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joequiinn · 1 month

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The Dos & Don'ts of Fake Dating | E.M. x reader | pt. 8

[chap seven] | [all chapters here] | [chap nine]

summary: You propose a crazy idea to the resident freak of Hawkins, Eddie Munson. But maybe he was even crazier for agreeing to it…

notes & tropes: fem reader, slow burn, faking dating, opposites attract, bratty rich bitch reader, super minor revenge plot, not-quite-enemies-to-lovers

a/n: I am NOT in control of myself when I write, this chapter took on a mind of it's own. I didn't plan for it to go this way, but boy do I love the drama that unfolded anyway. I hope you all suffer just as much as I did lmao~~

wc: 4.9k

Chapter Eight

Instead of your usual midmorning trek to fourth period with Eddie, the two of you - and the rest of the student body - were making your way to the gymnasium for another redundant pep assembly come Monday morning.

Even before you became disenchanted with the superficiality of the popular crowd, you detested assemblies. You actually preferred being in class over being crammed into the gym with a bunch of sweaty teenagers all halfheartedly cheering for the next upcoming sports game or student council election. Even when you were considered an It Girl, even when you were dating Duncan, you still found the whole school spirit thing to be total bullshit. You never cared for the false excitement and encouragement; it was a waste of your time.

This particular pep assembly was thrown together to officially announce the homecoming theme for this year. Why that task required a whole hour of time was beyond you. If past years were anything to go by, then the actual announcements would be wrapped up within fifteen minutes and the remaining time would be wasted on cheerleading routines and jazz band performances.

After ditching the student council some three weeks ago, you cared even less about all this shit than you did before - what interest did you have in celebrating the reveal of some stupid theme inspired by pop music or cheesy dance movies? You’d already decided you sure as shit wouldn’t be attending the school dance, so why was it obligatory for the entire school to attend this assembly in the first place? The heavy-handed force upon students to participate in school activities was something you had never understood, even when you yourself were a part of those groups that lived and breathed school spirit.

As you entered the gymnasium, you stole a glance at Eddie, who appeared just as disinterested as you as his eyes darted around to take in the awaiting student council and their eager smiles. His arm was resting lazily over your shoulder, which you were finally becoming accustomed to, to the point that you would nearly forget it was there sometimes. Hell, you were almost beginning to enjoy having Eddie’s arm there, not that you’d tell him that or even spend a minute wondering why that was.

“I still think we have time to run out of here before anyone notices.” You suggest, drawing a fake look of reprimand from Eddie; he grinned at both your blatant detachment and at your eagerness to skip school for the second time within a week.

“And miss out on everyone acting so impressed by whatever dumb idea they have now? Not a chance.” He teased while guiding you towards the far end of the bleachers. As a pouty scowl crossed your face, Eddie helped you up the steps to take seats just a few rows from the front.

While you impatiently waited for this damn assembly to finally start, Eddie’s friends slowly filtered into the gymnasium as well, each approaching you two with the same apprehension they’d had when they first met you. These guys were still clearly intimidated by you, and you still hadn’t taken the time to open up to them. As Jeff awkwardly shuffled onto the bench in front of you, your knees brushed against his back thanks to just how cramped the bleachers already were; you pulled back from the contact, twisting your body as best you could so that your knees could rest against the side of Eddie’s thigh instead. You didn’t catch the way he smirked to himself about it, content to see that you were shying away from contact with him less and less than you had before.

As the last of the stragglers entered, a trio of freshmen walked towards your group, clearly going for the last few seats in front of you; just as you were nearly prepared to tell them to buzz off and sit elsewhere, Eddie cherrily greeted them with clear recognition. You looked between the boys’ faces with critical puzzlement before turning to Eddie expectantly.

“Don’t tell me you’re friends with freshmen.” You said as if it was a dirty word. Upon seeing the way your brow curved with judgment, Eddie gave you a look of warning, as if silently asking you to please not scare these kids; when you glanced at their faces again, you figured it was too late for that.

The boys awkwardly squeezed into the bleachers, looking back over their shoulders so they could converse with the rest of the losers club that you were now a pseudo-member of. One of the boys accidentally met your watchful gaze, causing him to trip over his words as he quickly wrenched his eyes away. You couldn’t help the slight upturn of your lips - you knew you were always intimidating, but you still found amusement in how people reacted to you.

Your eyes narrowed in realization as you continued to stare at the boy, who clearly was trying to engage in conversation as if he couldn’t tell you were watching him, “You’re Nancy’s brother, aren’t you?”

The whole group looked at you, the freshman in particular seeming wary to speak to you considering your straightforward and cold aura, “You know Nancy?”

You tilted your head at the way he asked the question, which seemed to make him a little more nervous, so you taunted, “Why do you sound so surprised?”

As the Wheeler kid looked as if he were searching for the right response, Eddie gave you a little nudge, to which you gave him a faux look of innocence. The two of you stared at each other for a moment longer before Eddie returned his attention to the younger boys he was clearly attempting to befriend.

“Don’t let her scare you,” he started in a lighthearted tone, similar to the one he’d used with Gareth the week prior. He leaned down towards the group conspiratorially with a funny grin, feigning a dramatic whisper, “fear only makes her stronger.”

The group laughed a little, Eddie seeming to put them at ease; you jabbed your elbow into his ribcage as he straightened back up, sharing an amused look with you. At the same time, the cheerleaders started on some generic, peppy routine out on the basketball court, drawing the crowd’s attention as they shook their pom-poms and called out school chants. As you assessed the cheerleading squad with dispassion, you unconsciously relaxed into Eddie’s side just a little; over your shoulder, Eddie grinned to himself.

Once the cheerleaders wrapped up their set and students began to clap eagerly, the class president, Duncan - the vice president - and a couple more members of the council took to the court. You couldn’t help but sneer as you watched Duncan smile widely, clapping the class president on the shoulder as the crowd began to quiet down. The president - a good friend of Duncan’s named Trent - made a show of hushing everyone, as if whatever he had to say was of the most dire significance.

As you watched them, you found yourself wondering how you had the patience to put up with all of this in the past. Did you ever actually enjoy the false comradery, the sense of importance, the trivial joys of a school dance? Or were you just blindly going along with all of it in order to continue fitting in, to continue maintaining those flimsy friendships?

“Good morning Hawkins High!” Trent started into the microphone in his hand, rousing the crowd for another few moments as Duncan spoke into the second mic.

“We can’t thank you enough for your excitement so far!” You rolled your eyes with pursed lips, sharing a judgmental look with Eddie that caused you both to smile, “Now, I know everyone’s been eagerly awaiting this year’s homecoming, but we’ve got some more exciting news to go over before we announce the theme.”

Eddie tipped his head so that he could talk in your ear, ensuring that you could hear him clearly over Trent and Duncan’s speech, “This was the guy you dated for half a year?’

His taunting led to another jab of your elbow, causing him to cough out in surprise while pulling back to give you an exaggerated wounded look. He leaned back in to continue.

“He’s so… vapid.”

You mirrored Eddie, turning your own head so you could speak in his ear, “Honestly, I think I tuned out at least 80% of his bullshit.”

You could feel his small laugh against your ear, “That’s generous of you.”

“My patience hadn’t entirely run out at that point.” You responded while trying to eye Eddie in your periphery, feeling his hair tickle your cheek, “I guess I was good at pretending.”

“You still are, princess.” Eddie pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, as if to emphasize his point. You were still pretending, after all, just in a different way than before. In the midst of this conversation, how could you have momentarily forgotten that this whole thing with Eddie was a sham?

Righting yourself quickly, you smirked, hoping that Eddie hadn’t detected that singular moment of hesitation and confusion that you suppressed, “Well, you’re much more fun to pretend with.”

You turned your attention to the student council for a brief second as Trent was finally rambling on about the homecoming theme for the year - Footloose, of all things. You could still feel Eddie’s eyes trained on you, and in that moment you weren’t exactly fond of him staring; it caused you to squirm a little in your seat as you feigned total ignorance of his watchful gaze studying you.

“So I am fun?” Eddie teased, drawing your attention back to him, “Careful there, princess, you’re starting to reveal that you aren’t so bad under that icy exterior.”

Despite the roll of your eyes, you grinned at Eddie’s remark, playfully nudging him.

Out on the basketball court, Duncan took over from Trent, and you caught him saying it was time to announce the nominations for homecoming king and queen; the only reason you even spared him another glance was because he listed himself and Amelia, of all people, as the first couple on the docket. Since when were they a couple? That felt like an intentional jab at you, but on the other hand, you figured they didn’t care enough to insult you in this way. Right?

Returning your attention to Eddie, you raised a playful brow, ignoring Duncan’s voice as he droned on, “Don’t start telling people I’m nice, Munson, you’ll ruin my reputation.”

He dipped his head with a devilish, scheming look, “Isn’t that my job? To ruin your reputation?”

As you opened your mouth to give him some smart reply, you suddenly heard yours and Eddie’s names leaving Duncan’s mouth, a confused hush falling over the crowd as only a scatter of people halfheartedly clapped. Your stomach dropped as your eyes widened in realization, Eddie’s expression a mirror of yours. You both slowly looked towards Duncan, meeting his eyes from across the gym; he stared back with a histrionic, false smile, obviously playing innocent for the crowd. But you knew him well enough to recognize the mean, challenging glint in his eyes.

Your eyes slowly scanned the cluster of students on the gym floor - Amelia was now standing with Duncan (and giving you a blatantly supercilious look), Jason Carver stood with his long-time girlfriend Chrissy Cunningham, and star student Todd Stephens was arm-in-arm with Veronica Schneider. You could feel your heart beating rapidly in your chest as realization set in, prompting a look of frustration and dread to befall your face.

Duncan brought the microphone back up to his lips, putting on an all too innocent voice as he held your eyes, “Well, are you two lovebirds going to join us? Come on, don’t leave everyone hanging.”

Duncan put you and Eddie on the ballot for homecoming king and queen.

Anxiety twisted at your gut as you grew hot with anger, your harsh eyes unblinking as you stared Duncan down; and he just looked back with that stupid grin of his. You were never one to feel self-conscious, to feel embarrassed, but in that moment, you recognized just how quickly you’d fallen from grace. Humiliation was not a feeling you’d known before, but in this moment you suddenly felt as if you were drowning in.

And you knew that’s exactly what Duncan wanted.

God, you wanted to give him a piece of your fucking mind. You wanted to march right up to him, jab him in the chest with your manicured finger, and make him wish he hadn’t dared challenge you in front of the entire school. And yet, you were frozen in place, trapped in this imbalanced staring contest with Duncan as he continued to play at innocence.

Beside you, you felt Eddie tense up, his arm having fallen from your shoulder at some point, perhaps in total disbelief. But you couldn’t bring yourself to even look at him, to try to gauge what exactly was going through his head - you were too busy staring at Duncan as if your eyes could possibly cause him harm. Your hands formed into fists of rage, your jaw clenching as you were about ready to just to your feet and decimate Duncan with your words.

But as he’d proven himself to be good at time and time again, Eddie beat you to the punch, raising a hand to his mouth in order to project his words, “You know we’d beat all of you!”

You whipped your gaze to Eddie abruptly, surprise causing some of the tension in your face to mellow out. From this close, you could see the apprehension in Eddie’s eyes, the worry hidden there, but to the rest of the school you were certain he looked as if he was entirely too relaxed and composed about this whole confrontation.

