#minty watches house

[what-thisiscrazzzy]

“Since when do I need the secret passcode”

Wilson says this as a joke when House is being cagey about a patient but I think it’s very interesting that both of them seem to be aware that House will tell Wilson most things. That Wilson is very different than everyone else, he gets free access to House’s internal feelings unlike everyone else. He doesn’t need a passcode, the door is always open and unlocked

[daddyhausen]

commision for — @the-anxious-youth

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• shut your mouth before i fuck it — rhea ripley •

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{ masterlists } | { wwe masterlist } | { rhea ripley masterlist }

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{ summary } — a house party for liv’s birthday turns sour for rhea upon catching you getting a bit to comfortable with the birthday girl. she reminds you exactly who you belong to.

{ warnings } — 18 + { minors do not interact }, wlw, oral sex, scissoring, strap-on, markings, hickeys, groping, public teasing, hair pulling, jealous sex, dominant x submissive dynamic, sub!reader, dom!rhea, mommy kink, brat taming, fingering, choking, forced orgasms, vaginal sex ,rough sex, penetrative sex, female orgasm, multiple orgasms, squirting

{ word count } — 4.2k

{ pairing } — fem!reader x rhea ripley

{ genre } — smut

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{ taglist } — @cosmoholic13 @thewrestlingbitch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @adamjf @slut4kennyomega @wardlow @alexisquinnlee-bc @sammiejane22 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @omegasluvbot @melissahausen @writtingrose @drummergrl1310 @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @bonehead-playz @cherrytheeredheadmamaclaymore @crowleysqueenofhell @romanreigns-supreme @janetreader @thenerdybaker523 @sunshinevirus @nicoleveno14 @rubyred1980 @elsteenerico @igncrxntripley @ripleyswhore @embermdk

{ beta readers } — @allelitesmut + @legit9thlunaticwarrior

{ comment if you want to be added to the taglist }

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the air was thick, a mix, a stench more like it of alcohol and tobacco flooded rhea’s nostrils, a cloud of smoke fluttered  across her cheeks from an unknown and quite frankly intoxicated party goer, reeking of cheap whiskey and menthol, the scents alone caused no harm, but the combination of the almost vinegary scent of the cheap drink along with the pungent, and quite frankly overpowering mintiness of the menthol made her eyes water, desperately trying to suppress herself from dry-heaving. god, why does liv need to go above and beyond with her parties? they’d become meaningless in rhea’s eyes, just another year closer to death she always says, why would you feel the need to celebrate something so morbid?

rhea let her eyes tiredly scan liv’s kitchen, the room looked more like a barren wasteland than a place she could drunkenly cook breakfast in the morning, empty bottles and cups strewn across the floor, vodka spilling out from the closest one beside her feet as she tried her best to not ruin her shoes with the substance. a pizza box with the contents half eaten inside, an inebriated couple doing what she could assume was making out behind the counter, although she did not witness much kissing in the second she had made eye contact, more like clashing teeth and absentminded face sucking it seemed. 

her ears began to ring from the sheer loudness of the music, it wasn’t an exhilarating ring you’d like the one you’d get during a concert, but more of a banshees shrill directly into her eardrums. she turned the corner into the living room, to find it more populated by inhabitants of the party, rhea was certain that she did not even recognise or know about ninety percent of the partygoers, maybe a handful at most, liv’s house almost about to burst at the seams from the amount of drunken bodies squished so tightly into one room. 

she met the eyes of a partially drunk dominik, the youngest of her quartet slumped against the wall furthest from the crowd, eyes sunken with a drunken stupor, slowly batting in and out of sleep. a sober and steadier damian priest keeping a watchful eye over the judgment day’s protégé. rhea made her way towards them, keeping her side firmly pressed against the wall so as to not get lost in the crowd of intoxicated bodies.

damian met her gaze with a soft nod in acknowledgment, opting to stay silent rather than strain his voice with screaming over the blare of music and chatter. he motioned for dominik to do the the same, offering a light tap to the back of the boy’s head in encouragement and more to rouse him out of his intoxicated state. dominik stared up at rhea, eyes glassed over and bloodshot with inebriation, his head craned forward slightly with a small nod before slumping back against the wall.

“have you seen y/n anywhere?” she questioned through a yell, despite having leaned into priest’s ear. the tallest of the three, furrowed his brows at the question, almost trying to comprehend the words that had just left rhea’s lips. 

“wasn’t she with you?” damien queried, the deep rumble of his voice seemed to match the bass of the music 

“wasn’t she in the kitchen with liv?” dominik slurred, trying to stand before damian shoved him back down by the shoulder, a silent warning to keep still until he sobered up.

“i was just in the kitchen.” rhea retorted, her accent becoming more predominant and thick the more her anger and impatience swelled within her. 

“what are we talking about?” an all too eager finn balor chimed in, that irish charm rang thick in his accent. hands full with whiskey, handing one to each member aside dominik, who gave a sour scowl, clearly not amused at the way he’s been cut off from the drink. damian, annoyed with having to play chaperone to the youngest, rolled his eyes in dissatisfaction.

“do you know where y/n is?” rhea responded with a dull, annoyed tone in her voice. “i’ve been looking for her for the past ten minutes”

“wasn’t she with you?” finn quipped with a puzzled expression. 

“no.” rhea fumed, impatience burning inside her veins. 

the irishman pondered in thought for a moment, pressing his shoulder into the wall as a group of stumbling drunks passed him by. rhea grew anxious at the prospect of her love being lost in a crowd of drink-fueled idiots, though her exterior remained cold and stubborn. 

“out with it!-“ the sheer magnitude of rhea’s voice was enough to bring dominik out of his drunken stupor for a moment, the youngest butting the back of his head against the wall he’d been resting it on. a groan of pain followed, priest’s usually calloused demeanor broken for a second as he tried to stifle his giggles at poor dominik’s pain.

“alright, alright. don’t get your fucking panties in a twist, jesus.” finn resumed his train of thought, practially unfazed by rhea’s impatient mutterings.

“oh yeah, i remember now.” finn clicked his fingers all too chipperly upon his remembrance. “last i saw out in the yard with liv. by the pool i think.”

“thank you” rhea remarked, downing the drink before handing, well rather tossing the cup back at finn, who, along with priest and dominik stood perplexed. watching her squeeze through the sea of bodies.

“what’s her problem?” dominik questioned wearily, finally coming out of his beer and whiskey fueled haze.

“i’d rather not find out…” damian sighed, eyeing the now empty bottom of his drink.

finn gave a small sigh in contemplation, effectively choosing to ignore rhea’s attitude for the time being

“well, i don’t know about you lads but i’m getting me another drink” 

-

rhea kept silent, shoving her way through the plethora of bodies, offering those who dared to question her motives a piercing glare. the glass sliding door glimmering with fairy lights strung loosely over the top frame, whatever she could make of the outside reminded her of an oasis. she could make out your figure through the smoke haze of the fog machine, she’d recognise your figure anywhere. she reached the door, peering out into the dead of night, the only light was from the living room, projecting out into the crystal blue of the pool. 

there you sat at the edge of the pool, feet lazily swishing the water. your body only shielded from the gaze of others with a tight black, micro bikini. rhea cocked her eyebrows at the ensemble, noticing that it was definitely not the outfit you’d worn when arriving. the faith you’d put in that piece of cloth was astronomical. your breasts barely covered, bar your nipples, so full and round, the string keeping the piece together was holding on by a literal thread. her eyes traveled down reaching the axis of your hip, having to squint her eyes to even make out the matching thong. your perky ass in full view and on display for all onlookers to see. 

rhea envisioned a scenario in her mind. the ensemble would burst at the seams, falling off your body like nothing more than a feather. your full breasts spilling out of the fabric, bouncing with their movements, so supple and soft. your pretty cunt bare and exposed, ready to accept punishment from her tongue and fingers. the buildup of wetness and arousal between rhea’s thighs just from the sight alone was almost too much to ignore, just to hear your sweet moans and pleas as she devoured your sweet pussy in front of everyone would definitely be a sight to behold. it was the perfect excuse and rhea needed the fresh air anyway.

the aroused trance faded for a moment as she came to. rhea gazed further into the night, further into you. another figure swam idly t your feet. the birthday girl had emerged from the watery depths, resting her head upon your thigh. liv’s eyes stared lustfully into yours, her lips eerily close to your clothed cunt, rhea observed the way you squirmed slightly whenever liv seemed to mutter out a sentence. your hand nestled in the blonde’s hair, massaging lightly, a playful glimmer in your eyes. 

despite the shine of blue from the pool, rhea saw red. you were too sweet and naive to notice but rhea clearly understood liv’s lustful intentions, despite the two of you being friends. rhea kept her demeanor calm for the most part, trying to quell her anger whilst it boiled deep inside her chest. she stormed outside, almost certain she’d ripped the door clean off its hinges. she made a beeline for you, paying no mind to the birthday girl, she grabbed your wrist as you hastily tried to wrap a towel around your lower half and retrieve your clothing.

“rhea, what are you?-“

“we’re leaving.” rhea remarked bluntly, dragging you away.

“i’ll talk to you tomorrow liv!” you shouted through the middle of music and crowd noise, leaving the poor blonde alone in the pool. 

rhea dragged you around to the side entrance, she did not want anymore unwanted eyes on the body she’d rightfully claimed as her own to stare at. 

“hey! where are we going!?” you retaliated, trying to pry your arm from your girlfriend's grasp. she remained silent, a scowl permanent on her lips. 

you’d made it to the car with much defiance on your part. she opened the door, practically throwing you in the passenger seat with a disgruntled groan. quickly taking her position in the driver's seat.

“what the fuck is your problem?!” you seethed at the fiery aussie, who merely stared dead at the road, knuckles gripped tightly, flushed bone white  against the leather of the steering wheel.

“hello?!-“

“why you gotta dress like a little whore around liv? you know she’s got the hots for you, princess” 

“is that really your problem,” you scoffed  “liv is just a friend and i can dress however i want it’s my body”

rhea’s hand released from the steering wheel, sneaking under the towel to tightly grip your exposed, still damp thigh. her strength alone sent a shiver down your spine and a thump of arousal straight to your core.

“princess…” she began. her eyes never leaving the road but her fingers creeping up to the string of the thong, toying with it between her fingertips

“i know your body better than anyone. i know how you feel, the way you taste, the way you liked to be manhandled and fucked out. i know things that liv only wished she knew”

you rolled your eyes at rhea’s statement, pretending that her words had no effect on you, despite the blush burning hot against your cheeks. her fingers caressing the skin of your hip with featherlight touches.

“so..?” you remarked, trying not to stutter through your words. “you don’t own me”

rhea gave a half hearted chuckle at your words

“oh sweetheart, but i do” she began. “who puts that pretty cunt to sleep at night? who makes you gush like a waterfall? who leaves you begging and screaming for more. it certainly ain’t liv” 

a satisfied smirked crossed rheas lips, acting all proud as if she’s won the argument, if you’d even call it that, her fingers released the string with a tight snap against you skin, the feeling sent shockwaves to your core. rhea couldn’t help but let her eyes fall off the road for a moment, to your breasts again as she did by the pool, how they bounced and jiggled with every bump and dip in the road. if she weren’t driving right now she’d rip that microscopic piece of fabric right off your form.

“you’re so insufferable” you mumbled to yourself, loud enough for her to hear, folding your arms across your chest.

“you won’t be saying that when my head is buried between your thighs, sweetheart” 

-

the rest of the drive home was met with disgruntled silence from both of you. rhea pulled up into the driveway in silence. only a glance on her part that allowed you to exit the car. you did albeit meekly with some retaliation, only for her glare to harden. she followed you up the stairs, grinding her hips against yours as you reached the front door, her hands held a death grip on your waist as you shakily fiddled with the keys.

“hurry up princess, don’t keep mommy waiting now” 

you gulped thickly feeling her hands trail up your waist as you hastily unlocked the door. you entered, desperately trying to make a beeline for your bedroom but rhea held you back for a moment, kicking the door closed with the heel of her foot. 

“hold on a second.” she ordered. keeping you grounded in your position momentarily. her fingers twirled the corner of the towel haphazardly tucked into itself, keeping a shield between your body and hers. she ripped it from your form with haste, letting it fall to the floor with a dull thud.

she inspected your body for a moment, letting her hands roam your form, squeezing and groping your supple flesh in her palms.

“such a pretty little get up” she remarked at the two-piece. her hands coming up to cup your breasts in her large palms, feeling your nipples harder under the still-damp fabric. 

“and why didn’t i get to see you in it first? why did you have to parade yourself in it for all those people to see, like a little whore?” rhea hummed against your skin, sucking and nipping the skin in the crook of your neck.

“i..” you mumbled through a moan as rhea’s hands grew more aggressive.

“c’mon, use your words like a big girl,” she teased, pinching your nipples through the fabric.

“i…i wanted to surprise you mommy…” you lied through your teeth. you just wanted the attention. rhea always gave you the utmost love and attention, but you wanted to experience it from strangers, feel their unknown eyes wandering your body, so hungry for a taste they’ll never get to try. you got off on it and you knew that secretly rhea did as well. 

“hmm, sure you did princess” her lips popped against your skin, a reddish mark left in their wake, one that would take days to heal. she snapped the strap of the bikini top against your skin, earning a harsh hiss on your part. 

“upstairs.” she commanded. following you close as you trudged up the stairs, arousal pooling between your thighs. she pushed you into the bed harshly, already positioning herself between your thighs. your fingers hooked into the string of your thong to pry them down for her before she swatted your hand away with a rough slap.

“keep ‘em on” 

you obeyed.

she licked a hot stripe against the fabric. the faint feeling of her tongue pressed against your covered clit had you shivering. she gave soft kisses to your core, tonguing the flesh around your clit, bypassing your sensitive pearl each time. you whined in frustration, wanting her to just devour your cunt.

“what?” she smirked. “you didn’t think i was gonna play nice with you after that stunt you pulled back there?”

you went pale at the thought. rhea was never ever liberal with her punishments.

“oh sweetheart. i’m gonna have so much fun with you” 

she undid the ties to the thong. the small bows at your hips fell with ease. her slender fingers prying at the fabric, your cunt slick with arousal, leaving a damp spot in the material. you heard her hum in contentment, her tongue jutting out past her bottom lip, the glimmer of her tongue piercing just barely visible under the dull moonlight bleeding from the small cracks in the blinds.

“so wet for me…” she remarked, although her voice lowered, a growl almost present in her words. she kneeled before you, hooking her arms underneath your knees. dragging you closer to the edge of the bed. she marveled at the sight between your thighs, your cunt drenched, dripping with sweetness and warmth, she smirked to herself, knowing that it was indeed her doing. 

with no warning she dived in, the cool sensation of her tongue piercing made you shiver as the metal made contact with your sensitive clit. she maintained eye contact throughout, those piercing blues staring directly into your soul as she devoured you. her lips wrapped around your clit, sucking and nibbling at your swollen pearl. maybe you should flirt with liv more often if this were to be your punishment. 

your hand fell into her hair, tugging at the dyed, coal black roots, pushing her head down so her tongue could fuck you senseless. she smiled into your warmth at the action, opting to accentuate your pleasure. she pulled away from your warmth for a second to speak, her breath heavy and labored. 

“such a pretty girl, you love getting off on mommy’s tongue don’t you?” she cooed, keeping her lips close to your clit, peppering gentle, featherlight kisses to your outer walls each time you squirmed into yourself.

“yes mommy” you panted breathlessly, groping your breasts absentmindedly. she gave another soft smile, returning her head between your thighs, this time with the addition of two fingers, her middle and ring fingers. as she tongued your clit, slowly, making sure you could feel the metal of her piercing with each swirl, she added her fingers, beginning to spread your folds and fill your void with ease. 

she would not go easy on you, oh no. despite her trickery, leading you into a false sense of security before she absolutely wrecked you. her tongue flicked your clit in rapid succession, her fingers pumping and curling deep inside your cunt. she kept her eyes on you, how you’d squeeze and toy with your breasts, the flesh now free from the miniscule restraint of the bikini top, pierced nipples now on display. rhea’s free hand came up to tug on one of the piercings, twirling the black bar between her thumb and forefinger, adoring the way you squirmed and whined at the new sensation.

“thats it you dumb little girl, fuck yourself on my fingers for me”

rhea could taste how close you were, how your cunt throbbed around her fingers, how your swollen clit twitched with every movement of her tongue. her spit spread across your folds and inner thighs, sweetness forming a pool in the bedsheets below. you could not hold out much longer, the pleasure was far too much for you to handle. you tried your best to refrain, to stop the flood gates from opening, and you knew there would be consequences if you were to cum without her permission. 

“m-mommy-” you whimpered through choked moans, hips circling so your clit could receive more friction from her tongue. 

“yes, baby” she hummed into your clit. her words buzzed against your skin, leaving you numb in pleasure, afraid to spill over. you held out for a moment, trying to come to but your words would not leave your throat, seemingly trapped like concrete in your chest.

“you wanna cum don’t you?” she queried, the twang of her australian accent running thick as she moaned into you. you nodded, far too hastily for you own liking. you would have liked to hold out for a moment or two longer, just for the feeling of her tongue but you couldn’t wait much more.

“then cum. show me how much of a good, obedient girl you can be” 

you heeded her words, sweetness gushing like a fountain from between your thigh prompted by her. she smiled into you, drinking you in as if it were her first taste of heaven. and in heaven she was, she pried her fingers from your warmth, returning her hands under your thighs once more, dragging you closer so she could fuck you deeper with her tongue, 

she’d left your thighs shaking upon coming down from your high, breathless and sopping wet as you tried to regain yourself. she silently excused herself to the closet, leaving you to bask in your post-orgasm thoughts for a moment or two, staring up at the ceiling you noticed the small chips of paint beginning to flake and the thin cracks around the lighting fixture, something you hadn’t really picked up on before. not that it mattered. 

rhea soon returned, standing in front of you, her body bare, the only concealed parts of her skin were those covered in ink. her tattoos suited her frame so well, bringing character to an otherwise blank canvas. in her hand she held a harness and your favorite dildo. it was a simple, sleek design, black silicone with little purple hearts encased on the mold, roughly about eight inches in length and roughly five inches in girth. one that she had used on you many times beforehands. 

you watched on silently as she prepared herself, her body hovering over yours as she fastened the toy into the harness. her breath labored slightly as she teased your folds with the tip of the toy, pressing it rather harshly against your swollen clit, a whimpered breath left your lips at the action.

“you gonna be a good little whore for mommy?” she questioned, cocking her eyebrow playfully as she stared you down, jutting her hips forward, the tip of the dildo grinding against your entrance. you squeezed your eyes shut, pleasure once again rising between your thighs as her hips guided the toy across your clit.

“uh ah, sweetheart” she slapped your cheek lightly, rousing your eyes open. 

“look at me” she demanded, taking you by the chin, forcing you to look up at her. she repeated her phrase. emphasizing each word that left her lips with a pause

“y-yes mommy…” you whimpered meekly, feeling her grip on your chin loosen. a smirk creeped upon her cheeks, sliding the toy deep inside without warning. a choked gasp left your throat, feeling the dildo fully succumbed inside your warmth, to the point where you could feel her warmth radiating through the thin harness.

“oh fuck, baby. look how well you take it” she forced your head to look down at yourself. how your cunt clenched around the thick toy, how it bobbed in and out of your warmth complemented by rhea’s thrusts. 

“god…if i had a cock i would breed this pathetic cunt day and night” rhea’s growls resonated in the surrounding silence, echoing in your ears with such devilish praise. her body hovered over yours, securing you against the mattress, her breasts bouncing with every thrust she gave. you angled your head up slightly, the tip of your tongue barely grazing against her perky nipples, the buds swollen and hard from the chill of the midnight air. 

rhea hissed in delight at the sensation, in response, her hips gave a rather hard thrusts, a whirlwind of moans fluttered from your lips. she let her head fall between the valley of your breasts, licking a hot stroke up your skin, sucking and nipping the area and the surrounding mounds of flesh, marking you up with lustful bruises, all in varying shades of purple and pink. she let her lips trail to your right nipple, kissing the sensitive, pierced flesh lightly before biting down on it, tugging the bar between her teeth, letting her tongue roll over your nipple, leaving a glossy wet trail in its wake.

“oh baby, you look so fucking good. you love getting dumbfucked don’t you, my sweetheart? there’s not a thought in that empty head of yours is there?”

her words mocking yet falling on deaf ears and very much so. there was nothing on your mind other than achieving orgasm. rhea fucked you so well that it made you legs weak, your mind grew hazy and rotten with all the filthy ways she could ruin you. rhea could sense your impending orgasm, opting to hook a leg over your shoulder, pressing down deep into you, feeling the tip of the toy hit your cervix with such delicious force.

“oh sweetie, you gonna cum? oh i know you do, just look at the way your pretty cunt throbs for me”

you felt a moan catch in your throat, your cunt so swollen and overstimulated, not just from the toy but from her tongue also. orgasm teetering in the edge of release

“mommy please! oh fuck yes- make me cum, mommy!” 

rhea increased the speed of her thrusts, her own cunt soppy and dripping with sweetness. 

“make a mess for mommy, baby. show me how a good girl cums”

you released, sweetness gushing like nectar from between your thighs. it’s a pity rhea couldn’t taste you for a second time, but watching you cum all over her makeshift cock was good enough for her. rhea pulled out of you, spurts of your warmth still squirting from you each time your cunt clenched and pulsed. she left you breathless, unable to speak for a moment. 

“such a good girl” rhea praised, quickly removing the harness and the toy, throwing it to the floor beside the bed, before resting herself atop the headboard.

“now…” she began, tugging you lightly by the hair, leaving your head positioned between her thick, inked thighs.

“come give mommy a kiss”

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[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Testing One, Two, Three (S.R. Smut +18)

Summary: (Spencer Reid x Fem Reader) Spencer comes home, after a long week of being away, with a bag full of (sexy) surprises.

Content Warnings: Sex toy use, praise kink, dirty talk, mutual self pleasure, coming undone, overstimulation, very light submissive (Reader) dominant (Spencer) dynamics, talk of anal sex & pegging

Word Count: 3.3K

Note: This is one that I have had saved in my drafts for a very long time! And I just had the inspiration to finish it a couple days ago.

Testing One, Two, Three

It wasn’t strange for Spencer to make trips to the grocery store, to the used bookstore, or the pharmacy before making his way back to Y/N’s storybook Tudor home after work.

This evening proved to be not unlike the others. Spencer, driving his powder blue Volvo pulls into Y/N’s driveway. She watches from the windows as he takes out his satchel, his overnight bag, and other large black shopping bags. It didn’t look like it was from the grocery store and their local bookstore didn’t give customers plastic bags. Curious, Y/N unlocks the door for Spencer, deciding to meet him at her front stoop instead of in the kitchen or the hallway like normal.

“Hey there, love,” Spencer says, the nickname brushing off his lips with ease. He looks tired and worn down. Y/N thinks that traveling through two different time zones and not getting enough sleep is a way to do that to a person, but she decides she’ll keep that to herself and just usher Spencer to bed earlier tonight.

“Oh, Spence. I really missed you,” she confesses, breathing in his familiar scent. It's a little different. He smells like cheap hotel shampoo and stale coffee, not like his usual minty and green tea body wash and expensive coffee beans. 

Spencer sighs into her neck, swaying slightly as he holds Y/N in his arms on her front stoop. His bags, even the mysterious black on, lay neglected on the ground by their feet.

“I know, Y/N. I know, sweetheart,” he reassures, rubbing his hand up and down her back in a comforting gesture. “I got you something. Well, really it’s for us. But for you, mostly I suppose,” 

“You’re acting clingy and squirrely,” she assesses, leaning back to look at Spencer’s unreadable face. He simply shrugs, as if to say you’ll find out when you find out. 

“I need caffeine,” Spencer remarks, as he insists on carrying all the bags into the house by himself, “And something comfy to wear. I’ve been in this shirt for the last two days. There was a break in the case 41 hours in and we couldn’t break for the hotel. It was too out of the way,” 

“Oh my poor boy,” Y/N exclaims, helping Spencer shed his cardigan and standing with him as he takes his shoes off, “What about a nice hot shower and then some leftovers. I made chickpea curry last night. We have leftover rice and garlic naan, too,” she offers. 

Spencer, offering his thanks, grabs at his tie. His shoulders tense with exhaustion and something unreadable. He’s not usually mysterious. Usually, Spencer’s nothing but an open book. 

“You alright?” Y/N asks, doling out the portion of chickpeas and rice on the delicately decorated plates she received for her 25th birthday. 

“Fine,” Spencer says, clipped and detached. 

So unlike him. 

“Hmm. Well how was work? Anything interesting happen?” Y/N asks, attempting to spark conversation with her boyfriend. They’ve only been dating for a solid five months; enough time for whatever it was to have run its course. If Y/N didn’t know any better than she should expect herself to be circling the drain tonight along with dishes that would certainly be neglected for a pint of Java Chip. 

“Fine,” Spencer says, nodding thanks for the plate of food. He shovels in a couple bites, seemingly uninterested in continuing the conversation. 

So unlike him. 

Usually, Spencer would be clamoring to talk to her. It wasn’t too long ago that they spent long nights sharing a bottle of red and talking about everything from books to movies to the meaning of life. 

