggy clothing makes you look approachable — like you won’t actually bite him for coming near you like the rumors always said.

And Steve’s self-aware enough to know he probably would’ve treated you like shit back then. He would’ve fucked you just to fuck you, then only talk to you when he needed you to do his homework for him. And you wouldn’t have been the first girl he did that to either, and the thought makes him want to puke.

He’s glad he’s found you when he did. He’s even happier you met him where he was at, in that awkward in-between stage of growing up where you’re trying to be someone different while still finding comfort in staying the same. You never complained even once when he reverted back to his old ways.

And even though you’re standing right next to him, your chest nearly brushing his arm with every heavy breath you take, he finds himself missing you. 

You’re not you — not without the fun outfits and the crazy hair and all your rings that clink together every time you move. He misses how the metal felt against his skin and the way they’d get caught in his hair.

You’re still beautiful like this, but it’s a strange type of beauty. One that both of you know doesn’t belong to you. You fit into it like baggy jeans or a too tight shirt. You’ve squeezed yourself into a ball to try to fit into a world far too small for you, because you thought that’s what Steve wanted.

“I’d still be that King Steve douchebag… Partying every night, getting drunk out of my mind, never settling down like I…” The words get trapped in his throat. He clears it to force them out. “Like I always wanted to, you know?”

“Right,” you murmur, voice not strong enough to be any louder than that.

“So, yeah, I don’t know. I guess, in some weird, roundabout way, I’m just to tell you that I’m not that guy anymore. King Steve,” he admits and presses his hip into the counter to face you fully.

When you gather the strength to look up at him, you find his gaze already dripping with honey and staring down at you. He’s all soft and mushy and twinkling with the adoration he’s got for you. And when he smiles, it’s so terribly sincere and coated with a distant sadness that’s been playing on the edge of his voice this whole time.

“And I know you might still see me as that guy. I don’t blame you. Honestly, I don’t really deserve to be looked at any differently, not after how I acted towards you—”

“Steve,” you breathe out in a tender sigh. “It’s okay—”

He shakes his head to himself. His eyes squeeze shut when his chin falls to his chest.

“It’s not. It’s… It’s really not. I just—” he inhales sharply, chest deflating on the exhale when his gaze turns back to you. He looks sterner now, but still so tender. “I just want you to know that I’ve changed, okay? I am changing. And I don’t want you to think I’m the kinda guy you have to change yourself for.”

When the weight of his words finally hits you, it feels a bit like being punched in the stomach.

It knocks all the wind out of you and makes it hard to think about anything other than the sudden loss of breath. Like a kid who’s fallen off the monkey bars and flat onto their back, you can’t do anything but writhe through the ache and hope you’ll be back to normal soon.

You got dressed that evening thinking you were the master of deception. You perfected your subterfuge and awaited Steve’s inevitable swooning because you looked like all the other girls he’d fallen in love with. 

But he sees through every inch of your pretending with his secret x-ray powers, and now you’re just a stupid girl standing in front of him, soaking wet with embarrassment.

It’s a little like when he and Tommy and all his basketball goons would make fun of you. They’d talk about you like you weren’t there while they tossed tiny crumbled up pieces of paper into your hair so they could watch you struggle to get them out. But, at the same time, it’s not like that at all. Because now he’s apologizing, and telling you that he likes you, and that you never had to change a single damn thing for him at all.

You’re equally as self-conscious, though, and feeling like a total idiot for thinking you could even pretend to be halfway normal.

“Oh…” is the only thing that leaves your mouth in that moment. Your mind is still going a million miles a minute. You want to blurt out an apology and an explanation all at once, while simultaneously turning into a puddle at his feet and disappearing entirely.

But rather than break down, you stay standing. Too stuck in your head to feel all there.

Steve seems to notice your trepidation almost immediately. His eyes widen and his brows raise and his pretty mouth falls open to let all of his reassurances spill out. 

“And it’s not that I don’t think you’re pretty! You’re— You’re perfect like this too, but I just…” he inhales and takes the tiniest step closer to you, putting an unsure hand on your waist. “I like you the way you were before. And this isn’t… This isn’t you.”

You blink back stinging tears and turn your gaze to where you toe your Mary Jane’s into the kitchen tile. You go to twist your rings like you always did when you were nervous before realizing you’d left them all at home.

“I just wanted to be like the girls you like,” you confess quietly.

“You are like the girls I like,” Steve corrects with a gentle laugh. “‘Cause I like you.”

Your eyes are all glassy when they flit back up to his. 

Even though you don’t look quite like yourself, the way you look at him hasn’t changed. You still gaze at him like you can see right through the nice hair and the dumb smirks and the stupid persona he puts on when he doesn’t feel good enough the way he is. You look at him like you’re in love with the boy he tries like hell to keep hidden.

The exact same way he looks at you.

“I think I just got a little spooked. Girls like me aren’t supposed to end up with guys like you.”

“I stopped believing in that shit a long time ago,” he admits with the shake of his head. “The whole soulmates-love-at-first-sight thing, it’s all… bullshit. If I’m gonna love someone, I’m gonna do it on purpose.”

Steve watches the lingering sadness in your eyes ebb to something sunnier. Your gaze sparkles and suddenly you’re beaming at him, not bothering to conceal the effect his words have on you. You don’t think you could even if you wanted to.

“I like that,” you murmur in approval, then more loudly proclaim: “Screw soulmates! Let’s start loving people on purpose!”

The two of you laugh about this promise you’ve just made to each other without really saying it to each other. It sort of goes unsaid — if I’m gonna love you, I’m gonna do it on purpose and let’s love each other on purpose. That’s what you mean, and neither of you has to say it out loud because you get it. 

It’s that exact realization that makes Steve’s heart flutter something fierce. Suddenly, the urge to touch you becomes too great to bear. He wants to feel you like he did on the couch of his theater room, when a film he could barely recall crackled in the background because the feel of you was too loud for him to hear anything else.

He needs you like that again, on him and all over him. The ache is a palpable one.

The boy squeezes your waist again, as though to remind you he was still there. Or, perhaps, to remind himself that you were still there —the real thing and not something his brain conjured up.

“It’s not totally insane how bad I want to kiss you right now, is it?” he wonders quietly to you. The low, sultry nature of his voice is not at all forced like it usually is when he’s trying most desperately to flirt with you. His words are just naturally weighed down by his desire for you.

You shake your head in a silent promise, then command through a grin, “Kiss me stupid, Harrington.”

Steve doesn’t waste a second.

He’s been anxiously awaiting his chance to touch you all night. He does so now with a vigor that makes you feel all of that anticipation. With one hand on your waist and the other cupping your jaw, you can feel his buzzing skin as it presses against your own — like the static of a television screen. His fingers settle between the strands of your hair while his thumb absentmindedly rubs along your cheekbone. 

The softness of his touch makes you hum against his mouth.

His lips are familiar like home — more than, because sometimes you think you’ve never really had one. 

There’s never been a cozy, warm, and tender place where you could rest your tired bones. Eddie’s trailer, maybe, but it wasn’t yours. No matter how often you slept within the four walls of his bedroom, no matter how hard you pretended like you’d lived there all your life, it would never belong to you.

But Steve could. 

Steve could be yours.

And you wouldn’t even have to pretend either. It would be for real this time.

His mouth was welcoming and pleasant and gentle, far more than you’ve ever gotten out of four walls and a roof. The plush pink of his lips — the cushion of his bottom one you like to dig your teeth into and the rough pad of his tongue that explores your mouth like undiscovered territory — is perhaps the softest thing you’ve ever known.

Even when he kisses you harder and guides you until your back is pressed against the edge of the countertop, it’s still so, so tender.

Steve’s hands migrate to your hips. His fingers clutch the fabric of your skirt as he cages you against his weight and the counter, as though out of fear you might slip away.

Your touch mirrors his desperate one. You cling to him with a similar intensity, balling the fabric of his navy blue Henley in one hand while you waltz through the pretty strands of his neatly styled hair with the other. You let him kiss you the way he wants to kiss you, keeping your obedient mouth plaint for him while he opens your mouth wider with his tongue.

His touches turn bruising, and yours go soft like summer rain.

Steve holds desperately onto you, like any moment he could wake up and none of this could be real. He kisses you like he won’t ever get to kiss you again, having no idea that you’ve already started to build a home in him. 

Meanwhile, your fingers tips trail like drops of water down his chest and stomach. They settle at his waist, on the top of his belt, and linger along the leather edge of it. You’re not quite sure what to do next — if you should wait for Steve to say something or if you should go ahead and take the lead.

Your sudden hesitation makes him nervous.

Steve’s lips click wetly as they part from yours. He peers down at you through heavy lids, amber eyes swimming with honeyed desire. His lips are pinker now, and swollen from being kissed so ardently. His brows pinch in concern. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t w—”

You barely let him get the words out before you press your mouth to his again. Your hands twist at the collar of his shirt to bring him back down to you. You stand on the tips of your toes to meet him halfway. 

“I want to,” you mumble, practically slurring from being so drunk on his touch.

“I wanna treat you right—” he tries to tell you. Some of his words are muffled against your mouth because you find yourself totally unable to stop kissing him now. “—Take things slow with you.” 

You smack a final kiss to his lips. When his honey eyes flutter open again, he finds you wearing a mischievous sort of smirk. There’s an accompanying teasing glint in your glazed over eyes.

“You can do all that when you’re inside of me,” you promise lowly, bold in a way neither of you are used to. The brazen nature of your dirty words is foreign but no less exciting.

They make Steve’s head get all swimmy and his cock tightens as it stiffens in his slacks. His spine tingles with his borderline overwhelming desire for you.

“Have mercy…” he murmurs within a heavy breath, more to himself than to you.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

And love, is only heaven away...

Steve’s curtains match his wallpaper.

It’s a questionable blue and gray plaid that you doubt he picked out himself. The framed pictures of sports cars only add to the boyish flair of his bedroom. It doesn’t look like him, though. None of it does.

The only real trace of Steve The Hair Harrington is the poster of Christie Brinkley hanging beside his window, diligently placed right next to his bed. It’s a blown-up Sports Illustrated cover — a beautiful, soaking wet woman posing less than effortlessly against a palm tree in all her blonde-haired, blue-eyed, perfected-bodied glory. It’s the most King Steve you’ve ever seen.

All the minute details of his bedroom make you giggle.

“You have great taste, Steve Harrington.”

He grumbles in annoyance at your teasing as he clicks his door shut behind you.

“Well, you can thank my mom for my great taste, okay? She decorated the place when we moved in, like, forever ago. I just haven’t, you know, gotten around to changing it yet.”

“I can tell,” you laugh and turn to him with a smirk. “Really cool bedsheets, by the way. I mean, seriously. This is state-of-the-art design here, Stevie.”

It isn’t until he’s being pelted with your relentless teasing that he remembers he’s got dinosaur-patterned linens spread out on his mattress.

Steve typically likes to alternate bedsheets in between washing them. His plain gray ones would’ve perhaps been more appropriate for times like this, but they were in his hamper along with another set of plaid ones. His dino sheets may be immature, but they’re no less comfortable. It’s not his fault they just happened to fall on the week you were coming over.

“Alright, Punchy—” The boy rolls his eyes and splays two wide hands on your sides, pressing himself into you rather shamelessly. You wonder if the clothed stiffness against your lower stomach is just your imagination. Any other teasing remarks dissipate from the tip of your tongue as your eyes widen.

Steve notices your silence and smiles. “—You wanna keep making fun of me, or do you wanna make out some more?”

“I think we can do both,” you answer with a shrug, resting your hands along his waist. “I’m quite the multitasker, Harrington.”

“Yeah?”

You nod.

“Wanna show me?”

You nod again, smiling wider now.

He smashes his lips into yours again. You meet him halfway. It’s all too easy to fall back into the swings of things — the desperate mouths and longing touches. Maybe because you’re always desperate and longing for him. And, with the way he’s clinging to you now, you figure he must always be those things for you, too.

You relish in all of his little touches, in the duality of them. He cups your jaw so tenderly yet clutches your hip like he’s still trying to discern whether you’re real or not. Then his palms slide around your waist and up your back until he’s all but hugging you. It’s too sweet a gesture for how he’s prying your lips open with his mouth to slip his tongue inside. 

His hands settle, finally, at the very bottom of your sweater. They linger at them hem, not pressuring you to do anything, just waiting for you to make a move. 

You part from him to abide by his unspoken want. Your trembling hands work together to free you from your top. You’re more than grateful to pry the itchy thing off of you.

Steve doesn’t get the chance to admire the bra you wear. He catches a glimpse of frilly lace, but there’s little time to praise your topless form before you’re pulling him into another searing kiss. It’s full of tongue and teeth now, far more hungry that just moments ago. Your fingers slither through his hair and curl in the strands. You keep him firmly locked against you as his lips trail down your neck.

He finds your most sensitive spot in record time — the one just under your jaw, right beside your racing pulse. Your legs nearly give out when his tongue runs over it. A breathy moan exhales from your mouth before you can stop it and you feel him smile against your neck. He doesn’t comment on it, just keeps kissing you there in the hopes that you’ll do it for him again.

You do.

Steve sucks and nips at your delicate skin, and you revel in the feeling of his mouth. Head thrown back, you let him paint your neck in varying shades of red. Some will disappear come morning; others will darken into souvenirs for you to admire for the next few days.

The thought of him marking you drives you nearly as crazy as the feeling of his lips against you. 

You stopped trying to hold back your whines somewhere around ten of them ago. It was easier, you found, for him to kiss you and to let yourself enjoy it than be hyperaware of all the sounds you were or weren’t making. Steve seems to like it when you moan for him, anyway. Every time you do, he kisses you harder, holds you tighter, and hums out his own subtle moans against you.

He digs his teeth into your skin. It makes you whimper. The desperate, high-pitched noise fades into a lower moan when the rough pad of his tongue rushes out to soothe the bite. He moves on to kiss you elsewhere. You shiver when your spit-slicked skin meets the cool air.

You don’t notice that you’ve hitched your leg up his hip until you feel his warm hand on your thigh to hold it up for you. His fingers inch up until the tips of them rest beneath the hem of your skirt.

You don’t bother to hide how much you want him.

He doesn’t bother to hide how badly he needs you close.

“Wanna make you feel good,” he mumbles into your neck, smiling when his words make you whine. “Can I make you feel good?”

You nod when the words get stuck in your throat.

He parts from you for the first time in several minutes. His heavy gaze meets your own. “Can you say it for me?” he asks, not teasing you, just wanting to make sure you want this. Him.

“Want you to…” you start, then swallow when your voice is tighter than expected. You manage the rest through bated breaths. “…to make me feel good.”

Steve kisses you again, a long and thorough stamp on your lips, followed by several tinier pecks. Then his mouth starts its journey down, down, down your body, stopping only to admire your exposed chest. He’s more than pleased to find that what you’re wearing is hardly a bra at all.

It’s a sheer thing with dainty lace detailing. He figures it’s more for decoration than to push up your breasts. There’s no padding at all. Just a pretty tulle number that leaves very little to the imagination.

You watch him intently with a smile, enamored by how enamored he seems to be by a pair of boobs. You never thought yours were much to ogle over, but Steve presses tender, wet kisses to them anyway. He takes the plush between his teeth, sucking on the delicate skin to leave a blossoming bruise there. He only trails further down when he’s satisfied with the mark he’s branded you with.

Steve falls to his knees with a soft thud upon the carpeted floor. The faint sound is much more obvious in the quiet of his bedroom. He looks somehow prettier below you — soft and delicate and sweet like chocolate syrup or marshmallow fluff. But he’s still got this air about him, something stern and domineering, that tells you he’s still got all the power.

He presses a kiss to your thigh, just above the top of your sock, then several more further up. His fingers raise the fabric of your skirt the higher his lips travel. And, strangely, you’re not all that nervous about being half-naked in front of him. It’s hard to be when he’s kissing you like you’re a beautiful thing that deserves to be touched so tenderly.