Eddie briefly glanced at you, but quickly returned his gaze to Duncan challenging, “The rest of you wouldn’t stand a chance against us!”

A wave of laughter passed through the crowd of students, but you weren't certain if they were laughing with Eddie or at him. Duncan shared a look with the rest of the homecoming court, smiling mockingly at each of them before returning his attention to the two of you; you wondered if he was truly as confident as he looked.

“You think so?” Duncan called back with contempt, daring Eddie to continue. Without realizing what you were doing, you pressed your hand atop Eddie’s knee as if it were a warning, silently asking him not to egg Duncan on. Despite your impulsive desire to jump to your feet and attack Duncan yourself, you couldn’t picture any possible way for this whole melodrama to turn in your favor.

“I’d bet on it!” Eddie challenged again, managing a rather convincing bold smile. Your chest twisted again, your cheeks growing warm with both rage and edginess.

Duncan made a cocky face, finally looking away from you and Eddie to address the crowd as if this was all just a part of the show, as if you and Eddie had played your part and he was now done with you, “Well, we’ll leave it up to all of you! Voting begins today, so come find the student council during lunch hours to place your votes!”

The crowd seemed to lull back into ease as Duncan and Trent continued onto the next phase of information, acting like the past few minutes hadn’t put even the slightest of dents in the assembly festivities. As excitement began to build back up in the crowd, you sat in a daze, still trying to process this entire fucking thing.

Your hand still rested atop Eddie’s knee, and you must have unconsciously squeezed your fingers a little too roughly into his skin, because you heard Eddie hiss beside you. He grabbed your wrist to remove your hand, drawing your eyes to his; you stared at each other with blatant confusion and upset, and it was muddling your brain, making it impossible to think straight.

“Hey--” Eddie started, but you abruptly wrenched your wrist out of his hand and shot to your feet, shoving past all of Eddie’s friends as you stumbled the most straight path accessible down the bleachers. Although the student council continued to speak exuberantly to the crowd, you could feel the intense stares of so many of your peers following you as you quickly stormed out of a set of double doors.

You marched away from the gymnasium with a vexed shine in your eyes, your face red hot with frustration. You couldn’t believe what Duncan just pulled on you, still couldn’t quite come to terms with how shitty that whole thing was - was the entire student council in on this, too? Did they all share a collective laugh when Duncan suggested this disrespectful prank? Had Janet even attempted to say anything in defense of you?

God, you nearly shouted with rage. You thought walking away from your tormentor would help you calm down, but in some stroke of cruelty being alone with your thoughts only made them worse. The fact that someone you once considered a friend - someone you once dated - would make a joke of you in front of everyone was easily one of the more painful things you had to endure.

With an exacerbated sigh, you stopped your incessant marching, considering this whole fucking situation with gritted teeth - in some twisted way, you had gotten what you wanted. After all, it was you who wanted to become some kind of social pariah, you who wanted to be cast out by everyone you thought you knew.

It sure as shit wasn’t supposed to happen like this though. It’s not as if you were exactly thinking ahead when you decided to become completely detached from everyone, but you had never considered that you’d be treated callously. No, like a fool you had hoped that all the popular kids would simply ignore you and pretend that you had never even existed, moving on with their lives as if they’d never even met you. Evidently, your former friends were far more cruel than you’d given them credit for.

Trying to pull yourself together, you leaned against the nearest wall, massaging your temple with your fingertips while breathing deeply. You were the ice princess, the chick who always got away with being cold and bitchy and rude, but you realized in this moment that your reign was most certainly over. Despite your penchant for opinionated crassness, you had never truly been the type to flare with anger as you had today; but of course it would be Duncan to cause this surge of outrage within you.

And you were stupid enough to let him see just how upset you’d gotten.

You knew you had to get it together, to shove down all this distress and instead put on your usual brave face for the world to see. Next time you saw Duncan, you had to read as calm, cold, and only mildly annoyed - you couldn’t hold onto all this wild-eyed agitation.

As you closed your eyes and rested your head back against the wall, you heard someone approaching, prompting you to sigh through your nose as if that would calm you down. You glanced in the direction of the first steps, your gaze falling on Eddie. Of course, it was Eddie - did you really think it could’ve been anyone else?

His entire being practically radiated concern, his eyes shining with unease, his fist clenched around the strap to your book bag that you abandoned when you ran out. As if approaching a skittish animal, Eddie came to lean against the wall with you, the pair of you standing together in contemplative, frustrated silence.

You could feel your upset rising again, unaccustomed to having a companion at your side in moments of anger. You always loathed the idea of being comforted, of having someone there telling you to relax, telling you that everything would be okay. And perhaps you were simply assuming, but you hoped Eddie wouldn’t try to calm you down - you needed to just let yourself be pissed for a while.

“I can’t believe he fucking did that.” You finally said, voice laced with malice. You shook your head in disbelief, staring at the opposite wall, “He’s even shittier than I thought.”

Eddie hummed in agreement, but said nothing, as if he didn’t know the right words to offer you right now. Good, you’d rather he didn’t say anything right now.

Another beat of silence fell between you two. You watched the wall clock with laser focus as you tried to compose yourself, following the second hand as it ticked rhythmically - you had about ten minutes to get your shit together before everyone filtered out of the gym. You couldn’t let any of them see how pathetic you felt.

After one more tense minute, you felt Eddie’s fingers reach for your own, brushing against your knuckles as if hesitant to grab your hand, unsure of what kind of response he’d get. You flinched away while looking down between you, meeting Eddie’s eyes a moment later; he was clearly trying not to show any kind of hurt at your small rejection.

He pressed his lips together as he briefly considered his words, “Come on, I need a cigarette.”

His fingers skimmed past yours again as if to gauge your reaction; you neither pulled away nor reached for him, so with a look of acceptance on his face, Eddie pushed himself off the wall. A mean part of you wanted to shoot Eddie a nasty look as you began to follow him - in your own selfish way, you found yourself wanting to put some of the blame on him, wanting to act like he was part of the problem. But you refrained from reacting poorly, allowing Eddie to guide you out the doors and around the side of the gym, en route to the football field.

Following just a couple steps behind Eddie, the two of you finally reached the bleachers, ducking under them to hide out from any potential prying eyes. As you rested against one of the posts, Eddie dug out a cigarette and lighter, putting a bit of distance between the two of you as he walked deeper under the bleachers. You crossed your arms tightly in front of you while biting the inside of your cheek with annoyance; you watched closely as Eddie inhaled a deep breath of smoke, his eyes looking anywhere but you.

Unintentionally, Eddie’s lack of eye contact fueled your own upset, and suddenly you found yourself annoyed that he couldn’t even seem to look at you. Instead, he stared off in thought, slowly blowing smoke out between his lips. Wordlessly, he held the cigarette out towards you; any other time, you would have taken it from him without a second thought, but this time, you gave Eddie the cold shoulder, turning your attention away.

He dropped his arm limply back at his side, and you could feel his eyes on you for a moment. With a heavy sigh, Eddie brought the cigarette back to his lips; you wondered if the sigh was thanks to you or this entire situation.

“Don’t let him get to you.” His tone seemed a little unsure, scratchy thanks to the smoke coating his throat. You met eyes, Eddie’s stare conveying his own frustrations while yours was mean. To add fuel to the fire, you twisted your face into a snarky look.

“I think it’s a little late for that, Munson.” You said in a clipped tone as you raised your chin defiantly, catching the brief flash of upset that crossed Eddie’s face at your attitude; clearly, he hadn’t expected you to turn it on him all of a sudden. Admittedly, you hadn’t expected it either, but it leapt out of you without any control.

Eddie took a defensive step towards you, his gaze firm as he took another drag from the cigarette; he seemed at conflict with himself as he responded in as level a tone as he could, “Then get it together and don’t take it out on me.”

As you stared back at him with your characteristic coldness, you could feel all your emotional walls building back up - just as you feared, Eddie was trying to get you to relax, and you were too upset to care if you retaliated with an attitude. Right now, you wanted to be mean just for the sake of it, to push him so he’d stop trying to comfort you. You didn’t need him to pretend to care - this was a fake relationship, you reminded yourself, but that didn’t mean Eddie also had to fake niceties when shit got hard.

Eddie gave you a look of warning, as if somehow he could read your mind, as if he could tell that you were trying to block him out. And you nearly made a face as if to mock his concern, but you managed to refrain, pressing your lips firmly together.

“I already made myself look stupid in front of the entire fucking school, I can’t act like that didn’t happen.” You whined, abruptly spinning on your heel to begin pacing once again, that stupid habit of yours that did nothing to calm you down, “I’m a fucking joke.”

You couldn’t stand the look that crossed Eddie’s face, although you weren’t sure what exactly it meant - there was something akin to pity in his eyes that you didn’t like, “You’re not.”

His response was simple yet stern, and you threw him another snide look a moment before he turned his gaze away yet again. Were you beginning to piss him off? To upset him? That cynical part of you hoped so.

Eddie breathed deeply for another couple of moments as he collected his thoughts, his voice a touch smaller than it was a moment ago, “This is high school, princess - you can’t take everything so seriously.”

Frustration started to well in your chest as you glared at his profile, at his dumb little frown, the way he fussed with the cigarette between his fingers, the slight slump of his shoulders, “Well, I do. All I wanted was for them to forget about me, but instead they’ve decided to make me some kind of a target for their immature bullshit!”

“Welcome to the club!” Eddie rounded on you, abruptly matching your antagonistic tone; his eyes were dark, if not a little wild, and you were nearly taken aback, but instead your glare only deepened. You’d never seen Eddie look angry before, and the rational side of you that was buried extra deep right now decided that you never wanted that anger to be directed at you again.

Edd took a moment to think, laughing without even a trace of humor before he inhaled another deep breath of smoke, his eyes narrowing a little as he continued, “What the hell did you expect? Did you really think you could start hanging around a freak like me and get off scot-free? I know you’re not that naive, so don’t act like you didn’t see it coming.”

You gaped at Eddie’s bluntness, completely unprepared for this show of temper. For only a split second, you could feel yourself getting overwhelmed, but just like every other feeling you had, you shoved that down with a scowl. You two stared harshly at one another, the moment stretching out uncomfortably between you. Eventually, you shook your head with a scoff, turning your back to Eddie.

“Of all the things I could’ve done, I can’t believe I thought coming to you for help was the best option.” You started, speaking coldly through your teeth, “I was stupid to ask you for shit, and you were stupider for agreeing to it.”

The silence that fell over you was thick enough to cut with a knife, the static tension in the air nearly painful. If you weren’t so upset, you may have considered how dramatic and mean you were being, you may have considered that you didn’t have to treat Eddie as if he was the problem; but you were too angry to care.

From behind you, Eddie huffed out a deep, disappointed sigh; you heard the toe of his shoe twist on the gravel as he put out the cigarette he’d clung to like a lifeline. Your posture grew even more taut, arms crossing more aggressively and jaw clenching so hard that you were grinding your teeth.

Eddie began to take slow steps towards you, walking around so that you were forced to face each other again; he hovered mere inches from you, ensuring that you could see his upset with total clarity. His gaze was perturbed and severe, mouth twisted into a frown, shoulders rigid with indignation. He silently held out your long forgotten book bag, barely giving you time to reach for it before he carelessly dropped it into your hand; your grip was virtually nonexistent, and the bag hit the ground with a sad thud.

It was so clear that Eddie wanted to say something, but he held back his words, a calculating and thoughtful look on his face. You stared rigidly at one another, your expression cold and cruel, his hurt and despondent, the both of you waiting for the other to act first.