“Alright, Spencer. Cut the crap. Are you breaking up with me? Because if you are–?” 

Shock washes over Spencer’s face. And he doesn’t wear it well. He does a spit take and it’s nearly as foolish as it looks like in movies. Spencer’s eyes grow about three sizes bigger. 

“What? Break up with you? God, no,” he stammers, the sentiment clear although his efforts lacked clarity. 

“Okay.” Y/N says, tossing Spencer a napkin to mop up his mess of curry and water. “Good to know. But why are you acting so….squirrely?” 

Shifting in his seat, Spencer attempts to remain calm. His eyes, a honey brown with a cool brown rim, flit to the mysterious bag he brought in from his car. It was as if she could hear the whirring of the gears clicking into place. She follows his gaze to the bag. 

“You bought something. Something that you’re either nervous about or embarrassed? So it can’t be books. And it’s not something innocuous like a throw blanket or pie dish. And judging by your breathing growing heavy, it’s something….salacious.” 

Spencer’s thin upper lip twitches with delight. He hums, neither confirming nor denying her claims. His eyes flicker with playfulness, a contrast to moments ago when Spencer’s eyes flooded with fear and shock.

“You’re smart.” Spencer concludes, smiling with knives. He stands to presumably grab the black bag that has caused so much intrigue. “Should have been a profiler with a mind like yours.” 

“I’ll stick to what I know.” Y/N tells him, her interest in the bag only growing 

when Spencer places it in front of her on the table. “Let me guess, we’re at the stage in our relationship where you can buy me sexy underwear without it looking like you’re sleaze,” 

Chortling, Spencer blushes profusely. His feeble attempts at hiding the bag's contents fail miserably as they only pique Y/N’s interest. His eyes are wide with wonder and anticipation in the kitchen light. 

“It’s not lingerie.” 

“Alright, well whatever it is, Spencer I’m sure I’ll love it. You’re being so jumpy, it’s making me think you’ve got some really kinky sex toy in here,” she says, reaching her hand into the bag to finally examine its contents. She’s good at reading faces. From the old man who reads French Literature on the Metro to the young barista at the local coffee shop, Y/N, like even Spencer admitted, is pretty well versed at reading people. Which is why, for a split second she reads pure terror in Spencer’s eyes. 

“Oh shit,” she says, turning the box in her hand and reading the label. “You bought me a wand?” Her voice goes up an octave as if she’s just realizing what she’s holding in her hands. 

Spencer, now thoroughly, embarrassed, covers his face with his hand. His cheeks are tinged a lovely pink and he peeks through his fingers, apparently still eager. “Will you kill me if I say that’s not the only thing in there?” 

“Spencer Reid!” she shouts, slapping his hands on the table with glee and excitement. It was the very thought of Spencer Reid in a sex shop that sent both shivers down her spine, like an electric shock and shock waves of laughter through her system. “You went into a sex shop.” 

“Yes, Y/N,” Spencer contends, his tone playful enough, “But please continue your teasing. We’ll see how cocky you’ll be when you’re on the receiving end of 5000 RPMS. And that’s the lowest setting,” 

“Is that a threat?” Y/N asks, leaning in closer to Spencer. Her cleavage is eye level to Spencer’s line of vision. His eyes dart there to the bag and back to her eyes. 

He shakes his head. “A promise. Continue,” Spencer instructs, pointing towards the bag. She listens, fishing her hand in the large bag.

“That’s a clitoral stimulator.” Spencer explains, “The website I got recommendations from says that it simulates oral sex. It has eleven settings,” he continues, watching as Y/N’s eyes grow big at the thought of the toy in her hands. 

“Hmm, eleven?” she muses, putting it down next to the menacing looking hitachi wand.

“Another one? Spencer, how much money did you spend on toys?” she says aghast as she takes out yet another item from the bag. 

“It’s a Lush vibrator.” Spencer explains, waving off Y/N’s concerns for his wallet. “It’s actually connected to my phone. That means I can control it, even when we’re apart. Which, considering how much we’re apart, just might come in handy.” 

“This must have cost a lot of money.” Y/N speculates, staring at the three presents facing her on the countertop. “You really didn’t have to. You really shouldn’t–” 

“Y/N,” Spencer says, her name sounding deadly in his breathy timber, “It’s my job to make sure you’re satisfied. And I thought it would be a little fun to bring in some…reinforcements.” 

“That’s certainly more forward thinking than my last boyfriend. He was under the assumption that toys stole his thunder. But between you and me, and like every other woman he slept with, it’s probably because he hardly ever made me finish.” 

“Really?” Spencer says, looking shocked. “And he was still insecure about bringing toys into the bedroom?” 

Laughing, Y/N tosses her head back in a chortle. There was something endearing about Spencer’s genuine shock. 

 Spencer, looking half bemused and half proud, shifts in his seat. “So are we going to test them out or what?” 

Twenty minutes later, they were both in her bed. Y/N, on her back, with her feet planted firmly on the bed, watches as Spencer studies her carefully. Sweat pools in her cleavage and she grabs the sheets, needing something to grip as yet another wave of pleasure washes over her body. He had already coaxed an orgasm out of her with the clitoral stimulator. 

Spencer, fully dressed, holds the wand against her. He has a notebook to her left with small scribbles of notes detailing how fast she’s edged with each different toy. His scribbles, messy and disorganized at best, grow increasingly illegible. Spencer’s creases his brow, a sign of his intense determination, and is fuzzy as Y/N gazes down at him. She watches his look of stoic concentration, something that she finds entirely too attractive. But considering he plans on bringing her to climax time and time again tonight, she’ll give into her flights of fancy. 

“Think you like this one.” Spencer comments. He switches the wand to his less dominant, but still skillful hand to make notes on the pad. A self-satisfied smirk grows on his face, a sign that he’s enjoying this more than he’s letting on. 

“It’s really good.” she says, her voice betraying her already limited resolve. Spencer’s fingers lie casually on her thighs, searing marks into her legs that vaporize her skin. When he touches her it’s like her limb liquifies and her skin melts. She wants his fingerprints to sear into her skin, finally becoming part of her. 

“Yeah,” Spencer asks, a sarcastic smirk playing on the corner of his mouth, “Tell me more, sweetheart. Tell me how good it feels.” 

Spencer’s words are punctuated by the head of the toy rolling against her clit. He never keeps it in one place longer than a couple of seconds, either not wanting to overstimulate her too soon or to keep her on her toes longer for him. 

“It feels so…good. Better than it used to. Before I had you,” she stammers, the words clunky in her mouth as she concentrates on Spencer’s deft hand at her core and his warm lips against her neck. 

“That’s right, sweetheart. Before you had me to keep you nice and full, you had to use things like this. But I’m gone too often for you. I need to know my sweet girl is taken care of. So we’re going to test all of these toys out tonight. Till you’re drippy little mess, begging for me to finally fuck you.” 

Spencer’s sloppy kisses climb the slope of Y/N’s neck. He leaves whisper-wishes into the nooks of her skin, each one filled with promises and love. It’s a stark contrast; the sweet kisses to his hand that holds the vibrator: the bane of her undoing. 

“You know Hitachi wands are excellent for clitoral stimulation. This one has only one vibration pattern, but eight different speeds. Now that sounds like a challenge. And one that I’d like to break.” 

Y/N’s brow furrows as she gazes at Spencer with a deep concentration. He breathes against her neck, a trail full of wet kisses plotting their revenge against her sensitive skin. Spencer’s fingers hold the wand deftly as he concentrates the sensation against her clit. Y/N’s feet move up the bed, dragging the crocheted blanket with them. 

“Holy shit, Spence!” Y/N curses, her breath bated as the wand’s vibrations kick up a couple of levels. 

“That’s my girl. You like the fourth setting. Remember that, baby,” Spencer says, his lips curved into a proud smile as Y/N’s hips jut upwards in tandem with the toy, “Just like that, Y/N. I can tell you’re close. Give me another. One’s not enough for my greedy girl. And who am I to deny such a pretty face and a wet pussy. It’s all mine after all.” 

She feels the wand leave her clit and venture up to her stomach. Y/N’s muscles react like falling dominos at the sensation. She tenses as the vibrations shoot up and fry her nerves. Spencer licks his lips at the sight of her arousal sticking to her bare torso. He carefully dances the wand up to her nipples, watching with glee as they pebble even further in response to the vibrations. 

“One day I’ll give you an orgasm from just playing with these nipples. I’ll lick and kiss and suck on them till you’re dripping and begging for my cock to fill you up.” 

“Jesus, Spencer.” Y/N pants, her hips buckling as her climax reached its peak. “Can I come, please? Please let me come again? I need it so fucking bad, baby.” Her tongue peaks  out from her lips, wetting the surface as Spencer peered up at her. She grabs his collar to drag him up for a kiss just as she finally teetered off the edge, yet again. 

Spencer separates from the kiss, his lips puffy and red from Y/N’s frantic mouth. He smiles, gently caressing her head in a gesture that was entirely too sweet for their current situation. She feels Spencer’s erection in his pants; it had to be almost painful by now. 

“What was that two or three?” Y/N asks, a self-satisfied smirk plaguing her face. “I think we might set a record or something.” 

“That was two.” Spencer corrects. He takes more notes in his little notebook. “Of at least four or five. Depending on how much you beg later.” He slips off the bed and fishes through the bag. “Now, I think I have an idea for which I’d like to try next.” 

A bright pink silicone dildo with a flared based, freshly washed, lays in between them on the bed. Y/N raises her eyes in surprise. 

“Most men wouldn’t be too thrilled to have something other than their penis fuck their girlfriends, you know.” 

Spencer shrugs. “Yeah, but there’s a lot that we can do with it.” He claims, “Like double penetration or even, uh,” He blushes and stumbles over his next comment, “And pegging.” 

Y/N grins as an overwhelming sense of arousal washed over her. “Oh,” she says, skimming her fingers around Spencer’s neck. His skin is ridiculously soft, “we are so tabling that one for later. I would love to see you a mess for me instead.” 

Spencer grins. “Fuck, that’s good, Y/N. So good.” He kissed her forehead. “I wanna watch you ride it. Like you would my cock.” 

Y/N nods, as Spencer shifts on the bed, allowing for her to assume a crouched position. She looks at Spencer, his eyes laden with lust and love. He sits, legs spread in an attempt to accommodate his hardened erection in the old arm chair. He looks too good to be true, his cheeks are tinged with a blush, the dances that line between innocence and corruption. His notebook is forgotten, as he needs the entirety of his attention focused on the sight before him. 

“Good girl.” Spencer mutters, his hands resting on his thighs, but they twitch restlessly. It was as if he needs to physically hold himself back from ravishing Y/N at the sight of her crouched on her bed ready to fuck herself with a dildo her purchased for her. “Lower yourself on the toy. Give yourself an inch into your sweet little cunt.” 

His voice is deep, yet soft as he guided her pleasure expertly. She groans as the toy breaches her cunt, the full sensation is welcomed after the last hour of the wand and clit stimulator. 

“Don’t you wish it was your cock fucking my cunt, Spencer?” Y/N asks, her right hand wrapped around the flared base of the toy and the other holding herself up. Her abdominal muscles stunned with strain as her body remained in a crouched position, but the promise of release goaded her on. “You’re so hard, baby. I can see it from here. Don’t you want to touch yourself?” 

Spencer bites his lip. He nods as his hands undo his belt and his hips lift up enough so he can shimmy his pants and underwear to his knees. He wraps a hand around his cock, hard and glistening with arousal, and rubs upward with a tight fist. Spencer’s teeth dig into his bottom lip as he continues to watch Y/N lower herself onto the toy. 

“Give yourself another inch, sweetheart.” Spencer instructs as he fucked his fist. He swipes his thumb over the tip of his cock. “Fuck I wish it was your mouth or your pussy on my dick.” 

“God, you have the prettiest cock.” Y/N pants, the toy filling her up more and more as she sinks lower onto the base. “But now that we have this toy, maybe you can fuck my ass? I know you’d like that, baby.” 

“Dirty girl,” Spencer praises, a smile covering his face as Y/N’s thighs quiver, “Tell me does that toy fill you up nicely? I had to pick out the best one for my girl.” 

“Yes, yes,” Y/N answers, her voice rough and raw, “So good….I feel so full.” The pink dildo filled her cunt. 

“Good. Good.” Spencer says, his hand moving up and down his cock at a hastened pace. “Show me how you’ll ride it when I’m not here to fuck you, baby. Show me how you’ll fuck that tight cunt.” 

Spencer’s words provide the encouragement for Y/N to hoist herself up and down on the dildo. She would've laid flat on her back, a position that would have been easier on her thighs and core, but the angle she’s  able to reach makes the suffering all worth it. 

“Fuck…so good, Spencer. But I don’t think I can come from just this…it’s not…it’s not enough for me.” Y/N explains. Spencer knows that. He understands the science behind the female orgasm enough to know that many women are unable to reach climax from vaginal penetration only.

“I know, sweet girl. Don’t you worry.” He promises. “Bring your fingers to your clit

and give yourself some nice tight circles.” 

She listens. Her fingers draw tight circles around her clit. Y/N bites her lip as she feels her pleasure build and build. “So good. So good.” 

“I know, I know. Grind against the heel of your hand. You go wild when I do that, love. Like a little fucking minx. You can’t get enough.” 

The tension builds in her stomach as she grinds against the heel of her hand. Cursing, Spencer watches with lust-laden eyes as Y/N writhes on the bed. Sweat forms against her brow as her feet dig into the mattress and her thighs burn in exhaustion. Until she finally feels that familiar burst of pleasure release. 

“Fuck, fuck,” She curses, so caught up in her own pleasure the room seemed to spin around her. “I–I…Spencer, I’m coming.” 

Her release washes over her as she slumps down into the bed, finally spent with all her energy expended. She can barely hear Spencer shuffle over, nearly tripping over his feet since his pants remained gathered around his ankles. 

“Holy shit.” Spencer curses. “That was the most sensual thing I’ve ever seen.” He looks at her with half awe and half love. He pulls his underwear back up and kicks his pants off as he sits on the bed. “Are you alright, babe?”

Y/N groans, her cunt is raw with overstimulation and it is like every single nerve in her body is lit on fire in the best way possible. She offers Spencer a weak thumbs up that morphed into an equally weak fist bump. He obliged and gave Y/N a sweet forehead kiss in return. 

“So toys are a plus for us,” Spencer muses. He adjusts the pillows on the bed and helps Y/N sit up in a more comfortable position. “Thank you for this. I really enjoyed it. And I’m, you know, glad you’ll be occupied when I’m gone.” 

Y/N’s face flushes as a warmth resembling love covers her entire being. “I should be the one thanking you,” she counters, “Wait…I didn’t get you off.” She says, sitting up and then failing as her tired body gave out. 

“That’s a problem you already took care of,” Spencer protests, gesturing to his stained underwear. “I had already come untouched by the time you told me to touch myself. You put on quite the show, sweetheart.” 

She raises her eyes in disbelief as Spencer chuckles and kisses her cheek. “I’m glad you found that equally pleasurable. I don't think I’ve ever come as hard as I just did. And I doubt it’ll ever happen again.” She rises from the bed, with the help of Spencer. He grabs her waist as they make their way into her bathroom.

“Is that a challenge?” Spencer says, with a cocky smirk

“Fuck yeah it is,” Y/N said, “but I think I need like three weeks to recover.” 

Thank you for reading! Please remember, I appreciate you reading, reflagging, and commenting on all of my fics. I love your feedback and appreciate your support & community more than you'll ever know.

Tag List (I don't want to bother anyone, so just tagging people I mainly interact with)

@reidsbookclub @foxy-eva @reid-ingandweeping @boldlyvoid

[euphoriaslux]

a gloomy december morning

word count: 1196

warnings: suggestive sexual content, very slight jealousy, mentions of smoking and drinking. vincent being a dreamboat

a/n: i have never written before but i watched anatomy of a fall and knew what i had to do. i am so scared and think this is garbage but i hope u guys like it :))

*

vincent is fast asleep, a true rarity for your household. he’s naked, bar the thin linen blanket draped over his hips that his mother tossed in a bag when you two first moved into this home. you brush your fingers through his silver hair, shifting to give him a soft peck on his forehead. he shifts but ultimately stays in the same position.

smiling, you gently move your duvet off of your body, shivering at the lost warmth. you scan your shared bedroom, littered with strewn clothes, empty wine bottles and folders filled with documents and find a chair with an old tee shirt on it that hits just above your underwear.

you made a mental note to at least try to clean the house sometime soon, but you just couldn’t leave your vincent alone now that you finally had him for more than two hours at a time. after a year of only seeing him at night, or when you could visit his office during your lunch break, or over facetime in the early hours of the morning, something as simple as waking up with him felt sacred. you didn’t know how much of this you had.

you brace as you push the door close as quietly as possible, hissing as your feet hit the cold tile of the linoleum of your kitchen floor. it still smells vaguely of the cake you two shared last night, picking at pieces of tiramisu between gulps of white wine and sneaky kisses even though no one was watching. you grab some ground coffee and start to heat up your stovetop espresso maker, which you got at the insistence of your very stubborn husband.

-

“love, can’t we just get an instant coffee maker? it will be so much faster” you ask from behind your laptop, tucked into your velvet sofa as the december rain gently pattered onto your roof.

vincent chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from the drawer.

“you have not had a real cappuccino if it comes from a machine, chérie,” he says as he rummages through the kitchen drawers while swearing under his breath.

you rise from the couch with a soft sigh, shutting your laptop and placing it on the glass table in front of you and grabbing vincent’s lighter that’s pressed in between the couch cushions. his head whips around when he hears you click the lighter, and your cheeks widen as you walk over to him. vincent smiles back, his cigarette loosely hanging between his lips and his hair slightly disheveled from his search. he leans down ever so slightly, looking into your eyes as the flame lights the cigarette, taking a long drag before leaning against the kitchen counter.

“the coffee is more, how do you say bien équilibrée in english, darling?”

“well rounded,” you toss the lighter behind him, crossing your arms over your chest. he hums, nodding as he breathes out wafts of smoke.

“the coffee is more well-rounded,” the word sounds a little funny coming out of his mouth as if you could see his brain forming each letter in real-time. you can’t help but giggle, reaching behind him to open the kitchen window.

“i’m sure it is”

before you can fully stand up again his hand is on your lower back, softly bringing your body against his. he smells like tobacco and the slightly too minty toothpaste you buy from the convenience store down the road. he looks so beautiful in the dim winter light.

“tu me fais confiance, n'est-ce pas? (you trust me, don’t you?)” he asks, pressing his fingers into your side. he moves to hover just above your neck, and you can’t help but melt into his touch as he nibbles ever so gently on your neck, just below your ear. your eyes flutter closed and you feel the warmth pool in your lower stomach.

“vincent-”

“ you do, right?” he cuts you off as his hand wanders to the front of your body, playing with the waistband of your panties. his fingers ghost just above your cunt, and you sigh.

“of course, my love. always.”

you whine from the loss of contact as he steps away from you, taking a drag with a slight smile on his face.

“bon,” he says, his free hand caressing the side of your face.

“so we’ll go get our moka pot - not machine - tonight”.

-

you grin at the memory as you pour two shots of espresso into vincent’s favorite mug, along with a splash of whole milk, and turn on the burner to make another for yourself. you rock on your feet as you think of what to make for breakfast - maybe eggs? but vincent forgot to run to the farmers market, maybe jam on toast. there might be some leftover brioche-

you jump when you feel a pair of hands wrap around your chest smiling as you feel your husbands face nuzzle into your shoulder, pressing a few faint kisses on your skin while his hair tickles your neck.

“i thought you’d sleep for a few more hours honey,” you say, turning around to hand him his cup of coffee and laughing as his eyes brighten. he takes a sip, closing his eyes as he drinks.

“couldn’t sleep,” he says after a few moments, opening his eyes to stare into yours. his voice is deeper than normal, and you can tell he just woke up because there’s still a gravelly edge to it.

“i sleep poorly without you, honey.”

you raise your eyebrows as you let your fingers graze his chest and down his stomach.

“that’s a good one, do you tell all your girlfriends that?”

he rolls his eyes, taking a big sip before setting his mug on the counter.

“i’m being serious. i swear, every time it would get late and i’d try to sleep on sandra’s couch, i just couldn’t.”

your body goes rigid at the sound of her name but you try and ignore it, tracing circles onto his stomach. your mouth feels a little drier than it was a few minutes before.

vincent notices, of course he does. there’s nothing you could do that would get past him, the stellar lawyer.

“don’t be like that,” he whispers, cupping your hand in his face. you try to keep your gaze down but he tilts your head up.

you roll your eyes.

“every day while i was gone, all i wanted was to be home with you. you were all i could think about. you are all i ever think about.”

you feel lightheaded at his words, wrapping your arms around his neck as you kiss him deeply, sighing as your hand wanders down to the waistband of his boxers. you feel him smile into the kiss, putting out the cigarette so he has both hands free to touch you.

“take me to bed?”

you feel vincent’s stomach tense as your hand dips into his boxers. he gives you a soft kiss on the side of your face.

“how can i say no when you ask so nicely”.

[likedovesinthewindd]

james joint — m. perez

getting ready for a party with your girlfriend. (fem!reader)

𖡼 pictures/gif from pintrest; all credit to original creators.

the room was fairly quiet apart from the music playing softly from your phone, slightly muffled by the pillow it had slid under. you huffed, crinkling your nose and trying not to squirm as the eyeliner was softly dragged over your eyelid. maddy was practically sitting in your lap as she helped you with the last bit of your make-up before the two of you were off to a house party.

her soft hand held your cheek as she quietly went to work with the other. her presence – whether she intended to or not – always managed to catch everyone's attention, and you understood why. she was a very enticing person, and you couldn't help but noticed every part of her that made her so enticing, like you were now as she sat in your lap. her presences engulfed you; you could smell the vanilla from the perfume she religiously doused herself in. you could hear her soft breathing, a faint huff of air felt on your cheek whenever she was close enough, along with the minty scent of the gum she was chewing. her plump lips pouted as she focused on not making a mistake, the sticky gloss shimmering underneath the soft light of her bedroom.

she was such a beautiful girl, and you sometimes felt like pinching yourself whenever she held your hand or kissed you or hugged you, just to make sure you weren't dreaming.

the thought of pinching made your hands flex unconsciously as they rested on the top of her thighs, the tips of them brushing against the velvety material of her dress. you looked down at the pretty design on your nails; the ones maddy herself had done for you. the glossy finish shined every time you moved your hands at the right angle.

the warmth of maddy's hand felt like it was burning into your skin, branding you as hers in the most beautiful way. not that either of you needed that to know that you were hers.

she pulled away a bit to assess her work, a satisfied smile on her face before she was getting off of your lap and directing you to her vanity mirror. she had outdone herself, as she always did. "thanks, mads," you said, smiling at her through the reflection of the mirror as you watched her slip her feet into her heels. she returned the gesture, the action making the apples of her cheeks move higher up her face.

"you ready?" she asked when you got the last of your things. you gave her a nod as you slipped the heel of your foot into the strap of your heel, raising to your full height with a huff. "y'look so hot," she said with a smitten smile. "thanks to you," you said with a small smile. she shook her head with a small sound that sounded like a disagreement, before taking your hand in hers and leading the both of you out the door.

[renaiswriting]

Under the moonlight

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol/Reader

Summary: Late-night adventures with the guy your parents hate.

Word count: +2.6k words.

Warnings: snicking out of your house, mentions of your parents not liking Seungcheol, kind of forbidden love (?), mentions of tattoos and dyeing hair being seen as something that criminals do.

Author's note: I had a dream like this probably a week before my birthday, and every time I heard the song "In the middle of the night," I kept remembering it, so I decided to write it down. It's cringy, so you're welcome.

Under the moonlight moodboard

Under the moonlight playlist

Masterlist

*if you wanna be tagged, please fill out the tag list form

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Your reflection on the other side of the mirror looked back at you with the same intense sparkle in its eyes as yours.

 

You put on your favorite perfume once again. It was your favorite perfume. The one for special occasions

 

The one you avoided wearing at all costs because it was too expensive to buy again, but that you wore because it was his favorite.

 

You touched up your eyeliner one last time and your red lips.

 

There was a sweet melody playing in the background.

 

It was one o'clock in the morning.

 

The sky was invaded by thousands of stars and the beautiful moon that had watched you grow up since you were a little girl.

 

It was still early.

 

You approached your window, sighing as your eyes were mesmerized by such overwhelming beauty.

 

You could feel your stomach being invaded by the tingling of hundreds of butterflies.

 

As nervous as you were.

 

A small chuckle escaped your lips, the sound startling you and causing you to quickly cover your mouth with your hands.

 

You were about to do something your parents would punish you for if they found out.

 

And that scared you a little.

 

But you couldn't help it.

 

The feel of his arms around your waist

 

His lips on yours

 

The sweet words he said as his hands drew you closer to his body

 

His perfume.

 

His husky voice.

 

The way he laughed

 

The way he looked at you

 

It was all so addictive.

 

That every time you set out to end this weird situation you were in, it just left you craving more.

 

Waiting for the next time you see him.

 

The images of the last time you had met only made the warmth in your cheeks spread to the rest of your body.

 

You looked at the time once more, wiping your palms against your clothes, before stopping the song that had been playing until then.