Steve keeps pushing up your skirt and stills when he reaches the apex of your thigh, right where the top of it meets the joint of your hip.

Your underwear doesn’t match the bra you’re wearing, he finds. It’s orange all over and spotted with bats — the color has faded slightly, like you’d bought them some number of Halloweens ago.

It’s endearing. Everything about you is endearing. Even when you aren’t trying.

“Hold it up for me, yeah?” he asks you with your skirt in his hands.

It shouldn’t surprise him when you do the exact opposite. You step back from him to shove the thing down your legs, then leave it in a pool of forgotten fabric on his bedroom floor when you gravitate towards him all over again. 

His hands rise to your outer thigh and rub soothingly along the warmed skin. You wonder if he can feel the goosebumps pebbling there. The smirk he flashes up at you tells you that he does.

He’s got a twinkle in his eye when he teases you. “Really cute underwear, by the way.”

“I was obviously very prepared for this,” you retort with ease, making fun of yourself just as effortlessly as you can make fun of him.

“I like them,” the boy assures. “I really like them. Very on brand, Punchy.”

“Would you like me better out of them?”

Your arched brow and knowing smirk, kept caged between your teeth, is met with a bemused gaze. Steve’s eyes go wide at your forwardness.

“Uh, yeah— I mean… yeah,” he nods with a breathless chuckle. Then, more sincerely says, “Only if you still want to.”

You scoff at his timidity, though it’s more at yourself than him. “Look at me, Steve,” you answer plainly, motioning to your half-naked form and the damp spot forming in your underwear. “If I didn’t want this, you’d know by now.”

Steve huffs out a laugh, just before pressing a chaste kiss to the black bow of your panties. He noses at the softness of your stomach while his fingers curl around the hem. He tugs them slowly downward, giving you ample time to stop him if you wanted. 

A part of him is still convinced that none of this is real — you, namely. Truth be told, he’s waiting for a smack to the face and a rant about how all of this was just bullshit.

It never comes, though.

Instead, he gets a sheepish grin and a sparkling gaze as you hold onto his shoulder to step out of your underwear. The giggle that spills from your mouth when he tosses them over his shoulder makes him smile. 

Your pussy is as pretty as the rest of you. It’s more manicured than he imagined for a girl as wild as you. There’s a tuft of hair on your pubic bone, cut down and shaved around the edges. It leaves your lips bare and glistening with your accumulating slick.

Steve’s all but salivating at the sight of you.

“You wanna put that mouth to work, Harrington, or do you wanna ogle some m— oh,” you try to tease him, all amused at how he looks like he’s never seen a naked girl before, knowing full well he’s seen plenty. But your taunts evaporate from your tongue when he finally puts his mouth on you. They ebb into a breathy, high-pitched moan.

The tip of his chiseled nose smushes against you while he licks at the rest of your pussy with a practiced tongue. 

It’s more than obvious he’s done this before. Enough to have become a borderline professional at it. He finds your sensitive button within seconds and with minimal effort. Your legs are already buckling, practically turning to jelly, and he’s only just started. 

He latches onto your lips with a swollen pink mouth. His warm, wide hands wrap around the backs of your thighs to keep you steady and anchored against him.

Steve kisses your cunt like he’s making out with you. He opens and closes his mouth in slow, rhythmic motions, rutting his tongue along your glistening skin all the while. He’s sloppy with intention. Every touch is meticulous. He’s trying to figure you out, trying to learn what you like the most and what makes you moan the loudest for him.

Steve’s attentive. He’s ambitious and ardent. It’s like he enjoys kissing you down there, and not like he’s doing you a favor so he can get something in return. He moans against you like it’s every bit as pleasurable for him, as it is for you.

He alternates his efforts while he discovers you like unexplored territory.

You giggled like it tickled you when he stuck his tongue into your cunt the first time, then moaned when his nose nudged your clit. “Your mouth is so good,” you’d praised through bated breaths, but your whines had gotten too quiet for his liking. He opted to give his tongue a break and latch his slick lips to your swelling clit.

You liked it most when he sucked you there. At least, he figures you must, with the way your mouth parts in a silent cry and your hands dart to his hair to push him further into you.

“You like that?” Steve asks you, just to be sure. He pulls enough away so the words are intelligible, but still close for you to feel the vibrations of them against your skin.

“Yes,” you answer in a broken sigh.

Steve barely lets you answer before he’s licking a flat stripe up the length of your pussy. He slows methodically when the tip of his tongue catches your puffy clit, just so he can see your legs tremble. They do, rather intensely so, and he revels in the way your thighs quiver at his temples.

He wishes he’d laid you down before putting his mouth on you. He regrets not getting to spread you open, to part your soft folds with his thumbs, and admire you the way you deserve to be admired. 

But to be under you this way is a reward in itself. To get on his knees for you, to let you grind your hips against his face, it’s heaven. He never wants to stop feeling you this way.

“Please, Steve…” you moan breathlessly. “Please, please, please.”

You plea like it’s a mantra. Your voice grows tighter and tighter the closer you get to your peak. 

Steve’s not entirely what you’re begging for. You’re not either, really. You just know that the pleasure is swelling. The wringing knot in your stomach is close to snapping. The thought alone is borderline overwhelming. You want to run away from the crescendoing feeling and keep it locked against your pussy all at once.

“Steve… Steve, please. I’m— fuck.”

“You can take it,” he promises, speaking the words into your cunt. His lips smack when he pulls away from you, just for a moment to catch his breath. His chest heaves and his tongue darts to graze his bottom lip. “It’s yours, baby. Just take it—”

You’re a goner the second he wraps his lips around your clit again. He suckles there like his life depends on it. Your hips twitch and you tug at his hair when you come, perhaps a bit rougher than you realize. Steve delights in the burn at his scalp. He groans shamelessly into you, a hearty grumble that rolls over every inch of your body.

You make the mistake of looking down at him in the midst of your undoing. You bring your chin down to your chest and open your fluttering eyes to peer down at the boy below you. He’s already looking up at you, you find, with his own bleary gaze. His cinnamon eyes glitter up at you and you melt for him.

Something about the sight of Steve on his knees for you, face snug against your cunt, and gaze lidded with desire makes you keen. Your hips flex, then still against his mouth while you gush for him.

“There you go,” he murmurs against your cunt. “There you go, baby.”

A high moan gets hung in your throat at his praise. It escapes in a delicate cry when your orgasm pummels into you full throttle. You’re whining and terribly sensitive when the buzzing feeling starts to ebb.

Steve laps at your weeping cunt while you writhe. 

He knows to leave your throbbing clit alone now, but seeks to prolong your pleasure in other ways. He gathers the honey you leak from your pulsating hole with an eager tongue and doesn’t relent until you’re twitching away from him. Only when you’re tugging him off by his hair is he satisfied.

Then he goes effortlessly soft again.

He presses little kisses to the burning flesh of your thighs and runs his palms along the backs of them to coax you back to the earth again.

When your cries fade to more contented sighs and your eyes find his again, he smiles sweetly up at you. Too sweetly. He shouldn’t be grinning so tenderly, not when his lips and chin and nose glisten with your slick.

Steve wipes his mouth with the back of his hands as he rises to his full height in front of you.

“Was that… Was that good for you?” he wonders, suddenly sheepish like he wasn’t lapping at your pussy a minute or more ago.

“Are you kidding?” you retort, trying to laugh at him. All that comes out is a fatigued scoff. Your hands twist in the fabric of his shirt and you lean heavily against him when his arms wrap around you again. “I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life.”

That nearly does him in right then.

He leans to press a languid kiss to your mouth. There’s a foreign musk to his tongue now that wasn’t there before. You hum a moan against him when you realize it’s you that you’re tasting.

“Can I suck you off?” you blurt.

Steve freezes. 

There’s hardly a thing he wants more than to feel your warm mouth on his cock. He’s been hard and aching since the second he got you into his bedroom. And that’s exactly why he knows he won’t last.

He usually jerks off before dates for that exact reason. At least, King Steve did because King Steve knew wherever he was going, he was getting laid. He wouldn’t have the reputation he did if he only lasted eight seconds.

He would’ve gotten himself off before you came around, made sure he was able to last as long as you needed him to if he’d expected you to need him at all. But he wasn’t expecting any of this to happen — especially not for you to come against his mouth and ask to give him a blowjob minutes later. 

He didn’t invite you to dinner in the hopes you’d put out after. Call him old-fashioned, but he enjoys spending innocent time with you. He would’ve been more than happy to cook you dinner and kiss you on the cheek before you left.

But here you are, wanting more.

You never stop surprising him.

“I mean, it’s only fair, right?” you shrug at his silence. “You deserve to get off too.”

“You don’t have to. Not just because I did it for you—”

“I’ve been hearing about your dick since the tenth grade. I’m pretty sure I’m the only girl in the class of ’85 that hasn’t seen it. The least you can do is let me give you a measly blowjob,” you confess lowly.

Steve, knocked senseless at your words, starts working his belt off without a second thought. His hands fumble with the buckle while he smirks at you. “Yeah? What have you heard?”

“Oh, you know. The usual,” you answer vaguely and saunter the short distance to his bed. You plop down on the edge of it and lean your weight on your palms. “Just that you have a monster-sized dick and that Marianne from Soc nearly broke it when you took her virginity.”

“That was a rumor!” he defends as he steps out of his jeans. His shirt goes next. He pulls the thing up and over his head with an admirable sort of finesse, leaving his toned torso and hairy chest on display for you. 

“The monster-sized dick or the Marianne from Soc thing?”

He doesn’t entertain with an answer, just drops his boxers and lets you figure it out for yourself. 

His cock is already hard and glowing a faint strawberry color at the tip with neglect. It curves to his right hip and hangs there, weighed down by its own size. The hair upon his pubic bone rises to meet the happy trail on his lean stomach, trimmed slightly but still a bit wild. Tanned skin, heavy balls, and a singular vein that trails like a river from the base to the head — Steve Harrington’s got the prettiest dick you’ve ever seen.

You don’t even realize you’re gawking at him because you’re too busy trying to figure out how either could be rumors. You’re looking at beast right now, a wild thing that tiny, little Marianne from Soc certainly couldn’t handle. You’re not even entirely sure if you can.

Steve blanches at your hesitation. He sees you retreat into your head and rushes to bring you back. “Hey, we don’t have to… We don’t have to do this if you do want to. We don’t have to do any of this if—”

“I want to,” you assure quickly, eyes widening when you realize how quiet you’d gone. You can imagine how mortifying it must’ve been, for him to get naked in front of you and be met with total silence. “You just… have the biggest dick I’ve ever seen.”

His concern ebbs to a relieved smile. “Well, thanks for stroking my ego, princess.”

“I would love to stroke something else,” you quip with a playful grin that’s far too proud of such a dumb joke.

Steve rolls his eyes but doesn’t bother to hide his smile. 

He wants it on record, though, that he’s not grinning at your mindless innuendo. It wreaks too much of Eddie. You both seem to possess a similar sort of humor in that way, in how you can make anything into a joke — particularly a dirty one.

“Thanks for stroking my ego,” Steve would say and Munson would joke, “Well, we both know nothing else of yours is getting stroked, Harrington, so it’s the least I can do.” And Eddie would’ve been right. But Steve would never let him know that.

The boy settles in the middle of his bed and watches with a glittering gaze as Eddie’s best friend climbs between his legs. She spits into her palm and starts tugging at his hard cock with it. Steve isn’t sure of what to do — if he should rub it in this boy’s face or keep this piece of heaven to himself. He decides on that latter when your lips wrap around his leaking tip.

You’ll tell Eddie about all this tomorrow. He’s your best friend, after all — Steve will be doing the same with Robin, no doubt. And that alone is a reward in and of itself.

Getting him into your mouth was easy in theory, but you quickly find that it’s a harder feat than you realized. Steve’s not just long, he’s wide, and the combination makes it nearly impossible to take him fully. 

You pay extra attention to his strawberry pink tip to make up for what you can’t reach. He seems to like that more than anything else. Pearly pre-come leaks from there and you happily lap up his dribbling honey. Steve shudders every time your tongue meets his mushroom tip. His cock keeps drooling for you, so you keep doing it.

You work the rest of him with your palm, made slippery with your spit. Your free hand anchors around his thigh.

The combined effort isn’t something Steve’s particularly used to. 

Most girls choose one or the other. They either try to swallow him whole or opt to use their hands when they know that they can’t. That is, if they even want to suck him off at all. The foreign attention you give him drives him to the edge embarrassingly quickly.

“Hey, we should, uh— we should maybe stop,” he cautions tightly.

You detach from the head of his dick with a soft pop, but keep working him slowly with your palm. Your brows pinch together with concern. “You okay? Is it not… Is it not good?”

“What? No! It’s not— It’s not that. It’s great. That’s the… That’s sorta the problem,” Steve assures with an awkward laugh. “I’m not gonna… I probably won’t last much longer. And if you wanna… you know…”

“Fuck?” you finish for him with a teasing grin.

“Yeah. Then we should, you know, maybe stop now.”

Your hand stills at the base of his cock. Steve can finally breathe without the worry of bursting entirely.

“I mean, we can stop if you want to. You know, no pressure or anything, but… I don’t mind. I was sorta looking forward to you coming in my mouth.”

And how the hell was Steve ever going to say no to that — to you? He’s never denied you of anything before, and with that godawful track record, he wasn’t exactly equipped to start now.

Your mouth wraps around him again. You kitten lick at his tip and moan at the musky taste before sucking at his blushing head.

It feels good — it feels great — but he’s plagued with a lingering worry. 

He wants so desperately to fuck you, more than he needs to breathe, it feels like. But your mouth is too perfect a thing to deprive himself of. He’s scared it’ll take him too long to get hard again, or worse, that he won’t be able to at all. 

The thought of embarrassing himself in front of you, of not making you feel as good as he wants to make you feel, is an unbearable one.

There’s no way he’s stopping you, though. How can he when you’re sucking him off like your life depends on it? Your hand tugs and squeezes at the base of his cock while your tongue laps at his drooling tip. And on top of all that, you moan against him like making him feel good is making you feel good, too.

“Holy shit,” Steve forces through a tightening throat when your tongue dips just below his head to lick where the pale blue vein fades. His neck stretches as he digs the crown of his head into the pillow, revealing all of the pretty tendons you want to sink your teeth into.

“Your mouth is— fuck… Your mouth is fucking perfect, babe, shit.”

All of his little reactions spur you forward. 

You want him to keep praising you. You want to keep making his legs shudder and his hips twitch and his cock jerk in your mouth. So you double your efforts, just to hear more of his pretty whines that get stuck in his throat.

When you duck your head to pay the same amount of attention to his balls, Steve’s a total fucking goner.

His hands, both of which were obediently fisting the bedsheets, immediately dart to your hair when you suck his sack into your mouth. One warm palm cradles your jaw while the other clings to the back of your hand. He doesn’t push you or force you to take him further — he just holds you.

“I’m gonna come,” he grunts before a groan climbs out from his throat. His head falls back again, but he forces it upright a moment later so he can keep on watching you.

His hips stutter when you hum a moan against him.

“Yeah? Is that what you want?” he manages through heavy pants. “You want my come?”

You nod with his balls still in your mouth, then pull off of them with a pop to put his cock back in your mouth. 

Steve gives you exactly what you want no more than ten seconds later, spitting several loads of his come onto your tongue. It tastes like what had been leaking from his tip, just a bit saltier and far more potent with so much of it in your mouth at one time.

Steve’s thighs tremble around you and hips buck wildly despite himself until he’s given you everything he can possibly give to you. 

He allows himself only a few moments to relish in the aftermath of his swirling pleasure before reaching for the box of tissues on his bedside table. He rises to his elbows to hand you the napkin when his dick slips from your mouth. 

“Here, you can—” he says, trying to offer you something to spit into. It’s a habit he’d developed after the tenth or so girl refused to swallow.