Finally, Eddie shook his head smally as he looked down at the ground, walking away from you without another word or glance back.

taglist (if you'd like to be added, pls let me know): @a-queen-blr @avalon-wolf @costellation-hunter @daisy-munson

@daisyridleyss @damon-loves-pie @damp4eddie @delilaaahhh @eddiernunson

@em0220 @frogtape @fromasgardandback @fckyeahlames @kthomps914

@lotrefcp @love-anonymous-writer @marrowfrog00 @mewchiili @miaajaade

@munsonssweets @no-bueno-writer @rach5ive @sav12321 @sheneedsrocknroll92

@steeldaisies @stormgrl19

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things #em #dos and donts

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seeingivy · 11 months

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you belong with me

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

content: high school!au, gojo is a robotics nerd, reader is class president, emo nanami (my beloved), toji is ur shitass football playing boyfriend, typical cheesy highschool drama

an: tell me why posting this is giving me a tummy ache like I haven't posted for gojo in forever and now i think I suck at it :OOO anyways, please be nice to me about this and close your eyes if you hate it. also, totally reliving my high school days when I was senior class vice president (worst experience of my life) FDLJFKDSJFLS

You’re a hater. A self proclaimed, real-life, deep in your soul hater.

What do you hate today? Being class president.

You hate that you willingly ran, somehow won, had people up your ass all day about stuff that wasn’t in your control, and got stuck in the current situation you were in. Which was arguing with your boyfriend Toji, as you pace around your room and do your own fair share of screaming back.

“You just did that shit because you were pissed at me.”

“I did not, Toji. You know, not everything is about you. Other people needed the money and I put it where it was needed.”

“To the color guard team? Babe, no one gives a fuck about the color guard team. Everyone is at the homecoming game to watch the football team. Not a bunch of idiots waving flags in the air.”

“They’re also part of the game and all their equipment is broken. They need it more than you when you guys literally get donors and funding from the district and-”

“You’re just pissed about the sweetheart thing. That’s why you’re doing this shit and taking it out on everyone else.”

“Toji, I’m not even mad about-”

You’re met with the sound of ringing over the phone, signaling that Toji had enough and finally hung up on you. You flop straight onto your bed, pushing your face so hard into your pillow that sits uncomfortably against your nose and the smell of your laundry detergent makes its way to the crevices of your brain.

You hear a banging behind you and twist around to see Gojo pointing at his walkie-talkie, switching it on as you reach for yours. It’s still covered in glittery pink stickers from when you were seven, the silver coming off on your hand every time you grab it.

“Come in, bunny.”

“Loud and clear, Toru.”

He smiles, setting his hardware down - probably for another weird ass robot he was making - as he holds it up to his face, talking again.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just arguing with Toji, again. I’ll start allocating some of our funds to get you some sound proof windows.”

“Much appreciated, Madam President. That’s very generous of you.”

You laugh, dropping the walkie talkie to lift your fingertips to your temples, lightly massaging the pulsating under your skin.

“For what it’s worth, the color guard team is really grateful you did that for them. I know Utahime was so excited when the new flags came in, she was flipping them around on the field for hours.”

“That’s why it’s even more annoying. I know what I did was right, but he just doesn’t see it that way. Uta dragged me down to the field to watch them and their choreography looks so much better with the multicolored flags. They were really happy about it.”

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown?”

“Heavy is the head that’s dating Toji Fushiguro.”

He laughs as you switch your channel off, taking the last few seconds to study you before you draw your curtains. He can see the tension sitting in your shoulders and how clearly it hurts you to argue with Toji like this. And it infuriates him. That you even have to go to sleep angry and that the cause is the headass idiot you’re dating.

Toji Fushiguro is lucky, far more lucky than he realizes. Not for obvious reasons. Yeah, he’s a great football player and yeah, he’ll probably get scouted for some really good university at the end of the year. He doesn’t have a shortage of friends or intelligence and for all intents and purposes, he’s loved (which Gojo doesn’t understand at all).

He’ll probably be that scumbag that people see a few years down the line and then get infuriated at. Because if an absolute asshat like Toji Fushiguro can be successful, then truly all things have gone to shit. That the patriarchy is real, that society is broken, living proof that the asshole always wins and everyone else always loses.

But no, those are common reasons to hate Toji Fushiguro - ones he’s heard echoed by Suguru and Shoko every time he does something that pisses the two of them off. Like scream obscenities in the hallways, block their parking spots when they’re going to class, call them names when they walk by.

No. Toji Fushiguro is lucky because he gets to date you. Because out of the long list of girls he had to pick one, Toji just had to pick the one that was his. The girl he’s been in love with since he moved in right across the street and had a smiley neighbor excitedly waving at him through her bay window.

To him, love has always been the pigtail braids you used to wear everyday in the fourth grade, the matching walkie-talkies you bought him in sixth grade when he got grounded, and that sweet smile you’ve had since the first day he’s met you.

And when he sees those green curtains pulled against the bay window he’s stared at for years, where he’s loved you from for years, he lifts the walkie and says what he forgot to mention.

I love you.

Thanks to your gracious ride, you make it to school thirty minutes early. Your intuition - that Toji was ditching you as your ride to school this morning - was correct. Luckily, you made it in time just before class started.

Nanami’s already seated on the green bench outside the classroom, headphones plugged into his ears. As you walk up, you silently wonder how much hair gel it takes to keep his Gerard Way hairstyle in place.

“Hi Kento! How is my best friend doing on this fine morning?”

“We’re not best friends.”

“Sure we are!”

You reach forward and pinch his cheek in your hand, which he only swats off and rolls his eyes at. That’s how you know your best friends. Because if it was anyone else, Nanami would probably break their hand and walk away. But he always lets you tease him, because he know he loves you.

“Are you still fighting with that dog?”

“That dog has a name. And it’s Toji. And I’m not sure, he didn’t pick me up for school this morning.”

“Did he at least tell you he wouldn’t?”

“No. I was lucky enough that Satoru had walked Megs to the bus stop a little late and I was able to get a ride with him.”

Nanami looks over, narrowing his eyes at you, as the hallway starts getting crowded with people. And you know what he’s saying, what he’s been saying for the past few months.

“You know, it’s very normal to give your neighbor a ride when they need one. Not everything has ulterior motives, Kento.”

“That’s true. Everything doesn’t have ulterior motives. But he does. I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

“How does he look at me, Kento?”

“Like he’d kiss the ground you’d walk on.”

You roll your eyes, reaching up to mess up his perfectly styled hair. It doesn’t budge and you get a handful of minty smelling hair gel.

“As if.”

Like you’ve summoned him by bringing him up, Satoru’s sidestepping to where you and Nanami are sitting, Shoko and Getou in tow with him.

“Nanami~~ How’s my best friend doing?” Satoru says, bending over to totally obscure Nanami’s line of vision.

“Shut the fuck up, Gojo.” Nanami responds.

Nanami stands up, giving you a look, before he stalks away to his next class. Leaving you, Satoru, Shoko, and Getou standing in front of your classroom.

“So. I hear you have a robotics competition?” you ask.

“Yeah. Next Saturday. We always practice our hardware out the night before, throw a little party in the lab. You should come.” Getou says, smiling at you.

Satoru smacks Getou in the stomach right after he invites you, clearly trying to tell him something with his eyes. And then when he catches you staring, he gives you a nervous laugh.

You get it. He doesn’t want you there.

“Don’t act too excited to see me now, Satoru. Anything more and I might think you like me.” you bite sarcastically.

“What? No, it’s not like that. I just-” Satoru stutters,

“So you don’t like me?” you say, smirking at him. Shoko and Getou are laughing, the tips of Satoru’s turning pink as he very adamantly tells you that he does indeed like you.

“I have stuff to set up for the homecoming game that day, so I won’t be able to. But I’ll try my best, yeah?”

“Okay. Next time?” Getou asks.

“Sure, Sugar-u. I’ll see you guys around, yeah?”

You give the three of them a polite smile as you trudge away, leaving to meet Toji at his locker and give him a piece of your mind for this morning. Which leaves Shoko and Getou to give Satoru the scolding of his life.

“Are you fucking stupid, Satoru? You made it seem like you didn’t want her there.” Shoko says, smacking him on the back of the head.

“I panicked! Plus, Haibara always likes to play Just Dance and I’d rather not embarrass myself in front of her.” Satoru responds, rubbing the now sore spot on the back of his head.

“You’re hopeless, Satoru. She’s never going to like you if you keep rejecting her the way you do.” Suguru says, dragging him along to the robotics lab.

“She has a boyfriend. Who isn’t me. As if she would even consider dating me in the first place.”

And when the three of them pass you by the lockers, clearly getting yelled at by Toji, it only furthers their argument more.

“Yeah, I’m sure she really loves him, Satoru.”

Your argument with Toji hours prior simmers in your head, as you wait for the bus to arrive and for this godforsaken day to finally be over. You watch him pile into his car with Salma and the other boys from the football team, which only makes your anger fester more.

He’s doing this to piss you off. Of course, he’s doing this to-

“Need a ride?”

You look up and unclench your fists to find Satoru, sparkly blue eyes shining at you and a hand held out to you.

“Thanks.”

He leads you to his car, an almost demolished Honda Civic from his maniacal driving, and you climb in, immediately putting your head in your hands. You can feel him moving around you, the engine purring on and him backing out of the spot.

“About earlier. I don’t not want you to come to the robotics thing. I just thought it was awkward the way he asked you and I-I didn’t want you to feel obligated to come, you know? And I-I’d like it if you came too and so would the rest of us.” he rambles, a hand in his hair.

You look up, his ears tinted pink from the confession.

“I was just teasing you, Satoru. I’ll try to make it by, okay?”

He sighs, a clear breath of relief, and looks over to smile.

“Okay, cool cool cool. Now tell me why you and Toji are fighting.”

“When aren’t we fighting?” you murmur, pressing your head against the glass.

“But why?”

And when you look over, his blue eyes staring into yours, in earnest while the light is red, you unload it all.

“Do you know about the sweethearts thing they do at the homecoming game?”

“Uh. That’s when the cheerleaders wear the jerseys right. And then decorate the locker room or some shit for the players.”

“Yeah. Well, it’s not limited to cheerleaders. It usually is, but if you’re dating someone, that person can do it for you.”

“So I’m guessing Toji doesn’t want you to do it for him.”

“Not exactly. He was just saying that it’s more traditional for a cheerleader to do it since they’re also on the side of the track and he wants to see his name out there instead of running around, trying to make sure the game is running and all that.”

You slump into the chair as Satoru frowns, a pitying look in his eyes, as he keeps driving. You can’t help but watch him, his silhouette against the window - defined jaw, the slope of his nose.

He’s not the guy who ran away from kissing you in the eighth grade. He’s just ten times hotter.

You shake your head, letting the thought spill from your mind, as Satoru looks over.

“Jamoca?” he says, giving you a wide grin.

You can’t help but laugh, nodding as Satoru makes a sharp left turn, making his way to the ice cream shop.

Jamoca is your favorite ice cream flavor. Coffee, layered with fudge and almonds, became a proclaimed favorite when Satoru dragged you once in the sixth grade. After very sorely losing the class president battle, you moped in your room for five days - even going as far as borrowing one of Nanami’s My Chemical Romance vinyls to truly and properly mope.

On day three of blasting the vinyl, Satoru called enough and dragged you to the closest ice cream store, claiming it was the closest thing to therapy that you normies could afford. Since then, any bad day was easily solved with two things.