 

The volume was barely audible inside your room, so you knew your parents simply couldn't hear it.

 

Seungcheol: I'm here.

 

Taking a deep breath and a last look in the mirror, you walk as slowly as possible and carefully down the stairs.

 

You could feel your heart beating a thousand miles per second, pounding hard against your chest.

 

Seungcheol's black car was parked behind some trees, the spot he always chose because it was almost completely dark in case your parents or some gossipy neighbor wanted to look out the window. They couldn't spot him at first glance.

 

Its windows were tinted, so you couldn't see inside.

 

You bit your lower lip, trying to keep the smile that threatened to appear on your face from being too obvious.

 

The light inside the car came on as you slid into the passenger seat.

 

Seungcheol had one hand on the steering wheel, and his back was completely relaxed against the seat.

 

"You took your time; I was starting to think you might have changed your mind." He greeted you; his eyes traveled from your face to your dress, smiling broadly. "Looking pretty, as always." His minty breath washed over you; it was so addictive.

 

"I know." You rolled your eyes, gently tapping him on the shoulder.

 

You loved the way his strong biceps felt under his black leather jacket.

 

"I thought you might have fallen asleep; it's kind of late already. I was looking forward to seeing you in your pajamas." He teased you.

 

"Me in my pajamas? For you? Never." I joked back.

 

"Aw, trying to look all cute for me?" He continued the joke, starting the car and starting to drive away from your house.

 

The further they drove away, the more relaxed you felt.

 

You rolled down the windows, letting in some of the fresh air from outside.

 

There were almost no cars; it was as if you had the whole night and the whole world to yourselves.

 

"Did your parents hear you?" He asked, not really minding the silence between you both.

 

"No, my dad was snoring last time I checked."

 

"I was ready to take an emergency escape route just in case." He replied, and while there was a teasing smile on his face, you weren't sure if he was joking or not.

 

Seungcheol hummed the song that had started playing and turned up the volume a little.

 

You smiled.

 

Carefully, you moved your face closer to the outside of the window, trying to get a better view of the dark sky and the stars.

 

"Enjoying the view?" Seungcheol asked, his voice deep and husky.

 

"Yeah," you sighed, moving back to your seat. "It's definitely way peaceful out here."

 

You closed your eyes against the back of the seat, enjoying what came to be this little taste of freedom.

 

Seungcheol's hand rested on your knee, holding it gently.

 

The warmth of his hand spread from your knee to the rest of your body, making you suddenly all too aware of every move Seungcheol made.

 

"I'm glad," he replied.

 

You wondered if he also felt as nervous and anxious about these little meetings as you did.

 

Your fingers began to drum against the inside of your leg, trying to calm your nerves a little.

 

Seungcheol's hand caught yours without needing to look away from the road. "Why so nervous?" He asked quietly.

 

And truth be told, it wasn't at all fair the way he seemed so calm.

 

When one look from him had you shaking from head to toe,

 

"I'm not," you tried to defend yourself.

 

"Such a terrible liar." Seungcheol replied.

 

"What's that?" you asked, when the reflection of a light shone on his wrist.

 

Seungcheol smiled proudly, moving his arm closer to you so you could discover it on your own.

 

Your hand carefully moved along the red skin and dark lines. "Do you like it?" He asked.

 

"It's beautiful." You breathed, taking a closer look at the little details. "When did you get it?"

 

"This morning." Seungcheol replied happily.

 

"Did you actually wake up early? Wow. Unbelievable." You teased him.

 

Seungcheol pockets out his tongue at you. "I actually fell asleep while they were doing it." He confessed.

 

Your eyes were wide open with this new piece of information.

 

You didn't have any tattoos, but everybody that you knew that had one always complained about how painful they were.

 

"I must say, it's pretty, but the one on your neck is still my favorite one."

 

Seungcheol looked in your direction, making eye contact for a brief second. You couldn't ignore the obvious glow in his eyes. "I can take you to the person who did it; maybe you can get one of your own." He smiled, biting the inside of his cheek.

 

"And get my ass kicked out of my house? No thank you." You laughed.

 

"Well, what if you have it in a more discreet place? Like your lower back or something like that? I bet it would look good on you."

"I would pay just to know how many times you have thought about me getting a tattoo there."

 

Seungcheol didn't reply, but he changed the song.

 

You grinned when your brain recognized the song. Seungcheol glanced at you, chuckling at your reaction.

 

"Oh, you still remember it." He laughed, his cheeks tinted pink.

 

"How could I not?" You replied, laughing, "How old were you, nineteen?" You asked him.

 

Seungcheol snorted a yes, looking out of the window to avoid your teasing eyes.

 

"God, you have always had such a cheesy music taste." You laughed but still sang every single line of the song Seungcheol dedicated to you after your first encounter.

 

"It's not cheesy!" He sulked. "It's romantic."

Seungcheol would never know how much you replied to that song, dancing around your room like a fool in love, the first time you read the text with the name of the song.

Seungcheol and you were not exclusive.

 

Never spoke about not seeing other people.

 

But truth be told, you weren't interested in anyone else.

 

Since the moment your mother told you to stay away from him, it has been as if you had only eyes for him and no one else.

 

The first time you both spoke to each other was when your teacher sent you to give back the exams. Seungcheol accidentally bumped into you, and he apologized.

 

If he liked you at first, he was not sure about you.

 

Sure, he did look in your direction here and there. But he didn't talk back to you for months after that.

 

And you weren't sure if it wasn't for that party one of your friends made you go to, things would have gone the way they did.

Seeing him was fun, and it made you stop thinking.

 

Something that you needed so badly because overthinking seemed to be the only thing you knew how to do well.

 

Hours felt like seconds, and you always forced yourself to stay in the moment because the night was so short that you didn't have much time in your favor.

But then you were back at your house, back in your bedroom, between the four walls, wondering if it meant the same to Seungcheol as it meant to you.

"Are you sure you didn't fall asleep there?" Seungcheol asked, his hand coming under your chin and moving your head in his direction. The physical touch brings you out of your thoughts.

 

"Still wide awake." You mumbled, but a yawn made its way out of your mouth anyway.

 

"You sure?" He smiled at you. Finally reaching your favorite spot and stopping the car

 

It had a name, that's for sure, but you never learned it. However, you called it stars. Since it was so high, you could see all the lights from the city and all the stars in the sky at the same time.

The sky seemed way bigger from there.

 

It was usually occupied by tourists during the day, but at night it was mostly just you two in there (except one time where there was a car with a couple doing god knows what inside).

You went ahead of Seungcheol, getting out of the car and rushing to the edge, looking at the beads of lights that were shining brighter that night.

Seungcheol turned off the car's engine, and now that the place was completely dark, everything seemed even more private.

Seungcheol got out of the car and walked to your side at a slow pace, his hands resting in the front pockets of his black jeans.

"It is so beautiful," you sighed, trying to take in every single detail of the view in front of you.

"It's the exact same view as always." Seungcheol replied, You didn't need to turn your head to see him smiling, "but I agree, it is beautiful." You could feel his eyes on you.

You hummed, taking in the fresh air of the night.

 

There was not a single sound.

 

Seungcheol leaned against the hood of the car.

 

His hands were crossed over his chest.

 

The cold air was moving your hair, and that got you fighting against the air to avoid getting your hair on your face.

 

"You cold?" Seungcheol asked, removing the jacket from his shoulders.

You didn't respond; instead, you took a few steps back until you reached Seungcheol, who, after gently placing his jacket on your shoulders, moved his fingers up to your chin, lifting it so you could look into his eyes.

 

His free hand moved a lock of hair that was falling over your eyes, leaving it behind your ear.

 

"Your lips are purple." Seungcheol frowned, bringing his forehead together with yours. His sudden closeness got the reaction he was looking for, causing you to close your eyes in anticipation of his lips.

 

Seungcheol mumbled something, but you didn't really pay too much attention to it; your brain turned off the second you felt his soft lips against yours.

Seungcheol's hand moved to your cheek, his thumb stroking it gently.

 

Your heart was pounding so hard against your chest that you were afraid Seungcheol was feeling it.

 

Seungcheol moved his lips so slowly that a fire was slowly forming inside you, sending a shiver down your spine.

 

You broke away first, taking a step back and avoiding looking him in the eyes.

 

This was the part you hated—the moment when you wondered whether or not these weird emotions you were feeling were mutual.

If Seungcheol noticed any strange expression that was reflecting the mess you had in your mind at that moment, he did not mention it.

 

You sat next to him. Neither of you were looking at each other, but Seungcheol bumped you with his shoulder, lightly shaking you with his shoulder, and laughed when he heard your insults.

"Asshole." You told him, giving him back the push he had given you but using your hands instead, trying to use more force because Seungcheol was as easy to move as a mountain.

Seungcheol laughed, catching your hands and moving you until you were sitting between his legs.

 

"There, there, stop struggling." Seungcheol shushed you as if he were talking to a puppy that wasn't obeying.

 

He rested his chin on top of your head, drawing you to his chest as another tremor swept over you, hugging you.

"Maybe we'd have to get back in the car," Seungcheol muttered, trying to use his hands to create more warmth in your arms, rubbing the cold jacket. "You're going to be sick."

 

"In a few moments," you replied, "I want to enjoy this view a little longer."

 

"When you wake up tomorrow and can't talk because of a sore throat, remember to tell me so I can say, 'I told you so.'" Seungcheol complained, but he held you tighter anyway.

"What did you do today?" You asked, moving your head slightly to discreetly take in some of his perfume.

"No much," Seungcheol replied, his voice vibrating against your back. You closed your eyes to the sensation, liking it a little bit too much to be surrounded by his scent and his warmth. "I woke up early to help Wonwoo repair one of his motorcycles, and then I went to get the tattoo."

At the mention of the tattoo, your hand went instantly to his arm, your fingers carefully touching it.

"For someone who swears that she loves my other tattoo more, you're surely giving it way more attention."

"Yeah, well. The place where the other one is makes the whole attention thing difficult." You shrugged, freeing his hand.

"I'm still insisting that a tattoo on you would look amazing."

"I'm not against the idea, but my parents would be so furious at me." You replied.

"But what can they do once it's done?" Seungcheol asked, holding your cold fingers once again. "I never asked my mother for permission for my first; she saw it around a month or two later, and by then it was too late anyway, so she couldn't really do much. I bet your parents would get around the idea someday."

"I'm not so sure about it," you replied, but my mother sometimes still holds ground whenever she remembers that my older sister dyed some of her hair blonde when she turned twenty-five."

"But she was old enough already for that." Seungcheol frowned. "I was seventeen when I got my first tattoo." He chuckled.

"Was it good?"

"Nah," Seungcheol said, shaking his head. "It was so cringy, I got it covered up by another one."

You laughed, moving to get away from Seungcheol's arms. You were freezing, and the warmth that the car could provide was now way more tempting.

"Don't you think your parents would change their mind once they see you doing stuff like tattoos?" Seungcheol asked.

"I honestly don't know; my parents think that things like tattoos or dyeing your hair mean that you're a criminal." You smiled sadly.

"I would love to know what they think about me." Seungcheol smirked, turning the car on and starting to drive to MacDonald's to buy something to eat in the drive-through. Your stomach was already begging for some food.

The rest of the night passed so quickly that when you started realizing that the sky was now filled with much more light, you started feeling disappointed.

 

"You keep it." Seungcheol shook his head, passing his jacket back to you when you tried to give it back. "Use it in front of your parents; maybe like that, they'll start getting the idea that you'll soon also become part of the criminal life." He joked.

 

"I'll see you soon." You asked, hoping that Seungcheol didn't hear the hope in your voice.

 

"Sure, Wonwoo wants to try his motorcycles tonight; you can join us. Who knows? Maybe next time you'll be robbing banks."

 

You laughed, remembering the time you told Seungcheol what your father had said about Seungcheol's friends and their motorcycles.

 

"Yeah, maybe." You joked back.

 

And then the cycle began again.

 

You were dancing around your bedroom.

 

Wondered if he was blushing in his bedroom thinking about last night as well.

[r2d2lover]

The Truth Slips

Paring: Fred Weasley X Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Shameless smut without plot. Loss of virginity. Prevalence of a drinking game.

Summary: request: “i wanted to request a fred oneshot where reader is shy/bashful and a virgin and fred's his usually cocky self but sorta fuckboy-eee and yanoo they do the dirty… my guilty pleasure”

My guilty pleasure as well. Fuckboy Fred is my creme de la creme. uncanon fun silly Fred one shot.

Part 2

You nervously watch the bottle in the middle spin around. And around. And around. Until it jolted with a stop on you.

Your glance hesitates as it trails up to meet the bottle’s spinner, who’s green eyes light up with glee.

“This is gonna be so good,” Fred Weasley exclaimed with a wicked smile. He leaned back on his elbows, waiting for your next move. Gulping nervously, you reach towards him wondering how a post-Quidditch party turned into a scene from your nightmares.

Everyone who decided to partake in the game whoops and hollers as you finally reach in the middle of the circle and claim your shot glass of the clear liquid. George had suggested that the house play “Veritaserum Roulette” with a stolen bottle of the potion. While preparing N.E.W.T-level potions was a grueling task, the fun came in seeing who was able to snag a bottle from the professor’s watchful eye to share amongst the house. You decided not to inspect your shot glass and threw the liquid back down your throat, then set the shot glass upside down on the ground like you saw in the Muggle movies. You immediately felt your face get hot but you knew it wouldn’t be because you ingested any serum, rather it was the pressure of having all the 7th year Gryffindor staring you down with intense concentration.

“S-someone has to ask a question,” You stuttered, picking the shot glass back up to fidget with it. Initially when the game was introduced, it was simply truth or dare. You could’ve easily backed out if that. Now, you couldn’t stop anything that was to come out of your mouth if you chose the glass with Veritaserum. You hoped that the two questions chosen for you would spare you any embarrassment.

“Do you fancy anyone at this moment?” Angelina leaned forward, taking her hands off of Fred. She was laying herself across Fred all night, non-discreetly showing off the fact that she was his latest… “conquest” as you overheard one of his friends call the girls that swooned over the redhead. Fred shot to popularity after bringing the Gryffindor Quidditch to back to back championships and it only inflated his ego more so than it already was. Despite his poor reputation, you couldn’t deny that the girls dreaming about Fred were warranted in their pursuit. Fred and George didn’t become the star Beaters without a rigorous workout regiment that hardened their muscles and broadened their shoulders. Their rugged appearances paired with their reliable and goofy personalities made them unstoppable.

Fred also happened to be your first friend at Hogwarts, finding you crying after a particularly embarrassing flying class during your first year. He sat with you and assured you that it wasn’t a show of your skills but the result of faulty school broomsticks. From that day, Fred guided you on flying while you tutored him in Potions.

All this time later, you didn’t need flying lessons anymore, but Fred still needed Potions help. You would never admit it, but your favorite part of the week was sitting in the library with Fred absolutely engrossed in homework. You would steal glances as he nipped the end of his quill in deep thought or when he would push his falling hair out of his face. Fred’s worst trait was his lack of spatial awareness and he’d always lean in too close while you explained the more difficult concepts to him. He was always chewing a sharp minty gum and smelled of a piney cologne that reminded you of Christmas. It distracted you often and made you turn beet red when he noticed the change in your diction. This would only make Fred lean in closer, inquiring about your odd behavior. All this time, you fought off any feelings you could have developed because you were realistic. You weren’t the Quidditch player, social butterfly types that Fred dated. Angelina was a prime example. Speaking of her, your desperate attempt to avoid answering her question was null and void when you felt as if you were being puppeted to speak.

“I do,” You squeaked out. Your hands flung to your mouth, but the attempt was feeble. Everyone quickly muttered amongst themselves to figure out the next question to ask you. At this moment, you felt like a criminal on trial. The easy next question was “who?” but the chatter alluded to a deeper question. It surely appalled everyone that you had a crush. You largely avoided the dating scene despite the relentless attempts from Oliver Wood. You thought Oliver was sweet and went on a singular date with him last year, but he was only focused on Quidditch. Much like Fred.

“Who is it? Is it Oliver? If it isn’t, who?” A younger Gryffindor blurred out in excitement and you felt the same puppet feeling in your gut and as you began to answer, Fred reached over and clamped his hand on your mouth. Your face was burning so hot at this moment you were sure you were sweating.

“Hey! We can only ask one more questions. We gotta make them good. Don’t answer those,” Fred instructed, removing his hand from your face. He brushed a piece of hair that fell out of place back behind your ear, making your stomach flip. This was such a ridiculous feeling. “Did you ever bed Oliver?”

“No? N..no!” You raised your eyebrows at Fred, appalled he would ask such a question. Once you opened your mouth, more words flowed out like a broken faucet. “I’ve never bedded anyone. Oliver was always on the Quidditch Pitch and it isn’t exactly the sexiest place in the castle.”

Your statement made the room laugh, which only increased your self consciousness. You shrugged and admitted you weren’t embarrassed at the fact for never having done anything with Oliver or any man. You were already covering your face with both hands, definitely sweating at this point. The group decided to refill on butterbeer, leaving you to seal your mouth shut with a cup of water. Fred stayed next to you, his green eyes filling with a mischievous glint.

“Has the Veritaserum worn off?” Fred asked, tilting his head up to look at you. He kept unwavering eye contact that made your mind go blank.

“Not yet,” You answered, still under the influence of the potion. Hopefully Fred wouldn’t press any further or that it would wear off before then.

“Ah… So, while I have you here, you really never slept with Oliver?” Fred leaned in closer, a smirk forming across your face. You shook your head and reaffirmed what he already knew. “Why not? And don’t give me the Quidditch answer.”

“I was waiting for the right person,” You said lamely, unable to fight the potion’s effect. Fred lifted an eyebrow.

“You’ve never fantasized?” Fred blocked you from grabbing a cup of water that would render you voiceless.

“Not about Oliver. Wh-why are you asking?” You fought your thoughts hard to answer Fred’s question as vaguely as possible.

“Hey, I thought I was asking the questions here. I just wanted to know what makes the timid girl that tutors me in Potions tick,” Fred moved so close to you that you could clearly smell his cologne. Luckily, his statement wasn’t laced with a question and the potion took no effect, allowing you to shake your head shyly.

“So you said not Oliver, so who do you think about?” Fred figured out how to narrow his question and before you could stop, your mouth betrayed you.

“Us,” You said, feeling like you broke the dam. Fred’s eyes grew wide, but his body language didn’t change. You were waiting for him to recoil out of instinct or turn red. But he continued to look at you coolly, turning a cup of butterbeer in his hands. Your heart jumped to your stomach and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your flight instinct kicked in, but before you could flee from the conversation, Fred grabbed your arm and forced you back down.

“What do you think about us?” Fred’s eyes darkened with an excitement you’ve never seen before. Arousal. You could only take a big gulp before your dirty fantasies about the boy you tutored that you kept locked away spilled out of your mouth for the world to hear.

“I think about you sliding a hand up my skirt in the library. Telling me to be quiet. I want to kiss you until I can’t feel my lips. I want to see you without a shirt on. I think about you pulling my hair back to look at you while you f-“ Your mortification overtook your entire body and you collapsed before you could finish your sentence with a yelp. Fred took a hold of you before you could hit the wall, making sure to take a long look at you. His face still had the cocky smile that you’d grown to love. His strong arm that was wrapped supportively around your waist and got tighter as he tried to figure out his next question. Your squirming didn’t help and you had no choice but to be stuck in his investigation.

“Are you thinking about it right now?” Fred’s eyes flitted from your eyes to your lips and if your heart wasn’t beating out of your chest, you would’ve had half the mind to kiss him.

“Yes,” You practically slurred, unable to calm down from the situation unfolding before you. Fred ran a comforting hand up and down your back, soothing your nerves only slightly.

“Do you want to go up to my room to show me some of these fantasies?” Fred said blatantly. Of course you did and of course you let him know.

“Yes but,” You took a large inhale trying to ease your racing heart. “But what about Angelina?”

“I don’t want her. I want you,” Fred said definitively, sending a chill down your back. “Are you sure you want to do this? I don’t want to pressure you into anything just because you don’t have control of your thoughts right now.”

“I want you, Fred,” You said with a confidence that surprised even you. The words were genuine, the feeling of being puppeted by your mouth was gone. As you focused on Fred’s words and realized what he was proposing, you felt a simmering heat between your thighs and that you had been rubbing your thighs together to cause a reliving friction between them. But the clarity brought another realization. “You… you don’t even like me. I’m. I’m not going to be one of your conquests or whatever.”

“Gods, really are clueless are you?” Fred laughed at your out-of-character quip. He used his free hand to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes. “Did you really think I was spending all this time in the library thinking about Potions? Why the hell would I take N.E.W.T-level Potions if I was bad at it? I just had to pretend enough for you to keep studying with me.”

Fred’s confession stunned you silent. Without second thought, you wrapped your arms around Fred’s neck and leaned forward to meet his lips with yours. He gave an amused noise, kissing you back gladly. The kiss was unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. You were fulfilling a need you didn’t know you had, pressing deeper and deeper into the redhead’s mouth. Fred skillfully nipped at your bottom lip, slipping his tongue into your mouth when you moaned at the unfamiliar feeling. You were a little intimidated by his knowledge and your lack thereof, but the hand he was rubbing on your waist made you forget about anything besides him. He started to move a hand towards your chest and smirked wildly when you whimpered because he pulled away.

“My room. Now,” Fred said breathlessly, practically dragging you up the stairs. He hastily cast a locking and silencing charm before pushing you on the bed. Fred hovered over you, obviously delighted by your misshapen appearance. He had you pinned to the bed with one leg between your thigh and his arms at either side of your head.

The burning in your stomach only grew and Fred continued to kiss you, tasting every bit of you. He snaked a hand up your shirt, palming you through the fabric of your bra. When you least suspected it, he pulled the fabric down, pinching your firmed nipple in between his forefinger and thumb. The sensation made you moan loudly into his kisses and buck your hips up on his thigh.

“That’s a good girl,” Fred purred, continuing to flex his fingers around your breast. “Stop me if you want at any moment.”

“Take off your clothes,” Your voice was so whiny with need that you hardly recognized it. Fred only chuckled and moved his hand away from your chest to start removing your clothes instead of his. You batted his hand away and ran your fingers down his broad chest. You slowly undid his buttons, shaking from nervousness and exhilaration. Every button revealed more of his tanned muscular body that made your mouth watered. Fred continued supporting himself over you, enjoying your desperation.

When you finally managed to shed his shirt, you could barely focus. Your eyes trailed down his chest to the trail of hair on his stomach that pointed directly to the tension in his pants.

“I… I don’t know what to do,” You admitted to Fred, tangling your hands in his hair nervously.

“It’s okay. I think it’s time for me to teach you something to thank you for the last few years,” Fred said cockily, amazing you at how he stayed the same while you were falling apart under his touch. He quickly removed your clothes, tossing them somewhere in the middle of the room.

You felt vulnerable laying there in only your underwear, but Fred dragged his Quidditch-calloused hands down your body as he planted reassuring kisses on your mouth. His mouth followed his hand down until his lips were biting at the sensitive skin of your neck and his hand was rubbing circles on the soft skin of your inner thigh. You moved your hips down to meet his hand pleadingly and he took pity on you.

Fred moved his hands up to feel your arousal, circling his finger just around the bundle of nerves that begged to be touched. He knew exactly what he was doing and held your hips down with his free hand when you let out a whining groan. After teasing you, Fred slipped your underwear to the side, dragging his middle finger up your slick.

“Just how long have you been fantasizing about me?” Fred joked, breathing in as you moaned. He was barely making any movements and he had you reacting like this. Fred dragged his finger back and forth a few times before slowly pressing his middle finger into you, making sure to look up at you in order to spot any discomfort. You squirmed a little at the feeling, but once Fred started curling his finger, your body relaxed around the pleasure.

“More,” Your head sunk into Fred’s bed as your body grew accustomed to the feeling. Fred audibly smirked as he slipped his ring finger in as well, kissing you deeply. You realized his pants were still on and his fingers were speeding up from impatience. You reached down tenderly, running your fingers gently over the tent in his pants. He let out an airy breath before breaking the kiss to look at you.

“Feel it,” Fred encouraged you. His working fingers paused as he directed your hand with his free hand to his pants. Fred placed his hands on top of yours, simulating a squeeze. You copied his movement, earning a low groan from him. “Fuck… I need you right now.”

You shed your undergarments as Fred fumbled with his belt, too overtaken with lust to focus on unclipping the buckle. He finally released the leather binding and dropped his pants quickly, letting his cock fall as well. You watched with big eyes and Fred took your hand again to wrap it around his base.

“Just like that,” Fred praised as you moved your hand up and down. The friction was uncomfortable for you, so you pulled your hand back to lick a stripe up your palm and return it to his cock. The action made Fred roll his eyes back into his head and let his head drop as you continued to pump your hand up and down. “You’re so good, baby.”

Fred’s praise only made you want him more and the wanting in between your thighs got to be unbearable. As Fred was closing his eyes in bliss, you sneakily reached a hand down towards your folds to mimic his earlier actions in an attempt to ease the pressure. Fred felt you moving and quickly opened his eyes, catching you in the act. He tsked and removed your hand, pinning it by your head.

“Impatient are we, love?” Fred chuckled, sending vibrations through your stomach.

“Please,” You begged. “I want to feel you.”