You’ve already wolfed down his come, though, and wiped the excess at the corners of your mouth with the tips of your fingers. You don’t let a single drop of him go to waste.

All this time, Steve assumed he just tasted bad. He figured that must’ve been why no girl ever swallowed for him — not even Nancy, the only other girl he was ever really serious about. And they were together for two years. On the off chance she ever actually wanted to give him a blowjob, he knew her swallowing his come was totally out of the question.

Steve never minded, though. He was a giver more than he was anything else and he preferred most to finish inside. But now, with you, he sees just how much he’d missed out on. It feels a bit strange and unearthly levels of gratifying.

The boy breathes out a laugh and falls back against the mattress. The tissue falls from his limp hand onto the carpeted floor as he revels in his post-orgasmic haze. With his head still swimming and his legs still tingling, his glassy eyes find the speckled ceiling above him but don’t focus on anything in particular.

“Was that—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” he interjects softly. 

There’s no use in asking if you were good or not. Surely, you could answer the question just by looking at him. He’s a puddle of a man in the middle of his bed, pliant and at your mercy.

You giggle and slither in beside him, pressing your mostly bare body into his side. One leg wraps over his own. The warmth of your slick pussy lingers at his hip. You prop your head up with your fist while your other settles along his chest, busying itself with the tufts of hair there.

“That was, like, really good,” you praise with a sheepish beam. You wish you knew bigger words that might be able to describe it better. Really good doesn’t come close to explaining how heavenly it felt to come in his mouth, for him to come in yours. “You certainly lived up to all the rumors, Harrington.”

“You say that like we’re done,” he chuckles at your conclusive tone.

Your eyes flit from his face to his softening cock lying limb on his thigh, then back to his face again. You arch a skeptical brow. “No?”

“Not even close,” he shakes his head defiantly. His honey eyes flit between the both of yours. “I need to fuck you, babe, I just… I need a few minutes. If that, you know— If that’s okay with you…”

“You just give me life-changing head. So, yeah, I think I can give you a couple minutes,” you promise with a playful, but not insincere smile.

Even after having his mouth on you, and your mouth on him, you still like kissing him the most.

No amount of pleasure can sate the feeling of having him so close in this way. There’s nothing equally gratifying as sucking his bottom lip into your mouth or feeling the wet muscle of his tongue running itself over your own. You’d be more than happy to kiss him like this until sunrise.

Steve’s hands stay locked on either side of your head while he pries your mouth open with his own. He’ll occasionally pull back to admire your spit-slick, kiss-bitten lips for a moment or two. Then he’ll flash you a smile, like you’re a piece of finished artwork he’s happy with, before pulling you back down again.

You lean just over him, elbow digging into the pillow beside his head as you rest your weight on your arm. That hand twists itself within the strands of his hair, fingers lazing in the chestnut halo on his head. Your other migrates down his body, touching him with feather-light grazes to coax him hard again. 

His stomach tightens when your nails sweep over the thin trail of hair there. His stiffening cock twitches where it lazes along his inner thigh.

“Top or bottom?” the boy mumbles between languid kisses. His eyes flutter open long enough to catch the brief flash of confusion on your face. You don’t stop pressing your lips to his, even amid your uncertainty.

“Like bunks?”

Steve sputters a laugh against your mouth. He pulls away so he can look at you. “No, like— I meant, do you wanna ride me? Or would you rather lay down?”

“Oh. Shit. Sorry,” you stammer quickly. You figure the question must’ve puzzled you because no guy has ever asked before. This kindness is still a tad bit foreign. “I just— I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay. It was cute,” Steve assures with a smile so soft it has to be sincere.

“Um… I don’t— I mean, I don’t know. Is that, like, something you want me to do?”

His right hand leaves your face to find his cock. He wraps his fist around himself, pumping slowly to keep himself hard for you. “It’s whatever you want, okay? Promise. I just thought it might be easier for you if you were on top. So you can take things at your own pace and everything.”

“Yeah,” you affirm within a heavy exhale. You feel yourself growing wetter at the mere thought of being on top of him like that. You nod until the words catch up with you. “Yeah. Okay.”

It isn’t your first time being in this position, but something about straddling Steve’s hips feels foreign. You’re starting to notice that most things you do with him feels that way — new and strange and alarming. Even the most innocent things, the mundane shit you’ve done a thousand times before, it’s all brand new with him.

You twist your hand behind your back to unclip your bra. Steve watches you with wide eyes like you’re doing some sort of magic trick. When you toss the piece of fabric somewhere on his bedroom floor, he spits into his palm to wet his cock.

His eyes flit from his hand, to your glistening pussy hovering just above his lap, to your face. “You can, uh— You can rub yourself on me, if you want. You know, to get it wetter. I don’t have lube or anything. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’m…” you trail off. I’m more than wet, you’d almost said. That felt a little too overzealous, though, so you settle on telling him: “I’m okay.”

“You’re still on the, um, the pill, right?” he wonders, feeling a bit lame for remembering something you’d said in passing so long ago.

You complained once that birth control made you feel crazy. You said it affected your mood so drastically sometimes that it didn’t feel worth it to take. That was weeks ago. A brief conversation you’d left in the Family Video parking lot. 

You nod wordlessly in reply.

Steve holds the base of his cock to keep it steady for you as you pierce yourself with it. 

Taking his blushing head was the easiest part. The sensitive tip slips so effortlessly into you, just bulbous enough for you to feel it but not enough to stretch you out. It’s a Goldilocks just right sort of feeling that has low moans crawling from the depths of your throats.

Down, down, down a couple more inches and that’s when the ache starts to set in.

His girth stretches you in an unfamiliar, but no less satisfying way. As good as it feels, the burning sensation is a hard one to ignore. It’s like a fire, a distant one. It’s sort of like reaching your hand toward a flame while your brain screams at you to not get any closer.

It’s a lot like that, actually.

Your brain cautions you about taking him any deeper than you have now lest he might totally split you in half.

“Sorry— Sorry. I’m sorry,” you sputter suddenly, a little embarrassed that he’s only a couple of inches within you and you’re already having so much trouble. With your chin tilted towards your chest and your eyes squeezed shut, you refuse to meet Steve’s concerned gaze. “It’s just… It’s kind of a lot.”

“It’s okay,” he assures quickly. He rubs two soothing hands along your hips and fights back the urge to thrust further into you. You don’t see the gentle smile he looks at you with your eyes closed. “Take your time.”

A little over a minute and a pep talk later, you finally build up the courage to sit on him fully. Come, you can do it, your inner voice spits at you. Stop being a baby. It’s just a penis, don’t be such a bitch. 

Your face scrunches when you slide slowly down upon him. Steve expects you to stop and take a break for anothera moment like you’d done just before. He’s more than surprised when you try to take him completely.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You don’t have to— holy shit, babe— don’t hurt yourself— fuuuck.”

You breathe out a heavy sigh of relief when he’s finally sheathed within your pulsating pussy. A lazy, lopsided smile makes its way to your lips, delirious with pleasure and pride. 

Both of you exhale faraway moans at the new feeling, heads falling back on their own accord. You’re already more than gratified and you haven’t even moved yet. He’s reaching parts of you that most guys don’t on their best day, making you feel full without trying. Even without his thrusting, the minuscule twitches of his cock are already driving you toward an orgasm.

“Can I tell you a secret?” you ask him suddenly, smiling lazily at the ceiling. 

Steve’s adams apple bobs as he swallows. Then he nods.

“I’m already really fucking close,” you confess with a breathless laugh, face crumbling under the weight of your pleasure halfway through.

Steve chuckles, then groans quietly. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I am, too.”

You laugh together and your coinciding embarrassment fades like an ebbing tide. The intimate confessions affirm what you were already more than aware of — that the both of you are just a couple of lovesick idiots who are head over heels for each other and in so far over your heads that you can barely breathe.

You’re spurred on by the sight below you. Steve’s wild hair and amber eyes and swollen pink mouth make you ravenous. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, looking like the sight of you makes him hungry too, as you start to grind your hips over his lap.

He guides your rhythm with two wide hands on your hips. Your pace is slow, every roll of your hips is experimental, and he revels in every second of it.

You start by rocking back and forth over his lap, then by moving in small circles to add stimulation. When get more confident, you lift yourself up and down over his cock. He’s able to hit your most sensitive spot that way. Steve seems to like it too, because you feel the subtle jerks of his responsive cock.

He accommodates your every move — thrusting his hips in time with your bouncing, then flexing them to reach as deep as he can within you.

“That’s it…” Steve murmurs, mostly to himself. He’s not exactly trying to praise you, but his words send lightning strikes of pleasure to your pussy anyway. He keeps babbling to himself. “That’s it, baby. Take it. Just like that…”

You support yourself with your palms on his hairy chest when you double your efforts on top of him. Steve groans at the lewd sound of your slick thighs clapping over his lap every time you move down on his cock. Your cunt quickly drenches his lower stomach and the small thatch of pubic hair just below it.

You too easily forget that fucking is a marathon and not a sprint. 

You overexert yourself quickly in your attempt to rush toward an orgasm and the effects of your sudden fatigue make your legs feel numb.

“Sorry,” you apologize breathlessly when you’re bouncing slows to a stop. You collapse to your elbows, nose nearly grazing Steve’s, as you swivel your hips slowly over his lap. You try to laugh at yourself. “My legs are just getting a little tired… I haven’t done this in a while if you couldn’t tell.”

Steve smiles sympathetically up at you. His hands leave the plush of your hips to cradle your jaw. He gazes at you with a stern sort of gentleness. “Stop apologizing. You’re good,” he promises, then pulls you softly down to peck your mouth.

He rolls his hips up into you and grunts when it makes you whine. “So fucking good…”

Steve tells you to tuck your knees further up his torso and you obey without thinking. You tuck your face into his shoulder and let him cradle the back of your head with one hand while the other settles on your ass. 

He grips you there rather shamelessly, fingers digging into your plump skin, while he bends his knees behind you. He plants his feet on the mattress and thrusts up into you without warning. 

His pace is already a relentless one, having no need to work himself up to a rapid pass as you had. Being basketball team captain has done wonders for his stamina, it seems. He drills up into you and keeps drilling into you without tiring. 

He keeps you securely pressed against him all the while and you relax into his embrace, happily letting him fuck you in his own delicious rhythm as he’d done for you.

The new position stimulates you from all angles. Steve’s hard cock pounds into your weeping pussy. Your swollen clit catches the coarse hair on his taut stomach with each of his thrusts. Your pebbled nipples drag along his furry chest.

It leaves you a whining, writhing mess on top of him.

“You like this?” he murmurs in your ear through broken pants. 

He’s partly teasing you. He knows you mustlike what he’s doing to some degree because you’re moaning something fierce into his neck, peppering too sweet kisses in between your pretty whines. But he also wants to know that you like it. He wants to hear you say the words.

He feels you nod against his shoulder. “Yes...” You sigh, then whimper. “Yes, yes yes—”

“I knew you did,” he affirms. You can hear the smile on his face. You’re not sure if he’s mocking you or not. You’re not sure if you particularly care either. 

His stubbly jaw grazes your cheek when he turns his head to press a kiss to the burning skin. “Knew you’d like it… Takin’ my dick like a fuckin’ champ, babe.”

“Wanna be good for you,” you confess against his sweat-slicked skin, your voice high and wet like you’re close to crying.

Steve tugs at your hair, not enough to hurt you, just enough to pull you from the refuge you’d sought in the nook of his neck. He finds that your eyes are glassy with unshed tears, brows pinching and swollen lips softly agape. His amber eyes are just as wild, heavy with hunger.

“You are good for me, baby,” he promises and seals it with a searing kiss to your wet mouth. He means it in more ways than one and prays you understand. “You’re so good for me… Fucking perfect, babe— shit—”

His cock twitches in your snug slick when you clench around him. He tightens the grip he’s got on your ass and spreads you wider to pound harder into you. You hope his scorching touch will leave bruises come morning. You want to remember how it felt to have him touching you this way.

“Steve…” you sigh, helpless.

“Hmm?”

“I’m gonna…” you start, then whimper when you feel the familiar pleasure start to crescendo once more. It takes a moment for the words to return to you. “I’m about to come.”

“Touch yourself,” he blurts.

Your lidded gaze widens. You peer down at him, bemused by his sudden request. “Huh?”

“Touch yourself for me,” he repeats, groaning when the request makes you tighten around him. “Want this to be good for you, too.”

He says this like you’re not already in heaven. You listen to him anyway, though, and squeeze your hand between your slick bodies to find your sensitive button. You rub at your clit until your thighs tremble around his waist. You try your best to ride through every bolt of lightning the pleasure shoots down your spine, despite the distant fear that you won’t be able to weather them.

“Yeah, there you go,” he praises lowly. “Keep rubbing your clit for me…”

Your free hand stays locked in his hair. Your grip tightens within the chocolate strands as you near your peak. Steve revels in the ache, groaning into your shoulder when the burn at his scalp spreads. 

You’re already gut-wrenchingly close. You can feel the coil in your belly tightening, a struck chord crescendoing — and then Steve changes the angle of his hips. He flexes them suddenly and his thick cock probes something much deeper inside of you. Something that’s never been touched before — not by another guy or a toy or you.

It’s tender, and much more sensitive than your clit. Your vision strays for a brief moment as a white-hot flame of pleasure makes you jerk against him. You gasp sharply, then forget how to breathe when a moan gets caught in your throat. Your hand stills between your slick bodies as you freeze on top of him.

The wet cry finally spills from your mouth after several long seconds. It’s as long and delicate and wet as the orgasm you gush around Steve’s cock.

The flame burns red hot just before you come, then turns to simmering embers when your cunt numbs from the intense pleasure. You blink, and suddenly the fire is burning blue. The rest of your body becomes a casualty to the inferno.

“Yeah? Is that the spot, baby?” you hear Steve wonder. He murmurs the words in your ear, but you don’t hear them. They sound muffled and far away. 

You hope he doesn’t expect you to answer. You’re not entirely sure if you can form words anymore, or any actual conceivable thoughts. All you can do is suffer through every overwhelming wave of your orgasm that leaves you a crying and convulsing mess on Steve’s lap.

“Holy fuck—”

The boy slams his hips against you with a final, dense clap that sounds deafening in the quiet of his bedroom. Your gushing and fluttering cunt milks his cock. The feeling of your weeping pussy and the sound of your pretty whines throw him headfirst into his own orgasm. His thrusts still as he twitches within you. A moment later, you feel the subtle tingle at the base of your spine when he spits his come inside of you. 

His come paints your welcoming, rippling walls. It’s warm, like the first sip of coffee in the morning or fuzzy socks on cold feet. It blankets you in a sinful comfort.

Steve noses at your cheek while he rides the high of his climax. He rolls his hips slowly into you, much softer now that his cock has grown so sensitive. He clamps his mouth shut between his teeth to stifle his too loud moans and desperate whines. They’re forced to crawl from his throat as suffocated grunts.

You mourn the loss of not seeing his face while you’re tucked so securely into the nape of his neck. It’s a work of art you can imagine so clearly — his pinched brows and scrunched nose and parted lips. But you relish in the searing hold he has on you now, happy to hold and to be held.

The shuddering is slow to subside, especially from you. The aftershocks of your orgasm keep your hips spasming over his lap. Steve groans into your shoulder every time your pussy quivers around his softening cock.

And then the two of you just lay there. You hold onto each other and try to catch your breaths. With the both of you covered in a fine sheen of sweat, your skin sticks together with every tiny movement. The feeling of it makes you smile. You feel like the two of you really are melting together.

Steve’s fingers part from your wild strands of hair and take to tracing the expanse of your damp back. You hum in contentment at the feeling, nuzzling your nose up and down the right side of his neck. 

The moment is melted ice cream and early morning rain and marshmallow fluff. It’s spring mornings on the porch and warm breezes in the fall. It’s a soft and familiar thing that’s still so, so new.