Jamoca and Satoru.

When you make it to the store, Satoru’s excitedly dragging you out of the car, his hand pressed in yours as you both run into the store, giggling while you order your single scoops. And when he drags you out to the curb and you sit there, you silently think to yourself why you ever stopped doing this in the first place.

Satoru leans over, digging his chocolate fudge covered spoon into your cup, before talking.

“So. If you guys fight so much, why are you still dating?”

“Dunno. Feels weird to initiate a breakup, I guess. I can’t see myself doing it.”

“Even when he wants other girls to be his sweetheart?”

“Even when he wants other girls to be his sweetheart.”

You kick the pebbles into the broken parts of the pavement, leaning your elbows on your knees.

“I don’t know, Toru. I guess he was just the first guy who ever liked me back and then I….spent so much time in the relationship and trying to make it work that it feels weird to let it go now.”

Satoru swallows hard, eyeing his melting ice cream, as he ponders the best response. Because in earnest, he has two options. Support you or be selfish. Support you to stay with Toji, to do what you’ve been doing because he knows it’s what you want. Or be selfish. Tell you that he you deserve better, that he could be that for you if you just let him.

He reaches over, flicking you in the forehead.

“Ouch, asshole.”

“You’ve got a really big brain in there. And you always have. You’ll figure out the right thing to do, just give it time.”

And when you give him a halfhearted smile, reaching over into his cup for a bite of his ice cream, he lets it go.

He can’t be selfish. Not when it comes to you anyways.

After running around all day, you give yourself thirty minutes to go to Satoru’s robotics thing. After triple checking the microphones work, the yearbook team has access to the field, the glitter has been set out for everyone trickling in, and that everyone who could possibly need your phone number has it, you speed run to the other side of campus, to the robotics lab.

And when you make it, the five of them - Haibara, Nanami, Shoko, Getou, and Satoru - are in the room playing Just Dance. Shoko’s sitting on top of the desk, flippantly moving her remote in the air, while Satoru quite literally is trying to give it all he’s got - and losing apparently.

You lightly push the door open, which stops the two of them in their tracks, and you’re met with some very excited cheers as they all drag you into the room. You take a seat next to Nanami, giving his cheek a pinch, which he hates.

“You’re Haibara, right?”

“You know who I am?”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re friends with Nanami and Nanami and I are best friends.”

“No we aren’t.” responds Nanami, now sulking two seats away from you.

“Are too.”

You throw the nearest object, a pencil at Nanami, as you turn back to Haibara and laugh.

“I like your shirt. Flight of the Navigator is a really good movie.”

You see Satoru, Shoko, and Suguru’s eyes widen in the back at your words and hear a considerable amount of groaning from Nanami behind you. And after twenty minutes, you find out why.

Haibara really, really loves Flight of the Navigator. Almost too much. In earnest, you barely remember the movie - at most, maybe the weird little alien companion he has. But here Haibara is, reciting the cast, the directors, acting out the scenes and it’s clear to you that you’ve tapped into some monster they all keep hidden.

Luckily for you, Satoru comes to your rescue.

“Okay, Haibara. I’m going to steal her for you for some Just Dance.”

“I don’t Just Dance Satoru.”

“Oh yeah? You’re just saying that because you know you’re going to lose.”

You scoff, knowing exactly what he’s doing.

“As if, sweetheart. I distinctly remember you banning us from ever playing that game together after I beat you in the fifth grade.”

“You’re rusty. Maybe we’ll start with something easy. Like Rasputin.”

“I could do Rasputin in my sleep, bitch.”

“Prove it.”

You roll your eyes as you march over to the front, where they’re projecting the game onto the screen. And just for posterity’s sake, you take Satoru’s sunglasses from where they were flipped over on the desk and put them on, effectively blinding yourself from the screen.

And when the songs start, you can hear them all laughing behind you, Satoru and you hurling insults at each other as you dance on. And somewhere around the middle, you’re sure Satoru must be losing because he grabs your hands and suddenly he’s swinging you around in the air, his hands on your waist as you laugh.

And when you take your blindfold off and the song dies down, Satoru wins by five points.

“You asshole. You literally cheated, Satoru.”

“Did not. You’re just a sore loser, bitch.”

“You kiss your mom with that mouth?”

“Every night, sweetheart.”

You put the palm of your hand in his face as you push him away, moving to sit on the desk. He joins you, the two of you now watching Haibara and Nanami have a very one sided dance battle.

After forty-five minutes, Satoru’s phone buzzes three times and the smile on his face drops when he checks. You place your hand on his, squeezing twice before asking.

“You okay?”

“Huh. Oh, yeah. I-I think you should go to the field. Right now.”

“Wait, what? But you hate that kind of-”

He grabs your hand, dragging you out, as you both start running to the field. You keep asking as he pulls you on, getting almost no response and only a faster pace.

And when you reach the field, you catch just the end of it and the only thing grounding you to that moment is Satoru and Utahime, who was surely the one who had texted Satoru, holding onto your shoulders.

Salma, the cheerleader Toji picked to be his sweetheart, just asked him to homecoming during halftime. And he said yes.

Utahime squeezes your hand three times, a soft look in her eyes when she talks.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I just thought you would want to know and I wanted to tell you because you’ve been nothing but nice to me.”

You smile, moving into her open arms as you whisper a small thank you into her shoulder. She leaves, having to return to the color guard team waiting for her on the side, leaving you and Satoru standing on the pavement right by the field.

“Take you home?”

“Thanks, Toru.”

“You want Jamoca?”

“Not today.”

He nods, a hand on the small of your back, as he leads you to his car, even going as far as opening the door for you and letting you crack the windows while you drive back - which you know he hates.

At the first red light, he taps on the top of your head to get your attention.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”

“What? Of course, not. Toji is just an asshat who doesn’t see you for what you’re worth and-”

“No. No, no. Not like that. Do you think there’s something wrong with me because I’m not even the tiniest bit sad right now? I’m…relieved.”

Satoru looks over, the red front the traffic light flashing on your face, and a blank expression staring back at him.

“Of course, not. He’s a grade one idiot. Anyone in your position would feel that way, bunny.”

“I know. That’s true.”

“But?”

“Does this make me defective, Satoru? Like, maybe I just can’t like people that much or something and I was the problem.”

Satoru twiddles his thumbs on the steering wheel, pondering the same question he has been asking for the past few days. Encourage her or be selfish.

He can’t be selfish with you.

“Okay, Y/N. Close your eyes.”

“Huh?”

“Just do it.”

“Okay.”

He looks over, to find you eyelids fluttering shut, your face lit up by the streetlights outside.

“Now. Tell me about your dream guy, bunny.”

“What are you going on ab-”

“Just do it.”

You sigh, before thinking hard about his question.

“Someone I can be comfortable with. That’s my type. Like we can have fun together and play games but also being around them is comforting to me. Things might suck, but at least they are there to kind of pick me up at the end of the day. They’re nice to people and are surrounded by good company, because you are who you love and they try to be better each day.”

After finishing, you open your eyes to find Satoru staring at you, an all-knowing look on his face.

“Bunny?”

“Toru?”

“Does that sound anything like Toji to you?”

You slump back into your chair, sinking down.

“No.” you murmur.

“You aren’t defective. Well, maybe in the higher level cognitive thinking part because you clearly have some impaired decision making but-”

“Hey. Don’t be rude, asshole.”

“Get out of the car.”

You crane your head out the window to see you’re in fact not at your house, but at the ice cream store. And when he comes around to your side of the car, opening your door, he drags you out, the two of you eating you ice cream in the light of the dingy lamp outside the store.

You knock hard on your window, only stopping when Satoru looks up from his desk, dropping the pencil he was just scribbling with. You point to your walkie talkie, switching on the channel as he grabs his.

“Hi bunny. You look nice.”

“Thank you. Are you coming tonight?”

To homecoming. Because despite all odds and last night, you still have to go. And crown the homecoming king and queen since you’re the class president, which you’re sure will be Salma and Toji since the universe is very, very kind to you.

“I’m sorry. Haibara needed help designing something for next week.”

“Oh. Okay. I wish you were.”

“I wish I was too. His hardware is Flight of the Navigator themed so wish me luck.”

You laugh, giving him one last smile as he pulls the curtains to his window. And when you see his navy windows against the pane you’ve stared at him through for years, it only now occurs to you.

When he asked you to describe that last night, he unlocked something. Bringing it to your attention, to the forefront of your mind.

The person you were describing is him. You lift your walkie talkie to your mouth, press the button, and mention the words you forgot to say.

I love you.

And then you turn on your heel and drive yourself to the dance.

Satoru ponders it for thirty minutes.

Support her or be selfish. Support her or be selfish. Support her or be selfish.

Be fucking selfish.

Satoru gets up, dropping the hardware he was making for Haibara, and pulls out the first suit he can find. He grabs his walkie talkie off his desk, convinces Megumi to go beg your mom (who loves Megumi) for your walkie talkie, and then goes ninety on the freeway to get to the school on time.

He finds Nanami first, the glob of gel on his head somehow even worse than normal and sets his plan in motion.

“Nanami.”

“Please, for the love of god, not tod-”

“Go hand this to Y/N.”

Nanami and now Shoko are taking the walkie in their hands, flipping it over and inspecting it like they’re the fucking FBI. And more importantly, wasting time.

Three feet away, you’re standing by the punch table, counting how many balloons are on the ceiling. You reach three hundred and fifteen when you’re approached for the first time that night, by Nanami and Shoko.

“Nanami. What is going on with your hair? You can’t possibly need that much hair gel.”

“You would be shocked, Y/N.”

“That's what I said to him too. But this is for you.” Shoko says.

She hands you your walkie talkie, the silver glitter coming off on your hand, as you flip it over.

“Did you break into my house, Shoko?”

“No. But I’m guessing Satoru did. He ran in here five minutes ago and basically yelled at us to give it to you.”

They both shrug as they walk away and you look around, clutching the walkie talkie so hard in your hand you think you might break it. Satoru’s here.

And when you scan your eyes around the room, you see him at the front door, his eyes already fixed on yours. He’s smiling so big that it makes your heart squelch and suddenly you’re moving towards him. And as you both start walking (running) to each other, you can’t help but feel the anticipation of what’s coming.

Except that’s right when Toji stands in the middle of the two of you, his characteristic slimy, sneer on his face. He reaches for your hand first.

“Can we talk, Y/N?”

"No."

You shrug your hand off, pushing right past him, as you walk closer to Satoru. You can hear Toji shouting something at you, but you’re too tunnel visioned on Satoru to pay attention. And when you reach him, you’re both smiling so big at each other, that it makes your face hurt.

He lifts his walkie talkie to his mouth, talking first.

“Come in, bunny?”

“Loud and clear, Toru.”

“I love you.”

You can feel yourself smiling so big, so excited that you’re basically jumping on your toes, your walkie shaking in your hand.

“I love you.”

“Oh thank god. I was scared I was going to get a breaking and entering charge.”

You laugh, pulling him down by his tie and kissing him square on his face. And when he pulls away, ears pink and face red, you whisper against his lips.

“It was always going to be you. I belong with you.”

He smiles, that stupid smile you’ve stared at, loved for years and you can’t help but cheese, leaning forward to kiss him again.