Fred was impatient as you were and shifted his weight back to line himself up with your entrance. You were filled with such an excitement and nervousness that you subdued by reaching up for a kiss. Fred dragged the head of his cock against your slick folds, almost as if he was waiting for permissions.

“Fred. Fuck me,” You drawled, dizzy from anticipation. Fred let out a string of curses, then entered with a slow thrust. You let out a cry at the satisfying pain of feeling your walls stretch around Fred. He checked in again with you to make sure you were comfortable and you gave him a kiss on the cheek for assurance.

“You feel so amazing,” You slurred, eyes shutting from the pleasure. Fred slowly rolled his hips against yours, intertwining his hands with yours. He still had your hand pinned against your head and he was starting to lean forward, delivering soft grunts to your ear.

“You’re so… tight,” Fred mused aloud. You bucked your hips up to meet the friction the penetration was creating and Fred took that as a sign to go faster. He picked up his rhythm that made you sing a chorus of moans that melted into his name. Fred let curses fall out of his mouth and he picked up the speed of his thrusts, fully fucking you into the bed. Your cries only encouraged him.

Fred planted his lips on yours, creating a messy and heavy kiss that dripped with want. You tangled your hands in his hair, tugging whenever he would move to a certain spot that made your vision blur. A knotted feeling built up in your stomach like you never felt before.

“Fred… I- I’m-'' Fred understood what you were trying to get at and dropped a hand to your clit, rubbing soft circles that only tightened your stomach. With a cry, you broke from his interlocked hand and wrapped your arms around him as you nipped at his shoulder from the immense wave that washed over you. Fred laughed with such confidence it brought you back to life as he slowed down his thrusts.

“I’m almost there. Do you want me to keep going?” Fred panted, brushing a hair out of your face and kissing you on the forehead.

“Yes, please,” You relaxed back, feeling absolutely crazed. Fred dropped his head again and you reached up to trail kisses down his neck. “You fuck me so well, Fred.”

Your praise sent Fred over the edge and he unsheathed himself with a groan, spilling himself on your stomach. Fred collapsed beside you with a heave, then moved quickly to help clean you off. He climbed back into bed with you, pulling you close with a kiss.

“Telling the truth pays off, huh?”

“That, or Potions class.”

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [18.7k] prompt: "Can I kiss you?" Childhood friends to lovers, growing up together, that damn garden gate, a slow burn like summer.

1979. Fever dream high in the quiet of the night. 

When you were twelve years old, you moved to Hawkins, Indiana: population twelve thousand. 

It had cedar lined streets, an old town hall, an outdoor pool behind a chain link fence, one supermarket and a boy next door called Steve Harrington. 

You saw him from your bedroom window, his across from yours, the house your parents bought only a stone's throw away from his. He waved at you through the glass, smile wide, hair messy and wild. He had a scrape on his cheek from falling off his bike, a poster above his bed for a band you’d never heard of. 

The next morning, he knocked on your front door and asked you if you wanted to go to the arcade with him. You rode on the back of his bike, hands clutching his shoulders, eyes bright and wide and Steve shared a slushie with you, tongues raspberry blue, cheeks sticky and sun kissed. 

He taught you how to play pac man, hands already so much bigger than yours when he slid them over your own, joystick between your fingers, laughter bubbling in your chest when you won. 

Steve came back the next morning, and the next, the days bleeding into one long summer in a new town that was all wheat fields and quarries, dust roads and white picket fences. 

Then a year later, a week after your thirteenth birthday, you came home from your grandparents in the new dress your parents bought you, a pretty, sunflower yellow thing that fell to your knees and fluttered when you spun. 

You ran straight to the Harrington’s house, one hand knocking impatiently on the door, the other holding the box of sugar cookies you had insisted on saving and taking home to Steve. 

You weren’t sure when it had happened, not really. But at some point over the course of twelve months, Steve Harrington had become your best friend. It happened the way summer did, a slow roll into warmth and blue skies, the familiarity of seeing him every day, the same way the sun slipped through the cracks in your bedroom window shutters. 

He was bike rides, fresh banana muffins from the bakery on Main Street, water balloon fights when you were supposed to be in bed, running in the back yard as your parents shared wine and barbecue dinners. He got taller, his hair got wilder and you both got closer. 

Steve opened the door, smile wide, eyes bright, just for you. He took a cookie and your hand, leading you to his bedroom as his parents yelled out their greetings from the kitchen and you tumbled into his room, chest bursting with how happy you were ‘cause the entire car ride home, you had been so excited to see Steve. 

Steve had too many pillows on his too big bed, a guitar in the corner, a basketball shirt in a frame above his desk. There were books lining shelves, a stereo on his dresser and towers of cassette tapes. His room always smelled like fresh air and boy, something minty, the summer sneaking in from his always open window, the chlorine from the pool below. 

He’d turned to you then, eyes wide and cheeks blushing, taking in your bare shins with their new bruises, one from falling in your skates, the other from tripping outside the library. Steve was yet to turn fourteen but he decided then that yellow was his favourite colour, buttercup bright, that deep rich shade that was painted on your dress. 

“You look like a princess,” he said earnestly, voice soft with embarrassment ‘cause Kyle from school said it wasn’t cool to be best friends with a girl. 

Steve had told him to shut up, brows knitted together, cheeks blushing and he’d spent that rest of recess so confused, ‘cause the boy thought you were the coolest person he knew. 

You flushed at his words, nose scrunched and you picked at the hem of your dress, dipping into a clumsy curtsy, the way all the Disney princess did on the tapes your mom let you watch. 

“Thanks,” you beamed, all teeth and sore cheeks ‘cause Steve always made you smile real hard. 

You felt nervous then, wondering where you and your yellow sundress fit into Steve’s room, but the moment broke, that unfamiliar jitter in your stomach disappeared Steve tugged you down onto his navy blue carpet, NES console beeping as it came to life and he handed you the extra controller, smile bright. 

The day turned to night too quickly, the way it always did when you were with Steve, and soon enough the Harrington’s phone was ringing and Steve’s mom was yelling up the stairs, telling you it was time to go home for dinner. 

Steve walked you out like he always did, shoulders touching as you both hurried down the stairs, eyes tired from the TV screen, fingers sticky from sugar cookies. The sun was just starting to set, the world outside was hazy and peach coloured, lavender clouds low in the sky and everything smelled like cut grass and your mom’s lemon trees. 

Steve walked you to where his lawn met yours, the streets tired and empty ‘cause the summer heat was still lingering, making the air heavy and sweet. You watched as the boy chewed his lip, uncharacteristically nervous, backs of hands brushing as you walked across the grass, damp blades brushing your bare ankles and you wondered why your best friend's cheeks were so pink. 

“Paul Matthews kissed Gemma Kennedy under the bleachers,” he suddenly blurted out, and you frowned, lips twisting. 

“He did?” You asked, unsure of why this news was being shared. You didn’t like Paul Matthews, he was annoying and never gave anyone else a shot of the swings at recess. “What’d he say?”

Steve shrugged, all boyish and innocent. “He said it was kinda gross.”

“Gross,” you repeated, features scrunched. “Why’d Gemma wanna kiss him anyways? Paul smells like gym socks.”

Steve snorted, a shoulder bumping into yours. You could smell your dad’s pasta from the open kitchen window, the pop of a bottle being opened, soft music from one of your mom’s favourite bands. 

“Do I smell like gym socks?” The boy asked, suddenly self conscious and you poked at his ribs, head shaking. 

“No,” you told him earnestly, voice all quiet and sweet ‘cause it was like you were both the only two in Hawkins at that moment. “You smell nice. Like cookies and bubblegum.”

He grinned, too pleased with your assessment and before you hopped over the flowerbed that split your home with Steve’s, he caught your hand, palm a little clammy. 

He murmured your name, voice shy and it made your tummy tumble in a way that you still didn’t understand, not properly, not yet. 

You turned, eyes wide ‘cause you were both reaching an age where boys and girls didn’t really hold hands playing in the street anymore, and if they did, it meant something else. It made kids whisper in the playground, pass notes in the classroom and suddenly watching the older students kiss each other at their lockers didn’t seem as icky. 

“Have you kissed anyone?” Steve asked you, voice laced with curiosity. 

You flushed, heart raging, pulse picking up ‘cause you hadn’t and suddenly it felt like the most embarrassing thing in the world. But Steve still had his hand over yours and he squeezed your fingers a little tighter, and something about it felt so reassuring, like he’d keep every secret you gifted him. 

“No.” A pause, a worry, a flutter of nerves. “Have you?”

Were you supposed to? Was a boy meant to like you now? Has Steve kissed a girl? Have you missed something monumental? 

“No.”

Oh. A beat of silence that seemed to stretch an age. 

“Can I kiss you?”

Oh. 

“You wanna kiss me?” You asked, lashes blinking slow, mouth parted. You could taste the sugar cookies you’d shared with Steve still melting on your tongue. “Me?”

Steve stumbled over his words, cheeks flushed rose and he licked at his lips, unsure of what to say ‘cause Jesus Christ he was thirteen years old and had no idea what he was doing. But he remembered something that Paul had said to him, legs kicking as they sat on the swings together, sun beating down on their backs.

“Wish I had kissed Kimmy Cheng instead,” the boy had said, somewhat thoughtful, brows scrunched. “I really like Kimmy, maybe that would’ve made it better.”

It had made Steve think then, chewing at his cheek ‘cause the only girl he really liked was you, his best friend. You didn’t make him nervous, and when the movies you watched with him got too scary, you held his hand, face behind a pillow and he didn’t hate that. Not at all. 

“I mean, I guess?” Steve mumbled and god, he didn’t understand why his stomach was flipping over, that same feeling he got when he decided he was gonna climb that old oak tree over by Fifth, the one that was too high, that had thick branches that swallowed the world below your feet. “Would be easier if our first kiss was with each other. Might be less embarrassin’, y’know?”

That made sense, you thought, ‘cause you really didn’t want another boy telling everyone your kisses were gross and Steve wouldn’t make fun of you if you were bad at it, would he?

“Okay.” You said decisively, and you took a deep breath, wondering why your heart was beating so fast, the same way it did when Steve went too fast on his bike, your fingers digging crescent moons into his shoulders, eyes tearing up at the whipping find, hair covering your face and his. “Now?”

“Now?” He repeated eyes wide and then he swore, quiet, ‘cause he wasn’t supposed to and his hand readjusted his grip on yours, palms clammy and fingers linking. 

You hadn’t held hands like that before. It felt different, a little funny, closer.

But before you could comment on it, the boy was leading you between the two houses, the air warm and trapped between bricks and he opened his garden gate, feet clumsy as you both half ran down the skinny strip of yard at the side of his home. 

It was overgrown there, the little hidden patch of long grass and wildflowers that grew underneath Steve’s bedroom window and it smelled like honeysuckle and lavender. You could hear the trickle of the pool, your mom’s music and the setting sun cut through the slats in the fences in stripes, lighting you both up with gold and bronze. 

It smelled like summer, you decided, the perfect July day and when Steve spun to face you, you let out a noise of surprise. You were happy to notice that he seemed nervous too, teeth pulling at his bottom lip, hand tugging through his already wild hair.

But you were both hidden there, in the edges of the garden, stolen away from the rest of the town and out of sight of your parents. It felt like the biggest secret of all, one to lock away in the depths of your journal and this felt so much more than giving away the last cookie, more than backseat bike rides and a handmade friendship bracelet, more than sleepovers on Steve’s living room floor, heads touching when you fell asleep.

“What do we do?” you asked, nothing more than a soft whisper. 

Steve shrugged, heart rattling against his ribcage and he licked his bottom lip and stumbled a little closer. The toes of his trainers touched your sandals and he was already a little taller than you but he blinked, gaze settling on you from underneath thick, dark lashes and you gulped.

“I don’t really know,” Steve murmured, hands flexing by his sides ‘cause he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hold yours, or place them on your sides, your shoulders. 

He shoved them in his pockets instead, hiding the way they shook a little with nerves and he gasped when you moved closer still, knees bumping clumsy against his own and he could count the freckles on your nose, and he wondered if they matched the ones on his skin, a present from long summer days outside.

“Will I just-?” Steve’s voice cracked and he flushed but you didn’t mention it, you didn’t laugh, you never did. “Should I?”

You weren’t sure what possessed you, maybe all the sugar you’d consumed, maybe it was the heat of sun on your shoulders, maybe it was the way your tummy was rolling with nerves and worry but you grasped at Steve’s shoulders, pushing yourself up onto your toes and pressed your lips to the boy’s without any sort of announcement. 

Another gasp, warm skin, nails digging into arms, two pairs of eyes wide, noses bumping. 

It lasted a few seconds, maybe less. But your lips were tingling when you pulled away, cheeks a new kind of hot and Steve looked a little shellshocked. You both rocked on your heels into the grass, too tall lavender brushing against your shins and then the boy smiled, a burst of sunshine in the shadows, and he looked delighted.

You were sure your ears were burning, the tips feeling hot and when you looked at Steves, you found his were pink too. You beamed, a nervous giggle, a laugh that got caught in your chest and when you heard your mom’s voice call from the back door - so close to where you were both still standing - you jumped, two kids trying not to be caught doing something they shouldn't.

The garden gate squeaked when you ran back through it, the hinges calling after you and you smelled like a bouquet of flowers as you ran across both lawns, feet tripping over your front porch as you ran inside. 

Something pretty bloomed in between the spaces of your bones that day, when Steve Harrington decided that you were both going to be each other's first kiss. It stayed there, for so much longer than you thought it would. You’d always remember it as brown sugar and vanilla, lavender and honeysuckle, feeling brave, honey coloured eyes and complete and utter innocence. 

1981. Devils roll their dice, angels roll their eyes, what doesn’t kill me makes me want you more.

You didn’t even want to go to the party, you didn’t even like Karen Vincent and you were damn sure she didn’t like you. You knew you were only invited because of Steve, a slip of pink paper passed to you after Karen and her friend Shauna slid between you and the boy at his locker, hands on his chest, on his arm.

You’d wrinkled your nose at it all, fingertips gripping the invite like a ticking time bomb but the girls had learnt the hard way that Steve wouldn’t show if you weren’t welcomed too. 

It’s how you found yourself crammed into the Vincent’s basement with too many other fifteen year olds, the music making the walls vibrate, the punch bowl spiked with something that shouldn’t have been mixed with fruit juice and god, it was too warm. 

It was just past ten o’clock and your parents wanted you home for eleven, which meant that, by default, that was Steve’s curfew too. You’d both been allowed to walk home on the condition that you stuck together and kept to the main roads, the summer months making the nights light enough that you could see both the sun and the moon in the sky, the clouds a hazy orange as they sunk into the horizon. 

You’d spoke to a few kids you shared some classes with, avoided the snack table and its fizzing punch bowl, the concoction no longer the same colour it was when Karen’s mom poured it. And then there was a pop of a bottle cork, splashes of spilled liquid on the already sticky floors, some cheers and a circle was made. 

Fuck. 

“Seven minutes in heaven!” Yelled a boy you didn’t really know, some kid from the same basketball team as Steve, “let’s go losers!”

There was a symphony of wolf whistles and giggles as kids piled into the middle of the room, coffee tables and armchairs pushed out of the way in favour of a seat on the floor, knee to knee and shoulder to shoulder with their classmates, eyes wide and searching for their next possible date to the arcade. 

“Harrington!” the same boy called out, “get in here!” 

Steve appeared beside you, hand brushing gently on your elbow and you frowned without meaning to, wondering why it’d taken him so long to return from the bathroom. But then you saw Karen by his other side, lips glossy and smacking blue bubblegum, eyes sharp on you as she grinned.

“Are you playing Steve?” she asked, lashes blinking, voice coy. 

You grimaced, already taking a step back from the ever growing circle. Someone was placing the now empty bottle in the middle and you eyed the closet door across the room like an old nemesis. Your stomach was twirling, and it wasn’t from all the pizza rolls but the smell of chocolate pretzels and red vines wasn’t helping. 

But Steve’s hand curled around your arm, still gentle, but he could read you like a book. He tsked, his smile playful but eyes gentle, as if he could feel the nerves radiate off of you. Maybe he could, maybe he could hear the way your heart rattled inside your chest, louder than the music, deeper than the bass.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he admonished, crowding into you a little so he could find your ear with his mouth. He was so much taller than you now, the top of your head barely reaching his chin and you scowled, knowing what was coming. “Where you goin’ princess?”

“Home,” you told him stubbornly and you suddenly hated the way your denim skirt was sticking to your thighs, too constricting, too warm. 

You heard him sigh, making a noise that only a best friend could, the sound of someone being done with your shit but loving you nonetheless. You moved backwards, hips bumping into the table that was piled high with empty red cups and the boy followed, a puppy at your feet, the same way it had been for three years now. 

“Aw c’mon,” Steve groaned, “if you go home, I gotta leave too and you promised me you’d stay until curfew.”

You huffed, arms crossed protectively over your chest, ‘cause you hated the way people were starting to stare. They always did with you and Steve, especially when he touched you like, so casually, so gently. 

“I can leave on my own, Steve, I’m a big girl.”

No you weren’t. You were fifteen and still scared of the dark after Steve made you watch Day Of The Dead when both of your parents were out late at the new Italian restaurant just outside of town. 

But then, a poke to your arm, your cheek, the end of your nose. You swatted at him, hiding your smile between a press of your lips.

“You know my mom would kill me if I let you walk home alone,” he grumbled but it was soft, still gentle. “Fuck, your mom would kill me after.”

“You can’t be killed twice, stupid,” you said but it lacked heat, an excuse to say something other than agreeing to a game you didn’t wanna play. 

He still knew you too well, scoffing at your evasion, hand curling warm around your wrist and pulling you back to the party, back to him, bodies bumping in a too close proximity that became more tense with every year that you got older. 

It was becoming harder to ignore that your best friend was pretty. You were sure he’d wrinkle his nose at your choice of adjective but Steve grew up and missed the awkward stage, shoulders broad at the same time he grew a foot, wild hair becoming only a little tamer, more product in it and eyes still warm and brown, a new dimple in his cheek you loved to press your finger into. 

You’d heard the other girls in your year call him hot, a total babe, whispered through giggles in the locker room. But your best friend still looked at you all soft, the same way he did before he gave you his first kiss and he took yours, pressed against the honeysuckle in his backyard. He teased gently, took your hand when the streets got too dark and you were both late for curfew, pressed a foot over yours under the dinner table when your mom started talking about test results and extra curriculars. 

Steve was still your best friend. But he was really, really pretty. 

“There he is! Harrington!” Another boy -  Jake someone, from your English class - had forced his way through the crowd to clap a hand on each of your shoulders, pushing you both into the circle. “And you brought your princess, how ‘bout that, huh?”

You flushed, with both annoyance and embarrassment, ‘cause one day when you were all still twelve, Steve spotted you across the park, hands twisting around a basketball as he took in another new dress you wore and called you a princess again. It just so happened that his friends had heard it too. 

His nickname for you never left, but neither did your classmate's memory of the incident. 

And then Steve’s hand was ripped from your arm, bodies separating you both and he was manhandled to the one side of the circle, you to the other, shoulders squished between a boy and a girl you vaguely recognised from gym class, maybe biology too. It was warmer on the floor, heat and teenage hormones gathering sticky between too close bodies, the smell of cheap aftershave and someone’s mom’s perfume mixing with Kool-Aid and sprite. 

“Okay so! You guys know the rules!” Karen was standing from her spot in the circle, suspiciously opposite to Steve, eyes wide and hands animated as she gestured to the closet door on the other side of the room. “Spin the bottle and whoever it lands on is all yours for a whole seven minutes.”

The group giggled, excitement rippling through the circle, bodies shuffling, overflowing cups spilling. 

You panicked, scanning the line of faces until you found Steve’s, his eyes already on yours, knowing and soft. He was mouthing something to you, silent underneath the music and chatter. 

“It’s okay.”

But then Jake was shoving a hand to Steve’s shoulder, urging him into the middle of the circle with a raucous cheer that only teenage boys could make, the rest of the basketball team joining in and Steve bowed his head, lips twisting into an almost smile that he couldn’t really hide. 

You watched as every girl perked up like a meerkat, backs straight, hair twisted around fingers, elbows digging into competitors that tried to make their space in the circle more known. 

Your stomach rolled again and it only got worse when Steve spun the bottle and the glass flashed green in the centre, bodies bowing forward to see where it would land. 

It sounded like you were underwater, excited voices and yells sounding far away, dulled with the thump of the music. The bottle had spun and  spun and spun, landing on you with such precise finality that Karen audibly groaned. 

You looked up, Steve’s eyes wide on yours, lips parted and cheeks pink. Before either of you could speak, before you could shake your head or grab your jacket from the sofa and run up the basement stairs, your hand was grabbed by Jake, lips stretched wide and voice booming. 

“King Steve and the princess!” He cheered and his excitement was echoed by your classmates, hollers and whoops following you as the boy grabbed Steve with his other hand and the three of you were tripping over stretched legs and forgotten bottles, heading for that fucking closet door. 

“Wait!” You said, voice sharp and god, you could hear the panic there. 

You couldn’t kiss Steve. You didn’t want to kiss Steve. You shouldn’t kiss Steve. 

But Jake ignored you and the music was turned up a little louder again as the rest of the party lounged on their spaces on the floor, heads turned and tilted to watch you both with interest, and your arms only found Steve’s chest when the door was yanked open and a few sets of strange hands shoved you both in. 

The door closed, a gust of air, a click, the muffled sounds of the party locked away behind wood. It was dark, musty and your foot hit a shoe rack, your back against a bundle of winter coats that had been retired for the summer. 

“M’sorry,” Steve whispered and you knew he was referring to making you stay. You could’ve been half way home by now, trainers scuffing the edges of the sidewalk, fresh air kissing your cheeks. “Didn’t think it would land on you.”

You grunted an unladylike response as your eyes adjusted to the low light, a sliver of warm white coming in from the cracks on the door hinges, letting you see the way the boy was looking at you guiltily. 

“Whatever,” you grumbled ‘cause you really didn’t want to kiss your best friend but you hated the way Steve sounded disappointed at the idea. 

You weren’t sure how long you could keep lying to yourself, but you were certain you had another few years in you. 

“We don’t have to do anything,” he said, voice still soft, as if anyone outside of the closet could possibly hear the music and yelling. “S’not like we have to kiss.”

You snorted, chest sore in a way that felt like rejection and you hated how it stung. You looked at Steve, his eyes still on you as he shoved a hand into his jeans pocket, another raking through his hair in a way you knew all too well. He was nervous, agitated. 

“Sorry I’m not Karen Vincent,” you snarked and god, you hated the way you sounded jealous, you hated the way the words burned your tongue but Steve didn’t pick up on it. There was nothing to pick up. “Promise this wasn’t some sort of elaborate cockblocking plan.”

It was Steve’s turn to laugh, a huff of air that hit your cheek ‘cause he was so close and he was all cheap beer, gummy worms and hair gel. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” the boy mumbled but there was a teasing to his voice, a not so serious lilt. 

You pressed your fist into his arm anyway, a hardly there punch that packed no heat and he poked his finger into your side in retaliation. You swatted at him, glaring ‘cause he knew you were ticklish and all the movement sent an empty shoe box hurtling down from a shelf above you both. 

“I do not cockblock you,” you pouted, almost offended. 

“Not on purpose.” Steve snorted, “Took me all of freshman year to get everyone to believe you weren’t my girlfriend.”

You scrunched your nose at the memory of it, boy’s catcalling you from afar, whispers when you and Steve walked to school together every morning, the unappreciative glares from the girls who wanted him instead. 

“Whatever,” you mumbled again. “How long left?”

“It’s only been like, a minute, jeez, that bad being stuck with me princess?” Steve’s voice was teasing and his hand snuck out to grab at your waist again, touch familiar, but his fingers were tickling, poking gently at the spaces between your ribs and you wriggled against him, knees bumping off of skis and old bikes. 

“Yes,” you lied and the boy knew, ‘cause you could see the way the light through the crack lit up the curve of his grin. 

“Besides, we’ve kissed before,” Steve suddenly said, cautious and soft. His hand was still on you, cupping your elbow to hold you near and it slid down to grasp your wrist. He shrugged, eyes on the floor. “Remember?”

You warmed at the memory, wondering why on earth Steve had to bring it up now when you had both never mentioned it since.

“Of course I do,” you huffed, hating the way you sounded bothered. “It wasn’t that long ago. And it hardly even counted.”

Steve scowled, his hurt puppy expression painted across his features. Big, brown eyes set you in place with a stare. “It did so count,” he grumbled, “you were my first kiss.”

“And you were mine,” you fired back, as if this was suddenly an argument that you had to win. Steve always let you win.

“Have you kissed anyone else?” His voice was full of curiosity, void of any embarrassment, not like the way you felt when he asked you such questions. 

It made you flush, eyes wide and lips parting, as if you weren’t supposed to say, as if you weren’t supposed to let him know. Steve had told you about his kiss with Lucy Greeves, behind the bike shed, a few months back. 

He’d told you it was wet and she tasted like the chocolate milk she’d had at lunch. You remembered how he’d thrown himself into your pile of teddies and pillows at the foot of your bed, expression thoughtful as he told you he didn’t really like chocolate milk all that much. 