You think you could spend forever here, if you had to. In Steve’s bed and in Steve’s lap and with all of Steve’s languid touches.

But sex is different when you’re an adult. 

When you’re a teenager, you get to be irresponsible. Carelessness sort of comes with the territory. You have sex in a dirty bathroom of a bar you snuck into and don’t think twice about the implications of any it. But as an adult with bills and a nine-to-five and groceries you’ve got to get once a week, all you can think about is how inconvenient a UTI would be.

“I should probably use the bathroom,” you murmur, already grieving the loss of his touch before you’ve even parted from him. 

You leave the safety of his neck to peer down at him. His heavy lids mirror your own. 

“I have this thing where if I don’t piss after sex, I feel like I’m gonna be, like, cursed or something. Kinda like when you break a mirror and you’re stuck with shit luck for seven year— or however that dumb superstition goes,” you ramble, voice heavy with fatigue and lingering pleasure. “Anyway. Yeah. Plus, I should probably clean up, too.”

Steve breathes out a laugh at your sudden prattling but humors you nonetheless.

Somehow you manage to pry yourselves off of each other — you, feeling significantly emptier without him inside you and Steve, already shivering with the lack of your warmth all over him. 

You separate just long enough for him to wet a washcloth in the sink while you piss just a couple feet away from him. The bathroom connected to his bedroom seems to be a foreign sight for you — a least, that’s what he assumes because you rave so enthusiastically about it the entire time. 

It’s all Steve’s ever known, though, so he finds it difficult to do anything but nod along with your rambling. More than anything, he’s glad you’re not as weighed down by the domesticity  of the moment as he is. Because he, for one, feels a little like he’s been hit by a freight train. 

Perhaps spending so many years all alone has made him sensitive to closeness.

You sit on the marble countertop and rest your forehead on his shoulder while he cleans you up. He runs the warm cloth along your delicate folds and wipes away traces of your slick and his come that glisten on your thighs. He pleats the rag and does the same to his softening cock and surrounding skin. 

It feels so strangely intimate, more than the sex somehow.

Steve tugs on a fresh pair of boxers and gives you a faded Hawkins Phys. Ed tee to change into. The loose fabric and baggy fit feels much more familiar than the costume you’d initially arrived in. He might be happier than you are, though, to finally get to see you in your most natural state — makeup sufficiently smudged away and ill-suited clothes forgotten on his floor. 

You crawl beneath the mussed navy comforter of his bed and smush your face into his pillow. “See? The dino sheets aren’t so bad, are they?” the boy teases when you hum in contentment. 

The mattress dips beneath his weight as he settles in beside you.

You smile but don’t open your eyes. “I’m just sleepy… Sue me.”

“It’s barely nine o’clock, grandma.”

“It’s your fault,” you argue, voice dripping with exhaustion. Your skin purrs as he reaches blindly beneath the covers to rub his palm along your forearm.

He grins softly to himself. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You wore me out, Harrington.”

“I’ll make it up to you in the morning, ‘kay?” he promises, then laughs when you smirk and raise your brows — eyes still shut. “Not like that, you perv. I was talking about breakfast. I make a mean scrambled egg.”

You tell him you’re looking forward to it, to breakfast in bed and breakfast in bed. He falls further for you somehow, despite his lingering disdain for your silly little innuendos. It’s the price you have to pay when you love someone, he figures, like when your crush gets a bad haircut or has shit music taste. 

It’s a quirk he welcomes along with your many others — your rambling and forgetfulness and social unawareness and inability to sit still. All your little idiosyncrasies weren’t obstacles he had to get over to love you, just more reasons for him to.

And it isn’t this one-sided thing, either. Most people would look at the two of you — at the dowager king and local freak — and they’d think he was doing charity work to love you. But Steve’s got peculiarities of his own. 

His best friends are a fourteen-year-old nerd and a closeted lesbian because they were the first two people in his life that didn’t judge him. He chews on the ends of pens and pencils, and his handwriting is shit because he never cared about school. He buys things without ever looking the price tag, then leaves them to collect dust in his room because he never really needed them anyway. He still feels the need to be the center of attention sometimes because the faintest hint of disregard makes him feel neglected.

These are all things you’re aware of. Most of them came with being the wealthy, popular kid from the right side of the tracks. And you liked him anyway — no, you liked him because of them. You adored him through all the heavy shit, and here he was, doing a shit job at pretending to like metal music and horror movies.

“Are you asleep?” Steve wonders after a few moments of velvet silence. He’s still looking at you, one arm propped beneath his hand and the other toying with your fingers splayed on the mattress between you. He hasn’t been able to stop looking at you.

“Almost,” you mumble in response.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Your heart stops at the innocent question, tired eyes flying immediately open and knocking you out of your fatigued stupor. 

All of a sudden, it’s 1984 again. You’re the weirdo who bites people and Steve’s royalty who’ll fuck anything that walks — and here you are, in bed with the asshole. For a moment, you expect Tommy Hagan to bust out of the closet with a tape recorder and for Steve to tell you this was all just some stupid bet.

It’s a pang of blue lightning, an ice pick to your abdomen, that lasts no more than a couple of seconds. 

Internally, you curse yourself for getting so worked up. You make a promise to yourself to work on all that — the regressing and the disbelief that comes with the not-feeling-good-enough bullshit.

“Yeah?” you finally answer.

“I don’t actually like Dio. Or Def Leppard,” he confesses, finding it hard to meet your gaze  like a child who’s been caught in a lie. He focuses on running his thumb over the irregular pattern of your chipped nailpolish. “And I don’t collect vinyls either, not really. I just… I kinda just said those things so you’d like me.”

And, compared to the web you were just spinning in your head, that’s nothing.

“Ooh,” you wince playfully. “Def Leppard I could take, but Dio? I don’t know… That might be a dealbreaker, Harrington.”

He only smiles because he can tell you’re making fun. “I could learn to like them, you know? If it means that much to you. That’s what we’re doing now, right? Loving things on purpose?”

You capture your smile with your bottom lip between your teeth. Your eyes sparkle at him when you nod. “Yeah… We are.”

“Which means you could learn to like football and Bruce Springsteen,” Steve jokes and shifts on the mattress so he’s closer to you. 

Your feet bump together, then entwine effortlessly. He plops his head on the same pillow you’re using. The proximity leaves your faces no more than a couple inches apart. 

You scrunch your nose, wondering if you should hide your disgust in his playful request or make a joke out of it. You don’t do either. “I could… If it means I get to keep you.”

“Keep me?” he scoffs. “Good luck, getting rid of me, Punchy.”

“Who said I wanted to, huh?”

“You will. When you get sick of me.”

He’s smiling like he’s kidding, but you can tell there’s an edge of self-loathing to his tone. 

Your hand crawls from beneath his own and settles on his stubbly jaw. You run your thumb over the cheek, effectively sealing your promise into the blushing apple of it. “I’m never gonna get sick of you, Steve Harrington.”

His brows raise. “No?”

You shake your head against the pillow, then shove the side of your face further into it when you get nervous. There’s a timid quirk to the corners of your lips and a more sheepish glint in your eye. “You don’t get sick of people you love,” you tell him.

Steve opens his mouth to retort. He wants to tell you that he gets sick of Dustin all the time, but that it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love the little shit. He gets sick of milkshakes and pizza and Cheers re-runs when he consumes too much of them in a single setting, but he loves all those things too. 

You get sick of things because you love them, he reasons, because you love them too hard and you hate how much you need them.

He doesn’t get the chance to argue any of this, though.

“Not when you love them on purpose,” you clarify with a sunshine-coated grin.

That shuts him up real quick.

[steviewashere]

Baby, It's Cold Outside

Rating: General CW: Canon Typical Gore and Violence (Very Brief but There) Tags: Established Relationship, Eddie Munson has Nightmares, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Furnace, Cuddling, Huddling for Warmth, Future Fic, (But it's Just Early 1987), Hot Chocolate, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Steve Harrington Takes Care of Eddie Munson

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is letting him put his cold hands under your shirt and only complaining a little bit."

💕—————💕

He was blissfully asleep in bed when a sudden cold shock to his back awoke him.

Steve yelped, “Jesus!” And turned around to see who had snuck into his house this early in the morning (it’s only nine) and came face to face with his boyfriend, Eddie. “Eds, what the fuck? Hello? Hi? What happened to those? Christ.”

Eddie didn’t even look sheepish when Steve met his eyes. He was ready to chew him out, but one look told him that Eddie wasn’t doing too well. His whole body was trembling, teeth chattering, breath leaving him in short puffs. He couldn’t even get any words out, he was that cold.

Immediately, Steve’s hackles rose. He tentatively scooted across the mattress to get closer to Eddie. But, it’s as if Eddie didn’t even notice him. His eyes were glazed over. There were tear tracks wobbling down his face. Eddie’s lips were bitten raw, chapped, and slightly purple. He was fighting with himself to try and stay focused with the moment, if the subtle jerks told Steve anything, but he quickly fell back into himself.

“Baby?” Steve ventured. “Did something happen?” He had a feeling he knew what. But his stomach turns at the idea of how Eddie even got over here safely. It’s January, for Christ’s sake. It’s freezing.

A small and sharp exhale left Eddie. He whispered, his voice a terribly awful rasp, “Nightmare.” And as the word left his mouth, his eyes began to tear up all over again. “You. Bats. Scared,” he relayed.

Steve nodded minutely in understanding.

There was one reoccurring nightmare that seemed to follow Eddie no matter what. He’d talked about it in full length before, but that seems to have made it linger in his psyche. Eddie swims down into Lover’s Lake right after Robin jumps in. Except, somehow, he makes it through the portal first. He always knows where to find Steve to try and save him from the demobat attack, even though his true self wouldn’t have (at least, not when this nightmare takes place). But the space between him and Steve’s body stretches longer than it’s supposed to. In turn, by the time he actually reaches Steve, he’s already dead. A demobat wrapped around his neck, more chunks than real flesh on his torso, his arms a mottled bleeding mess, pants chewed to bits and pieces, and his mouth filled with blood. Eddie recalls Steve’s face. Blood vessel broken, eyes glazed and far away yet still hazel brown, hair tacky to his skin, lips parted and bloodied, and pale. Already dead. He always claims the second worst part of the nightmare to be when Robin and Nancy finally reach the two of them. Nancy gasping under her breath, then turning around to puke. Robin screeching like she’s been stabbed, her words only sobs. And Eddie never knows how to comfort them, even if that’s not true in reality.

Which, if Steve takes in how Eddie came in now. To touch him, to sense. He can tell that Eddie came to see if…Well, if Steve was here and alive. What may have freaked him out again, though, was the fact that Steve was sleeping. And that’s why he had to touch him. Steve can deduce that pretty easily.

“Oh, baby,” Steve sighs. He opens his arms in silent invitation. But when Eddie doesn’t move, he voices softly, “Come here, honey. It’s okay. I’m alive. I’ve got you.”

Though it takes some thirty seconds of silent hope and prayer, Eddie eventually scoots in close enough to be scooped up. Steve takes him between his arms, squeezing him in as compact as he’ll go, wraps his comforter around the two of them, and lets Eddie stick his hands back under his shirt. He hisses slightly at the contact again, but they’re less cold than when he first arrived.

With the warmth and embrace, Eddie is brought to tears. In the silence of his bedroom, Steve picks up on only two sounds. His own breathing. And Eddie softly weeping and whimpering into his shoulder. He smooths one hand down his spine and the other over Eddie’s cold-to-the-touch curls. Shushing as quiet and soothing as possible in his ear. Kissing over his temple and his cheek, the skin freezing there, too. Using all his might, Steve manages to swallow back his own emotion.

The one thing he hates more than nightmares is the after effects that reduce his boyfriend to tears. Hates the aftermath with every fiber of his being, even if they do get to cuddle. He enjoys cuddling in nicer circumstances, though. This sucks. It hurts his heart to hear how Eddie cries.

When Eddie goes pliant, Steve wrangles them around so that he’s laying on his back and Eddie’s halfway on top of him. He lets Eddie tuck himself in close, nose pressed to the base of Steve’s neck, eyelashes fluttering against his skin when he blinks. His arms are loose, one tucked under his torso, the other splayed over Steve’s own, fingers underneath the t-shirt to trace the evidence left behind—that show that Steve actually survived. Steve leaves one arm wrapped around Eddie’s middle, the other cupping the back of his head, keeping him pressed.

Though, his stomach turns again at how Eddie even got here. “Eds?” He breathes into the silence.

“Yeah?” Eddie whispers, his breath tickling over Steve. Somehow also cold. He’s just chilled all around. Steve is able to hold back the shudder that teases his bones.

“How’d you get here?”

Eddie huffs. “I walked,” he states simply. “My van’s still in the shop, wasn’t an option.” He barely lifts his head, but Steve shoves him back down immediately. Get him warm, his brain supplies. “Why?” Eddie asks when he nuzzles back in.

“You’re so cold,” Steve murmurs. “You didn’t take a jacket.”

“Forgot,” Eddie drones, his voice flat. Tired. Still raspy. He had probably screamed when the nightmare finished playing. Steve aches.

“I told you, Eds. Call me first. I’ll come get you, baby.” He squeezes at Eddie’s middle. Bunches his fingers, tangling them loosely in Eddie’s hair. “Scared me.”

He feels Eddie swallow against his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. His next breath stutters, as if he’s gearing up to cry again.

“No, Eds, it’s okay,” he lies. “Don’t cry. It just worries me when you’re out there, vulnerable like this, practically freezing to death.” He soothes his hand up and down Eddie’s spine. “Promise that you’ll call me next time?”

Eddie only nods. He shuffles in closer.

Steve tilts his head sideways, cushioning his cheek atop Eddie’s hair. “Are you still cold?” He asks. Eddie’s nod against his shoulder is minute, a little hesitant. “Okay,” he mutters, “let’s go get hot chocolate and put you in front of the fireplace, alright?”

“Okay,” Eddie breathes. “Hold my hand?”

So, Steve does. Squeezing Eddie’s palm with every step down the stairs. He wonders how Eddie even managed a staircase in his post-nightmare dazed state, but realizes it would be futile to ask. At least he made it here, Steve has to remind himself, and he’s alive and he sought you out.

He plops Eddie down in front of the fireplace, quickly chucks a few logs in, and lights them up to let out a small, yet pleasantly warm flame. He maneuvers a blanket over Eddie’s shoulders, soothes his hands—which are warm and heavy—down the sides of Eddie’s neck. And excuses himself to the kitchen to make a couple mugs of hot chocolate. Steve makes sure that he’s loud when preparing them. Clattering the dishes. Slamming some of the cupboards. Noisily twisting and untwisting the cap on the milk jug. And reenters the living room, a steaming cup handed off to Eddie.

They sit in front of the flames for a few silent moments. Sans their slurps. This time, when Steve takes noisy sips—like he would do with his morning coffee—it doesn’t earn him a small Eddie snort. It doesn’t really get him anything at all. He sets their mugs on the mantle when they’re finished and tucks himself under the blanket with Eddie, wrapping his arm around his middle once again. He forces Eddie’s head into his shoulder junction. Rests his own cheek atop Eddie’s hair. And sighs.

Kissing his scalp, he murmurs, “I love you.” Seals it with another soft peck.

“I love you, too,” Eddie whispers in return. “Thank you for—“

“I’d let you put your hands under my shirt anytime, baby. No need for that.”

Eddie only sighs in contentment. And Steve relishes in the exact moment when he goes boneless against his side, making their sides conjoin in a single tight line, snoring softly into his neck. He’d do anything for Eddie, no matter what he asked.

💕—————💕

[azulock]

another thing that was sitting in my drats for way too long, pt 2 to pregnancy needs so you should go back and reader that first, but that one is porn without plot, this one has more plot

summary. at the end of your pregnancy, when the big moment approached, Oliver's affair with you had to be put on hold as you just stopped showing up. it stayed that way until a few months after your son was born, but when you go back to your old routine he sees a chance to get back to your old ways, though something else lurks in his mind

pairing. Oliver Aiku x fem!reader

wordcount. 3,9k

warnings. nsfw (piv), reader has a baby, mentions of the pregnancy, once again reader cheating on her husband

trying not to think.