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

taglist: @porridgesblog @platrom @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @squirrelspoetry

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mousy-nona · 3 months

Note

I didn't send the initial prompt so I hope this is allowed, but could I request a followup to the story where Lucifer gets addicted to Alastor's blood? One where he finally gets that taste he's been so desperately craving, whether through charm or persistence or a trade of some sort?

Part 1 here.

Lucifer tried everything. He tried meditation. He tried stuffing his face with so much cake his waistband grew three sizes (he later transfigured it away, so no one would ask him Concerned Questions). He even went on vacation to the Lust Ring for a while, but there were only so many sex jokes a person could take before they started seeing penises and boobs everywhere.

The whole time he was there, he kept thinking about the forbidden fruit coursing through Alastor’s veins. And when he was done lusting after Alastor’s blood, he would think about Alastor in general. Alastor would hate this, he thought, bored out of his mind while a cow devil was milked dry in front of him. Alastor would hate that, he thought, as Ozzie and his partner treated him to a very graphic display of affection that left his face redder than a tomato. When Ozzie started rolling out the really premium shows, Lucifer decided it was high time for him to go.

By that time, the obsession had grown to the point where he was nearly deafened by it, the constant refrain of AlastorthisAlastorthatAlastorAlastorAlastor –

Then he stepped out of his golden portal, and a tall figure sitting in an armchair by the fire turned around and the voice went silent.

Alastor barely looked up, too busy petting KeeKee and looking like the world’s best Bond villain to give him the time of day.

“Ah, you’re back.”

When had that radio static started sounding like home? “Did y’all miss me?” He glanced around, deflating a little at the empty sitting room. “Where is everyone?”

“Busy with any number of far more important matters, I’m sure,” Alastor drawled.

“It’s good to see you too, asshole,” Lucifer grumbled. The brief moment of homecoming faded, replaced by that permanent feeling of annoyance that he always felt around Alastor. He had started stomping upstairs when the shadows by the top of the stairs shifted, crinkled. Then Alastor was there, blocking his way.

“I see your Majesty has his tiny knickers in a twist,” he commented, as if that wasn’t a totally inappropriate to say to the biblical source of all evil.

Lucifer’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor. “Excuse me?”

“I wouldn’t bother trying to deny it if I were you,” Alastor mentioned. “That would be quite an insult to my intelligence. You’ve been in a foul mood for weeks. The whole hotel has noticed it. You’ve been dragging that silly cane all over the place, something you only do when you're upset.” A flash of green lit up Alastor’s wide smile. He looked positively ghoulish, but Lucifer was still stuck on his comment about his cane. I drag it when I’m sad? Since when? And why did he notice? “If it’s bothering you so much, why not share the load?”

“You want me to…tell you my problems? What is this, storytime?” Lucifer scoffed.

“Perhaps I could lend you my assistance,” he purred. “For a price, of course.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Now you’re insulting my intelligence.” With a flick of his hand, another portal appeared on the stairs, blocking Alastor from view. The demon was oddly perceptive. He didn’t want him to see just how close he was to falling to his knees and blubbering yes please just a sip, just one more taste.

(Lillith had always called him a drama queen. Maybe she’d had a point.)

The portal didn’t block the sound of Alastor’s voice, more’s the pity. “Is this about the little scratch you gave me a few weeks ago?”

Lucifer stilled. The portal wavered, guttered, and went out, leaving the two of them staring at each other.

“How–?” He stammered.

Alastor’s grin was triumphant. “How many times must I say it? Never underestimate my intelligence. So am I correct?”

Lucifer didn’t respond, which was answer enough. Alastor sniffed.

“In that case, I believe I have an answer to your problems.”

What? Was he offering what Lucifer thought he was offering? “And what could that possibly be?”

“Quid pro quo, my dear. You get some of my blood, and I get some of yours.”

“Fine,” Lucifer gestured him over impatiently. “Come here and bite me –”

“Not like that.”

Alastor raised a small glass vial. His smile would have made a crocodile jealous. “I told you, just a little bit of blood. I never said to drink.”

Alastor eyes flashed into dials and the darkness was split by a lazer of green, then red – a literal red flag. The biggest STOP HERE, DO NOT PASS GO, DO NOT COLLECT $200 Lucifer had ever seen.

But his mouth was so dry. He could barely think past how large his tongue had grown. Besides, he was the king of hell. The original sin. What harm could it do to let Alastor have a little bit of his blood?

A lot, the rational part of his brain whispered. This is Alastor we’re talking about. But the rational part of his brain had grown rather quiet around the Crusades, and he’d lost a good chunk of it by World War II.

Charlie said he was reckless. She didn’t know the half of it.

“Fine,” Lucifer said. “But you only get to take my blood once. And I can drink from you when I want.”

Alastor thought for a moment, then his lips moved.

Deal.

The word disappeared in the cra-a-ack of green lightning that struck around them like fireworks. He started to roll up his sleeves, but Lucifer was too quick for him. He flew up the steps and smashed into Alastor with such force he sent them spiraling into the wall. Alastor gasped, but before he could protest, Lucifer had torn the fabric of his shirt and slashed a deep groove into the cool skin of his neck.

Finally, that sweet blood flowed onto his tongue. He moaned, his lids fluttering as he drank greedily. Big mouthfuls at a time.

Sin. Death. Apples. Smoke and sugar. The taste was indescribable, and in that moment, Lucifer thought he could have promised Alastor his whole kingdom, and it would have been a fair trade.

Alastor, for his part, stayed dutifully still, even when Lucifer licked off the blood that had splattered onto Alastor’s collarbone and the tip of his chin, unwilling to let even a drop of it go to waste.

It took a while, but Lucifer finally leaned back with a groan, his lips smeared with blood like it was cherry chapstick.

“Satisfied?” Alastor muttered. Lucifer made an incoherent sound of joy.

“Good. I am as well.” Alastor raised a completely full vial of golden blood. When had he taken it? “I believe it was a satisfactory deal for both parties.”

Then he smiled in a way that made Lucifer's skin prickle.

Heavenly Father, what have I done?

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel lucifer #radioapple #blood drinking #p. 2 #duckiedeer #alastor x lucifer #prompts #hazbin hotel alastor #of course asking for part 2s are allowed!#there are no rules #although i kind of like this plotline may develop it more

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y2kprettyprincess · 2 years

Text

🩷✨️Things I Watch When I'm Getting Ready ✨️🩷

Totally Spies

Bratz Shows and Movies

Barbie Shows and Movies

Monster High

Legally Blonde 1 & 2

The House Bunny

Breakfast at Tiffany's

Gentlemen Prefer Blonde's

Playboy's The Girls Next Door

The Nanny

Mean Girls

Wild Child

The Clique

The Princess Diaries

13 Going on 30

Two Can Play That Game

Uptown Girls

Overboard (The original)

First Wives Club

Death Becomes Her

Grease (1 only)

Burlesque

Mamma Mia! 1 & 2

The Proposal

Maid in Manhattan

Miss Confidentiality 1 & 2

Ocean's 8

Monster in Law

Hustlers

Half & Half

Girlfriends

Total Drama Island (specifically seasons w/ Heather in them)

6teen

Stoked

Harley Quinn: Birds of Prey

Crazy Rich Asians

Pretty Woman

Clueless

Bride Wars

Girl's Trip

All Bring It On Movies

Wendy Wu Homecoming Warrior

All Cheetah Girl Movies

Hannah Montana the show and movie

Zoey 101

Sailor Moon

Winx Club

W.I.T.C.H

Pretty Cure/ Precure shows and movies

Teen Beach Movie (1 only)

Lemonade Mouth

Polly Pocket Pollyworld

Bad Girls Club

The Simple Life

KUWTK (earlier seasons)

Jersey Shore

The Hills

POSE

P- Valley

All Early 2000s dating shows (Flavor of Love, I Love New York, Rock of Love, etc.)

Mulan 1 & 2

The Princess and the Frog

Tangled

That's So Raven

The Suite Life Shows

Confessions of a Shopaholic

Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen

Cow Belles

High School Musical 1-3

Sharpay's Fabulous Adventure

The Game Plan

Princess Protection Program

Monte Carlo

The Player's Club

Showgirls

ATL (2006)

Merman In My Tub (anime short series on Youtube)

Charlie's Angel's 1 & 2 (2000 and 2003)

The Game (The Show)

#y2k #y2k nostalgia #pink #childhood #2000s nostalgia #miley cyrus #hannah montana #2000s shows #2000s reality tv #y2k tv #y2k shows #y2k movies #2000s movies #90s movies

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fbfh · 2 years

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rocks at your window pt. 4 - ricky bowen x reader

disclaimer: this series contains smut and chapter by chapter warnings, so as with all nsfw works, ricky is aged up to 18+!! ricky and reader are 18 and in their senior year

additionally, we're working towards a ricky x therapy plot so he's going to start expressing some symptoms of mental illness and bpd starting in this chapter but I promise he does get therapy eventually and has a good support system (he gets worse before he gets better yk) and obviously i'm not a professional and this is for entertainment so while I have done my research pls take this with a grain of salt!! or several!! /lh

!! contains some spoilers for season 1 of hsmtmts, and previous chapters of this fic !!

wc: 11k I know

genre: smut, slice of life/coming of age, one sided pining, fluff

pairing: ricky bowen x (afab she/her) reader

warnings: NOT PROOF READ AT ALL, more facebook messanger texts we'll politely pretend aren't facebook messanger, protecting carlos and seb during hoco (+ one use of the word homophobia), you're the dolly levi of the friend group, a LOT of hello dolly references??, TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF, ricky's falling HARD, antagonist!nina, one sided rina angst (like BIG gina angst), big red is ricky's temporary therapist, ricky has bpd, ricky kind of splits on gina??, ricky has anxiety too, dr phil and big red and natalie's emotional support hamster are the only consistant things in anyone's life, drama/general messiness, oral (m + f recieving), sneaky quiet late night don't wake up the parents sex, making out, ricky thinks you smell so good he has to bang you right now, "stay quiet or I stop", switch!ricky, switch!reader, calling ricky a good boy, praise kink, giggly sex, waking up the morning after to an empty bed but not at all on bad terms (and no ghosting)

summary: ricky works up the guts to ask you to homecoming. if you can navigate all the drama, maybe he'll get to rearrange yours after dancing together all night.

song recs: old friend - mitski, 10 minutes ago - cinderella (1997), dancing - hello dolly (1969), in love on valentine's day - paul sandrone, daniel farrant, james knight (spotify link bc it's literally not on youtube??? tracking down this song was a nightmare /lh), you turned the tables on me - billie holiday, born to be brave - nico iaciancio cover (bc that's what I think the original sounds like in canon), soulmate who wasn't meant to be - jess benko, perfume - new hope club

a/n: could I have split this up?? yes but I'm not going to. also congrats 2 me bc I'm officially in the 10k one shot girlie club!! this is the longest thing i've ever written and my eyes are burning. ricky has bpd, I knew from the moment I saw this motherfucker I was like "yup bpd and mommy issues" and I was RIGHT why is no one talking about this also go watch crazy ex girlfriend

EDIT: I FORGOT TO ADD THE LINK TO THE VAMPIRE DIARIES VIDEO YOU REFERENCE IN THE BEGINNING (obvious spoilers for vampire diaries lol)

tags: @yesv01 @afidiofobia @aliyahsutherland @hopefullhearts @afidiofobia @aliyahsutherland @matiere-detoiles @ifilwtmfc @uselesssapphickitten @nxstalgicnxbxdy @ggclarissa

There’s no reason to be nervous. Ricky has literally no reason to be nervous. You’ve been together practically 24/7 since… all this began. He ducks his head down and his eyes land on the smooth counter top of the booth you’re sitting in. Heat rushes to his cheeks as it so often does around you, as he remembers all the time you’ve spent together. He tries to pay as much attention as he can to your summary of the video essay on vampire diaries you’d watched while doing homework last night, even though his thoughts are racing, and all centered on you. On asking you something really important - but also like, totally not a big deal or whatever.