Then there was Samantha Duncan the year before, a game of truth or dare at the skatepark when the sun started to set and your curfews got a little later. You didn’t watch when Steve leaned into the middle of the circle, friends giggling as he pressed his lips quick to the other girls. 

“Just Miles Campbell,” you muttered, gaze lowered and set on the floor because you could feel the mischief bristle off of the boy as you spoke.

“Miles Campbell?!” He crowed, voice boisterous and no longer quiet. “He’s a giant, what did you do, climb a step ladder- ow!”

You pushed at Steve’s shoulder, face aflame. “Shut up! If you have to know, Harrington, we were sitting down.” You sounded haughty, but you didn’t care, ‘cause the boy was still laughing. 

Steve settled down, a dopey smile just on his lips and despite his teasing, his eyes were fond. Your sides bumped as he shifted, too close and not enough space in the small closet and you were so, so aware that your gaze was level with the bottom half of his face. 

His lips looked really soft. 

“Was he a good kisser?”

“Why d’you wanna know?”

He shrugged. 

“Thinking about asking him out?” You smirked. “Don’t think you're his type, Stevie.”

“Shut up.” 

There was a knock on the door, a sudden sharp sound that had you both jumping apart and you weren’t even sure when you had wandered that close. 

“Five minutes left, lovebirds!” Jake, voice muffled by the door and the music, called out, sounding way too pleased. 

Steve stared at the door, bottom lip tucked between his teeth and you knew he was thinking about something. He only hesitated a little before he knocked a foot into yours, catching your gaze and he spoke as if he wanted to get the words out fast, before he could stop himself. 

“Was he, though?” Steve asked again, voice quieter this time, almost unsure. He looked nervous, “Miles?”

You stared at him, maybe for a beat too long ‘cause the tips of his ears were turning red and he coughed, a little awkward. You made the same strangled noise, shoulders shrugging.

“I mean, sure,” you whispered, “I guess? He was… it was fine.”

You weren’t overly sure if the darkness was playing tricks on you or not, but you could’ve sworn you saw the boy smile.

“He tried to stick his tongue in my mouth,” you continued, face warm from embarrassment, ‘cause you suddenly felt like you were sharing too much, even with Steve. “It felt weird, like a dead fish. I didn’t really know what to do.”

“You’ve never made out with someone?” Steve asked and god, you were almost positive he was the only person who could’ve asked you that question without sounding like he was making fun of you. His voice was soft, all fond affection for you that he’d collected over the years and he moved closer, toes touching yours like he knew exactly how to handle you. “Kissed someone like that before?”

“That was the first time,” you squirmed under his gaze, feeling much younger than you were. Were you supposed to have that much experience in making out with someone at fifteen? Did Steve? “I don’t really know if I did it right.”

“Oh,” he breathed and he didn’t sound like he was judging you at all. There was another slow silence, warm and not at all uncomfortable because it was still Steve, and it wrapped around you both like a question. “I could show you. If you wanted.”

The music bled underneath the gap in the door, vibrated against your skin and the drums made your heart drop and stop, thundering to the beat quickly after. You were sure it was the music. You were positive it was the music.

But then Steve mistook your silence for hesitation, a silent ‘no’ and he was already opening his mouth to cover his tracks, to take back the statement, to tell you he was stupid, that he was only kidding.

“I didn’t mean-, we don’t have to… shit, I-”

Four minutes left. 

“Okay.”

You could hear the rush of your blood in your ears, skin warm, cheeks hot, tongue sneaking out to peek between your lips and you wondered if he’d still be able to taste the lipgloss you put on before you left the house. 

“What?”

“Show me.”

He took a step towards you and you watched as the boy tried to keep cool but his ever expressive face gave him away, brown eyes all wide, jaw a little slack and his hand found your waist, a sliver of skin between your shirt and skirt, a place he’d not really touched before.

“Is this alright?” His voice cracked, and he blushed but you didn’t laugh. You never laughed, but you did nod. “Just do what I do, ‘kay? Can I kiss you?”

Was it really that simple, you wondered? But you didn’t get a lot of time to think it over, because as soon as you nodded, Steve was crowding into you more, pressing you into the coats and you still had to press up on your toes to let his mouth meet yours.

It was so different from last time and it was almost the same.

Steve Harrington still tasted like sugar and vanilla, hidden under cheap beer and you gasped when his lips touched yours, the same way you did when you were thirteen. But your hands grasped at his neck, steadying yourself, and he clutched at your waist to help, as if you had both gotten a little older and suddenly knew where to touch.

His mouth was soft over yours, a little hesitant at first, but then coaxing. Your lips slid over his once, twice, three times and then you felt the soft lick of his tongue at the seam of your lips and you remembered the way he’d told you to copy him.

So you did.

Your tongue touched his and your breath hitched with how nice it felt and the kiss moved soft and slow. You grabbed Steve a little harder, body swaying into his in the dark ‘cause your stomach was swooping and your heart was hammering and it felt like you were on the front seat of a rollercoaster, hanging off the edge. 

Maybe Steve felt the same way, despite having more experience, because he gripped you the same way, fingernails leaving little half moon marks on your hips. 

It felt strange, it felt good, it felt warm and it made everything tingle, breath stuck in your throat and a sigh leaving your chest and you felt like you should’ve been embarrassed. But you weren’t, because it was Steve. 

But then voices outside were counting down from ten and they got louder and louder, hands hammering on the door and you both ripped apart before the door swung open, harsh strip lights and the smell of artificial strawberry and natty light swimming back into the closet with you. 

The walk home wasn’t as awkward as it should’ve been considering you and your best friend had had your tongues in each other's mouths. Maybe it’s ‘cause you were still too young, maybe it was because you didn’t realise it yet, but there wasn’t much about yours and Steve’s friendship that would ever be awkward. 

So you followed the yellow lines on the edge of the road home, footsteps a little behind Steve’s and every now and then, the boy would look back over his shoulder to make sure you were still there. It smelled like nighttime and summer and everything you associated with the boy, damp grass and leftover smoke from someone's barbecue, chlorine from the pools and you could hear sprinklers in backyards, hissing in the still warm air. 

You were a little late, just over curfew and the television was making your living room glow, the flicker of light coming out from the window. So Steve took your hand and led you through the back garden gate, pool lights leading you both to your patio doors, the rest of the house dark and you could smell lavender and honeysuckle from Steve’s yard.

He helped you find the key to the door, the spare hidden in a plant pot filled with pebbles and moss, one lone rose sprouting from the dirt. Both of your hands fumbled together as your fingers touched, all sudden pink cheeks and lowered gazes and Steve whispered a ‘good night, princess,’ before sneaking back down the lane, hopping over the lower part of the fence and into his own yard.

By the time you had tiptoed upstairs, past your dad who was dozing in the living room arm chair, Steve was in his room, bedroom window across from yours and the lights were still on as he lounged on his bed, shirt off and a baseball clutched in his fist. 

He was throwing it from his hand, watching it fall up and down in the air before catching it again, one arm thrown underneath his head and you couldn’t help but gaze at the muscles there, all new and never really seen before. 

You swallowed, suddenly too warm, the heat from the day trapped in your bedroom and sticking to your skin but you didn’t want to open the window, you didn’t want to alert the boy to your staring. You and Steve had spent nights, weeks, months and years hanging out from the sills, talking over the trailing ivy and flowers and growing below. 

But this felt like something you shouldn't have been doing, especially since you could still taste him on your lips, feel where his hands had burned against your sides, so you pulled your curtains and trapped all these brand new thoughts inside your room with you.

You took them to bed, slipped between the sheets with them and everything smelled like brown sugar and honey, gummy bears and Steve Harrington. 

1984. Killing me slow, out the window, I’ll always be waiting for you to be waiting below.

“Princess, c’mon, every time.”

Steve’s voice was exasperated, laced with something softer and it made swinging your leg over your bedroom window sill a little easier.

You peered down at him, long grass brushing his shins ‘cause no one but you two used that little path that took you out of the back garden gate. He was gazing back up, setting sun brushing his face with gold and caramel, peachy pink clouds in the sky and Steve held his arms out, beckoning.

“You’ll catch me?” You murmured, still unsure, despite this being a well practised escape. 

“Don’t I always?” the boy scoffed, almost offended, but the small edge below your window didn’t offer a lot of footing and you swore the drainpipe was becoming more loose than it used to be. 

“Harrington, I swear,” the threat was empty and it fell idle on your lips when you pushed yourself over the edge, hands gripping at the window frame and feet finding their footing. 

“Don’t second name me,” Steve grumbled and you sensed him moving closer, buttercups and daisy crushed under his sneakers as he kept his arms outstretched towards you. “You good?”

You mumbled some noise of confirmation, knees bent and ready to drop. You hated this part, and weirdly, it got harder as you got older, limbs stretched, body heavier, no longer small and quick to scramble up tree branches and out of windows.

“Steve?” You couldn’t really see behind you, the soft summer breeze picking at your hair and blocking your view of the ground below but you lowered yourself as much as you could, fingers too warm and slipping against the window frame.

“Yeah, I’ve got you.”

So you let go, the short drop softened by the boy’s hand catching at your waist and pulling you against him, your back to his front and he held you there, ankles swishing in the damp grass. 

Steve was all hard muscle and cologne, arms stronger than they had ever been, tanned from the summer and wrapped tight around you, hands pressed into the skin underneath your breasts. He let you go when you found your feet, white chucks soaked by the evening dew and you blew out a breath and set the boy with a stare. 

“We have front doors, you know,” you watched him grin at you, wide and bright and so familiar. “Why do we have to do this?”

“S’more fun,” the boy answered and he landed a firm smack to your ass when you bent over, fingers tugging at your laces. “Nice shorts princess.”

“Fuck you,” you squeaked, cheeks warm and you reached out to do the same, plan connecting with the denim of his jeans and Steve laughed before groaning a little dirty and exaggerated. “You’re such a dick.”

He spun you both, feet leading you backwards towards the garden gate, clumsy between the flowers and he grinned, wolfishly. 

“You know I love it when you talk dirty.”

“Steve,” you tried to sound huffy, as if you weren’t impressed by his jokes but you sounded flustered instead and you hated how the boy knew it.

But he never said anything, never commented on the flush across your chest or the way your tongue snuck out to wet at your lips, he never poked fun. He just always watched with knowing eyes and a soft smile you could never discern, and kept on teasing you. 

“Y’know it’s better if my dad doesn’t see me leave,” he finally answered, fingers bullying the lock, almost rusted shut from years of only being used by both of you. “I get asked too many questions and I give answers he doesn’t like and suddenly I’m back in my room filling out fuckin’ college applications for the eighteenth day in a row.“

A pang of sympathy hit your chest and before you could tell your friend that you understood, you sympathised, he was placing a warm hand on the space between your shorts and your shirt, guiding you out the gate. 

“Doesn’t mean I have to do the same,” you grumbled good naturedly, “I could meet you out front like a normal person.”

“Fuck off, we both know you love jumping into my arms as much as I love catching you.”

You couldn’t remember when you started flirting with your best friend, or when he started flirting with you. You couldn’t pick a place or time when it began, or who did it first. But you were both eighteen and more appreciative of all the strong lines and muscles, the soft curves and different ways you looked at each other. 

It would be a comment, a sly remark, a hand touching too close to areas yet to be discovered, a wink, a hug that went on for a beat too long. 

Nothing had happened, not really, not since the closet at Karen Vincent’s party, but everyone at school called you Steve Harrington’s girl and the boys you hooked up with in the backs of cars always pulled away mid kiss to ask if you were definitely single. 

It was all fun and teasing, familiar touches with a familiar boy, sprawled together in the same bed you’d shared with him since you were twelve years old. Except now there wasn’t as much space between you both, limbs longer, bodies taller, leftover alcohol soaking into your heads in the mornings that you woke up wrapped around each other. 

You would pretend you didn’t feel how hard he was, morning wood pressed into the small of your back, the curve of your ass and Steve wouldn’t comment when your shirt had rucked itself up your ribs in the middle of the night, too much showing to be decent. 

It was enough to keep you both on your toes, the close friendship teetering over the question of what if? Could we? Should we? Will we?

Steve didn’t hide the way he looked at you, affection always strong in his brown eyes, hands soft and face fond when he picked a wildflower off the garden wall, tucking it behind your ear but there was always a linger over your bare legs, the way the hem of your shorts cut high on your thighs, the way they pinched in at your waist and made your shirt ride up your ribs. 

The roller rink was busy as expected, ten o’clock on a Saturday night and filled with teenagers looking for something and someone to do. The kids of the day had long left and the lights were dimmer, the whole hall darker with flashes of red and aquamarine, bubble gum pink and candied lilac that flashed across the floor and faces. 

The disco ball twisted in the middle and it sent rainbows and reflections across the walls, painted Steve’s face in technicolour and you gave his cheek a little pat as you took off, wheels spinning you backwards, music thumping in your chest. 

He smiled at you, knowing, brows raised as he took a seat on the tables that lined the roller rink, crowded by the friends you’d found from school, flasks pulled from pockets, clear liquid dumped into red and blue slurpees.  

“Where you goin’ princess?”

You did a little spin, already warm from the sticky air, summer leaking in and slipping between the people skating and dancing, bodies too close. Your foot found the rink, hands leaning on the barrier wall as you sent Steve a wink, your cherry glossed lips widening in a smile that was borderline salacious. 

“To find someone to play with.”

The boys surrounding Steve whooped and hollered, cat calls ringing out underneath the music and you could hear the comments directed to Steve, playful intones about how his girl was nothin’ but trouble, and wasn’t he gonna get a pretty thing like you locked down?

But Steve just shook his head at you, playful and exasperated, while he leant back on the bench, waving away his friends remarks with quiet whatever’s and it’s not like that. 

He had nothing to say when you dropped yourself into his lap half an hour later, body warm from skating, face flushed and eyes a little too wide and bright. 

He ignored the whistles from his friends, the knowing glances, the nudges to ribs. ‘Cause you were wrapping your hands around his neck, fingers playing with his hair and your lips were at his ear. 

“There’s some creep followin’ me around,” you whispered, body tense and Steve’s hands, where they’d dropped to on instinct when you sat on him, tightened on the space above your knee. 

“Who?” Steve asked immediately, voice low and it rumbled through you, you could feel it in his chest and his eyes were scanning the crowds, brows pinched together. 

You didn’t look, didn’t turn away from where you’d pressed your nose to his temple, breathing in his cologne, his shampoo, something minty and like the forest. You caught Candance Peterson’s eye from over Steve’s head and you ignored the way she smirked at you. 

“By the lockers,” you murmured and your breath hitched just a little when Steve wrapped one arm around you, holding you closer to the other hand sliding it’s way between your bare legs, fingers curled around your thigh possessively. “Red shirt, bad hair.”

Steve snickered ‘cause he found him, a guy with an overgrown mullet and beady eyes, hanging by the lockers and benches. He was staring at you, watching the way you draped yourself over your best friend and Steve raised a hand, wiggling his fingers to show that he’d seen him. 

“He didn’t try anythin’, did he?”

You shook your head, tip of your nose brushing against Steve’s cheek ‘cause you refused to move any further away and you knew the boy didn’t mind. His hand was back on your leg, thumb stoking circles on the inside of your thigh and it took everything you had not to squirm in his lap. 

“Nah, just asked too many questions, told me he was wondering why a ‘pretty little girl’ like me wasn’t with her boyfriend,” you scrunched your face as you spoke, lips twisted. “Told him that my boyfriend was right over here.”

It wasn’t the first time you or Steve had used each other to slip away from some unwanted attention. Steve was just tall enough, just broad enough to warrant a second glance, too drunk boys weighing up their options when you snuck under your best friend's arm, wondering if they could take him. 

They usually gave up, watching with a sneer as your pressed your body into Steve’s, his hands taking advantage of your little role play game and he’d let his palm take a slow wander over the curve of your ass, a tight squeeze, a light tap and you’d dig your fingers into the spaces between his ribs for it, his laugh huffing guilty onto your neck. 

You found that you could be just as intimidating, Steve seeking you out at parties when girls from out of town got a little too much, a little too eager and kept trying to touch the hair that he spent too much fucking time styling. The boy would sneak up behind you, arms around your waist as he pulled you back against him and used you as the cutest human shield he’d ever seen. 

The sight of you in Steve’s arms usually stopped his admirers in their tracks, his lips pressed to the top of your head, smile hidden in your hair as you set them with a look that Steve said could make grown men cry. . 

“Oh you did, did you?” Steve drawled, “did you tell him I was the prettiest one out of the bunch?”

You snorted, a sound that always made Steve grin and you loved the way his arms tightened around you. Your position on his knees gave you an inch or two of height on him, a little taller, just for a change. You pulled back enough so you could gaze down at him, lashes lowered and face overly thoughtful. 

“I don’t know, Stevie,” you pondered, all faux heavy sighs, teasing and fluttering lashes. “Danny’s starting to look real cute since joining the team-”

“You shut your damn mouth,” Steve interrupted, voice huffy but he was still smiling despite himself. He took a second to watch the way a refraction of light from the disco ball travelled over your cheek, lighting up the new summer freckles there before it dipped into your Cupid’s bow. He cleared his throat, suddenly shy. “We both know you think I’m the hottest guy he- oh, shit. Your friend is coming over.”

“What?” You barked out and your voice sounded strangled. You turned to see that Steve was right, the guy in the red shirt was making his way through the gathering crowds, weaving through the busy tables towards you both, his gaze set on you and another question posed on his lips. “Oh, Jesus Christ.”

Steve was already shifting underneath you, arms hooking under the backs of your knees and you knew he was ready to deposit you on the chair next to him, eyes searching for a fight. 

“Can I kiss you?” You asked instead. 

“Shit, what?” The boy’s response was garbled, words tumbling over each other as he stopped his movements and looked at you wide eyed. “Princess-”

You sighed, impatient, a hand clutching at Steve’s chin, tilting his face up to you so you could catch his gaze, the question asked again with just your eyes. A silent exchange, a secret language only you two knew. You watched his tongue swipe over his bottom lip, eyes heavy, dropping to your mouth and you waited, a second, maybe two and then fuck, he nodded, barely perceptible. 

You crushed your lips to his, swallowed the moan that Steve immediately gifted you, fingers pushing into his jaw and sighing at the way his  hand on your back dropped to the waistband of your shorts, fingertips desperately seeking the warmth of your bare skin. 

It was different to the kisses you had shared before, ‘cause fuck, now you both knew what you were doing and you had almost as much experience under your belt as Steve had. You knew boys liked it when you got a little bossy, hands on their jaw and thumb on their bottom lip, telling them to part their lips for you. You knew they liked it when you sighed all sweet and pretty, hips squirming in their hands, fingers pulling at their hair. They told you that you tasted like cherries, something sweet and tart and like dirty secrets. 

Steve seemed to like it too, ‘cause his tongue was sweeping past your lips, kissing you dirtier than he should’ve for such a public setting and you could hear your friends rippling in excitement around you. 

You pushed your thumb to the corner of Steve’s mouth and he obeyed like you thought he would, parting his lips between yours and groaning into you. It was all teeth and tongue, hot hands on bare skin, hair between fingers, threading and pulling and you wondered how you could still taste vanilla, hidden in his lips underneath blue raspberry slush. 

You liked the way he held you to him, a little too tight, a little more possessive than he’d ever been with you before. Because growing up with Steve Harrington was all protective hands, glares sent to boys who deemed not good enough, rides home from work and gentle hands taking that one drink too many from you at parties that went on too late. 

This was different, this was personal, this was a touch that screamed mine mine mine and it kinda hated the way you knew you’d think about it later, back flat in your bed, sheets kicked to your ankles and your hand pushed down the front of your shorts. 

Maybe Steve would do the same you thought, maybe he already had, you wondered. And images of Steve with his hand flat to the shower tiles flashed through your head, body wet, hair soaked, lips parted and his other palm fisting himself to the thought of you. 

It was suddenly too much and you needed air more than you needed Steve. Your lips left his and the sounds of the rink came rushing back, like you’d pushed your head out from underwater. There was suddenly music, the score of wheels on wood, the siren of a pinball machine, ice clattering into cups from behind the bar. 

Someone amongst the group let out one, long whistle and people tittered and god, it should’ve made you blush. 

It should’ve. 

It didn’t. 

You simply stood from Steve’s lap, his hands still on your waist and guiding you to your feet until you could push your hair back from your warm cheeks, feeling only slightly scandalised when your friends all started but you kept your eyes on the boy. 

You licked the taste of him from your lips, raspberry and sugar and something that you were now beginning to learn was just Steve. His cheeks were tinted pink, lips glossy from yours and his brown eyes were considerably darker, his finger trailing away from yours in a way that made you think he didn’t wanna let go. 

But you cleared your throat the same time he did, only a little wobbly on the eight wheels that held you up and he grinned when you coughed out a laugh. 

“That worked,” you told him, watching as the guy with the bad hair swung the door open, leaving without looking back. 

“Huh,” Steve murmured, “how ‘bout that.”

—————

He didn’t say anything when the lights started turning back on, when the disco ball stopped spinning and people handed back their skates. Steve just found you on the benches, pressed shoulder to shoulder with your friends and he caught your eye from the door, another secret conversation that started with a quirk of a brow and ended with a tilt of a chin. 

You said your goodbyes and followed the boy out the building, watching as Steve placed his hand behind his back, encouraging you to catch up and grab it. You held hands across the empty parking lot, fingers twisting and playing together until you hit the main road and it was normal, it was familiar, it was Steve. 

He decided he was staying with you that night, mumbling an excuse about not facing his dad in the morning, how your bed was comfier and your mom made the best waffles but you didn’t need any convincing. 

So you snuck into your house, unnecessarily quiet ‘cause your dad was still up watching TV and your mom was in the kitchen with a glass of wine and a book and they barely looked at the boy who was following you up to your bedroom, nothing more than a “night, kids,” called out into the hallway. 

You lay side by side with the boy, half dressed and with too much bare skin on show, Steve’s shirt on the floor, your shorts almost indecent around your thighs. 

It was the first time you thought that something else might happen, legs brushing against legs and hips bumping together as you tried to get comfortable, the burn of the others lips still on your own. 

But nothing did and you were starting to wonder if anything ever would. 

1985. And it’s new, the shape of your body.

It didn’t matter that it had been a Wednesday, it was the first day in weeks that you and Steve had managed to get the day off together and you were both planning on making the most of it. 

It’s why the boy woke you up early, a rucksack already in his hand as he walked through your patio door, left open for that very reason, the rest of the house empty as your parents went to work. 

You’d been surprised at how softly he’d woken you up, fingers prodding gently at the cheek that wasn’t smushed against your pillow, eyes hidden with sleep mussed hair and one leg bare and kicked out from beneath the sheets. He grinned when you grumbled and he took your sleep warmed spot when you finally dragged yourself out of bed and into a shower. 

Steve barely looked away when you reappeared in just a towel, almost too short to be decent and when you turned to your dresser to pull out a swimsuit and clothes, his eyes dipped to the backs of your legs, thighs on show, tanned from the August sun, a small freckle there he’d never seen before. 

“You said you were gonna set an alarm, princess,” Steve teased, head pushed back into your favourite pillow and if he realised it smelled like your shampoo and peach scented body wash, he didn’t say. “Clock’s ticking.”

“Jesus, give me peace, Harrington,” you grumbled, voice still thick with sleep and the summer air was slipping through your open window and it made you move slower than you wanted to. “Turn around.”

Steve did as he was told, face crushed into your sheets and a grin on his lips ‘cause he heard the soft thump of your towel hitting the floor, the shuffle of clothes sliding across your skin. He knew you were winding him up, taking that little game you both blamed to a new level, another limit, because there was no fucking way a girl that looked the way you did, didn’t know what she was doing.

Steve heard the snap of a bikini strap, the rasp of denim shorts over long legs and when you told him he could look once more, he turned around in time to see a flash of cherry red, a swimsuit that hid little, covered by the way you pulled a white shirt over your head. 

You pushed a pair of Ray Bans onto your nose, a little too big and stolen from Steve a few summers before. You grinned, knowing, and held out a hand. 

“C’mon pretty boy, let’s go.”

Steve took the car, drove it to the outskirts of town with the windows cracked, the summer air blowing in sticky and sweet. You had your feet on the dash, a new bracelet around your ankle, woven with blue and orange thread, a matching one around Steve’s wrist that he tried to protest at but his words were weak and his smile was bright. 

He let you pick the song, cassettes spilling out of the glove compartment as you tried to find the perfect mix for a day like this. There wasn’t a cloud above Hawkins and when you drove past the Burick’s farm, the sunflowers were in full bloom, making the world that flashed past your window bright yellow and the strawberry paddocks made everything smell sweet. 

The roads were quiet and the air still, and you couldn’t see another soul as Steve parked up on the roadside, a dirt corner off of the road leading out of town. You both walked into the wheat fields, long grass towering to your waists as you headed for the tree line. The crops brushed your bare legs, scratched softly against your skin and you could feel Steve behind you the whole time, eyes on you, anticipation growing, warming you like the sun. 

When he ran, you did too, feet a little clumsy and neither of you could see where you were stepping but the peels of laughter made it worth it, the rush of the summer air on your face made it better.  You chased after the boy, bag slamming on his back, eyes glancing back at you, looking like the twelve year old with the wild hair you once knew.