"Aww, isn't him cute?" Sendo beamed, bright eyes glued on the small baby held in his arms. The little boy cooed in return, the small sound barely audible as he reached a hand towards Sendo's hair, wrapping a tiny fist tight around it. "Ouch, hey, hey, little guy, this hurts."

Oliver couldn't help but laugh as the redhead struggled to get the boy to release his hair, but with a little patience, he managed the task. Finally freed, Sendo babbled along with the baby for a second before moving to pass him on to Oliver's arms, a knowing grin spreading across his face when his friend froze in hesitation for a moment. In a way, the situation was funny, if a bit weird.

When he finally managed to hold the boy in his arms, it was like the whole situation dawned on him. This was the first time you'd visited the club in a couple of months - ever since little before the birth of your son - and he'd barely even seen your face. Now, he was holding your baby.

Oliver had caught you talking to Sendo when he was passing by, heading out for lunch. You'd befriended Sendo way before you even exchanged words with Oliver, so it made sense he'd be the first in the team you'd show your newborn to. When he spotted the two of you in the training center, a part of him was hoping that maybe he'd be able to get a word in after not seeing you in months.

Tough, he wasn't so lucky. The minute he stepped close, someone else called you, and you excused yourself, asking Sendo to hold the baby as you stepped away. He'd barely even gotten to hear your voice - and Oliver didn't want to dwell on how that made him feel right now. Especially not when he was trying to wrap his head around the boy he now held in his arms.

Small babies all looked sort of the same. He guessed it was more a feature than a bug, probably at some point in the distant past, if you couldn't tell which child was yours and which wasn't, you were more likely to care about all of them. Or so he guessed, at least. But despite that, the more obvious features connecting the child to you were there.

The little boy shared the complexion of your skin, the tiny birthmark you had on the side of your neck, and the color of your eyes too. Oliver couldn't help but think of that last part as a relief. Sometimes he'd think about what would have happened if the kid had been born with green eyes. Or purple. Or worse, both.

That would be the end of his career, at least in the Ubers, that was for sure. And probably a scandal for you too, a far more cruel fate, seeing he could always retreat back to Japan. But that had been avoided. The boy did have deep black hair, though still too short and soft to discern what the texture would be like. But this too could be explained away - your husband's hair was black, so you were both safe on that front too.

However, that still left more questions open than closed - ah, he had just been handed the child, he shouldn't be thinking on that now. The baby looked at him as if just as deep in thought before babbling on happily, making Oliver feel an invisible force tugging at the corner of his lips. He couldn't deny the little boy looked cute, clad in a onesie adorned with the coat of the club.

"Hey there, little guy, you really are cute, look at those big ol' cheeks," Oliver cooed as the boy made a cheerful noise, the small gesture bringing a strange warmth to his heart. He adjusted his hold on the child, and that's when the boy's tiny hand reached up. Before Oliver could react, the baby caught a fistful of his chin. "Fuck, hey now, that's not nice."

It was Sendo's turn to laugh, watching as Oliver pried himself free from the aggressively affectionate baby. He gave the child one last look, heavy gaze taking in how the boy looked so small cradled in his arms, but his tiny body still managed to spread its warmth to Oliver's chest. With a sigh and shake of his head, he passed the boy back to Sendo - somehow, even if your affair hadn't been found out, it felt safer not to risk your husband seeing him holding the baby.

Little after Sendo took the boy back in his arms, you showed up. However, you wasted little time with proper compliments and little small talk as you took the baby back in your arms, and quickly you excused yourself and left again. Though your stay was short, Oliver couldn't help noticing the bags under your eyes. Still, he kept his mouth shut, and in no time both him and Sendo were making their way out for lunch.

"So," Sendo broke the silence after the waiter set their food on the table, "you think the boy is yours?"

It was only in the relative safety of the somewhat hidden cafe that either of them felt safe to broach the subject again. Oliver couldn't help the sigh that left his lips at the blunt inquiry, slumping back into his chair as he rubbed his eyes with one hand. That was the question hanging above his head, and although he knew it was one with a good and a bad answer, Oliver himself wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

"Hard to tell," he groaned, looking down at his plate for a moment before finally turning to face Sendo, "but I guess that's for the best. Has she told you anything about that?"

"Never touched the subject," he shrugged.

"Did you ever even ask?"

"How would I ask, Aiku? Turn to her like hey, you think that kid is your husband's or from your affair you had with the captain of the team he manages?" Sendo leaned forward, muttering the last part, but the words still ringing too loud in Oliver's ears.

"Haha very funny," his voice came in a sneer, an expression he hardly ever had to shoot in Sendo's direction. "You two are friends, I thought she'd have told you something."

"Sorry if this hurts your ego, but she doesn't talk about you much, at least not to me," Sendo added with a half hearted smile and a nonchalant wave of his hand. Though, his eyebrows quickly furrowed in estrangement when he noticed Oliver's hesitation, and the weird stillness that settled over him. "Wait, that actually hurt your ego?"

"Forget it, never mind, some questions are better unanswered," he grumbled, and a silence fell for a moment as they both ate, though, it didn't last. "Did she look... tired to you? Like, the bags under her eyes were noticeable."

"Well, she did just have a child," Sendo shrugged, "babies are hard, or so I've been told."

"Yeah, but, it's not like they are a struggling family, you'd figure she would have help."

"They got a nanny, I think. But if you haven't noticed, her husband hasn't even taken a leave. For all I know, the guy isn't very interested i helping," Sendo added with a shake of his head, eyes downcast as he took a bite of his food.

"He really is a good for nothing," Oliver mused, mimicking his friend's expression.

"That's why I never even tried to stop you," Sendo shook his shoulders and there was a pause, a moment filled with only the sound of the restaurant before it was broken. "Though, you worried about her?"

Before he could answer they both heard the loud and familiar voice of Lorenzo, turning to the side they caught their teammate just entering the cafe. With an exchange of knowing looks, the conversation died. And for a moment there, Oliver actually felt relieved. There were things he didn't want to think too hard on right now.

Time would pass, and for a couple of months he'd hardly manage to catch sight of you. And whoever he did, you always had your baby in your arms. Despite what some would think, he had more respect than to try and make a move on you under those circumstances.

The next time he'd finally see you alone would be after you returned to your work as a photographer with the club, on the day of a match. It was strange to think about it now, but sometimes even during matches he'd find himself looking at the point in the sidelines where you usually worked from. Seeing someone else in there for so long was strangely off-putting.

Of course, during match day approaching you would be impossible - and absurdly reckless. But that just assured him you'd be back to the training center at some point, seeing you were the one in charge of social media and PR photos. Just as expected, it wouldn't be long for Oliver to be proven right - and just on a day your useless husband was on a work trip.

In a way, it was like settling back into a routine. Approaching you in an empty hallway, pulling you into some isolated room, and then having your body turn to putty in his hands. And although he'd had his fair share of women in the past few months, he couldn't deny he missed the taste of your lips - fuck, he knew there was danger in this.

This time, however, you hesitated to say you'd be alone today - no husband, no nanny, though he knew alone was a relative term in this case. But he didn't hesitate to say you wouldn't need to be, not as long as he had a say in it. And just like that, he was back to taking a different route home. Sure, it was shameful to be sneaking into somebody else's home, but at this point, he didn't really care.

Just as Oliver stepped foot into your house, it didn't take long for you two to end up tangled in bed. It was like falling back into a habit - an addiction, maybe. One he'd kept an unbroken streak of freedom from for a few months, now shattered in his very hands. Not that he minded, not when those same hands found purchase on the plush of your thighs while he crushed you under him on the bed.

The sight before him was definitely a beautiful one, having you sprawled and panting under his frame was still something else. Your clothes were left somewhere along the floor of the room and your naked body only stoked the fire burning in him, the only thing separating your bodies now being the thin fabric of his boxers. Oliver had never been someone to be in a rush, he always liked just taking his time but right now he was too frenzied for that.

You cry out his name and Oliver dives into your lips like a starving man, your tongues tangling in a sloppy and wet kiss. He doesn't wanna think about how he missed this taste, this feeling, and the warmth it spread through his body. So he just indulges in the sweet taste of your mouth and the soft embrace of your body, pushing back the voice in his head that's trying to be rational at a time like this.

He digs his fingers into your thighs, trying to remember not to grope you too hard so he won't leave a mark - something now more than ever he really wishes he could. That too he pushes to the back of his mind, rocking his hips into yours, pressing his bulge against your pussy, and feeling your wetness seep into the fabric of his boxers.

With a reluctant grunt, Oliver breaks your kiss, a string of saliva connecting the two of you for a moment as your mouths separate. However he doesn't stay away for long, quickly taking off his underwear, his erection painfully hard and already leaking precum. In the blink of an eye, he is back to where he was before, fingers digging into your soft thighs as he wraps your legs around his waist, lips seeking the warmth of your mouth once again.

You pull Oliver closer with your legs, making his cock slide over your wet pussy, drawing a moan from the both of you. He climbs over you, holding himself above you with one arm, his free hand finding your chest and gently kneading one of your breasts as your lips meet. Truth be told he wanted nothing more than to sink his mouth on your tender nipples again, but he knew he shouldn't - what with the baby now.

Oliver feels you moan into the kiss when he rubs his cock over your pussy once more, teasing your clit with every movement. You try to pull him even closer with your legs, trying to get him inside without letting his lips leave yours. Oliver can't help the chuckle that rumbles through his chest and dies on your tongue, your desperation is cute, and it feeds his ego.

Sadly, he is too desperate himself to be playing this game today. So he takes his from your chest to line his sensitive cock with your pussy and in one swift movement he buries himself all the way home. Shit, with how wet you are you really must have been going insane with need. He bites into your bottom lip as you moan, feeling your walls tighten around him, making his cock throb in response. Fuck, he could stay just like this forever.

"Oliver," you whine, clearly having different plans.

"Ooh," he coos with a chuckle, "someone's needy today, huh?" He punctuates his words by pushing himself in even further, hips flush against your own.

"Shit, come on, Oli," you almost whimper, making him shudder, "please."

"Alright, alright," he responds in a whisper, leaving a kiss on the place where your jaw meets your ear. "I'm gonna take care of you, gotta give pretty mamma the relief she deserves."

You sink your nails into his shoulder and he grunts, snapping his hips into motion, drawing himself back to the tip before sinking back in. Fuck, Oliver couldn't resist you - not that he wanted to anyway. It was just way too good, your gummy walls sucking his thick cock into the soft touch of your wetness was almost enough to make him go crazy. And if that wasn't enough, the moans and cries spilling from your lips would finish the job of doing away with his sanity.

Oliver sinks his mouth to your neck, seeking your sensitive skin like a starving man, leaving wet, open mouthed kisses wherever he can touch. You are crying and whimpering in need and desperation, but noticeably far less loud than the last time he'd had a chance to fuck you. It makes sense - wouldn't want to wake the brand new human in the next room - but he can't say he doesn't miss all the noise. Still, not a big enough of a loss to make this any less pleasurable.

The soft and expensive mattress starts to shake around you as Oliver drives himself into your body fast and rough. Your arms come around him and pull his body flush against your own, sweat pooling between the two of you. He could get lost forever in the sensation of your ass slapping against his hips with every thrust and the feeling of your wet pussy begging for his cock. You are mewling, face screwed up in pleasure, eyes rolling to the back of your head every time he sinks into you - it's a sight that has him breathless.

"Look at you, such a pretty thing, how could anyone neglect you, huh?" He asks but you don't answer, too lost in pleasure to even register, only whimpering when he slips his thumb into your mouth. "Shit, and you sound so good too."

He pulls his thumb from your mouth, a trail of saliva following as it traces a path from your lips to your jaw. Oliver meets you in a sloppy kiss, finding no resistance as your tongue seeks for his own. He slides his hand down your body, kneading your flesh along the way until he finds the place where your hips meet, thumb quickly finding your clit. You moan into the kiss and he swallows it hungrily, feeling your pussy tighten even more.

Oliver curses under his breath, swearing in a low husky tone with every delicious thrust into your velvety walls. Your body feels molded for him, responding to his every movement, your nails digging into his shoulder and back leaving red marks in their wake. It makes him go crazy, cock throbbing and twitching inside of you.

The clenching of your pussy lets Oliver know he is doing things right - but it also drives him mindless with pleasure. He is babbling sweet nothings against your lips, forehead resting against yours as he whispers to you compliments that he won't even remember the second they leave his lips. Shit, if he was still capable of shame, he'd be ashamed at how fast his body responds to yours.

He's doing his best to keep his mind on the task at hand, his fingers never stopping massaging your clit, even as he can feel himself throbbing wildly, the coil in his guts tightening hard. It's not like you make things easier, moaning his name in pleas for more as the walls of your pussy stretch around his thick, twitching cock.

You start to grow silent, only quiet whimpers leaving your lips as your pussy clenches hard around him. Oliver can tell you are close, moving his hips deeper and harder as he murmurs in your ear, lust laced words dripping from his husky tones. It doesn't take much for you to break, orgasm hitting your body and making you tighten around him as you cum.

It's a surprise for Oliver that his mind doesn't give in right then and there, but his self control wins this battle even as his hips move faster and faster, seemingly with a mind of their own. The pleasure warms his body, trickling through his sweat covered skin, rising higher and higher until it has him drooling on your neck, mind completly blank. The hand he had on your clit moves to your leg, pushing your tigh against your chest and letting him go even deeper.

Oliver pushes on, harder and faster, chasing his high. He can feel his balls tighten, his muscles tense, and his cock throb within your walls, precum mixing with your juices making his movements even easier. He's panting between grunts, feeling the pleasure growing ever hotter, ever stronger, building inside until he is bursting at the seams.

When his mind finally snaps, Oliver sees white, stars filling his vision as his orgasm washes over him. His hips still move as he rides through the pleasure in short, deep strokes, burying his cum far into your pussy. It feels like ecstasy, a drug running through his veins, and it's not enough. Just painting your insides white once is not nearly enough.

So he does it again, and again, he doesn't know for how long you two keep on fucking but he cums inside your pussy at least a couple of times. It's like time had gotten lost for him, a concept too complex to exist in that moment. By the end of it, you two are exhausted, left panting on the bed but utterly satisfied. It's pure bliss - he could almost fall asleep if he just closed his eyes.

That's when the crying starts.

"Shit, Luca" you curse under your breath, rubbing your face with both hands. "He's probably hungry, I should go get him."

Your eyes meet his as you speak, before turning to look around for your clothes and trying to get up. Oliver is faster, though, sitting in bed in one swift movement before you can get yourself up.

"It's ok, I can go get him for you."

"You don't need to, it's ok," you say, still trying to get up, but Oliver is already picking up his boxers from the floor and putting them on.

"It's nothing, I can do it for you," he says, putting his pants on before looking you straight in the face with a smirk. "Besides, if you got up that easy I'd feel a little offended. He's in the next room, right?"

You laugh but still nod, thanking him as he gets to the doorway. In quick, long steps Oliver gets to the next room, opening the door to find the soft green walls of the nursery. Pushed against the furthest wall is a large wooden crib, the clear source of the crying. Covering the space in a large stride, Oliver peers into the crib to find the squealing baby, hands brushing over his soft hair - despite the wailing, he was cute.

Strong arms lift your son with ease, and despite his strength, Oliver's hold is gentle and careful, dual colored eyes mesmerized by the small thing he is holding. When he cradles the little boy to his chest the crying ceases, but for only a moment, only long enough for the baby's eyes to land on Oliver and realize that's not his mother. When the crying resumes, it seems louder - almost like a protest of disappointment.

"Yeah, I'm sorry buddy, I'm not your mom," Oliver chuckles, walking back to the bedroom. "We getting there, I'm gonna get you to her."