“So apparently they just regularly bring characters back from the dead,” you inform him with a laugh, and take a sip of your coffee. He didn’t think people could look particularly cute while sipping something until he met you… until he got close with you.

“Yeah, that’s pretty crazy,” he agrees, hoping he sounds normal. You glance up at him to make sure he’s okay. You can tell he seems a little distracted, and he knows he has to ask you. It’s now or never.

“So…” he begins.

“Yeah?” you lean forward, already invested in what he has to say. God, he loves that. He loves the way you care, really care about what he has to say. He lets out a small, breathy laugh, that you mirror when you hear his.

“So, homecoming is soon,” he smiles, and is pretty sure you know where he’s going with this. Your eyes widen in moderate surprise.

“It is? Already?” you ask, pulling out your phone to check your very messy calendar. “Jesus, I thought we still had a few more weeks…” you muse, and Ricky smiles. God, how can you make everything - even being a little scatterbrained sometimes - so fucking cute?

You look back up from your phone, snapping him back to attention. His breath is shallow.

“So…” he says again, and rubs the palms of his hands up and down his jeans. Why is he so nervous? He has no reason to be nervous. You’re silent, waiting for him to continue in a way that feels patient, encouraging even, instead of critical like it would be from someone else.

“...Do you want to go? To homecoming?”

His heart is in his throat.

“Like, together?” You take another sip. He’s so choked up, so worried you’ll say no. He nods. You smile.

“Hell yeah,” you lean back and pull out your phone to text your mom, who is currently at a PTA meeting, about dress shopping this weekend, biting your lip as you type. Relief turns to elation as you discuss plans, coordinate rides with your friends, and get a plan together. He bounces his leg, getting really excited for all this. He’s never been one for school dances, but with you… it’s a whole different story. He can’t stop looking at you.

“So, what color is your dress going to be? You know, so I can get a tie to match.” A light, happy chuckle dances across the table and you hum in consideration, glancing down at the scone in your hand, your favorite flavor that’s become somewhat of a signature with you and Ricky.

“Peach.”

You both giggle.

“Perfect.” he smiles. You’re going to look so pretty in a peach dress. At homecoming. With him. A burst of kinetic energy waves through him at the thought. The atmosphere is nice, comfortable. It always is with you. You finish the bite of pastry in your mouth.

“You know,” you start, “maybe you should go suit shopping with your dad. It might be nice to have a guy’s day together.”

His mom has been gone for a few weeks now, and he told you how badly his dad is struggling. He means well, it’s just… been hard on him. It might be nice, he thinks, really nice to go out and spend some time with his dad, have some fun. He doesn’t remember the last time they had a day like that together. He’d really like that, if his dad wanted to.

“Yeah,” he agrees, wondering when a good time to bring it up will be, “that would be nice.”

Around the time you’re ready to head home, your phone lights up with a text from your mom, informing you everything at the PTA meeting went great, and she’ll fill you in on the details at home, and you thank her, informing her there’s a hazelnut coffee coming her way.

It’s Friday night, and you have less than 24 hours to homecoming. You’re not sure how you were able to find a dress you actually like in the right color on such short notice, but somehow you managed. You and Ricky have been texting all day, filling each other in on how last minute shopping had been going for each of you. He was shocked at how well today went with his dad. He was bracing himself for the worst for a lot of the afternoon, but the day progressed and nothing bad happened. They even got dinner afterwards.

Now, you’re sitting at your desk, finishing some homework while you facetime each other and fill him in on the whole cast’s plan to be there for Carlos and Seb tomorrow night.

“And, like,” you continue rambling as you wrap up your science worksheet, “it’s so ridiculous that that’s even necessary, you know? Out of all the living things in the world, humans are the only ones who thought to make up homophobia.”

“Right? Worst idea ever,” he muses.

“Exactly!” you exclaim in agreement, looking up at your phone. You mutter something about how stupid people can be, eyes moving down and skimming your paper, double checking your answers one last time. Ricky watches you do this. Your desk light casts a warm glow over you, and he can see some of your posters on the opposite wall from where you have your phone propped up. He knows exactly which ones they are, too. He has every detail of your room - and of you - memorized by now.

He’s supposed to be finishing his english homework, that’s the whole point of facetiming each other this late, to keep each other company while you work. Instead his papers lay discarded on his desk as he watches you, a look of fondness dusting his face. You tap your pencil against each question on your worksheet, eyebrows scrunched, mouthing the answers to yourself as you go. Occasionally you’ll stop, turning to your book to check a chart or vocabulary word, then erase your answer and select a different one.

“And that’s why we proofread,” you mutter to yourself, and Ricky giggles. You look back up at him, smiling, then back at your paper for one last once over.

“Okay, I’m just about done,” you say, putting your homework in your bag to turn in later, with a satisfactory sigh. Ricky glances at the time. It’s getting late already. He’s torn between wanting to make sure you get enough sleep, and wanting to talk to you all night. He watches you rub your eyes, suppressing a yawn.

“We should probably go to bed now,” it’s more of a question, but you agree anyway. You pick up your phone and walk into your bathroom, grabbing your toothbrush as you say your drawn out good nights.

Ricky thought he was nervous asking you to homecoming? Turns out that’s nothing compared where he is now, waiting for you in your foyer. Somehow your house had become the unofficial get ready spot for the girls and Carlos, and meet up place for everyone else. So that’s where Ricky finds himself, barely unable to socialize or talk with his friends, all his thoughts preoccupied with you. He hasn’t seen you all day; you and the girls have been getting ready together, and he’s been trying to teach Big Red to dance all day.

Ashlyn comes down first. Her bubbly presence immediately eases some of the tension in the atmosphere from Ricky and EJ having to wait together in such close quarters. She waits with them for the others while they finish getting ready. It doesn’t slip past Ricky how nervous Big Red suddenly gets when she comes down the staircase.

Natalie is next - almost. Half way down the stairs, a snap resonates off the walls, and she freezes. She looks down at her left shoe, the heel of which has completely snapped off.

“Oh my god,” she mutters, and walks carefully back up to your room. A minute later, presumably after she informs you about her wardrobe malfunction, Ricky hears your voice, faint and bouncing off the stairwell.

“It’s okay, that’s the risk you take with stilettos,” you say, trying to calm her justified panic. He hears you say something about how Margot Robbie broke a heel at an award show a few years ago as your bedroom door closes again.

The door opens, and Carlos appears at the landing. His face falls slightly as he realizes Seb isn’t here yet.

“It’s okay, he’s probably going to meet up with us at school.” Ricky comforts.

“Yeah,” he agrees with a laugh at his own nervousness, “yeah, you’re probably right.” Carlos takes a deep breath, and Ricky notices the swirly, metallic red pattern on his suit.

“You look great, man,” He says, hoping to take Carlos’s mind off the unexpected radio silence from Seb. The comment is appreciated, but seems to catch him off guard.

“Thanks,” he replies, “dude,” he punctuates with a friendly - very awkward - punch to Ricky’s arm. It’s more of a nudge, but he appreciates the sense of comradery nonetheless.

Footsteps echo down the stairs, and Ricky looks up, stomach twisting in anticipation. Natalie emmerges, much more carefully this time. She greets everyone, then starts talking to Ashlyn about the shoe incident. Ricky is trying really, really hard not to look like he’s waiting for you, but it feels almost impossible to focus on anything else.

Finally, several painfully long minutes later, he hears the click of high heels approaching the steps. He walks to the bottom of the stairs, heart thumping as you round the corner, and all the breath is pulled from his lungs at the sight of you. You descend the stairs, hair and dress flowing and bouncing with every step, glowing under the chandelier light. Your dress, mid length and flouncy, a peachy champagne that compliments your hair and skin tone perfectly, shimmers subtly when you move, glistening like starlight.

Your makeup is understated and glowy, bringing out every beautiful feature you have - which is all of them. Your hair is perfect, glossy and voluminous. Your earrings look like little pink silk flowers, and there are matching, larger silk flowers on the side of your heels. Your nails are manicured a soft peachy pink, with little sparkling accents. You even smell like peaches, he realizes, subconsciously taking a step closer to the bottom of the stairs as you get closer. You seem to descend in slow motion as Ricky takes in every detail.

Your expression mirrors his the moment you see him. You did not expect him to look that good in a suit. It couldn’t fit better, the cut and seams of the dark fabric perfectly accentuating his physique. His tie matches your dress, the same shade of peach, and you bite back a smile. The expression on his face can only be described as a breathless wow, and it’s something you'll never forget. Your cheeks are warm and suddenly it all feels real. You find yourself very excited to have fun at homecoming with him tonight.

You finally float down to the bottom of the stairs, stopping in front of him. It’s quiet for a moment, as you take each other in, face to face. You’re both struggling to find the words, thrown off guard by the energy in the air, by each other. Behind you, Ashlyn claps awkwardly.

“Alright, everyone ready to go?”

You and Ricky both giggle at the same time, and his chest warms at how in sync you are.

“Yeah,” You confirm, smiling over at Ashlyn and grabbing Ricky’s arm in a way that makes his heart palpitate, “let’s go.”

Standing with you on the dance floor, his hand on your waist as you attempt to teach him how to waltz, Ricky is so thankful for homecoming, for an opportunity to be close to you like this.

“I told you,” he laughs, enamored with your optimistic determination, “I can’t dance.”

“Yes,” you smile, “you can. You just haven’t had the right teacher.” His cheeks flush at your words, the feeling of your hands on his, and he’s hit with the sudden memory of the last time your lips were on his neck.

“I think you’re probably right about that…” he mutters under his breath. You bite back a smile, adjusting the position of his hand on your waist. You step closer, and his heart beats faster. He watches your face closely as you explain the basics of a waltz, a box step.

“Like in ‘Dancing’ from Hello Dolly.” you smile, eyes widening at the blank look on his face. “Oh my god, it’s a musical classic! Carol Channing played Dolly in the original broadway cast in ‘64, then Barbra Streisand in the film adaptation in ‘69.”

“Wow,” he smiles. He loves when you talk about theatre and Broadway, loves the way your eyes light up. “They’re like, really famous, right?” You let out a light hearted scoff.

“Broadway legends.” You smile, “The movie was directed by Gene Kelly, too, it’s amazing. We should watch it this weekend, if you want to,” you look up at him, eyes glittering under the soft twinkling lights.

“Yeah,” Ricky laughs, “definitely.”

After a moment, you remember why you brought Hello Dolly up in the first place.

“Right,” you say, memory jogged, “there’s a song called ‘Dancing’ where Dolly is teaching Cornelius and Barnaby how to dance so they can impress these girls who work at a ladies hat shop-”

“Cornelius and Barnaby?” he asks with a laugh.

“It takes place in 1890!” you say, jokingly defensive.

“Right,” he agrees, “so a… ladies hat shop…?”

“Totally era appropriate.”

You’re both giggling, trying not to be too loud. You lean your head forward, resting it on his shoulder. The sound of your laughter, the feeling of your head resting against him brings back that warm feeling he always gets around you. It takes you a moment to regain your composure. It’s been like this all night, the conversation flowing like a river, always making each other laugh over something or other.