Steve didn’t stop running until he hit the patch of trees, legs slowing as the branches became thicker and you slammed into his back with a soft ‘oof,’ cheeks sore from grinning and neither of you thought much of it when the boy took your hand and led you through the thickets.

The trees cleared just before the cliff dropped off, the quarry vast and a pretty green-blue underneath you. The spot was secluded, familiar to you both and a well guarded secret that was kept over the years. You came every summer, secret visits that were just for you and Steve.

You’d been waiting for a day like this for what felt like months. The height of summer, blue skies, the distant buzz of cicadas and your best friend, all to yourself. 

Something told you that Steve felt the same, ‘cause when you chanced a sideways look at him, he was already gazing back, soft smile on his face.c eyes all fond and it made the day seem even warmer. 

It didn’t take long for you both to be stripped to your swimsuits, Steve’s eyes blatantly staring as you slipped the denim shorts down your hips and pulled them down your legs. He didn’t say anything when you stretched yourself out on the blanket beside him, pebbles and grass underneath, the sun beating down from above. 

You liked the way he didn’t shy from you, not like the other boys, like he knew he was yours and you were his, like there wasn’t anyone else to worry about. So neither of you flinched when you pressed yourself to his side, warm bare skin on more warm bare skin, shoulder to shoulder and your feet just reaching where his shins were. 

You tapped a toe to them, snuck a peek at the boy beside you, grinning when you saw him smile despite his closed eyes. His lashes fluttered from behind his sunglasses, waiting for the inevitable. 

“Hey, Stevie?” 

Something in his tummy clenched at the old nickname, usually said with mirth and drag of sarcasm, but your lips were at the shell of his ear and you sounded so soft. 

“Princess.” His voice didn’t hitch at the end like a question, it stayed low, a little hoarse, like a warning. 

‘Cause you were propped onto a elbow now, body leaning into him, your hardly concealed chest pressed into his bicep and he could feel the tickle of your hair on his arm, against his cheek and you were still so close that he could feel the way you smirked against his ear. 

You pushed the button on your nose to his temple, a head butt that was more affectionate than anything else and you moved suddenly, leaning over him to grab the rucksack.  

When Steve opened his eyes he saw red, that almost orange colour that reminded him of summers and pool days, the freckle below your collarbone that not many people got to see. 

He couldn’t not look at your chest, pushed out towards his face as you stretched an arm, grasping for the strap of the bag, making a little grunting noise as you reached for it. 

Red and tiny straps, sun warmed skin that was a little darker than last month, the summer making you glow. A stretch of stomach, taught as you leaned, close enough to his own that he could feel the warmth radiate from you. Long legs pushed up onto your knees, holding you over him like a treat, like a taunt. 

But then you were pushing yourself backwards to sit, gleeful with the bag in your hands and you were already unzipping it , hand delving into its contents as you muttered to him. 

“Perv.”

It was soft and fond, no heat, no accusation but it still made the boy flush ‘cause that meant you caught him looking but Christ, you were both nineteen and full of hormones - what else was new?

“Don’t flatter yourself too much, princess,” he coughed out, trying to sound cooler than he felt. His eyes stayed hooded behind his glasses, wishing the tint of them made him harder for you to read but you knew him better than yourself. Steve knew that too. “You’ll go up a cup size one day.” 

His words hurt no more than your comment had, all light, no sharpness but you smacked at his shoulder all the same, making him grin wide at you. Steve wondered if you knew he thought of you as nothing short of perfect, he wondered if he’d ever get a chance to tell you.

But you’d found what you’d been looking for, a little plastic bag filled with a few buds and some papers, a new grinder ‘cause Steve had lost the last one at a party. You wiggled it at him, Eddie’s special weed making the air grow a little more heady, a little more sweet. 

“Wanna get high with me, Harrington?“

And god, wasn’t that a question?

Steve knew you, knew you inside out and back to front, better than anyone else did. He knew how you got after a few hits, a little needy, all touchy and full of affection. The boy had been to enough parties with you to know. You’d find him, a few hours in, coming out of seemingly nowhere, face flushed and eyes glassy. 

It didn’t matter who he was talking to, who he was with, what he was doing, you’d me on him in seconds, a ball of heat that smelled like his favourite perfume and the inside of Eddie Munson’s trailer, arms around his neck and face pressed to his chest. 

You’d drop yourself into his lap, press messy kisses to his cheeks and giggle all soft when he tried to question you on your whereabouts, if you felt okay, if you’d drank enough water. 

By now, it wasn’t really a surprise to know the entire town still thought you were dating. But he stopped refuting it as much, almost preferring the way that boys kept their distance from you when he was around. He didn’t mind the way you curled into him, lips glossy and sticky and whispering into his ear. 

He liked the way you hummed happy and whispered a ‘yes’ when you’d had enough - and Steve could always tell - and he told you it was time to go home. It didn’t matter who’s house he took you to, his or yours, both were home. 

So god, wasn’t that a question?

“I’m driving princess,” Steve murmured instead of everything he wanted to say. 

‘Will you hold onto me, if I do? Will you crawl into my lap and look at me in that way that you do? Will you put your hands in my hair and tell me I smell good? Will you touch me like I’m yours? Will you touch me like you’re mine?’

But he didn’t. 

“Not until later, Steve, we’ve got all day,” you told him, all smiles and bright eyes.

And you were right ‘cause the morning was still early, the afternoon barely beginning and there were snacks in the bag, water for when it got too hot, a walkman and some mixtapes for when the day got too quiet. 

Steve just smiled and you shook the baggie at him still, a pour on your lips that he could never really learn how to say no to. 

“Roll for me anyway?” You asked because you hated it and you weren't very good, and maybe there was something about the way Steve’s nimble fingers made quick work of it, maybe it was the way you liked to watch the tip of his tongue slide slick along the edges of the papers. 

Maybe. 

So Steve because he couldn’t say fucking no to you and that’s how you found yourself back on the blanket, legs stretched out under the heat of the sun, smoke in the air and everything a little more hazy than it was before. 

It could’ve been the weed that made you do it, maybe you could’ve even blamed it on the sun, messing with your head and your heart but Steve would never have believed your excuses, ‘cause when you suddenly sat up and swung a leg over his lap, he didn’t look surprised at all. 

His hands fell to your thighs instinctively, more than ready to press his palms onto your bare thighs, the high cut of that damn bikini showing more skin than was necessary and Steve swallowed hard from where he lay under you, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. 

“Princess.”

There it was again, that tone, the low way he said your name, rough like a warning, soft like he was asking for something. 

It almost sounded like please, you realised. 

You placed the joint between your lips instead of answering, the end of it burning amber and you inhaled softly, hating the way the smoke burned your lungs but loving the way it made you feel. But that could’ve been Steve’s hands on your hips, holding you steady as you tilted your head back, neck exposed, blowing smoke to the sky that was still cloudless. 

When you gazed back down at your best friend, his jaw was slack, eyes glassy behind his Ray Bans and you smiled, way too shyly for the stunt you’d just pulled. You took the glasses off his face, wanting to see him, all of him and you held the joint between you, brows raised. 

“Want a hit?” 

The boy nodded. 

He expected you to hold the roll up to his lips, let him take a drag from between your fingers as you sat happily on his lap. 

Steve didn’t expect you to take another draw from it, smoke held between your lips, eyes hooded as you leaned down and into him. Your hands found purchase on the blanket on either side of his head but you were still chest to chest. You didn’t talk, couldn’t talk, didn’t need to talk. You just nudged your nose on Steve’s and he tilted his chin towards you, hands tight on your sides like he was holding on for dear life - and oh my god, he felt like he was - before he parted his lips for you and you let go. 

Smoke blew gently from your lips to his, top lips just grazing, the movement accidental but neither of you apologised, neither complained. And when Steve held the hit there, in his chest, seconds ticked by like a countdown to something dangerous, to something explosive and on his wrecked sounding exhale, he pushed both of you up, a little frantic as your hips settled into the dip of his more. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

You asked it softly, like you were telling a secret, like you didn’t wanna admit it, like you were scared Steve was gonna say no, but the boy didn’t answer you at all, not with words anyway.

His mouth was on yours before you could finish talking and you both groaned at the contact. Blindly, you stubbed out the roach on the ground beside you, ashes rubbing into gravel and sand before your hands found purchase on Steve’s face. 

It was a kiss you hadn’t shared before, a kiss that was messier than the others, a kiss that lacked the control the others had. 

It was a kiss that usually led to something more, hands wandering in someone’s back seat, mouths on necks, voices whispering dirty things in the last row of the cinema. 

It was something you hadn’t felt with your best friend before. 

It was hot and dirty and fast, his hands on your neck, your jaw, fingers splayed into your hair and his thumb tugging greedy at the corner of your bottom lip, desperate for you to open for him, so he could lick into you. 

It didn’t help that you were both lacking so much clothing, too much bare skin pressed against each other, chest to chest and your legs wrapped around his waist. 

It was too easy to roll your hips, to whine into Steve’s mouth at the way he let out the dirtiest, prettiest noise for you. It made you want to do it again, it made you wanna thread your fingers into his hair and tug. 

“Steve.”

He thinks that’s what broke him, the way you said his name like that, soft and whimpered, like you fucking wanted him, like you needed him. The boy was sure he’d never been that hard in his life, your ass pressed into his lap, his hands wandering over the slope of your lower back, sliding over your bikini pants, fingers toying with the tiny sides of them. 

Steve thought about all the things he wished he was brave enough to say to you. ‘Are you mine? Do you know I’m yours? Do you know I always have been?’

But he couldn’t, couldn’t find the courage, couldn’t find the willpower 

 to drag his lips from yours, not unless it was to press his mouth to your neck instead, to suck and bite a little bruise there that said what he couldn’t with words. 

Mine. 

You don’t know how it ended, you barely remembered how it had started but as the night leaked in and made the quarry glitter, Steve was smoothing a hand over your hair, messy from his tugging, as you pulled your shorts back on. 

He’d packed up the bag, shrugged his T-shirt back over his chest, lips as kiss bitten as yours, skin warm from the sun and you. It felt like there was so much to be said, it felt like nothing at all. A natural occurrence, an almost yearly event, something cosmic, something magic, like a meteor strike, like a new planet being discovered. 

You got to kiss your best friend and Steve got to kiss his and it simply felt like you were both one step closer to where you were both going to end up. You were so sure it was with him, but maybe that was just the whispers of your moms, voices hardly quiet as they gushed by the Harrington’s pool summers ago, talking about how their kids were something special together, how sometimes soulmates did exist. 

So it didn’t feel awkward when Steve swiped a stand of hair from your cheek, took your hand in his and pressed one more kiss to the top of it before letting go, stepping back for another summer, until one of you - or both of you - were finally ready to say what needed to be said. 

It wasn’t going to happen that day, but it felt closer than ever. 

And when he drove you both home, Steve didn’t tut at you for putting your feet on the dash, in fact, he smiled all soft the whole drive back into Hawkins, past the same wheat fields, the water tower, the sunflowers and fruit fields that made the night smell sweet. 

It was dark when you both snuck in through the back garden gate, Steve’s patio light still on and there was smoke coming from the little fire pit by the pool, gentle chatter and laughter from where both of your parents sat with glasses of wine. Leftover dinner dishes and empty plates sat on the wooden table and neither couple were surprised to see you both. 

You didn’t know that your parents watched the way Steve stood tall behind you, always in reach, an open hand just hovering by your side as if he was always ready to catch you. You didn’t know that his mom would smile at you, watching the way you watched her son, cheeks sore with a grin she’d never tire of seeing. 

Even Steve’s dad would shake his head, fond, making everyone titter and the pair of you blush as he asked accusingly, “and what have you two been up to all day?”

You wondered if they could see the way you flushed in the dark, if they saw the swell to Steve’s bottom lip from the way you’d been greedy with it, if they noticed the pretty lilac bruise that should’ve hopefully been hidden by your shirt. 

But it was okay. ‘Cause you felt Steve warm and solid at your back, his chest pressed against you and the leftover taste of him and smoke on your lips. The air smelled like honeysuckle and chlorine, fresh lavender and basil from a dinner you’d missed and the back garden gate was still swinging on its hinges. 

1986. And I scream, “For whatever it’s worth, I love you, ain’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”

Steve fucking hated Chris Maxwell. He’d disliked the guy in high school, always running his mouth and exaggerating his lacrosse wins, the girls he got with, the drugs he managed to score. He had the same car as Steve, the same BMW in a shitty puke green colour and he drove it like an idiot.

He hated him even more when you started dating him.

 You’d dated guys before, shit, Steve had had his fair share of girls over the years too. Nothing ever serious, nothing that meant all that much ‘cause the girls he brought to parties and basement hang outs took one look at you and tried to make him choose. 

Steve always chose you.

You’d dated less, Steve had always noticed, shying away from unfamiliar attention, choosing to kiss and run after the party was over, no numbers exchanged, no dates to be had. You’d always scrunched your nose at him and evaded the question when Steve asked, murmuring something about how it wasn’t worth the hassle.

It’s why Steve had been so surprised when you were dropped off one day by Maxwell, in his snot green car with his stupid smarmy smirk. Once became twice, twice became three times and before you both knew it, you were lounging at the bottom of Steve’s bed one day as he sat at his desk and you were shrugging.

“Uh, yeah, I guess? Maybe he is my boyfriend?”

Steve remembered coughing out a laugh, because, how could you not know?

But you were being picked up and dropped off by the boy on numerous occasions and Steve quickly grew tired of watching him try and eat your face in his front seat. But only two months had passed before things seemingly grew tired and sour, your face twisting in a veil of annoyance when you heard his car horn blast from the street.

He never got out of the car to knock on your door, Steve had noted, never walking you up the path at night to see you safely inside. Steve was sure the last straw came on the day he was already in your living room, hands clutching the casserole dish that his mom had sent him to borrow. You’d rolled up, the stupid vomit coloured car catching the curb as it squealed to a stop, music blasting from the inside and your dad mirrored Steve’s expression as the two men stood at the window.

Noses scrunched, lips downturned, eyes narrowed.

“I don’t like that little punk,” your dad had grumbled.

“Same,” Steve had answered and the two of them were oblivious to the way your mother grinned behind their backs. 

But Steve had watched you storm out, car door slamming as Chris leaned over to the open window, yelling something about coming back and let’s talk about this honey!

You’d ignored him and Steve had walked home feeling a little lighter than he had in weeks.

He still didn’t expect Chris to come sneaking into his back yard one evening, when the town was quietening down, when the fireflies came out and the sun made the sky streaky with pink and peach and lilac.

Steve had been propped against the wall of his house, just beside the back garden gate, hidden in that little lane that no one seemed to use. The space that smelled like honeysuckle and lavender, the place that grew a little wild and reminded him of you. There was more ivy on the wall that year, growing more untamed than it ever had and it made Steve smile to see that it was crawling up the side of your house too, almost to your bedroom window. 

A cigarette hung from his lips, a bad habit he hadn’t picked up since he was seventeen and easily persuaded but work was shit, his dad was nagging at him about reapplying for colleges and he hated that he’d hardly seen you in a week. 

And the reason why was creeping through the gate, shoulders hunched and eyes alert. Chris had stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Steve, a scowl on his face as he snarled at him accusingly. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Steve rolled his eyes, cigarette still wet between his lips and it moved as he replied, his words an annoyed mumble. 

“This is my fuckin’ garden, dickwad. You went through the wrong gate.”

It took the boy a moment to realise his mistake and instead of apologising, or admitting to it, he turned and continued to glare at Steve. 

“S’your goddamn fault I’m sneaking around anyway, Harrington,” Chris hissed, his eyes already seeking out your bedroom window across from them. 

It was ever so slightly cracked, curtains shut and blowing in the breeze but Steve knew you kept it open so you could smell the honeysuckle you loved so much, so that you could hear Steve if he opened his window across from you, to whisper into the night. 

It had been a long time since you shared secrets and stories across the garden gates, but old habits die hard and Steve kept his open for the very same reason. 

“My fault?” Steve snorted, an offended and somewhat dramatic hand pressed to his chest. He kicked off of the wall, cigarette throwing smoke into the air and he exhaled, smirking when some of it blew into Chris’ face. “And what the fuck did I do, Maxwell?”

“Everything’s always about you!” The other boy burst out, without much preamble, “whole fuckin’ relationship revolved around you, you’re all she talked about and then she tell has the nerve to tell me that she’s breaking up with me.”

Steve looked at Chris with raised brows, cigarette held lightly between a finger and his thumb, the top of it still burning in the dim light. 

“Is that so?” Steve took a drag, tried to keep his heartbeat steady, tried not to smile. “Had nothin’ to do with the way you spoke to her like shit and was always demanding stuff, no?”

The boy levelled Steve with a stare, nostrils flared and hands shoved in his pockets. “Of course she tells you fucking everything.”

“Of course she tells me fucking everything,” Steve repeated, emphasis on every word as he glowered at your ex, brows furrowed and fist clenched by his side. “And what’s it to you if she does-”

“What the fuck is going on?”

The two boys looked up, one grinning, the other desperate at the sight of you, hanging out your open window. 

Steve held up a hand in a way, features perfectly amicable as he beamed.

“What are you doing here, Chris? There’s a reason I’ve not taken your calls,” you sounded bored, tired and the boy had barely begun to answer before you’d already moved onto Steve. 

“Honey, please, I’m begging you can we just ta-”

“Steve, are you smoking? Again? Really?” You tutted, elbow on the window frame as you looked down at him with a soft pout. 

“My bad, princess,” but the boy was grinning, not looking very sorry at all ‘cause Chris was silently fuming beside him. “Stressful times, y’know?”

He took another long drag, blew the smoke out above the other boy's head and continued smiling that bright grin. Steve looked up at you again, head tilted as he gestured to your ex and squinted against the sun that was starting to set behind your roof. 

“Want me to take out the trash for you?”

His words earned him a shove, a bark of laughter leaving his lips as he barely stumbled against the other boy's hands. But before Steve could retaliate, you were calling down in a voice Steve knew you reserved for telling him off when he got too drunk, when he pushed your buttons a little too much. 

“Hey! Chris! Jesus, quit it!” You were leaning out of the window more, sleep shirt hanging off of one shoulder and a pucker between your brows. “Just go, okay? We’ve already spoken about this, I’m not interested.”

“See, this is what I was fuckin’ talking about,” Chris hissed, low enough so only Steve could hear and Steve didn’t know how to reply. 

Quiet wrapped around all three of you, the distant trickle of the pool, the muted buzz of Steve’s television from his living room and eventually, a strangled curse from your ex boyfriend's lips as he shouldered past Steve and swung the garden gate open, the wood hitting the brick. 

Steve tried not to grin as he looked back up at you, tongue pressed to the side of his cheek and his brown eyes glittering. The sunset made you both rosy, a sunbeam stretching across the side of your house, lighting up the bricks and you. 

“He seems touchy.”

“Shut up, Harrington,” you knew Steve heard the smile in your voice, the affection in the roll of your eyes. “You coming up?”

And then you disappeared, ducking back into your room and sliding the window closed with a click. 

Steve didn’t realise your parents were out until he walked over the empty driveway, the sun lowering itself into the line of trees across the street, the sky turning lavender, the moon making an appearance. He didn’t knock, just walked in through your front door, shoes toed off by the porch before he jogged up the stairs. 

Your door was already open and he found you lazing on your bed, sheets ruffled and the lights off, just the leftover sun trickling in through the open curtains and the crystals you hung at the windows sent rainbows scattering across your walls. 

Some of them fell across your bare thighs where you lay, stomach down, legs in the air in a pair of shorts that were hardly seen from underneath the huge shirt that you wore. Another streak of colour landed on your face, fluttering as the crystal spun on their chains, dancing in the last of the light. 

Steve wanted to kiss it, to see if the pretty shades on your cheek made you taste any sweeter than he already knew.

“You didn’t tell me you broke up,” Steve said and there was nothing accusatory in his voice, just genuine curiosity, soft and gentle. 

He fell onto the bed beside you, made the mattress dip as he shelled into your pile of pillows at the opposite end from where you lay. He pushed a socked foot into your side, digging in at the spaces between your ribs and making you squirm. Steve caught a smile, spread on your lips just for him and you twisted to bat him away, not surprised when his hands found yours and tugged. 

You let him pull you beside him, into the mess of sheets and too many cushions, lying so you were facing him, noses a breadth apart, eyes lowered as you spoke, suddenly nervous. 

You shrugged, fingers playing with the edges of a pillow, “just sort of happened, wasn’t a big deal.”

A beat of silence, the boy wondering if that was the truth, if there was something more behind your words, if you were hiding something in the way you refused to meet his gaze. Steve wondered if you could feel his heart pounding against the mattress, if it was echoing loud through your pillow the way he was sure it was his. 

It felt like something was building, like something was coming. Something big, something new, something wild. Like a tropical storm, a bolt of lightning across the town, a flash flood, a hurricane, something to announce that summer was over. 

That time was up. 

“You don’t seem too heartbroken ‘bout it,” Steve hedged, his gaze trained on your hands, the way your fingers picked and played with the cotton between you both. He wanted to take your hand in his, run a thumb across your palm and soothe you. 

“Cant get my heart broken by a guy that never had it.”

“He didn’t?”

“Don’t play dumb, Stevie,” you chided gently, teasing, “it doesn’t suit you.”

“Always thought he wasn’t good enough for you,” the boy responded, keeping what he really wanted to say hidden behind his tongue. 

“You said that about all the guys I got with.”

A gentle nudge, your hand on his chest, a shuffle closer, breathing the same air, the rainbow on your cheekbone flitting to Steve’s lips as the sun moved down. He watched you chase it with your eyes, gaze soft, looking a little longingly, or maybe he was just hopeful. 

“It’s true.”

A soft hum, a pleased noise, a smile that finally reached your eyes and a hand that fell to Steve’s arm, running down the length of it until your fingers found the cuff of his sweater and played with that instead. 

It was the closet Steve had been to holding your hand for a while and it felt like the beginning of summer again, back to bike rides to the arcade, sticky fingers tips and slurpees that were almost too big to hold. 

“Why’d you break up with him?”

You stopped, fingertips brushing over Steve’s wrist, a pause on his pulse point that told you that maybe he was as nervous as you felt. Your knees bumped his, rough denim on soft skin, the day leaking out of your room as the sun fell behind the treetops and suddenly everything was blue. 

Navy tinted shadows, inky skin, indigo lines of barely there light that turned Steve’s skin lilac and you breathed in, held it, let the burn in your chest for a second or two before letting it back out. 

Summer was leaking away, slipping behind the moon and the night, and you suddenly felt too tired to lie anymore, to pretend. 

“He wasn’t all that happy that I was in love with someone else.”

God, you felt brave. 

Bold. 

Blue. 

Steve didn’t look all that surprised, a flicker of soft realisation over his eyes, no shock, just a gentle breath of ‘it’s time?’

“I can’t say I blame the guy,” Steve murmured, chin ducking to meet yours, foreheads pressed together on the same pillow and his hand found yours, fingers twisted together. “Don’t think I’d be very pleased either.”

“I know,” you told him, gaze trained on the way his lips moved when he spoke. “I didn’t mean to, I don’t even know when it happened.”

“No?”

You shook your head, feeling heavier than you had, like you were pulled into the boy and something magic was keeping you there. You could smell lavender and cedar and smoke and Steve. 

“Might’ve been at this party, in someone’s basement. Might’ve been the time I was pushed into a closet and my best friend kissed me.”

“That sounds awful,” Steve mused and the beginnings of a grin were pulling at his lips, “a whole five years, huh?”

“Right? Isn’t that just the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”

He liked the way you said those words, like it was the opposite, your voice all sunshine and warmth and leftover summer. You were blue skies and honeysuckle, wildflowers and long drives, sleepovers on your bedroom carpet and sneaking out through the back gate. 

“Y’know, I think I’ve got you beat,” said the boy, all faux seriousness as he brought his hand to your waist, palm wide and warm as he pushed at your shirt, bunching it up over your ribs until he could touch bare skin.

“You do?” You felt a little breathless at his touch, a feeling you’d craved since last summer at the quarry, a feeling you’d missed despite knowing you’d get it again soon, eventually. Now. 

“Oh yeah,” Steve scoffed, voice teasing, gaze staring at you from between dark lashes. “I once knocked on this girl’s front door, asked her if she wanted to go to the arcade with me and I didn’t even mind when she hogged all the slurpee. I was a goner.”

“I did not!” You laughed, the sound pressed to Steve’s neck ‘cause he was pulling you into him, beaming bright and more carefree than you’d seen him in a while. “Liar.”

“Fell in love with the first girl I ever kissed,” he whispered, cheek pressed against yours as he whispered into your hair, like a secret he was sure you already knew. “How sad is that?”

You shook your head, hands clutched the material of Steve’s shirt, fists to his chest as if he was going to leave. 

“S’not sad at all,” you told him and god your voice was a hush, your lips against the shell of his ear and you felt the breath that he sucked in and held. “Long time to wait though, huh?”

Steve nodded, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip as he pulled back, seeking you out in the dark of your room, noses bumping. 

“Feels worth it, don’t you think?” 

And god, it did. 

It happened the way summer did. Slow and inevitable, like the gradual pick up of warmth through the year, the way you expected the sun in the morning, blue skies through your window, ice cream for lunch. 