When he gets back, Oliver finds you sat up against the headboard of the bed, covers bunched around your waist, but your chest exposed. Still bathed in the afterglow of your night together, you looked beautiful, but this was not the moment for him to say it. Instead, Oliver delivers the baby back to your arms, and as if by magic, the crying immediately stops.

You thank him, voice soft and a bit tired, just as you position your son in your arms, the boy quickly latching to a nipple. Oliver can't help but stay still for a moment, watching the scene as your attention diverts to the baby in your arms. You smile and he doesn't want to think about how he finds the scene so beautiful, or how he is struggling to convince himself he needs to leave.

Though, when you look back to him the spell is broken, and Oliver cuts the eye contact by trying to look for his shirt on the floor. He finds it and then his shoes, quickly getting dressed while trying to push away the strange sting in the back of his mind. When he's done he excuses himself with a smile and leaves. By this point, he has the way out memorized, same with the drive back to his apartment. Which was good, because that night, as his tense hands gripped the wheel tight, he couldn't stop his mind from wandering back to all the thoughts he'd been trying to ignore.

Shit, he was so fucked.

today's sponsors: @wishiknewwhatiwasdoingwithmylife @qichun @loser-vxbez @tinnaagine

[beanghostprincess]

Canon and logic be dammed.

I just like the idea of Uta hearing Buggy making his own town (just as the Cross Guild was forming) and as soon she finished her tour, she headed straight to Karai Bari to spend some quality time with Momma Buggy.

Like picture if you will, Buuge's getting the usual treatment in a Cross Guild 'meeting', and a shy knock comes in. A lowly follow tasked to say that there's a visitor requesting the Chairman.

'Who?' A certain lizard and bird ask, 'a by the name of Miss Uta.'

And suddenly Buggy just pops up from the floor, miraculously healed, a sparkly (dare I say, flashy) look in his eyes, "Uta?? Red and white hair? Bunny loops, prettiest purple eyes???"

As soon as the subordinate nodded, Buggy was out the door! Practically flying to the docks.

Crocodile and Mihawk got up and followed the path (grumbling all the way, cuz who the hell is this? Taking away their clowns' attention and making him this damn happy??) Cut to see Buggy swinging the young lady around, elated to have her in his arms. All the while she hugging the stuffing out of the clown and giving him cheek kisses.

'Just who in the hell is this? And who does this little-'

"Momma!" The girl shouted with joy. "I missed you so much!!"

...... huh???

"I missed you too, sweetie!" Buggy grinned ear to ear as he nuzzled his nose atop Uta's head. And he just started to babble about all the things a mother would say

'What are you doing here?/ Have you been eating well?/ look at you! So flashy and cute! Was the trip over here okay? No troubles?' etc.

All of which just turned to white noise to Crocodile and Mihawk as they watched from the sides, both clearly surprised.

And then they picked up the talk from the people around them;

'Is that the famous Uta? Why is she here?'

'Wasn't she supposed to be on a concert tour?'

'Did the captain called her Bunny?'

'Forget that, did she just called Mister Buggy, Mommy??'

I just want Crocodile and Mihawk just shocked to hear that Buggy had a child and find it funny that she's more successful and competent than her 'mother's.

And maybe a bit jealous that Buggy spends 100% of his attention to her all day (the entire trip even).

THIS IS SO CUTE I'M SOBBING-- Uta and Buggy are so so so so sweet together. They make me go insane.

Nobody has ever seen Buggy so... Happy... And optimistic.... And genuinely caring and loving somebody this much. Like it's surprising how much Buggy changes around Uta. That's his little girl!!! Seriously. Buggy calls her his little girl, his little Bunny or whatever and she's all like "I'm older now!!! Stop saying that!!!" and he just hears a sweet little voice because that's still his little girl no matter what.

I want her to stay with them for a while and she is of course so polite and sweet to Crocodile and Mihawk because she is a star and knows how to handle social situations. But damn, she is scary when she sort of threatens them to never hurt her mom ever again. They won't listen to her but at least they won't do anything while she's here because... There's nothing scarier than a teenage idol.

They have girl nights together with Alvida, too!!! And nobody is ever allowed to mention Shanks because if they do, Uta ends up getting incredibly mad or having a breakdown and nobody needs a mentally unstable teenage girl with daddy issues to be angry. Buggy manages to calm her down every time, somehow, it's incredible.

Buggy does her hair and she sings for all of them! They make this huge party to celebrate she is here and I just know a lot of them are her fans, so she would have such a great time too!!! Buuut at the end of the day it's always just Buggy and her and Uta singing lullabies for both of them only under a starry night. I am. So not normal about them. I am not okay.

I don't want to make this about Shanks but they have to have a conversation like:

Buggy: Do you miss him? Uta: No! How could I??!?! I hate him. Buggy: You know, it is okay to miss you father- Uta: He's not-- Not anymore. Buggy: Whatever you say, kid. Uta: Besides, I like you better. Buggy: Pffft. Of course you do! Thought I-- Thought I was your mom, though? Uta: You can be both. As far as I know, both titles are free if you want them. Buggy: As if somebody other than me could match your flashiness, Bunny.

But!!!!! Crocodile and Mihawk??? Jealous of Uta???? Because Buggy spends all of the time with her??? That is amazing. And I also like to think Buggy becomes more competent and bossy when he's with Uta because if there's something scarier than a teenage idol is her parent. And Buggy would do anything for her. So he's extremely protective and also even a better leader now that he has to take care of her. While Mihawk and Crocodile are all like "????? Why the fuck did he not act like this before" and also "Why the fuck has he not talked to us all week ???". Because as long as Uta is near, Buggy doesn't fear them and he doesn't need to talk to them every day. And that bothers them soooooo much.

It'd be funny to see Uta getting along with Mihawk and Crocodile in the end. You all know (because I've talked about it) I just love Uta actually joining them and being the diva of the group. She's extremely protected and loved there!! Also please, add Perona there too because they're,,, Girlfriends,,, And they should meet,,, And be Cross Guild's princesses together,,,

[cookie-crumblr]

Lucky

Shy M!Reader x F!Yandere OC

Part 3~

Her Info: 🪓

Part 1

<<<Previous Part _ Next Part>>>

!!!MINORS DNI!!!

CW: M! Reader, Reader has a penis, Reader referred to as he/him, psychological horror/trauma, reader is on meds for night terrors, blood, reader forced to cross dress, bdsm(leash and collar) monster plants, asphyxiation, public sex (in a separate room basically) oral on M!, not too much smut in this part.not proofread.

Anything in Red reader isn’t aware of

You’re running away from something, you don’t see what, but you hear it.

Something deep and resonating, as if it’s call is from deep underwater, your head rings from the sound.

The air is filled with so much rust, misty red clouds surround you.

You haven’t been paying attention to where you were running, through darkness around trees and over jagged rocks. Until your legs sink into sludge and you can run no longer. You hurt your muscles and keep pulling but nothing is freeing.

You try desperately to get out, finally glancing around you see vines and without thinking twice, you grab one.

It wraps up around your arm, and shoots around your throat, and pulls you out of the tar. The thick, -almost- liquid clings to your lower body, it feels disgusting.

you’re shallowly gasping, and reaching up to pry the thing off of your neck, but it’s holding fast. It feels like your throat is caving in!

Your lungs are about to collapse, no air is coming into you.

Your actual eyes fly open, and you’re still gasping.

You grasp at the things around your neck and feel the padlock first. It’s still there.

It was a night terror, but you woke up with this collar still around your throat, and the room smells like blood again!!

“Lucy?” She isn’t next to you.

You don’t remember falling asleep, or even what happened after you had sex.

She doesn’t seem to be around. Thankfully you remember your tethered, you get up and pick up the one leg of your bed to get your leash off of it before trying to dash and ending up choking yourself.

You go to the bathroom to look at yourself, you’re naked, and there are bruises you aren’t sure if you remember getting, your neck looks positively purple under the black collar. Your eyes widen as you try to pull the leather away from your skin enough to look under but you can only get maybe half of your index finger between it and you. It doesn’t help that your throat is sore on top of it.

You go get dressed and detach the leash part of the collar. The ornate padlock keeps you from removing the actual collar, you wonder if you could pick the lock…

Today’s another college day, so you’ll at least get Lucy to hopefully take this thing off.

You put on a hoodie and try to keep it hidden underneath. It’s kinda cute on you… No, don’t try an acclimate! This is weird!

You’re a little bit more mad than you’d like to admit. You drop your books onto the desk next to Lucy and she jumps.

“Heyyy Lucy, you forgot something at my place.” You point to your neck discreetly. Although thankfully nobody seems to care.

“…”

She’s staring into your eyes but it doesn’t look like she’s actually seeing you. Her usually pinkish skin is impossibly pale today… Something in your skin crawls and you sit hastily.

“Y-Y/N… Are you mad at me?” Her eyes seem so dark, and wanting, like an endless abyss trying desperately to swallow you up. You swallow away your previous feelings, probably for the best. Maybe she looked at your computer while you were putting the food away and wanted to impress you or something…

“No. I was just a little irritated to still be in this thing.” You tug on the collar with your thumb, and flash her your best smile you can currently muster. “And i didn’t sleep well” When do you ever though?

She instantly flushes, skin becoming pinker and filling with fresh warm blood, Her big eyes fill with so much joy they over flow and spill big glassy tears onto the table.

She puts her head down into her arms and her back shudders in silent sobs.

“L-Lucy!?” You put your arms around her and pull her up from her chair to take her out of class urgently, “C’mon, Luce, let’s just skip today.” It’s a bad idea, but she doesn’t seem right lately.

she almost looks like a completely different person while she smiles, from the expression she wore earlier.

You go to walk home, but she digs in her bag and pulls out her phone.

“I’m calling my chauffeur, I wanted to buy you new clothes remember?”

She lives in a different world. You take public transport and she doesn’t even drive herself.

A pearlescent pale pink Audi A8 pulls up and she walks toward it. Of course her ride would also be pink. The interior is a nice deep red with pale pink faux fur throws and pink heart cushions all over.

She definitely prioritizes comfort, and aesthetics, you give her that.

She even takes off her shoes inside, and crosses her legs on the chair next to you in the back.

Her chauffeur hands her a pink paper box and inside are delicate looking sweets. “Picked these up for you girly!” She says. Her leather gloves make you double take, but you imagine it’s just a professional chauffeur thing, or something. She does look pretty sick(as in cool XD)

Lucy eats just as adorably, thoroughly enjoying every single bite. She sweetly hand feeds you some. By the time you arrive downtown to a nice shopping district you’ve completely forgotten about the collar, and the red flags of yesterday.

“Oh!! Y/N can we stop at one of my favorite stores too!! They have really cute plus sized clothes!!” She stares into your eyes with big puppydog ones of her own her hands interlocked in a pleading kind of way.

“Fuck, sure, we’re already here!” You laugh a little, she’s too cute to turn down.

She puts a black card on the counters of every place you even glance at, getting you anything you might need. Somehow she knows all your socks have holes, your shoes were falling apart, and your pants all have this same stupid little hole in the crotch. You practically have a new wardrobe by the end of it and a second car comes to pick all the stuff up. You give the next girl your apartment key, she says she’ll give it back before you both need to return. Lucy whispers something to her before she departs with a curtsy.

Her employees seem happy, it makes you feel more comfortable with Lucy too, she must be nice even at home.

“Okay Y/N! Close your eyes! I’m gonna blindfold you and pick out something special for you!” You cover your eyes with one hand until you feel a cool velveteen fall around your head.

You feel her lead you with a manicured finger under your collar. The blidfold helps you feel less embarrassed, but you must look like a freak right now! A perverted freak! Your pants tighten at the thought, and make the scene even more indecent. You try and act nonchalant, but you can’t even tell how many people are around, you start to heat up, the anxiety building to a point where you almost take the blindfold off!

“Okay Y/N! I’ll help you get dressed!”

“I still don’t get to see anything?”

“Nope! it’s a surprise!” she giggles.

At least you heard a door close, you must be in a changing room.you reach around blindly for the articles of clothing and… Feel frills, and it bows out, it’s definitely a dress!

“No, wait Lucy! I’m n-not-!”

She kisses you and starts unbuttoning your pants, and removing your hoodie.

She feels you up as she does, and whimpers as she roams your body.

Her hands are hot against your skin.

Your frozen as the dress comes down over your head and lightly covers you.

She ties you in, tightening the waist to your body.

She puts a head band on your head, and unties the blindfold.

You’re in an all black frilly gothic lolita dress… And she put puppy ears on your head.

It’s weird how well the dress complements you, and matches the collar. You look cute— Wait! “Lucy!? I-I can’t! This is… This is too much!” She pulls out another leash, and clips it to you. Something about this is turning you on… You feel ashamed or embarrassed or both!

“I already paid for it! Pleeeeaaseeeeee?” She begs.

You sigh… At least in this bougie ass district you won’t see anyone you know.

“Fine.” You aren’t fully sure why you agree, but she gets on her knees and lifts your skirt, you twitch in your underwear uncomfortably.

“Hold this!” she commands. You do as she said, not sure yet what she’s doing, when she pulls out your cock. “I can’t resist! You’re too cute Y/N!”

You watch her this time as she kisses the tip of your already leaking cock. Your precum giving her pretty lips a sheen like it’s her favorite lip gloss…

She licks it off slowly, with her eyes closed, just like when she’s eating, she savors you just the same.

she licks up your underside eliciting shivers, “I-I love your cock! So much! Y/N! You have the best one!!” She bursts out, while slurping up around your shaft, and sucking on the tip. That makes you so hot… A girl like this? telling you that?

You cum on her face, and she uses her fingers to wipe off and then eat your semen up like it’s those sugary sweets in the car, with just as many “mm!”’s. You watch her with wide eyes as you catch your breath. She didn’t even have to suck you off… You must be more into this than you thought.

When she gets back up she fixes the dress on you and pulls you by the leash out of the room.

Other girls fill the store all dressed like you, in cute frilly dresses, they stare at you and Lucy as you leave. Her chauffeur is waiting for you both by the curb, your happy to get in somewhere more private.

“I’m sleepy, can you please take us home, Molly?” she takes her shoes off again, and gets comfy.

“Sure thing girly!” She speeds off and Lucy curls up with her head in your lap for the ride home.

You pet her hair and swear she’s purring.

You’ve never seen her home… But you imagine it’s—

It’s way bigger than you could’ve expected. She has a stable out front, You see another employee cleaning a Clydesdale in front of, and what looks like an eight car garage… Who needs an entire armada of cars!?

The lawn is entirely made of wildflowers it’s so colorful and mesmerizing in the bright sunshine. There’s bee boxes all around, and birdhouses and all types of feeders. Even some raccoons and possums are hanging out leisurely near a cushioned area filled with fruits and nuts.

Her family must love animals, and nature.

“W-welcome to my home!” She opens her arms in a grand gesture with a deep breath, before she sneezes into her elbow, “Ope! sorry, i’m allergic to pollen, but i love the stuff!!” she giggles.

She pulls you inside and leads you up a grand staircase, your new shoes (she got you some low heels to go with the dress) click against the lacquered lattice parquet flooring.

The hallway slowly gets pinker and pinker as you go on, until eventually you stop in front of a pink door with white angel wings painted on it.

She reaches into her cleavage, you can’t help but stare slack jawed, she then unlocks the door with an iron key, and puts it back.

“Here’s my room!”

You’re eyes scan the room in a fervor, she has a princess bed, the ceiling is painted to look like a cloudy pastel sky, and the room feels so comfortable, filled with faux furs and so many pillows. There’s a room before her bedroom with comfy sofas, an en-suite with a walk in closet that has another whole sofa in it…

“What do your parents do??” You ask.

“P-N-nothing! They do… Nothing. They’re both retired.” She seems to pale at that question that you thought wasn’t that deep.

“Oh, s-sorry! I didn’t know it was a sensitive topic!”