“So,” you begin, once again ready to dance with him, “put your hand on her waist and stand.” You recite, moving his hand from your back to your waist and adjusting your posture.

“With her right-” you hesitate, making sure you have the correct hand, then continue, “in your left hand. And…” You step back with your left foot, motioning for him to follow, then back and out with your right, then together.

“One… two… three…”

You repeat the steps.

“One… two… three…”

And again.

“One… two… three…”

You look up at him, your smile blinding.

“Look, you’re dancing!”

He looks up at you, excited, disbelieving that he got it so quickly.

“Wait, that’s it?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah,” you nod, “see? I told you you can dance.” You start to move again, and he follows, hesitant but slowly getting the hang of it. After a second, he says your name, voice quiet and still watching the ground.

“Can you keep singing? It’s making it a lot easier…” he chuckles, hoping you can’t tell how much he loves hearing your voice.

So you do. You sing quietly, just enough for him to hear, about dancing and how it’s the perfect excuse to hold someone you like close to you, as you waltz carefully around the room. An electric, intimate feeling ties you together as you weave through the room. It's like something clicked, he thinks, because it makes sense. This, dancing, makes sense. He’s pulled from his epiphany by your melodic voice.

"We should do Hello Dolly, it would be so fun!" You giggle.

"Yeah?" He asks, smile mirroring yours, "Who would you play?" You let out a light hearted huff, considering.

"I would love to play Dolly," you admit. You had always hoped to portray the classic role, dreaming of being able to follow in the footsteps of other iconic actresses like Carol Channing and Barbra Streisand. You barely get the sentence out when Ricky nods, agreeing.

"You would make an amazing Dolly." You laugh, cheeks warm, flattered by his response.

"Who do you think I should be?" He asks, that playful energy flowing comfortably between you as he raises his arm, spinning you around.

"Well," you begin with a laugh, "if you played Cornelius we’d get to waltz together. But if you played Horace and I played Dolly we'd get married at the end."

His heart squeezes at your words, imagination already taking off like a wild horse. Again, your melodic voice pulls him back down to earth.

"But playing Irene would be fun too…" you sigh, twirling in his arms again, your dress glittering under the soft lights. Your hands return to their previous position resting on his shoulder and your waist, free hands clasped together, and you begin to move in tandem. You twirl and float around the room, feeling the music wrap around you like a warm blanket in autumn.

In that beautiful moment between the two of you, he doesn’t just understand dancing, he realizes, he loves it. Like, a lot. He loves this, being close to you. He loves the connection between you, and he wants to keep dancing with you all night.

He giggles, twirling you around in his arms again. On your way around, you see Carlos behind you at your table holding up his phone, a smile on his face. You’re glad he seems okay; Seb still hasn’t shown up and everyone’s been worried about both of them. A split second later, you’re back in Ricky’s arms, and your heart soars at the smile on his face. You’d been hoping dancing together at homecoming might help him in rehearsals. Based on how well he’s doing - and how much fun he seems to be having - you can tell your hunch was correct.

After a few more songs, you begin to make your way back to your table. Ricky’s hand settles on your back, guiding you through the crowd. Two more people are seated there than when you left, and your eyes widen.

“Oh my god.” you say quietly, “Gina and EJ came together?”

Ricky glances up, gaze almost immediately turning back to you as you get closer.

“Oh, they did? I didn’t notice.”

Fighting to maintain her poker face, Gina’s stomach drops at his words. Her eyes dart between you and Ricky, the way he’s looking at you. She grips her clutch tighter. This is really, really bad for her. Gina barely had a plan for making Ricky jealous and freaked out so he’d quit the show to begin with. She definitely did not plan on you waltzing into the picture - literally - and stealing away all of his attention. He can’t get jealous if all of his focus is on you. A sinking feeling begins to invade the pit of her stomach.

Ricky’s phone buzzes with a text from his dad.

“Hey,” he says, showing you the screen, “which shirt do you like better?”

He’s been filling you in on his dad’s hot date he has tonight, and you’re both very relieved to see that he’s doing okay, putting himself out there. You look at the pictures, and consider.

“Hmm… the second one.” you conclude.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too,” he agrees easily. He loves how you always seem to be on the same page.

“Wow,” comes EJ’s voice from across the table. He sounds really stiff. “I had no idea you were each other’s dates to homecoming.” He states, sharing a quick look with Gina he hopes no one notices.

“Yeah, we are,” Ricky smiles, “we’re each other’s dates.” He doesn’t think it would be too far fetched to say you’re… dating.

“Yep, partners in crime.” You smile, showing off your plastic ring. Ricky holds up his, kept on a chain, sitting right over his heart.

“Aw,” Carlos says, an almost bittersweet undercurrent to his voice, “you guys are so cute.” He gestures for you to lean closer to each other. “Let me get a pic for my story!”

Ricky does not need to be told twice. He throws his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your cheek as you hold his arm and giggle. It’s the perfect shot, the sincerity of the fun you’re having evident in the photo.

Gina runs her tongue over her teeth. She really does not like that.

Across town, sitting at a table in a shitty karaoke spot, Nina scrolls through instagram while Kourtney rants about the bitch who criticized her costume suggestions. Something about a lime green sweater? She’s not really paying attention, she’s too distracted by the hideous dress that Gina’s wearing. And the fact that she went to hoco with Nina’s ex boyfriend.

“Look at this,” she says, showing Kourtney her phone. “She looks like she’s wearing a bedazzled tablecloth.” Kourtney looks at her phone, disapproval written all over her face.

“And,” Nina says, gearing up to point out the obvious jab at her, “she’s with EJ.”

Kourtney knows where this is going. Before Nini can go off about how obviously Gina has it out for her, she takes a sip of her drink.

“Is there anything on their stories?”

She taps EJ’s story and it’s just a boomerang of the food.

“No, just-” Carlos’s story plays next and Nina almost pukes. Right there on her screen is Ricky, kissing your cheek, leaning into you like a cat. You’re in an unfortunately gorgeous dress, grinning so sincerely, your nose effortlessly scrunched. Next is a video of you two dancing. Like, really, properly dancing. She can’t believe you got him to dance - he doesn’t even dance in rehearsal when he’s supposed to! She watches the two of you ballroom dancing around the gym, breath speeding up slightly at the realization that he’s actually good. The sick pit forming in her stomach grows as she rewatches the video again. She wants to know why, after all the practice, all the failed attempts and his reluctance, why it works when you do it? Why isn’t she good enough? She dwells in the feeling for a few minutes. She scrolls through a few more hoco posts before finding one that has your account tagged. It’s private.

“Kourt,” she says, showing her her phone, “you need to follow her.”

“Why?” Kourtney asks.

“So I can see what’s on her instagram.” Nina says. She can’t let you know she’s lurking, so the obvious solution is to lurk through Kourtney’s account. Kourtney sighs. She requests to follow you.

A few feet away from your table, Ashlyn gives you a look, gesturing subtly to Carlos, then to the hallway. Seb still isn’t here.

“Hey,” you say quietly to Ricky, “I’ll be right back.” you smile, eyes flicking over to Ashlyn and Carlos.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, watching you leave with them to give Carlos a pep talk. A soft smile kisses the corners of Ricky’s mouth, watching you in utter adoration. He lets out a small sigh, gaze lingering on where you stood even after you’re out of sight.

Gina watches him watch you, his dark auburn hair glowing in the warm twinkle lights strung up throughout the gym. His eyes seem to sparkle with joy when he finally tears his gaze away, staring absentmindedly at the table.

“EJ,” she says, “could you get me some punch, babe?”

“Uh,” he says, clearly unused to the term of endearment, “sure… babe.” He heads over to the drinks, the tension between them thinly veiled. This seems to snap Ricky out of whatever his train of thought was, and he scoots closer to Gina. She watches him lean closer to her and begin speaking in a low, almost strangely intimate tone of voice.

"Hey, you know EJ went through Nini’s phone before they broke up, right?”

She raises her eyebrows.

“Just… you know, be a little careful around him.”

“I can take care of myself, Ricky.” She states incredulously.

“Yeah, of course you can.” he says, head tilted to the side with a little smile, like it should be obvious, “You’re so talented and ambitious, and - honestly, way too good for him.” He mutters the last part, but she definitely hears it.

“You’re way too cool to get your heart broken by a guy who plays water polo.” He says, drawing a reflexive laugh out of her.

“Just… take care of yourself.” he concludes, locking eyes with her before moving back to his seat. It’s only for a moment, but long enough for her to commit the color to memory.

“Right.” she says, working harder than she usually has to to keep her expression neutral.

Later, between dances, you and Ricky catch your breath at the snack table. You take a sip of your drink, eyes landing on Gina and EJ, who are very obviously arguing. You nudge Ricky, motioning over to them.

“What are they saying? Wrong answers only.”

He considers, then begins to narrate in his best EJ impression.

“Ugh, Gina! Stop moving! I haven’t posted on instagram in 35 seconds and blurry so doesn’t fit my theme.”

You try to stifle the loud, beautiful laugh that brings warmth to his cheeks and a smile to his lips as your eyes lock, sharing a look so close he never wants to look away.

“I said wrong answers only…” you say through muffled giggles. He stares at you, fixated. He’s blinded by your warmth, your beauty, and he can’t look away from you. His attention is snapped back to where it had been when you gasp dramatically, shock written all over your face. He follows your gaze to EJ, who’s dripping with punch, and Gina, who’s storming away from him.

“...Oh my god.” you say, already dissolving into laughter again, Ricky following suit.

Soon you’re dancing again, pressed up against each other, swaying gently to the oldies playing softly over the speakers. Ricky can feel your body heat, smell your shampoo, and the way it mixes with your sweet peachy perfume. You smell so good, he thinks he could probably get high off you alone. His hand rests firmly on your back, holding you close to him, and his fingertips brush over the exposed skin peeking out over the straps of your dress. He traces your shoulder blades, your spine, feeling how close together your hearts are beating. One of your arms is wrapped around him, your head resting on his shoulder. Both your free hands are intertwined, and he loves the feeling of your fingers intertwining with his. He’s steeped in a hazy sort of ecstasy, spurred further on by your warm little breaths tickling his neck.

He lets out a soft sigh, more content than he’s probably ever been. He feels you smile against his blazer when he traces the outline of the back of your dress. You hum softly to the music, singing along to a few of the words. He’s not surprised that you know this song, of course you would know a song this pretty and romantic. He hopes he’ll remember to ask you the name of it later. Dancing, he realizes, isn’t just fun - it’s amazing. He loves dancing. He loves dancing with you. After a few moments, he realizes there’s not many people on the dance floor. He doesn’t get why so many guys don’t like slow dancing; when you really love someone, isn’t any reason to hold them close to you a good one? He thinks it is. His heart flutters when you let out a breathy sigh against his skin.

You adjust your head on Ricky’s shoulder, watching Carlos across the room. He looks so… melancholic. You should go check on him. And Gina. And probably EJ. Christ, tonight has been a lot. You adjust your head again, facing towards him.

“We should check on Gina,” you say reluctantly, murmuring into his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. He loves when you do that, loves how you know when people are hurting and what to do about it. But right now, he really, really does not want to let go of you for anyone or anything. Maybe it’s selfish, he thinks, maybe it’s selfish for wanting you all to himself like this, but he just can’t bring himself to let go of you yet. Maybe he deserves to be a little selfish sometimes. Maybe he should just give himself permission to do whatever makes him feel better. He holds you tighter, face burying into your neck.