It happened like it was supposed to, like it was meant to, like you’d waited all that time just to greet it with a warm shyness, a coy, “oh, I’ve been expecting you.”

It rolled in like a present, like a gift, like a reward. Like something that the world wanted you both to have, like the universe knew you were supposed to be together. So you shared first kisses between the wildflowers, let the seeds of something more bloom between your ribs, the spaces between your chests and your hearts. You let it simmer in the warm afternoons, burn a little stronger on cliff tops over quarry’s, picnic blankets rough under bare knees and hands in hair. 

“It does,” you breathed, closer to the boy than you had been, noses pressed into cheeks and for the last time, your best friend asked you your favourite question, one that tasted like fresh lemonade and smoke, cherry slurpees and fresh flowers in the air. 

“Hey princess?”

You hummed a response, eyes already closed, lashes brushing at the corners, a small smile playing on the curve of your lips. 

“Can I kiss you?”

You were on Steve before he could finish asking, hands on his jaw, tugging him into you, the hand that he had on your waist tightening its grip as your lips met. 

It felt different than last summer. Slower, deeper, lazier, like you both knew that this wasn’t the last kiss, like you both knew you didn’t have to wait until next year, or the year after. 

Like you both knew that this time was it. 

You moved in the dark of your room together, Steve pushing you back into the plush of your bed, moving over you to hold himself there, chest just brushing yours as one hand found purchase in your sheets, careful not to crush you. 

He caught the leg that you brought up to his side on instinct, desperate to feel more of him, wanting to press into him. Steve’s finger curled under the space behind your knee, hooked there so he could hold your thigh against his hip, so he could move into the space you created for him, body rolling into yours. 

He swallowed the gasp you gave him, kissed away the sigh and the blue of the room seemed a little brighter with his lips on yours. You whined against him until the boy caught on, moving back onto his knees only for you to follow, chest pressed against his and only breaking the kiss for him to lift his arms for you. His shirt hit the floor, yours following suit, all bare skin underneath with some new freckles to find, a trail of summer; water fights, sneaking out and greeting the morning together on the hood of Steve’s car. 

Steve ducked down to meet you, to let you kiss him a little deeper, a little dirtier, tongue licking at the seam of your lips, groaning when you opened for him, hand spanning the width of your back, hips pressed together with intent. 

“I’m fucking desperate for you, y’know that right?” Steve groaned, words sinking into your mouth with every push of his lips against yours and you swore you’d never heard anything prettier. “Always have been, totally gone on you, princess.”

“Steve,” you felt hot with the prick of emotion, tears brimming at your lashes ‘cause it was all too much and not enough, want and longing and need building up, years of looking, of touching and just tasting, searching kisses, useless excuses, never talking about it after. 

And then his hands were back on your legs, palms hooked around the backs of your knees and you were falling together, bouncing off of the mattress, pillows falling to the floor and god, you were crashing into each other. 

It was mixtapes on birthdays, fresh strawberries after swimming, a hand held in the dark after a scary movie, sitting in the yard after dark when the night was still warm and you don’t know how to tell your best friend that you thought they were perfect. 

Your shorts slid off too easily, hips raised from the bed and Steve’s fingers curled into the waistband. He kicked off his jeans with the help of your feet, toes pushed into the denim as he shucked them to the floor. 

Suddenly, there was more skin to touch, to taste, to look at, and Steve took note of every curve he hadn’t seen, every little mole and scar, tan lines in places he always tried not to stare at. 

But he kissed them instead, lips trailing hot over your chest, kisses pressed to the dip of your clavicle, the patch of sunburn on your shoulder and you felt like you had caught the entire months of summer in your chest. 

It all felt a little golden.

But night had crawled in and the shadows were darker, making every touch more intense, every kiss feeling like a confession. Your underwear joined his, piled at the foot of your bed with spilled sheets and pushed pillows and the world fell into silence for you both. 

No buzz or insects, no sprinklers in the yard, no screech of brakes from the street, no yelling from a tv. 

Everything was hushed as Steve spread his fingers over you, a choked gasp at the way he made you feel, a kiss to soothe. He kissed you through it, fingers feeling thick as he slid one and then two inside of you, curling up and searching, face pulled back from your own so he could watch you fall apart beneath him. 

“So fuckin’ pretty, so pretty,” Steve told you and you felt it, you believed him, forehead pressed to his as you gasped out his name, hands wrapped around his biceps as he coaxed you over the edge. “Can you come for me princess? Please?”

You did as he asked, as if you had any say in the matter, crashing and tumbling and falling into him, body tight, eyes clenched shut and lips falling apart in the prettiest moan Steve had ever heard. 

“Oh shit, babe, that’s it, ‘atta girl, princess.”

He pulled your hands from his length when you made an eager grasp for him, not cruel, just desperate. Steve shook his head, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly, jaw slack and eyes heavy. 

“Babe, if you touch me s’all gonna be over in a second,” he admitted hoarsely and his voice held no shame. 

So you covered him in kisses, flipped your positions from where you lay on the bed and pushed the boy into the pillows instead. You caught his lips on yours, messier now that you’d had a taste of what was to come, mouth leaving gloss over his jaw, down his throat and you felt the vibrations over your tongue when Steve moaned. 

You moved over him, slick and warm, hips pushing into his as you straddled him, making a mess of his boxers and short circuiting his brain as Steve gripped your thighs, touch almost cruel as he held on for dear life. 

You pressed your palms to his chest, dropped yourself down a little so your lips could graze his own, a new kind of kiss, teasing, a whisper that was barely there. 

It promised more to come, it kept him waiting and wanting, made Steve groan out at the realisation that he was entirely yours and god, maybe, just maybe, you were his too. 

“Fucking hell,” he whispered, and his voice was shot, “princess, please, s’not nice to tease a man like that.”

You grinned, filled with a confidence you only ever gained from being near Steve, bolstered by the way he looked at you - all heavy lidded and slack jade, chest and cheeks flushed underneath you. 

“You’ve never complained before,” you murmured back, mouth parted over his, Cupid’s bows touching but never really pressing your lips to his. 

It made you both think back to all the looks, the gazes, the stares filled with longing and wanting and yearning. That same question, asked with uncertainty, with a tumble of nerves, a burst of wonder, over the years until you knew what each other would taste like, until you knew how their lips felt between your own. 

“Vixen,” Steve mumbled and it should’ve been said like an insult, like a curse but his voice was molten honey, sweet caramel and the start of a summer morning. 

“Can I kiss you, Harrington?” The question wasn’t needed, and you were starting to think it never had been, but you loved the way his lips lifted into a soft smile under yours, noses brushing as he nodded, waiting patiently with his hands smoothing over the backs of your thighs. 

Steve made a pretty noise at the back of his throat, a gasp and a moan, a wrecked, “please,” falling onto your lips. 

You kissed him without any worries, without any thoughts of what does this mean for tomorrow? You kissed him like you were greeting summer, like he was the month of June and blue skies, like you could taste peaches and fresh lemonade on his lips, like he held all your secrets behind his teeth. 

He did.

Your harsh pants and soft moans mixed as you moved together, the boy shuffling underneath you as he rid himself of his underwear, boxers kicked to the end of your bed where they’d eventually be lost. 

He took himself in his hand, hard and long, his breath shaky as you slid down, gasping into his mouth as you got yourself seated, tightening around him for the first time. 

Steve whispered your name, soft, sinful, like a prayer, like a praise. 

“I’m not gonna last long,” he grunted, eyes squeezed shut as he clasped your face in his hands, fingers splayed across the line of your jaw, over the apples of your cheeks. “M’sorry, it’s just- you’re too much, princess-”

You cut him off with a kiss - a silent ‘it’s okay’ -  hips shifting, rolling over him as you moved, whimpering into his mouth. Steve swallowed your noises, gave you back his own and it wasn’t long before he was rolling you both over. 

His hands found the insides of your thighs first, spreading them so he could fit between, length still inside of you, pressing into all the right places. Palms smoothed up your sides, over the ripples of your ribs, calluses catching soft skin and the feel of it all made you sigh, head tilted back. 

Your hands found his, fingers intertwined as he pressed them back into the pillow below you, chest brushing up against your own as he moved, your legs curled around his waist and it was bliss, it was bright white behind your eyes, it was glitter in the dark, it was a electricity in your bones. 

“Steve,” your voice was a whimper, an almost cry, your hands grappling at his shoulders for purchase as he pushed you into the mattress with thrust after thrust. 

It all felt a little wild, gasping into open mouths, lips barely managing to find the other for a kiss, sliding messy over each other as hands pulled hair and fingers squeezed at arms, at thighs, at waists. 

“I know,” the boy said, sounding just as wrecked as you did, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his hands under the small of your back, fingers splayed wide so he could lift your hips into his own. “I know, fuck, you close? Please tell me you’re close.”

You answered with a moan, a pitched keen, your fingers tugging the lengths of hair at the nape of the boys neck and he groaned, a deep dirty sound in response and then you were falling apart, a vice around him, eyes clenched shut and teeth biting down on the muscle in his shoulder. 

Your name tumbled from his lips, a holy sound and Steve moved a little messier, his hips stuttering before he pulled out, both of you sighing at the loss, before he spilled onto your stomach with the help of your hand. 

The air smelled like summer and sex and Steve. 

Your pants filled the air, mixing with the boys and the trickle of the pool in the backyard. You lay together, breathless and skin slick, flyaway hairs sticking to your forehead, eyes a little glassy and lips rosy from greedy kisses. 

Steve pressed another to you then, and you were almost dizzy with it. He didn’t ask, neither did you. You didn’t have to. Not anymore. So he kissed you a little harder, tempting pretty sounds from your chest that he chased with his mouth, body still pressed against yours in a way you were sure you’d never grow tired of. 

No one spoke until you were both cleaned and half dressed, bodies lazy across your sheets, the night still too warm to wear anything more than your underwear, chests bare in the dark and pressed greedily to each other. A slow hand brushed across the small of your back as you lay on your stomach, head on the boy’s chest and your fingers carding through his hair. 

Every now and then you’d press a kiss to wherever you could reach: his palm when it smoothed over your cheek, his sternum where you lay, the sharp line of his jaw when you found the energy to tilt your head up. 

Steve responded in kind, his lips on your forehead, the top of your crown, the end of your nose. 

The silence was filled with the wonder of each touch, both of you bursting at the seams as you pressed your mouths to each other without worrying, without asking. 

But then Steve shifted against the pillows, moved until you were over him, chest to chest and your legs in the space between his. You propped your chin on his chest, eyes sleepy as you looked up at him and you hummed in delight when he smoothed hand over your hair, tucking it behind your ear. 

“You know I’m in love with you, don’t you?”

Heavy words were said so simply, so easily, and you did. You knew. But it still sucked the breath from you, it still made you ache to hear it out loud. 

“Yeah, I do,” you answered, because you did. You knew it from the way Steve looked at you, the way he liked to be near you, to sit a fraction too close. You knew it from the way he shared his slurpees, his car, his bed, his thoughts, his secrets. You felt it in his gaze, his touch, in the way he’d grown with you. “I’m in love with you too.”

“Yeah, princess, I know.”

And it was as easy as that. Simple like summer, inevitable, like the way the month of June rolls in after May. It was expected, like the warmth and the heat, like the sun in the morning and the clear starry skies at night. 

It was an eventuality, a slow burn, a want, a need, a necessity. 

It was Steve and it was summer and they belonged in their entirety to you.

-----

Ko-Fi ♡

[rustedhearts]

dagger (boxer!steve harrington x fem librarian!reader)

summary: the dark of night and light of morning in steve's old apartment

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the king of the ring (1989) ✶ the library

tags: angst; toxic relationship; mentions of past child abuse/domestic violence; fluff at the end. again, not edited.

"the sunshine girl is sleeping, she falls and dreams alone. and me i am her dagger, too numb to feel her pain."

— dagger, slowdive

hawkins, indiana. october 1989.

"Do you think I'm bad?"

It comes whispered in the blue dark of midnight, tickled with the warm mint breath of your boyfriend on the other end of the pillow. Rays of moonlight beam over the bed through the blinds above. The whoop of sirens passed by in a whizzed crescendo. In one of the apartments downstairs, a door slammed so hard it rattled the frame on the nightstand.

And despite the noise of the night, the room was painfully quiet in this bed with Steve.

"Of course not," you murmured, shifting to brush noses with him atop flattened feathers.

Steve sighs, another gust of warmth. His fingers graze your chin from their place under your head. Your feet rub together under the sheets, legs intertwined. He fucked you forty minutes ago and neither of you had been able to fall asleep since. The ache never really went away. The gnawing, biting sting that something was wrong never settled down.

"That I'm a bad person," he clarified.

When he spoke this lowly, this softly, his voice had a graveled edge to it. It cracked around vowels and faded off at the end of sentences.

You furrowed your brows, swallowing. "No, Steve."

Forty minutes ago he fucked you, but three hours ago he was slamming every door in the house and throwing his car keys down the stairs. He was shattering a mug in the sink and banging his fist into his head that 'wouldn't stop pounding.' He ignored your urges to fix the bleeding on his brow, to sit down and rest because he had a long night.

A night of loss.

It was a low-level, low stake fight—but failure was failure to Steve. He said nothing on the way home, but exploded the moment he pulled into the lot when you reached for his arm. The slam of the passenger door narrowly missed your hand. The tug of your arm inside the apartment left a burning ring.

You were going to tell him you loved him tonight. After the fight, in your prettiest dress, a love letter written for him to find in the morning when you went to work.

But now you lied awake, hours before the opening shift at the library, and wondered how badly love was supposed to hurt.

Steve wiggled his hand free of your head and brought it to your cheek. Thumb brushing the tears dried on your soft, clean skin. Running along your shoulder, over the soft cotton of his shirt pulled on in a need for comfort. Into the crook of your elbow, massaging the flesh with another heavy sigh.

"Think m' bad for you."

You wanted to protest—but he was. Your parents said it the moment they met him. They begged you not to see him anymore. Your friends grimaced when you complained of another fight. You followed every tear-stained explanation with 'but I love him.'

"No," you argued firmly.

You wanted to say more, lips parting to express some sort of fond sentiment that would've made Steve wince—but he ran the pad of his finger over the top of your brow, just how you liked it when you were tired.

Your nose wiggled, your lashes fluttered. Steve sighed another minty breath.

"Go to sleep," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

Your fingers wrapped around his wrist resting on your chest. His palm pressed into your cheek. You let your eyes sink shut, your breathing shallow. Steve watched, blinking into a dusty darkness, as you fell asleep.

✶ ✶

Steve woke sometime near dawn. After a measly few hours of stirring and turning, doing his best to get comfortable but feeling nothing but discomfort, he snapped awake with a huff.

He slipped out of bed quietly, sheets whooshing in the still quiet of early morning. Blackbirds were twittering in the trees beyond the window, the soft orange and pink hues of a rising sun casting a beautiful glow over your cheek on the pillow. It made your hair look like it was on fire.

He shuffled into the kitchen, flipped a clean glass from its place on the kitchen counter, drying on a towel. He filled it with water, gulped it down like air. He filled it again, and padded back into the bedroom.

He leaned against the doorway, head cocking to press against the wood. You slept so peacefully. Like some sort of painting, how perfectly perched your hands were, how wonderfully languid your legs were under the sheets. You helped him pick a new bedspread out last month. You said the last one was too 'scruffy' and you didn't like how it felt on your skin.

He hadn't meant to, but Steve upset you that day. He said he didn't want 'girly shit' on his bed, that he didn't need a new bedspread because he was barely home to sleep on it. You hid your tears behind a box of sheets.

And he felt like a piece of shit in the middle of a K-Mart aisle.

Why did he say it? He still doesn't know. Standing there, watching you sleep, watching your face settle into a state of stasis—unaffected by Steve, free of frowns or creases or worries—Steve wondered what the fuck you were doing with him. He was terrible to you.

Not all the time, but enough. Enough that it made him sick. Tears sprung to his eyes, burned them like a sandpaper. He sniffed, rubbing a scabbed knuckle into the corner of one to clear them away.

Why did he say such horrible things? Why was he so quick to bite, so quick to nip? He growled. He barked. He yelled for nothing. It was nature to him now, to think everything was out to get him. Nature turned him bitter.

Steve took a sip of his water and set it on the dresser. A movie ticket stub sat tucked under a bottle of cologne. His finger grazed the paper on his way to the edge of the bed, where he sat near your feet.

He wished he could tell you why he was like this—but what would he say? My dad fucked me up. My mom fucked me up. Did they?

Steve pressed his elbows onto his knees and doubled over.

Or was he always like this? Was he born to hurt?

He pressed his palms into his eyes. The tears pooled into them, trickled free around the edges and down his arms. He knew if you were awake to see him cry, he'd push you away.

He didn't want to. He wished he could tell you that most of all. That every bite, every bark, every time you turned away with that sad little well in your eyes—it came before he could stop it.

Your hand was the softest thing he'd ever felt. Trailing his back, running through his hair, cupping his fingers, skimming his stomach.

Steve sniffed again, lifting his head to peer over his shoulder at your sleeping figure again.

When you were particularly happy, you left a smatter of kisses on his face. His eyes, his nose, his chin, the scar under his jaw where his father knocked him into the kitchen counter at eight years old. You took particular care of that small sliver of skin, running your nose over the scar that took on a tanned appearance.

He cowered every time.

They made him ugly. His father, his mother, the marks they left on him that he couldn't erase.

Steve stood from the bed and found his jacket on the floor. He fished his cigarettes from the pocket, swiped his lighter from the nightstand. He crawled into bed and tucked his knees up, using them as shelves for his arms as he took in the first drag.

You stirred in your sleep, brows creasing when you rolled onto your back. Your hands sought the sheets, and Steve was quick to bring them over your shoulders. You slept like a corpse sometimes. Steve's lip quirked.

You were funny. Most people didn't know that about you. They categorized you as a quiet, timid person—but fuck were you talkative. When you got comfortable, when you got to know someone, your mouth babbled like a motor. You made Steve laugh without even trying.

Did he ever make you laugh?

Steve looked away, blowing the smoke sideways. You let out a little groaning sound. He hurriedly resumed his staring, watching your eyes flutter open.

"Steve?" you slurred, lips barely moving. Your hands reached for him limply, still heavy with sleep.

Steve pulled his cigarette away, holding it over the edge of the bed. "Shh. Go back to sleep, baby."

You tapped the bed a few times, eyes sinking closed again. Another little noise, whiny and cracked, emitted from your throat. "Want you."

Steve flinched. Half-asleep, sweet, softened and warmed by hours of slumber in freshly-cleaned sheets: you were too good for him.

He stubbed the cigarette into the ashtray on his windowsill overhead, quickly shimmying his way toward you under the covers. You curled into the warmth of him, cold nose nudging his chest. He wound his arm around your back and buried his fingers in your hair. Your arm slid over his side delicately.

"Hmm," you moaned contentedly. "Stop thinking."

Steve pressed his cheek to the top of your head, letting a smile crack through. He hissed in a breath, letting it release with a groan. "Okay."

A moment of quiet passed. For a minute, Steve thought you fell back to sleep. But the way you breathed into him, the way your lashes fluttered against his chest, Steve knew you were only pretending.

"Are you awake?"

You blinked your eyes open, fixing them on a streak of light over the wall at your feet. "Yes."

"Can we..." Steve squeezed his eyes shut, swallowed down the shitty thing that clawed its way up his throat. "Can we just...be together today? Just me and you?"

Your lips spread into a smile, head turning to hide in his arm. You let him wait a minute, sat in the buttery silence of the morning before anyone else was awake.

You let out a sigh like you were thinking. "Okay."

Steve ran the edge of his fingers down the back of your skull. "Okay."

You stayed in bed until ten. Not speaking, not sleeping—just touching. Listening. Breathing in and out.

You called the library from the edge of the toilet seat as Steve warmed the shower, watching the plain of his broad back flex and squirm with every movement. You told them you spent the night throwing up, that you couldn't come in. Steve turned around and winked at you.

He crowded you against the tiled wall, fucked you flat into the cold surface under a stream of steaming water. Free of rough hands and angry eyes; only soft hands kneading, only gentle lips kissing, only his dripping water into your eyes when he leaned over your shoulder to find your mouth.

He buttered the toast when it popped from the toaster, salted and peppered the eggs when they came to the plates. You ate on the countertop, legs tucked in under a big blue t-shirt clean from the closet floor. He leaned into the cabinets and fed you bites of strawberry-jam slathered toast. He licked a dollop from your chin and chuckled when you squirmed.

He did the dishes. He cleaned the porcelain shatters from last night. He let you play the radio on your favorite station and grab at his hips when Carly Simon came on. He scooped you into his arms, hands warm and chapped and full of dish soap bubbles. He carried you to the living room and threw you on the couch.

The pair of you spent the afternoon half-naked on the floor, missing pants and proper shirts but agreeing to keep the heat on high. You crawled through photo albums and old high school yearbooks, spreading out his record collection and some of your own you brought weeks ago. You played them all, even the shitty ones he groaned at.

He pushed you on the floor with a heavy hand on your chest and snapped a Polaroid. He said he liked how you looked like this. In his clothes, damp from his shower with nothing but a smile on your face.

Most of all, he made you laugh. All day, tipping your head back into the ceiling, squirming into his shoulder, bringing fingers over your mouth to hide your teeth. Each time, he pulled them away. Kissed you, all mouth and no tongue, and pulled away just to watch.

To watch how happy he made you, because for once, he really did.

[what-thisiscrazzzy]

Does Wilson actually have patients? Or is his job just to follow House around and offer insight into him to his employees?

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[10:16 pm]

(cw: alcohol consumptions, suggestive pick up lines)

The music throughout the frat house was thumping loudly, Fratboy!Jaehyn could feel the beats vibrating through the floor beneath him. The lights were flashing in a red and green pattern, the vodka was vanilla flavored, peppermint flavored schnapps mixed with everything, and every brother of the frat had a Santa hat on. There was no better way to celebrate the end of finals, the end of the fall semester, and the beginning of winter break than the annual Winter Nu Chi Theta party. It was one of their most anticipated parties of the year, sure all their parties were great, but this was their best party.

A party that was so good that Jaehyun was having a hard time finding you, despite having received your ‘here’ text 20 minutes ago. He was walking around, fighting his way through the crowds of people to try and find you. He stopped and chatted to a few familiar faces, stopped to take a shot- or more, and helped clean up some messes.

This was happening eve before the party had started, the frat brothers were passing around bottles of vodka and schnapps while they hung plastic garlands, fairy lights, and placed Christmas trees on varying surfaces. They blasted Mariah Carey and Wham through the house with no shame, singing along with no shame at all. Needless to say, by the time the party had started they were all more than a little buzzed- some more than others. *cough cough* Haechan.

Finally, he saw your friends and walked up with a smile. “Ho ho,” you turned to face him with a bright smile, “…holy shit, you look good.” Yes, Jaehyun had bought the outfit for you, but it was one thing to see the outfit on a hanger, and another to see it on you. Jaehyun had told you he was going to be dressed as Santa Claus so he wanted you to dress as Mrs. Claus. You had no reason to deny him besides the fact that it would look totally stupid but then he reminded you he would also be dressed up. Well, he wasn’t dressed up.

“This is your Santa Claus outfit? A hat?” You ask with your arms crossed across your chest.

Jaehyun laughs as he hits the pompom at the end of his hat, “duh!”

You roll your eyes, “I should have never let you watch Mean Girls. Are you all dressed as Santa then?”

His eyes widened in happy surprise, “Yes! You understood the reference for your costume!” Looking down at your red camisole and fur lined plastic skirt, you really wondered how you didn’t catch his reference before.

“So if I match with you and all the other frat bros also have so called Santa costumes on, doesn’t that mean I’m also matching with them?” You ask slowly.

Just then a very drunk Haechan stumbles by and does a double take before walking back to you with a drunken wink, “Mrs. Claus! My wife! I sure ho ho hope I’ll see you later for a not so silent night.”

Taeyong tugs him toward his room upstairs with an apologetic smile while you look at Jaehyun with a questioning arch of your eyebrow, “And here I thought your pick-up line was original. Are all of you using them tonight?”

“No…” but then you hear Johnny trying “I’ve got a one-way ticket to the naughty list if you’re interested,” on a girl from your political science class.

Jaehyun blushes but clearly not ashamed enough to try, “Wanna pretend to be presents and get laid under the tree?”

You face palm, snatching the candy cane patterned shot glass from Mark’s hand for yourself. You tilt your head back and shake your head to help with the strong minty flavor, “How many of these pick-up lines do you have?”

“Santa’s lap isn’t the only place wishes come true, baby,” Jaehyun winks dramatically with a kiss blown your way.

You bury your face in his chest while laughing. He’s barely able to hear you over the remix of Justin Bieber’s Drummer Boy, but he managed to hear, “Shut up! They’re getting worse!”

He leans down to whisper in your ear, you can feel his breath, “wanna go up to my room and Scrooge?”

You screech, “Jaehyun!”

You can feel your face heating up with embarrassment while you wrapped your arms tighter around Jaehyun’s waist to keep your face hidden in his sweater.

And then possibly worst of all, “Wanna meet Santa’s little helper?”

You shove him away, your face heating while you fan your face from the immense embarrassment you feel. “Jaehyun, people are going to hear you!”

“What’s wrong with that?” He laughs loudly.