“N-no! that’s not it… Hah! i um…” she clears her throat, “Want some food!?”

You go along with her topic change but stay standing awkwardly, you swish your skirt a little. It does feel pretty cute— No. Stop that!

She picks up a landline (an old school phone) that’s shaped like a pair of angel wings on a pink heart stand. she presses one of the few buttons.

“howdy! what’s on the menu tonight,” She pauses to listen, “Ooooo!!! okay! can you send us up a platter of appetizers?” Another pause. “Yes please! Thank you! Oh!! And lots of drinks!! please and thanks!!!” She hangs up and swings her legs on her bed.

She finds you with her eyes, and pats the bed next to her. “Y/N! What are you doing still standing?” You we’re feeling a little out of place here, “Come get comfy in my lap!” She sits back against the regally canopied bed and starts arranging pillows and blankets into like a nest. You sigh, she’s really truly adorable. You don’t know why you even felt scared nervous.

There’s a familiar metallic tang in the air.

[sawyerconfort]

fire(and)place | jackie taylor x fem!young shipman!reader

TWO POSTS IN A ROW, I'M GETTING BETTER!

Ok, just want to let you guys know that this is an experimental post, because I really want to start watching Yellowjackets and I decided to write oneshots about it...

So, I'm sorry if there's anything wrong with this story regarding the context of the series, I didn't really watch it and only watched snippets of the episodes to cheer myself up and see if I liked the atmosphere of the series.

Btw, it's a story with a character played by Ella Purnell, I think there's no way to go wrong, right?

Hope you like it!

Enjoy!

Requests open but taking things slow!

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

Prompt: After your older sister has a nasty fight with Jackie in the woods, you decide to take matters into your own hands and confront her. It would all go down too well, though, if you didn't have a crush on her.

***

You didn't expect things to get to this point. In fact, you didn't even want things to get to this point. You knew better than anyone else how much Shauna liked Jackie, considered her her best friend, and how close Jackie actually was to you because she was best friends with your older sister.

Which is why, when you woke up to the screams echoing in the cabin that middle of the night, after accidentally falling asleep and snuggling into Natalie's shoulder - she was warm, in your defense - you wondered why Jackie wasn't there, and the way Shauna looking at you as soon as you opened your eyes was completely decisive.

"Why the hell are you yelling this time?", you asked, your voice coming out low and rather sleepy. "Where's Jackie? I thought we'd go hunting when we were all together, didn't we?"

"Not anymore," Misty blurted out unintentionally. "Your sister decided to fight Jackie, and she's outside now, who knows where, in the cold maybe."

Shauna rolled her eyes. "She started it!"

"Shut up you suckers!" you yelled, standing up and brushing a few strands of Natalie's gorgeous blonde hair out of her clothes a little bit before heading for the door. "You shouldn't have done that, you shouldn't!"

"Where are you going, (Y\N)?"

"Do what you didn't do. Apologize to Jackie and save her from dying of hypothermia at least."

You rolled your eyes as you left, slamming the cabin door slamming and leaving the girls exchanging skewed looks. Misty stopped Shauna with her arm and your sister had to watch you go, against her will, outside in the snow, just when she should have been protecting you.

***

It wasn't too hard to find Jackie, knowing at first that even if she was intensely hurt by Shauna or any of the girls, she wouldn't go far. The girl was as scared as you were about navigating the forest alone, so she could be anywhere, just close.

It was practically freezing outside, and you found yourself picking up your pace several times to keep your shoes from sinking into the icy white snow - sometimes it was quite pointless and you practically froze just by dipping your toes a little bit. But it helped you to locate yourself, when the fog gave way to a figure turned on its back, hugging its own legs, with that varsity jacket that you knew so much, and that, dammit, she never took off her body!

It didn't take much for you to know it was Jackie and, relieved to see her, you walked over slowly and sat down where she was, beside her, avoiding eye contact.

"Please don't tell me Shauna asked you to come after me as a consolation prize," she said, rolling her eyes, still hugging her legs. Her voice emitted a little air from her lips, and when you looked up, her mouth was purple.

Quickly, you needed to take action. You dug with your hands until you couldn't dig anymore, but eventually you found some sticks and stones, which were more visible in the middle of the snow. By rubbing the two together, you created a little bit of fire and arranged some lighter pieces of wood to create a fire. Jackie sighed in relief and another little smoke came out of her mouth.

"No, she didn't ask. I came at my own risk," you finally replied, taking a deep breath as well. It was nice to feel something warm as you sat on the icy ground. "May I know what happened between you two? Why did you fall out so quickly? Everything was so good…"

She didn't answer, and you decided to play with the situation.

"It's only when I fall asleep that you decide to let go, right? That's serious, Jackie, it's a lack of a worthy mother figure."

Jackie laughed, and dammit, you loved it when she laughed. You loved when you could make her laugh, when you could see her little eyes close as she turned her head towards you and looked into her eyes like she was looking at a little sister.

That's what you were to her, a little sister. And that was all.

"I don't know why Shauna is mad at me. Sometimes I thought it might be Jeff, but now that I've broken up with him, I…I don't know anymore," Jackie sighed. "I thought you knew, since you're sisters, and she should tell you everything…"

"Uh, one point less for you…", you chuckled nervously, sighing. "Shauna never tells me anything. She pretty much hates me, I think maybe she'd rather I was a Barbie doll instead of a normal flesh and blood person…" you huffed. "Seriously, I had to beg her to let me on your team, really."

"But she was right, (Y\N), you were still too young. It could cause problems in your class, because you're a year below us."

"I'm not a kid anymore, Jackie, I make my own decisions, and I've decided I want to make the team," you replied in an authoritative voice. "No one can change that now, I also wanted to win, I wanted to help you on the team, not just watch from the stands…"

Jackie nodded, smiling and pursing her lips. She looked at you, and again, there was that annoying little "big sister look" thing she always gave you. You pretended you weren't affected by him and tried to ignore it, but it was impossible.

"If I ask nicely, will you go back inside and make up with Shauna?" you asked in a whisper, looking at Jackie again.

"(Y\N), it's no use. Shauna really hates me now, there's no going back."

"But that can't happen! How am I supposed to be if you guys are fighting forever? How am I going to convince my mom to let me go to your party without Shauna around to babysit me?"

Jackie shook her head. "I'm sorry. Really."

"But that couldn't happen! It's so unfair!"

"(Y\N), stop whimpering like a baby!", Jackie complained, turning to you. "It's irritating, okay? It doesn't help at all!", her voice was different, and it was clear that she was very irritated with the situation.

You widened your eyes, an intrusive thought running through your mind as you stared back at her, your voice trailing off. "You find me annoying? Really?"

"No, that's not what… Ah, (Y\N), come on, I'm sorry, okay?", Jackie clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth and looked at you, her voice becoming quiet and calm, like she was talking to a puppy. "That's not what I meant, I swear, it's just…I'm really pissed off right now, and if you keep forcing me to make it up to her, I'll…"

You nodded, holding back tears, but didn't say anything. Then, there was a moment when Jackie surprised you by cupping your chin with her fingers and forcing you to look into her eyes. Gorgeous, huge, but gorgeous, you could easily get lost in the whole pool of charisma that was inside them.

"Come on, give me a smile please, (Y\N)…", she whispered, still holding you by the chin, and you smiled, blushing slightly. "That's it. I love seeing you smile, (Y\N), really. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude to you, but this whole situation is killing me."

"Everyone is nervous, Jackie, it's normal…", you explained, whispering, too lost to focus on one thing. "We should be playing right now, winning medals, lifting trophies, but here we are, stranded on a shitty island."

"Hey, at least we still have people to count on…", she whispered back, smiling. "People we like, that's what matters to me at least," Jackie laid her head gently on his shoulder and looked into the crackling fire. "Like, I like you a lot, (Y\N). I don't know what I would do if we had a fight…"

You were taken aback by the revelation. You were already used to Jackie's surprises and her nonsensical phrases, but this time, it rang true. Too bad you felt more than just a liking, and that you couldn't truly tell her that for fear of losing the friendship.

"Me too… I like you, Jackie…", you whispered. "But…"

"But you really want to dump me now, don't you? Yeah, I know. I figured my lack of affection would hurt someone one day…"

"No!", you said, kind of loudly, startling her too. "No, what I meant is… that I like you. Like hell. But it's not just liking… a friend. You know… I'm…"

She quickly pulled her head away from your shoulder to look at you, laughing in disbelief.

"Are you telling me that… you're in love with me?", Jackie asked, confused, frowning. "I mean, like, you? In love with me?"

"Yeah, I think that's right…", you replied. "I'm sure, actually. I'm in love with you, Jackie, and I've never felt that way about anyone in my entire life.

"Damn, (Y\N), that…that was cute, you know?"

Your smile faded, and Jackie saw it right away. It made her laugh, and when you least expected it, she kissed your cheek, then leaned in a little closer to kiss your lips, and you were taken aback by the feel of icy, frozen lips pressed against yours.

Jackie didn't seem to regret the impulse. She was clearly nervous, but she was shivering too, from the cold, and as you kissed, she touched your face with trembling hands over and over again, sometimes hesitating between your cheek and your shoulders.

Her lips were cold, because of the ice, and they were soft, because they were a girl's lips. The girl you were in love with and had kept that secret for a long, long time.

"Was that your way of saying you like me too?" you asked, afraid that this was more of a threat than a genuine question from someone who was confused when she pulled away from you.

Jackie smiled, nodding and blushing as she kissed you again. This time, the touch lasted a little less, and when she pulled away, her face was hidden in the crook of your neck.

"I don't know why it took me so long to figure this out…" she whispered. "It was literally in my face the entire time. That's why Shauna hates me. Because of you, (Y\N). She's so jealous because you guys are sisters, and because I'm her best friend…"

You smiled. "And that makes you regret liking me?"

"Never, I swear…", Jackie whispered. "I actually love the fact that I like you. It's comforting because I knew I'd never have to say it out loud since the two of us are inseparable…"

You smiled again and it was your turn to hide your face in Jackie's neck. She hugged you with both arms and breathed in your scent, sighing. She was clearly warmed by the touch of you on her body.

"Now, if I ask nicely, will you go back to the cabin?"

"(Y\N)!", Jackie sighed, before kissing you again, only this time, all over your face, laughing every time her lips meet your skin. "God, will you stop being so cute? This way I won't convince you that I'm mad at your sister!"

"It never convinced me, to tell you the truth. You two are failures to disguise that, deep down, deep down, you still like each other. And I'm happy about that, because I know that, no matter what, you'll have to put up with me for the rest of your days!"

The girl smiled. "Yeah, not that I'm complaining, either."

And there you two idiots were, giggling by a poorly made fire for the rest of the night, after an awkward but completely adorable confession.

[its-straykeedz]

purple person ; kth

pairing: kim taehyung x afab!reader

genre: angst, fluff, a bit suggestive in the end

tw: mentions of body-shaming, mentions of hurtful comments, reader is self-conscious about her physical appearance, mentions of a breakup;

requested!

please do keep in mind that english is not my first language, therefore if you spot any typos/mistakes let me know!

you can find my masterlist here ♡

© jtothehopeworld ] don't copy/plagiarize/translate any of my works or post them elsewhere.

⛅︎

Kim Taehyung is utterly in love with you. 

He tells you every day - it’s the first thing he tells you when you wake up in his arms and the last thing he whispers into your ear at night as he hugs you, one arm around your waist and nose buried in your hair as he breathes in the scent of your shampoo. He also loves to tell you when you least expect it - he loves to see your cheeks and ears turn red when he whispers those three little words on your lips right before he leans in and kisses you. 

Taehyung loves you - you’re sure of that. You never once doubted him - never in all the years you’ve been together. Even when he has to leave for months due to his busy schedule and tours all around the world - he’d always find a way to make you feel loved and appreciated. He’d send you cute selfies with sweet captions just to tell you how bad he’s missing you - how much he misses sleeping next to you, how it’s not the same, to fall asleep on a cold, lonely hotel bed. 

Taehyung loves you and he always finds a way to show it - that’s why you trust his judgement when he tells you he’s ready to announce your relationship to the whole world. You’re taken aback at first - how could you not? It’s a huge deal, and you’re a bit scared to take such a big step, but Taehyung makes you feel safe and loved and appreciated, and you trust him. 

He announces it through his social media’s stories while he’s on tour - posting a couple picture you took months before. It’s a nice picture, but you don’t exactly look the cutest - though Taehyung claims it’s his favorite picture of you. He says that whenever he misses you, he scrolls down his camera roll to look for that specific picture to ease his low spirits - your smile is so bright and contagious. He’s kissing you on the cheek as you do the “v” sign with your fingers - it’s definitely his favorite picture, you both look so genuinely happy and in love, happier than ever. 

You’re not ready for what happens next. As predicted, the news of Kim Taehyung - a member of the world’s most famous kpop group - spread fast, and so do the comments. There’s who’s happy for you and congratulates with the idol, and there’s who isn’t but doesn’t spread hate. 

Then - there are those comments which you really shouldn’t read, because deep down you know it’s all bullshit. You knew what you were getting yourself into when you’d started going out with Taehyung - you knew he was worldwide famous and that dealing with fans isn’t always a pleasant and easy matter, and you definitely knew you weren’t as perfect as all those idols people shipped him with. 

Though - you weren’t expecting to receive that much hate for your physical appearance. 

Why does it matter anyways? Why are people so damn obsessed with one’s looks? Why would they comment such hurtful shit just to make one feel bad? What do they even gain from doing that? It’s mean and pointless.

You know you’re chubby - you don’t need haters to tell you that. You are perfectly aware of the way you look, and you’ve never really felt self-conscious about it - you didn’t think it played an important role in your relationship with Taehyung.

Apparently, it does to some people. 

Taehyung’s not really aware there’s a shitstorm involving you - he has a busy schedule and has no time to go check what people are saying online. You don’t tell him anything either - you don’t tell him about the hurtful comments about your looks and how people had been body-shaming you since he’d posted the picture. You don’t talk to him about it - you don’t want him to feel bad about it, after all it’s not his fault.

But the days pass and the mean comments just won’t stop. A few people even recognized you at work and started gossiping about you with their coworkers. How isn’t he ashamed of her? or She looks so big compared to him! are just a few of the comments you’ve heard so far, and the truth is - you’re starting to believe them.

⛅︎

When Taehyung comes back home from tour, the first thing he does as soon as he enters your shared apartment is lean in for a kiss - he doesn’t expect you to turn your head so that he ends up kissing your cheek instead of your lips. 

“Why won’t you kiss me? Are you mad at me, jagi?”, he jokes, but immediately notices something’s off with you. 

You’ve been distant lately, replying late to his texts to the point he thought you were deliberately ignoring him. He hadn’t minded - brushing it off thinking you were just too caught up with your job or something. 

“Taehyung…”, you take a deep breath, not ready to voice out your thoughts - but you have to. “We need to talk.”

His eyes widen and nods weakly. He thinks you’re about to give him sad news or something, he’s not ready for what you’re about to tell him - and neither are you. As soon as you utter those five words, he feels as if somebody had just punched him in the guts. We need to break up, you said. 

“Is this a joke? Because it’s not funny, jagiya.”, he lets out a nervous laugh, but returns serious when you don’t laugh along. He feels his head spinning as he’s trying to process your words. 

Break up. Why would you break up with him? Does this mean you’re not happy with him, that you don’t love him? The mere thought’s enough to make tears well up in his dark chocolate eyes, so tired from the international flight and from the jet-lag. 

“I’m serious.”, your voice quivers - you’re on the verge of tears, too. “We need to break up.”, you repeat, but it doesn’t make it any easier for Taehyung to hear. 

“Why?”, he asks quickly - too quickly. He needs to know what’s wrong - he needs to know whether it’s something that can be fixed, that he can fix, because he can’t bare the thought of not being yours. 

You don’t answer him, and he insists, repeating the exact same question - voice broke. 