You cross your arms, “I’m going to look like a major loser passing by everyone here on my way to your room later.”

He smirks, “so what I’m hearing is the pick-up lines are working?”

“Unfortunately,” you sigh, “take me to your room?”

Jaehyun smirks at you and guides you up the stairs. He closes his bedroom door behind the both of you while you get comfortable on his bed. Then he turns to you with a cocky smile, “You’d be the first gift I’d unwrap Christmas morning.”

-

a/n: I used this prompt list by @novelbear

[kdogreads]

maybe grumpy richie x sunshine reader whos also like syds best friend and she comes in and is just extremely nice to him and he flirts w her until syd comes out and yells at him 😇😇

LOVE this! Thank you so much sweet nonnie 😍😍

This is giving suit-Richie, so not that grumpy ☹️🫶

“Hiiiii!” Syd squeals as she’s pops out of the kitchen in her pretty new chef’s coat, “I’m so glad you made it!”

She pulled you into a tight hug and you reciprocated the sheer joy at seeing your closest friend in her element.

“I’m so happy to be here, Syd. This place is incredible,” You shot her a proud gaze and she just waved you down. Typical Sydney to act like it’s not a big deal.

“Thank you—yeah, thanks. It’s been a lot, but let me take you through the kitchen and show you—“

She paused when Richie cleared his throat impatiently, obviously wanting an introduction.

“Ah, right, sorry,” Syd chuckled, “This is Richie — Front of house manager and Carmy’s cousin.”

He extended a hand to you and you shook it gracefully, noting how small your own hand felt in his big one.

“Good to finally meet you, sweetheart. Syd here talks about you all the time,” Richie smiled sweetly at you, and a shockwave shot through your veins.

“Same to you, Richie. I’ve heard a lot,” You spoke confidently as he slowly released your hand.

His eyebrows shot up in feigned surprise, “All good things, I hope.” He ended his thought with a wink and you swear you felt your heart stop for a beat. Those crystal blue eyes staring into yours; you couldn’t stop the thoughts running through your head.

God, he has a pretty smile. And he smells so good. And—

“Well we’ve been friends for like ever and I haven’t given you a tour yet, so,” Sydney trails off, trying to ignore whatever this thing is happening between you and Richie right now.

You tried your best to wipe the giddy grin from your face as you nodded to Sydney, ready to celebrate this incredible restaurant with her.

Syd took you back through the kitchen where you were happy to meet all of the people she’d spoken so highly of — Carmy, Tina, Marcus, even Fak. They were all just as skilled and friendly as she’d told you.

The two of you stayed chatting a while until she took you back out to the table she’d reserved just for you. Dinner service was about to begin and the sharply-dressed servers began seating other excited guests.

You spotted Richie on the other side of the dining room. He looked so handsome with his suit jacket on and buttoned, a new addition to the look you’d met him in earlier. The thoughts running through your mind were downright dangerous.

Your eyes drifted over the menu as you tried to expel Richie from your brain. You tried so hard to focus on the richly flavored dishes on the page that you didn’t notice when someone walked up to your table.

“Doing okay, sweetheart?” You jumped at the sweet, sultry voice, “I’ll be personally taking care of you tonight.”

The lights were just dim enough to hide Richie’s wink and your blushing cheeks.

“Uh, yeah—yes! Great, Richie, thank you,” Trying and failing to hide your giddiness, you watched as he set an icy purple-ish drink down in front of you.

“Vodka, sugar-free cranberry juice and a splash of lime.”

You couldn’t hide the shocked look in your face for the life of you, “Wow. You really do your homework, huh?”

Richie leaned in close, close enough you could feel his minty breath on your cheek when he spoke.

“I’m all about the service, baby.”

A shiver ran down your spine as he straightened up, a smug, knowing smirk on his face. You could tell he was about to say something else when the door to the kitchen swung open just a few feet away.

“Richie!” Syd whisper-yelled, “Flirt with my friend later please, I need your help in here.”

She darted back into the kitchen before either of you could respond. Richie’s smug smirk melted into a warm smile and your cheeks started to feel hot yet again.

“I’ll be seeing you soon?” Richie questioned with an eyebrow raised.

“I hope so,” You folded your hands and rested your head in them, batting your lashes up at a swooning Richie.

He simply nodded slightly, smile still plastered on his lips, before turning to head for the kitchen.

You really, really did hope you’d be seeing him later.

[mads-weasley]

Days Like This

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Wife!Reader

Masterlist

A/N: Thanks for the request, anon! I hope you like what I've written even though it's super late and super short! Thanks for the support!

Request: Could you do one were rooster and reader are both pilots but reader has the day off, rooster comes home from a really bad day at work and just wants to cry it out in readers arms and then reader makes him feel better… love you work

Warnings: mentions of fighter crash, sad bradley, fluff

Just like every day for the past three years, at 5am sharp, the bed dipped down next to (y/n) as Bradley sleepily got up to get ready for work. As both were pilots, they had to be at the base by 6:30am every weekday. This day, however, she did not have to join him. A dentist appointment saved her from having to complete their early morning routine, but it didn't stop her from waking up.

As Bradley opened the door to the bathroom, he was careful to keep the light off until he got inside, not wanting to accidentally wake her. Snuggling under her covers, she tried to go back to sleep. After a few minutes of tossing and turning, her husband's quiet humming floated in the air from the shower. As she focused on the sound, sleep welcomed her quickly.

When he was ready for work, Rooster smoothed (y/n)'s hair back lovingly, kissing her on the temple.

"I love you, baby. I'll miss you today."

She stirred slightly. "Luh' you too."

(Y/n) walked through the door of their house, running her tongue over her slick and fresh minty teeth when her stomach rumbled. She checked her watch: 4:45 pm. Bradley normally got home around 5:30, so (y/n) began to search the cabinets for food to cook.

By the time she heard his keys jingle in the door, the food was done and she was setting the table. When the door opened, she smiled and called over her shoulder.

"Hey, Brad! I made spaghetti, and I kno-"

She trailed off when she heard the dull thump of his bag hitting the floor. Turning around, she was met with her husband's broad chest as he wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck. Instinctually, she rubbed his back with one hand while the other combed through his curly brown hair. They stayed like that for a while until (y/n) felt his shoulders shake softly.

The woman's heart broke at the sound of Bradley's broken sobs against her neck. Something was definitely wrong, and she had to find out what so she could help him however she could. Pulling away, she grabbed his hand and led him over to the couch. His soft brown eyes were bloodshot and puffy, which was a rare sight for Bradley. Even as someone who had a big soft side, he tended to keep his emotions in check. That was how (y/n) knew something was seriously wrong.

Sitting on the couch, she pulled him down to sit beside her before pulling him closer so she could hook her arm around his bicep, rubbing it lightly.

"What happened, Bradley?" She asked softly.

"I-uh," he sniffled. "Today we were doing a training mission and Phoenix and Bob...there was a bird strike."

(Y/n) took a deep breath, bracing herself for the words that could come next.

Bradley squeezed his eyes shut as his voice wavered. "They were going down and-and when they ejected, I saw Nat h-hit the canopy, (y/n/n). I saw her."

(Y/n)'s eyes teared up, finally understanding why this affected him so much. It was the same way his dad died: hitting the canopy while ejecting.

"Oh, sweetheart," she whispered, pulling him into her arms. "Is she okay?"

His only answer was a small whimper. "They're both gonna be okay, but...I just can't lose anyone else, (y/n). I can't. Especially not like that."

"I know. And you won't."

He shakily sighed. "Can you just hold me?"

"Of course, baby. I love you." (Y/n) smiled, running her fingers through his hair before leaning down to kiss his temple.

"I love you, too."

"I'll always be here on days like this, Bradley. Always."

That night, dinner was forgotten in the Bradshaw house as the couple soon fell asleep on the couch, fully content to be in each other's arms.

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[11rosebunny]

Asking you to be their s/o (SAKURA, UMEMIYA)

‼️ MANGA SPOILERS FOR UMEMIYA, I RECOMMEND YOU DONT READ HIS HEADCANNON IF YOU'RE AN ANIME WATCHER, HIS SECTION DROPS LOTS OF SPOILERS!! ‼️

Haruka Sakura

He is extremely nervous when asking. He learned from the help of Suo and Hiragi that he must be the one to ask. Suo said it helps to swoon the woman even more but Hiragi simply insulted him that if you don't ask first he's a wimp.

His palms, head, hands, back was drenched with sweat. He wanted to make it perfect, well, he tried to at least.

First he took you out on a date, you weren't even aware it was because of how long you two have been going out together. He brought you to a cafe, paid for your food, you two checked out the claw machines and he even won you some plushies that you couldn't wait to get your hands on, and finally, he brought you to his house for the first time ever.

You found it a bit funny of how empty it was. He invited you to stay for dinner and now you two found yourself eating ramen on the floor, and afterwards talking about how the day went. This was when he started to get nervous, you two were at the balcony watching the sunset, it was quiet and the only sounds were either him or you speaking and the sounds of a cicada bug.

Then it got quiet.

It was getting late and you figured it was time to go, but something in the air burned the tip of your nose, you could smell something coming and you didn't dare to look back at him. The tension began to grow thicker, and the both of you knew that, it seemed like he was now too close to you, you could smell his minty aroma, and the way his breathing started to grow rapid.

Something was coming.

"...[Name]...?"

You nearly wanted to jump right off the balcony when he said your name after a long moment of silence. You hummed.

"Yeah?"

There it was again, silence. By this time, it was getting even more darker, and you took this chance to glance at him to see if he noticed, but as soon as you did, you realized he had been already staring at you when the both of you locked eye contact.

The two of you turned away in a flash, with wide eyes and heat covering your face. He knows, and you know.

"...I, I wanted to say, uh..." He began.

His eyes were darting all over the place, he has to face you, he should face you. His face then turned to yours, and he noticed you stared off into the distance nervously.

His face began to falter, and blush covered his cheeks. This time, your breathing went rugged as you tried your best to hold yourself together, otherwise you'd fold the moment you turned and looked at him. Your eyes slowly shifted towards his making him jump on spot but shook away his jitters and continued with what he was saying.

"I, I really had fun today, and um, I hope you did too," He paused looking around trying to figure out what to say. He should've prepared even more.

You hum again, "Yes?"

"And! A-and, I hope we have more dates like this..."

You shot your body towards his unexpectedly making him go even redder. Now that you two were face to face, none of you could escape this, "Dates?"

"Ahh, y-yeah?"

"As in, we're dating...?"

The image of his head nearly falling off, his eyes widened and he shuffled back caught off guard, "Y-you're, stop it!"

"What?"

"...H, I-I'm supposed to be asking..."

"Asking what...?"

"...I, ugh!"

"?"

"Will you be my girlfriend?!" His voice echoed from the impact of his shouting. You stood there in utter shock, now that his words were finally out, the two of you stared at each other as of you took a bath in lava, both your eyes were so wide that your eyeballs could fall out any second, all while looking back at each other with you breathing beating out of your chest.

"...Yes, I want to be your..." Your voice paused as his expression turned to disbelief.

"Girlfriend."

Hajime Umemiya

He's never dated anyone in his entire life. He has a reason behind that though.

Growing up alone and being raised in an orphanage for the majority of his adolescent years, he's grown accustomed of treating everyone equally as he never wants anyone to feel the way he did when he was younger.

Even so, he's rejected a few girls on his roster, and ended up friend zoning them. It was hard to get him to fall for anyone, so when he finally finds a girl that he's interested in, this is one of the many few moments he doesn't know what to do. He's stumped.

He's been good friends with you for quite some time, if not he was probably the closest person to you at Bofurin, and he made sure of that. He knew he already had an upper hand with you and chances are, you wouldn't reject him, so why is he now losing his marbles whenever the thought of him confessing to you makes him all jittery?

He asks you to meet him up at the garden like he usually does, it was one of his many sly tactics to get you to hang out with him and it worked like a charm. What the both of you didn't know, on the forecast, it was expected to rain in an hour, the clouds began to grow darker in shade, as the sun was no longer seen and before the two of you knew it, it began to rain.

It was great for the plants you two had just tender, that meant you didn't have to spend more time to water them, but this caused the both of you to hurriedly run to all the pots of veggies that were under a ceiling and drag them into the open where water would hit them. The two of you were laughing while doing so, the both of you looked absolutely insane just running in the pouring rain in hopes to water your plants. His shirt was soaked, his hair was now damp and flat unlike his natural flowing hair. You discarded your uniform since it was just you two out, the white shirt you wore was now starting to become see-through just like his, your feminine features began to show, and the shorts you wore were thigh length.

But even after getting all the plants out in the open, the two of you started to play in the rain on the roof top.

It started with you simply getting the pint of water and splashing it on his back when he was crouching down to place down the last pot. Seeing that the both of you were already drenched from head to toe, you might as well just make him even more wet since there would be no difference.

He jumped at first and whipped his head around and saw you began to run back to one of the sheds and began to collect the rain water that was falling from one of the ridges from the roof of the shed to pour it back on him. He took off his shoes because they were already filled with water, you quickly did the same thing before running off to defend yourself as you held onto the now heavy pint of water as he retrieved a metal bucket instead making you scream out laughing.

The two of you were laughing so much and screaming whenever one of you were able to splash water on each other. The rooftop floor was surrounded by water, it was amazing how much there was, which caused Umemiya to slip and fall unexpectedly as you watched him collapse backwards and hit his back harshly on the wet floor. You gasped in concern. The fall indeed looked painful and you immediately dropped the plastic pint in your hands and rushed to where he was laying down flat on the ground, he had a hand on his head and the other on his chest as his face turned into a scowl with his eyes shut closed.

"Umemiya, are you okay?!" You asked right away. You bent down and began to hear his groaning and hissing sounds and reached out an arm to check on him.

Then suddenly, the scene of the grey-haired man in pain turned into a cheeky smile as his eyes opened back up and quickly grasped the arm you held up and pulled you down to crash onto his chest.

You screamed when it happened and he only laughed manically as you began to scold him for faking his reaction.

Your arms began to try to pry his hold off, but he only gripped you tighter, "You are such faker!"

"Sorry [Name], couldn't help myself, I had to get back at you!" He defended himself. The two of you were practically wrestling each other by now. Your pleas and attempts to escape his grip staggered, it was breathtaking to use force compared with his sheer strength. So when you finally gave up, you called quits and rested your head on his chest, the both of you breathing heavily. He loosened his grip on you when he finally realized you weren't going to struggle anymore, but even so, he kept his arms around you as you listened to his heart beat.

It was slow and condemned, it was almost soothing to hear. The rain didn't seem to stop as you two laid under the grey clouds. It wasn't a cold type of rain, in fact it even felt warm. Or was it warm because he was there with you?

You shifted your head to look up at him and noticed he was now resting, enjoying the droplets of rain falling on the two of you. You smiled.

"Why do you look so happy?" You asked. He then opened his eyes to look at you. He used his arms and carried you surprisingly so you'd be face to face with him. Your face covered his from the rain as you weren't expecting to be this close to him, but here you were, practically on top of Hajime Umemiya with both your legs on each side of his torso. His hands rested on the plush of your things making your arms shake that were placed on each side of his face.

He then smiled making your expression stumbled, "Because you're here with me," He said, softly looking back into your eyes.

"I'm glad," You responded unsure where he was going with this.

This time, his breathing went staggered as his eyes flickered between your eyes and lips.

"I wish you could always be here."

The sudden words that fell out his mouth made you widen your eyes. Silence filled the both of you. You weren't expecting something so taboo from the man right in front of you. Romance seemed like it was never on his to do list at all, so when the words of his wish to be with you all the time, there's no question about what he meant. Because even you understood what he was implying.

"Umemiya?" You questioned still in shock from his reaction.

The look in his eyes drove you insane. It wasn't something you've never seen before, he looked like he needed something so bad, like it was something he needed to function for the rest of his entire life. So when he looked back at you with those damming eyes, you knew what was coming.

"Please, stay with me."

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Hello! For the shy!reader blurbs, could I request swimming with Steve but it’s the first time he’s seen reader in a swimsuit? Also, happy Friday :)

The Indiana sun was baking. The height of summer had arrived, July bringing heatwaves and endless blue skies that lacked clouds, a heavy humidity that lasted well into the night, even when the sun had sunk past the tree line.

The beginning of the month also marked your eighth week as Steve’s girl, something he liked to brag about whenever he could, smile proud, eyes fond as he pulled you into his chest and reminded you pretty he thought you were. But the relentless warmth didn’t call for days spent wrapped up in each other, as much as you wanted to. Skin slick, hair frizzy, cheeks flushed and having Steve too near was more heat than you could handle.

Eventually, Steve’s parents left for whatever trip they’d been talking about for the last week, the front door slamming early in the morning, just as the sun was starting to rise. It woke you and the boy, both of you lying amongst the sheets, listening to the sound of their suitcase wheels rolling down the drive. A car door slammed, an engine started with a purr and then they were gone.

Steve grinned. “Wanna go for a swim?”

You laughed, almost too loud for the early hour, ‘cause Steve’s alarm clock read four fifty two and the sky was a pale pink, cotton candy and peach, the sun barely rising amongst the hazy clouds. But you turned to the boy, a smile growing over your lips when you saw he was serious, eyes too bright to go back to sleep. It was too hot, the thin sheets kicked to the bottom of the mattress, your skin already clammy from the warm air that leaked in from outside.

You nodded, grinning back at him and it felt childlike, it felt forbidden, it felt like an adventure.

Steve leaned over to smack a kiss to your cheek, uncaring when you mumbled something about morning breath, before he tumbled out of bed with more energy than you’d seen. The house was quiet, big and empty, and Steve Harrington came alive.

His parents had monopolised the backyard for the majority of the week, spending their time between the loungers and the pool, claiming that you and Steve were welcome to join them despite the way neither of them made much conversation when you tried.

So you spent most of the time in the shade of Steve’s bedroom, staring mournfully out of the window at the blue sky. The boy had said ‘absolutely not’ at the idea of the community pool, ‘cause it was filled with kids that weren't his and the last time he went with Robin, the girl had come home with a nasty foot infection.

You told Steve to go ahead as he sat waiting on the edge of the bed, already dressed in blue board shorts, breath now minty and his leg bounced with excitement as he watched you shuffle around his room for your rucksack, trying to shake off the sleep like old cobwebs.

Steve was already in the pool when you appeared by the back door, barefoot and swimwear covered with a shirt that was even too big for Steve. An old Hawkins High thing that had holes in the collar and it dropped just above your knees. You shuffled nervously, bare thighs rubbing together and although you had Steve had done plenty of fooling around, standing in front of him in broad daylight whilst wearing very little, wasn’t something you’d grown accustomed to yet.

He’d see every line of you like this. The curve, the dips, the pudge of your stomach, the soft dough of your thighs, each strip of skin lighting up silver with stretch marks, a sign you’d grown and changed and grown again over the years he didn’t even know.

There was a scar on your right hip from when you were ten, a nasty mottled thing that came from falling on rollerblades, skin hitting broken glass and sidewalk. There was a bruise on your shin, a purple and blue mark that you weren’t sure of its origins. You hadn’t shaved your legs in a day or two, a stubble growing back, barely seen but you felt it when you dragged a foot up on leg.

You pulled at the hem of the shirt and eyed the loungers.

“I can practically hear you thinking from over there,” Steve interrupted. He was treading water in the middle of the pool, tanned shoulders sparking wet, hair soaked and wild ‘cause he’d run his hands through it. Droplets clung to his lashes and he grinned at you. “Comin’ in?”

You nibbled at your lip, chewing until it stung and you squinted at the boy through the sunlight that had started to glare down a little more brightly. It lit Steve up gold.

“Maybe,” you said and your voice sounded too quiet, even to you.

It’s like Steve knew, even after only two months. The boy walked to the edge of the pool, to the shallows, water skimming his hips and he smiled up at you, hands out to his sides as if to say, ‘here, take a good look, babe.’

There was scars on his sides, marks you knew he didn’t like, reminders of a story he was yet to tell you. His shoulders were a little burnt, evidence of his refusal to wear sunscreen unless you were the one applying it for him. His arms were wrapped in muscles, broad and strong but his stomach was softer, his chest fuzzy with coarse hair and you knew he was considering the gym again after his father kept prodding at his sides and mentioning how the lack of basketball practice wasn’t doing him any good.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Steve said softly. “If you want.”

You knew there was no pressure in his statement. You knew you could’ve granted him a kiss to his damp cheek and left for a sunlounger, a book in hand as the sun came up, T-shirt covering you. He wouldn’t have minded, he wouldn’t have pushed.

That’s why you took a deep breath and grabbed its hem, pulling the cotton up and over your head without any other thought. Your red bikini stretched over all your curves and dips and bruises and scars and Steve’s eyes widened.

“God damn,” Steve immediately cried out, pretending to fall backwards into the pool. Chlorine scented water dripped at your feet and you flushed, mortified. “My girl’s a fuckin’ smoke show, Jesus Christ!”

You rushed to the pool, dropping yourself in as you swore at him, face on fire as you tried to cover his mouth with your hand. “You’re going to wake up the neighbours!” You hissed but you were grinning. You couldn’t help it.

Steve just used the opportunity to lick a stripe over your palm, laughing when you squealed and he hooked his arms around your butt, lifting you easily in the water. He smacked a kiss to your cheek and pulled you into deeper water.

“Givin’ Baywatch a run for its money, baby, shit, you gotta warn a guy next time.” He said it fondly, despite his smirk, all charm and flirt and it made you hide your face in his neck, too pleased. “I changed my mind, you wanna go back to bed?”

You pushed at his shoulder, rolling your eyes but you leaned in to kiss him all the same, heat rolling across your chest in waves at the way the boy was buttering you up. You’d be a liar if you said you didn’t like it

..

[sadistic-kiss]

House of Alpha Chapter 23: Control (Yes finally Nanami Smut 👩‍🍳✨)

Alpha!Nanami x OmegaReader

~

…

Nanami shifted pulling his pants down and removing his glasses, you released a gasp as you looked away. “N-Nanami!”

“It’s okay. I thought this would be better. We always go to you but we never allow you to come to us. When you are ready to look at me then do so. Take your time.”

You blinked in silent shock, internally screaming. It was a nice gesture and you completely get what he’s thinking. Only Nanami could get naked and consider it a grand gesture of him being polite. This type of thing probably would have sent you running in the real world.

Nanami was patient with you. He waited for you to feel comfortable enough to turn your head and take in his nudity. Your eyes crawled over his frame and you were definitely not disappointed. The game was borderline hentai. Borderline. So usually you saw just their chest, but Nanami had all the right muscles in all the right places, perfectly balanced. A perfectionist even when it comes to his own looks. You did your best to not openly stare at his cock but good Tengen it was big even though he was half hard. He was the length of the blue now, so you could only assume when it was ready to go he’d be the glow-in-the-dark toy. You couldn’t even think how silly it was that Nanami was the one with the lightsaber dildo. You were too busy shamelessly ogling him.

His hands were upon his hips, and there was a slight blush on his cheeks, you could tell he was feeling sheepish much like when he asked if you liked his room. He cleared his throat, “Y-you can do whatever you want… and I’ll be silent and I won’t touch you.”

You took a step closer to him, raising your hand and placing it on his bicep. Then you grabbed the other one. He relaxed his arms for you, so you could feel to your heart's content, and he did not touch you. It was awkward, much like the start of your duette. Your touches were shy at first, but that quickly changed. You had already felt his muscles during your dance but you could have easily said it was an ‘accident’. This time you were able to feel and mold your hand over them with the intention to do just that. He was so warm, soft, and hard all at the same time, he was just too damn flawless. Too good to be real. They all were.

You moved your hand over his neck and he tensed with a soft groan. Your eyes darted to his blushing face, eyebrows pinched with glossy honey eyes. You were entranced by his pleasurable expression while you gently rubbed his neck. He was so cute like this and you loved that you were the cause of it. It turned you on to turn him on. A win-win situation. It made you greedy. How much more pleasure could you entice? Maybe this is how they feel when they make you feel good. You curled your fingers so you could run your nails up and down. His head dropped and leaned, soft purrs coming from his slightly parted lips.

You felt a spike of lust warm your body, and instead of denying the feeling you let it carry you along with the music.

You trailed your nails over his chest, going further down, his stomach flutters as you scratch upon his abs little rivers of red beading along the path. You danced your nails over his beautiful V-cuts. You were rewarded with purs and appreciative sighs. You didn’t even realize you were also purring, and your breathing erratic. You curved inward on your journey south, stopping right before his cock. He was more than hard now. The monstrous length didn’t scare you anymore but instead excited you. It was long with a fat tip and defined veins. As soon as your fingers smoothed over his cock he sucked in a sharp breath. You look up at him as you stroke his length, watching as his breath becomes heavier. Chest rising quicker. You smelt the scent of his essence before you saw it. Your eyes flickered to the sticky white substance that dotted his tip. You had a sudden strong urge to taste him. If Gojo tasted sweet and Getou had a minty taste then what did Nanami taste like? Mocha? Caramel? Hazelnut?

You dropped to your knees, excitedly sliding the tip into your mouth and sucking. “Hmm~” he tasted like your favorite coffee. Your tongue swiped over his slit like a tummy treat.

“Ngh~.” Nanami moaned deeply.

The sound of his moan added more oil to your burning greed to please.

…

~

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