“Because we’re not meant for each other.”, is all you reply. 

Taehyung’s sure he never heard something more absurd and ridiculous than this. You’re not meant for each other? You’re his fucking soulmate! He was sure of it since he asked you out on a date and found out you were just like him - he had never felt this way before. You complete him, you’re the person who makes him the happiest, you’re all he really misses whenever he’s outside the country.

“You’re lying.” Taehyung states, though a couple of tears escape from his eyes. He doesn’t wipe them off, and you don’t do it for him, which makes it even more real. You’re breaking up with him. “If you’re really doing this, if - if you’re breaking up with me then give me the real reason. I deserve to know the truth.”, his voice trembles and he even chokes on his own words. 

He does, he deserves to know the true reason you’re leaving him. It’s the least you can do - after all the years you’ve spent together, you owe him at least that, honesty. 

“It’s about the comments.”, you don’t look him in the eyes as you speak. “It’s true - what everyone’s saying. I don’t deserve you. You’re… you, and I’m just, well, me.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”, he argues - anger replacing the sadness.  How could you say something like that right to his face? How could you decide who does and doesn’t deserve him? 

“It’s supposed to mean that your fans are right.”, you swallow the lump in your throat. “You should be with one of those stunning models or- or actresses or, I don’t know, someone like you. Someone who’s perfect.”, you whisper the last words, and a few tears fall from your eyes as well. 

Taehyung’s shocked - too shocked to speak. His girlfriend - the love of his life is now sitting in front of him, telling him she wants to break up. Telling him she doesn’t think she’s worthy of his love, telling him she isn’t perfect. That’s bullshit, Taehyung thinks, because he’s sure you’re perfect - inside and outside - and that you’re the most beautiful he’s ever seen. And he’s seen a lot of women - but they don’t stand a chance compared to you. 

“How can you say that, jagiya?” Taehyung’s tone is much softer now, and he brings his hands to your face - gently cupping it as he wipes your tears off your face with the pads of his thumbs. “You’re perfect.”

You shake your head as a no, and it pains him to see you so torn. “I’m not.”, you cry harder. “I’m so… big compared to you - you’re so fit and handsome and I…”, you hiccup “You should be ashamed of me.”

“Ashamed of you?” Taehyung repeats - hoping you’d realize the absurdity of what you’ve just said. Ashamed, pff. As if Taehyung didn’t talk about you like you put the stars in the sky, as if he wasn’t desperately whipped for you. “Jagiya, are you out of your mind?”

You shake your head as a no once again. 

“I’m not ashamed of you, jagiya. How could I be?”, he rhetorically asks. “Jagiya, anyone who commented those stupid shit is not a fan of mine and they don’t care about me - otherwise they’d just be happy for me, that I found my soulmate. Trust me, I’m going to give those haters a piece of my mind.”

You snap your head up to meet his eyes as soon as the word soulmate leaves his lips. 

“You’re my soulmate, jagi.”, he repeats, placing a soft kiss right on the tip of your nose. “You complete me, my love, how could you think you’re not enough for me? I’m the one who’s not worthy of you, my sweet love. My sweet jagiya.”, he grabs your hands and brings them to his lips, gently kissing them. 

“Don’t say that.”, you scold him. 

“But it’s true.”, he argues, leaving a series of chaste kisses all over your hands and wrists - all the way up to your forearms. “You’re my purple person, jagi.”

“I’m your what?”, you ask him with furrowed eyebrows. 

“My purple person.”, he repeats. “It’s a person with whom you instantly click - the first person you truly love. It’s you, jagiya, it’s always gonna be you.”, he doesn’t stop kissing your skin all the way up to your arms and shoulders until he reaches your neck. He places a soft kiss there, then reaches your lips. “Can I kiss you, my love?”, he asks for permission. 

You nod, and he places his lips on top of yours - they’re a bit salty from the tears. 

“You’re not leaving me, jagiya, are you?”, he asks once he pulls away from the kiss. “Please, tell me you’re not leaving me. We can make this work - we’ll figure everything out like we always do, yeah?”

You nod again, and this time a happy smile spreads on his face. Oh, how you’ve missed that smile… 

“How could you be insecure, my jagiya?”, he rhetorically asks, before pecking your lips once again. “How could you think I don’t love your perfect body?” 

His hands travel all the way down your neck and shoulders to your wrists. “How could you think I don’t love these perfect arms? The arms that hug every night, the arms I want to feel wrapped around me all the time, holding me tight?”, he leaves a series of kisses all over your arms once again.

Then, his hands move to your thighs - one of your biggest insecurities. Taehyung notices the way you tense up as soon as his fingers brush against your clothed skin. “How could you think I don’t love these thighs, hm?”, he hums. “These perfect thighs - I fit so perfectly in between them, it’s like they were made for me, how could I not love them? They look so fucking hot - it doesn’t even matter what you’re wearing.”, he continues to praise you. 

“Taehyung…”, you whisper, feeling a bit embarrassed, but he doesn’t stop. 

His hands travel all the way up to your waist, gently squeezing it. “And your waist, jagiya. God, your waist.”, he bites his lips. “Why would I not love your waist, hm? Fucking perfect.” 

His hands are now on your tummy, and he doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches in your throat as soon as he places his hand on your stomach - hidden by an oversized t-shirt. He lifts the fabric so that his fingers can brush against your naked skin. “Is this what you’re insecure about? Your tummy? It drives me crazy, jagiya. Why would you even hide it under this big shirt, hm? This tummy is going to carry our children one day, my love, how could I not love it?”

Your heart is hammering hard in your chest and you’re sure even the tips of your ears have turned red by now. His hands travel upwards, and he cups your breasts in his hands. “Don’t even get me started on these, jagiya.”, he whispers on your lips, leaning in for another kiss. 

“Do you believe me now?”, he whispers on your lips as he retrieves his hands from under your shirt. You nod, though weakly. “I’m in love with you, jagiya. You’re my purple person, I told you. I love every single inch of your perfect body - I wouldn’t change a single bit of you, jagiya.”

“Taehyung?”, you whisper, caressing his cheek with your fingers. 

“Mh?”

“You’re my purple person, too.”

He grins, then pulls you in for another kiss - this time more passionate, as he lets his tongue brush against your lower lip. “I love you so much, jagiya.”, he mutters between kisses. “Love every single part of you - I feel like you forgot it. Maybe I should remind you how much your body turns me on?”

⛅︎

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

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[hannahssimblr]

“Do it, just do it.” 

“Okay well stop moving around all over the place then will you?”

“Jen, wait, maybe-”

“Uh, guys, is there going to be blood?”

“What the hell? No of course there won’t be blood, shut up Joe.”

“No I’m just asking ‘cause like, my ma got mad the last time youse were over when one of you spilled blue powerade on the carpet so…”

“I said there’ll be no blood, relax.”

“Well I’m just saying that I might faint if I see blood, because this time at school before some lad in my base class threw a whiteboard eraser and it hit my face and my nose bled and then I blacked out in the boy’s bathroom and nobody found me for like ten minutes, even though, like, to me, like it felt like no time at all was after-”

“Oh my God, Joe, if you don’t shut the fuck up I’m going to stick this thing crooked.”

“Um, try not to, please.” 

She grabs my chin and holds me still, “Then don’t move, and Joe,” She jabs a finger in his direction, “Not a word from you, I’m dead serious. Right,” Her tongue pokes out the corner of her mouth as she eyes my ear with determination. The ice she’s holding melts a trail down my neck and into the collar of my t-shirt and I don’t dare react. “Has that gone numb?”

“I dunno yet.”

“Probably has,” She tosses the cube into Joe’s sink with a metallic thunk and positions the needle on my lobe.

Shane pipes up from the table, “any blue powerades going, by the way?”

“Shut up!” I can feel her hand trembling, and the sewing needle rasps against my soft virgin skin. She exhales slowly, “Okay, one, two…” she hesitates and my eyes follow her movements nervously as she pushes her hair behind her ears and then leans for a closer look. She’s so close that her shaky breath feathers against my cheek. Take two. “Okay, okay, seriously this time. One, two…” I feel it. I hear it. And a grunt of disgust comes from the back of her throat as the needle pieces through my earlobe. “Oh, God,” There’s silence. My eyes screw shut as I wait for the pain.

“Does it hurt, Jude?” Joe sounds queasy.

“Why? Does it look like it should hurt?”

“I told you it doesn’t hurt,” Jen dismisses, “...but it’s fine, right?”

“I think so. It just feels kinda… hot?” I peel my eyes open.

“Yeah, well, you’re grand, now,” she reaches to the counter behind her, “stud or hoop?”

“Stud.”

“Okay well too bad they only had very girly looking studs in Claire’s Accessories, so I got hoops.”

“Why’d you offer, then?”

She dangles the little purple shiny packaging in front of my face to distract me, “Look at that, hm? Very cool, manly hoops.” 

“Yeah, very manly.” and she fumbles around my ear for several moments trying to get it through the new hole in me, and that’s when it hurts the worst, as she’s tugging and poking and digging her sharp thumbnails in, but I pretend that it doesn’t because Shane and Joe are in the room and sixteen year old boys aren’t supposed to show things like pain and discomfort in front of each other, it’d be weird and socially unacceptable. Vulnerability is illegal among us.

If it were Jen and I alone in this caravan I’d at least be whining at her, if not actually tearing up about the discomfort of it all.

She closes the clasp at the back of the hoop and presents me to the room, “What do ye think?”

“A bit red,” says Joe as he clutches the rim of the sink with milk white knuckles “Is it meant to be that red? That’s not bleeding, is it? Ah Jesus, I don’t think we should have done this…” Shane glances away from the olympic basketball game on the TV and huffs out a laugh. “Gay ear,” he says. 

Jen pauses, “Gay ear?”

“Yep, ‘tis the gay ear.” 

“What do you mean by that?”

“Obviously, like, you’re after piercing the right lobe; the one that you pierce when you want all the other fellas to know that you fancy them or whatever, like, I dunno. I just heard that some place. Shoulda pierced the left.”

I tug on it self consciously though it’s tender. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Lads on the football team probably, look,” He crosses his arms with authority, “I go to an all boys school. I know what the Gay Ear is.”

I look up at Jen and tell her that I don’t mind that it’s the Gay Ear.

“That’s for life though,” Joe pipes up unhelpfully, “You’ll always have that hole in your ear now, so even if you take the earring out everyone is gonna see that you have your right ear pierced and they’re all gonna think-”

“I don’t care if they think I’m gay. What does it matter?”

“Yeah but you’re not gay, and it’s the Gay Ear,” Shane argues, “That’s the point. You’ll end up confusing everyone, and men won’t know what to do when they see you out and about and all that.”

“That feels like kind of a backwards, 90s thing to say, honestly.”

“Nobody’s being homophobic, fuck sake. It’s just the code.”

“Well it’s pierced for life now, isn’t it? What the fuck do you want me to do?” 

“Christ sake,” Jen seizes my shoulder and yanks me back into the seat, “Pass me that ice, Joe, I’ll just do the other side then and you can all shut up annoying me about it, alright?”

“Fucking Gay Ear, who comes up with that shite?” she mutters to herself, and pushes the mostly melted cube to my left lobe so we can start all over again. 

~.~.~.~.~

Afterwards I squeeze into the tiny caravan bathroom to look at myself in the mirror. My ears are furious red, but at least the hoops are even. I think. Jen has given me table salt from Joe’s kitchen cabinet to wash them with, and I do it, I fill one hand with limey water from the taps and pour a random amount of salt in with it. I don’t know what I’m doing, but it's fine because if they get infected I'll just take them out. I’ve never seen another boy with both ears pierced, but that’s fine too, because I’ll just pretend it’s a trend from America that nobody else has heard of yet. 

When I come out Jen turns away from the television screen to look at me.

“Looks okay,” she says.

“Yeah,” I catch sight of the clock behind her and realise that our ear piercing activities sliced only thirty minutes out of this long, empty July afternoon. “So, um, what now?”

“Any more bright ideas?”

I shrug, “I dunno. We could go play tennis?”

“Kids club is at the boat club until six and my sister is always hanging out with those inbred looking fellas at the one in the caravan park,” Shane says, “So no.”

“Joe, do you think your brother could go buy us cigarettes again? We could smoke up by the-”

“Nah man he’s working today.”

“Well the olympics are on so I suppose we could-”

“I couldn’t be bothered with sports,” says Jen, “nor do I want to sit here pretending to care. And now we’ve done all we were meant to do today and there’s nowhere else to hang out…” She looks at me for help as though I’m supposed to know how to keep three bored teenagers entertained through another endless summer day smack bang in the middle of a recession.

I sigh and throw my hands up in defeat, “Well… I dunno. Will we shave my head?” 

Prev // Next

[corrodedcoughin]

I know this is a headcanon talked about a lot but I absolutely love it. And that's Steve going round to the Henderson's place for dinner once a week. And he makes sure he's free to go over every time. He'll tell Robin he can't go over for a movie and a sleepover with her, he'll tell Eddie he can't go over to get high and listen to music together. Instead he'll put on one of his comfy sweaters (either his favourite yellow one, or a deep purple, or maybe a pale pink one he doesn't dare wear when his father's home), pack his fuzzy socks Robin bought him and go to the Henderson's.

Steve gossips and catches up with Claudia as they chop veges and prep the meat together, plays on the Atari with Dustin, and settles into their little family dynamic like he always belonged there.

They have dinner at the table together, and there's laughter and jokes and people who genuinely want to hear how he's doing. Not like his parents who only ask because its the done thing, part of the act - and then get dissapointed with his answer. Instead he has Claudia Henderson who remembers what he says, and makes sure to ask him about it next week.

Steve loves these evenings. It always feels cozy and warm and comforting, not like the cold and intimidating mausoleum of a house he lives in.

He aches for it. An actual house that people live in. Who decorate it with things they like, weird knick knacks, and family photos where the people actually smile. A family. But he doesn't dare voice it, how much he wants it. How much he feels the ache in his chest when Claudia kisses him on the cheek, or when Dustin invites him to hang out because he likes spending time with him. Steve tries not to carve himself a spot in their family. He's just the babysitter, not Dustin's actual brother. He can't get too close incase they kick him out. This way it'll hurt less. Everyone leaves him. Why wouldn't they?

Claudia sees this. How hesitant Steve is when he catches himself being too comfortable, too forward. So she makes sure to remind him that he'll always have a place here with them. He saved her Dusty's life, befriended him, is someone he can look up to. She trusts Steve.

So when Steve falls asleep on the couch after dinner, in his cozy sweater with Mews the cat curled up under his arm - she is sure to remind him that the spare room is his. He can stay over anytime, and in fact isn't he a bit too tired to be driving? She'd feel a lot better if he stayed the night. And if she buys new sheets and clears out the dresser in the spare room for him - that's her business. And Dustin is so excited at the prospect of a sleepover together Steve can't say no.

You know she'd have Steve moving in a HEARTBEAT if his parents kick him out.

I was snuffling in my bed when I read this and it might be the thing that cures me of my cold

Steve FINALLY feeling at home, FINALLY feeling like he has a place he can return to, where people ask where he’s going and how long he’ll be when he head out for the day, where he can talk about his day and be LISTENED TO without it looking like an inconvenience.

After Steve moves in, it doesn’t happen every night but there is at least one night a week where they all sit around the dinner table to eat together. They try to make it more often but sometimes things just don’t work out, it is their preferred way to spend their evenings though. Dustin thinks he’s won the lottery, his best friend and let’s be honest, hero, is living with him and looks like he’s happier than he’s ever been in his life!

Claudia notices it too, Steve loses a bit of the hunted look he used to have, fills out a bit too, looks softer, more content and less like he’s trying to make up for some failing that only he knows about. When Christmas comes around and she gets Steve his own personalised stocking she makes sure to hug him tight when the tears threaten to spill over onto his face. Dustin catches it on camera and it quickly gets put into the family album