“After this song,” he breathes, eyes fluttering closed in your embrace. You nod gently.

“Okay,” you agree, voice so low he can barely hear it.

Eventually the final piano chords sound, and he holds you tight as the last few, painfully bittersweet notes reverberate through the room. The song ends, and he lets go of you slower and more reluctantly than he’s done anything.

You sigh, tracing your hands on his shoulders, slowly coming out of that cozy trance like state you’ve been in together.

“Okay,” you start, “let’s split up. I’ll check on Carlos, you can check on Gina, and I’ll have Ashlyn check on EJ cause they’re cousins.”

He agrees, hit with a sudden wave of nerves about the confrontation. You can sense his hesitation.

“What should I say?” he asks, with a chuckle. He’d told you about how he warned Gina about EJ earlier in the evening, which you had agreed was totally the right move. He told you how she seemed irritable after the interaction, and wondered if he’d done anything wrong, if he could have handled it better. “I don’t think so”, you had said with a sad shrug, “some people just refuse to acknowledge the person they’re dating is kind of shitty.”

You’re right, he realized, now ready to approach this with more compassion and less confrontation. You think for a second, then reply.

“You can apologize if what you said before came off wrong, that you didn’t mean anything bad by it.”

“Okay,” he nods.

“And try to relate to her - you’re new to theatre, she’s new to east high, you gotta stick together, you know?”

“Right.”

You send him a thumbs up as you part ways, looking for Carlos. After chatting with Carlos, he left to get some water. You see Ricky approaching you through the crowd, and stand up from your table, meeting him halfway.

“How’d it go?” you ask. He seems hesitant.

“She asked for a ride home.” Your eyes go wide with understanding. He knew you’d get what’s going on, you always know just what to do.

“Oh, dude, the last thing she probably wants right now is to get in a car with EJ.” Ricky thinks that’s the last thing anyone would want. “If you want you can give her a ride, then come back and we can keep dancing.” He smiles, and agrees. Any plan that ends with dancing with you more sounds like a good plan to him. You quickly fill him in on how things are going with the Carlos/Seb situation in spite of its anticlimactic nature - no one can get a hold of Seb, and Carlos is really, really regretting this whole thing. You and Ashlyn are going to try and hype him up and turn the night around for him so it’s not a totally horrible memory to look back on, and Ricky agrees that’s a good plan.

“I’ll be back really soon so I can help you guys out,” he says, hoping to extend the conversation a little, to stand close to you and talk confidentially with you just a little more. You smile, looking relieved at his support, and it makes his heart flutter. You touch his arm, sending him a knowing look.

“We need all the help we can get, so thank you.” you state with a chuckle. He tries not to be obvious, but he knows he can’t hide his flushed cheeks and dilated pupils. He hopes you don’t notice.

You really didn’t expect to be the glue holding everyone together tonight, but you love your friends, so you’re not complaining. After a lengthy conversation with Carlos about how amazing he is regardless of who he is or isn’t seeing, and that there will be so many guys throwing themselves at him after high school, you finally get him out of his funk a little. You were about to go dance together and have a good time, because he shouldn’t let anything ruin his homecoming, when Natalie scurried over to you holding the side of her dress.

“It snagged on the back of a chair and my whole leg is out, Angelina Jolie style.” She says in a rush, clearly getting more freaked out. You and Carlos share a look.

“It’s okay,” you say gently, “I have a sewing kit in my bag and I can have you fixed up in two minutes flat.” You look over at Carlos again, making sure he’ll be okay. He confirms silently, nudging you two towards the doors.

“You go fix this wardrobe malfunction,” he says, already trying to pull out of the funk he’d been stuck in all night, “I’m going to warm up the dance floor. When you get back, get ready to dance your heart out.”

He’s not all the way there, but he’s trying. You both agree, and you send him one last encouraging look before moving carefully to the hallway, trying not to let Natalie’s dress rip any more than it already is. You look back one last time as you pass through the doors, and finally, Carlos is out on the dance floor. You smile, excited to dance with him once you get back.

“God, I wish I had my hamster right now…” Natalie mutters, and you know if she needs her emotional support hamster, it’s pretty bad.

A few minutes later, you have your sewing kit and Natalie’s dress is back to its former glory. She has on a fresh coat of lip gloss, just finished showing you pictures of her hamster, and is ready to head back out. You stay behind to touch up your makeup a little, telling her you’ll be right behind her. As you’re walking back out, someone turns the corner at the other end of the hallway. You freeze in place, eyes growing wide as they land on none other than Seb. He smiles nervously, raising a hand to wave at you. Before he can, you let out a shocked squeak, scurrying back into the gym. His heart sinks. He hopes you don’t hate him, and he’s really worried Carlos is going to.

When you enter, you see Carlos dancing his heart out. You don’t have time to be relieved, weaving your way through the crowd to Mr. Mazzara. You slam your hands on the table, avoiding the sound and light equipment he’s managing.

“Mr. Mazzara!” He looks up at you, startled, as you begin to explain in a rush. He looks at you, a pleading puppy dog look written on your face, and sighs.

“I suppose that’s fine…” he says, making a few adjustments to the switch board in front of him.

“Thank you!” you say quietly, before running onto the dance floor. Carlos is finally in his element. He dances beautifully to the music, free and expressive. Right when the beat drops, a circle of spotlights go up. One lands on him, the other lands across the room on Seb, and they lock eyes in a moment that can only be described as magical. Ashlyn looks at the scene, straight out of a movie, then over to you. You high five her.

“Nice!” she whispers. You can see it between them, the energy, the chemistry, the electricity. You look at Ashlyn, nodding toward your table. You both sit down, giving them some time to talk and catch up. You try to be subtle as you watch them talk, not close enough to eavesdrop, but watching their expressions, gaging how it's going. They're smiling, then they're laughing, and soon they're dancing together. It's going well, you think. You can't wait for Carlos to fill you in later.

Sitting in Gina's driveway, a surprisingly more comfortable energy in the air than either of them had expected, Ricky tries to think of how to say what he wants to say.

"Not quite the evil mansion with wrought-iron and gargoyles you were picturing?" She asks, a hopeful playfulness to her voice. She almost sounds nervous.

"What? No…" he says. The comment takes him by surprise, snapping him back to attention. "...Well maybe some gargoyles." His joking tone and comforting energy has her giggling. She doesn't remember the last time she giggled. She feels his eyes on her, and tries not to look over at him. She does anyway.

"You're not that bad, you know." He muses. She tries to control her breathing. She doesn't say anything.

"Also," he continues, looking back over at the windshield, "I should thank you for that night at the skatepark, keeping me in the show. It means a lot, it's… a really big deal to me." He looks up and left at the top of the car window, mind already wandering about how if he had quit, he never would have gotten close to you like this, never would have fallen in… your arms the way he had that night. He can't imagine you not being in his life, and he has Gina to thank in part for that. He feels a sense of gratitude blooming for her. They talk a little more, and the feeling grows; Gina really is not that bad. He can feel a friendly bond growing between them, a sense of comradery.

"So… now is probably a good time to ask about the whole drink thing," he starts with a chuckle. She ducks her head, equal parts embarrassed at her actions, and that he saw her at such a low moment. She lets out a sigh. The gesture reminds him of something you might do. He thinks you two would be good friends. He’s already imagining what you’ll say when he fills you in on all this, he’s excited to get your opinion.

“...My mom moves around a lot for work. Like, a lot…”

Once she starts, she can’t stop, and it’s not long before she’s unintentionally spilled her guts and her life story to him. She wishes she could stop talking, but it’s like she totally lost her filter with him. She’s always been so reserved, so calculated, and now she doesn’t even have time to think before the words are already spilling out. It’s a new feeling, being so candid with someone, and an unsettling one.

She risks a glance over at Ricky, who’s just… listening to her. Taking in what she says. That somehow makes her more nervous than if he’d just ignored her or told her to shut up already. She wishes someone would tell her to shut up, she wishes she could. She finally gets to the end of her never ending stream of consciousness, and she’s stunned as they sit in the silence, Ricky really absorbing her words, her feelings. He reaches over and grabs her hand, giving it an encouraging squeeze before letting go - a mannerism he picked up from you. Heat floods her chest, prickly and almost painful, hyper aware of where his skin just touched hers.

“You know, you-” She’ll never know what he was going to say, his words are cut short by the porch lights flashing through the windshield. Gina’s stomach sinks. She doesn’t want to go inside yet. She doesn’t want this moment to be over, but she has to listen to her mom. She reaches for the door, then hesitates. She turns back to Ricky, desperate to try one more time, to put herself out there, to plant some roots.

“I meant what I said at the skate park… about you having your own style.”

He smiles, looking down with a breathy chuckle. His leg is bouncing slightly, he can’t wait to get back to school and dance with you more, spend the rest of this magical night with you.

“Thank you, that’s-” He’s cut off again, this time by the kiss Gina presses to his cheek. She’s out of the car and inside before he can look at her face. She holds her coat tight around her against the chilly rain beginning to drizzle down, and a second later, the front door closes and she’s inside.He lets out another chuckle, different this time. ‘That was weird.’ He thinks. He barely has the thought before his stomach drops, a sick, cold fear clutching him. What if you find out Gina kissed him? What if you find out and you hate him, what if he breaks your heart into a million pieces without trying? Or worse, what if you lose interest in him because you think he likes Gina? He can feel himself panicking at the idea, unable to stop the onslaught of all too real feeling anxieties wracking his mind, creating a pit in his stomach as he peels out of the driveway and makes his way back to school.

No, no, that’s not going to happen. He’s not going to lose you because he’s not able to express how much he cares about you. He’s not going to let that happen. Trying to hold this panic at bay, he pulls out his phone as he walks through the parking lot towards the school again. How to show someone you love them. He types the words into google, skimming article titles, reddit threads, quora responses, until he finds himself at the gym doors. He sees you across the room, dancing in a group with Carlos, Ashlyn, Natalie, and Seb. ‘Oh, Seb’s here. That’s good,’ he thinks, a momentary relief that at least one or two fires had been put out tonight. He spots Big Red on the opposite side of the room, and makes his way over to him carefully, trying not to be seen by you. He can’t be around you until he figures this out, he can’t hurt you like this.

Ricky approaches Big Red with an intense energy he has trouble reading, before Ricky starts to speak.

“Dude,” he says, voice intense and hushed, “Gina kissed me on the cheek.”

“That’s great!”

“No, it’s not!” Ricky says, clearly very frazzled. Okay, that’s where this is going.

“That’s awful!” Red course corrects as Ricky fills him in on the car ride with Gina. As he tells Red everything that happened, Ricky finds himself kind of hating Gina right now. Why would she do this to him, why would she put him in this position? Does she hate him or something? He thinks she must, there’s no other reason for her to sabotage his relationship with you like this. She must hate him if she’s trying to ruin the most important thing in his life.

“Listen, I really, really like her…” his eyes keep flicking over to you, gaze magnetized by your presence, “like, a lot. How can I make sure I don’t fuck this up? Because I can not fuck up with her.”

“Woah, man,” Red starts, trying to help Ricky ground himself a little, “chill out. In all fairness, cheek kisses can be platonic.”

“Right,” Ricky nods, starting to feel assured, and Red continues.

“So, if Gina wants to date you when you’re… kind of seeing someone, she has to make that more clear to you.”

“Right.” Ricky states, agreeing. He really hopes she doesn’t.

“I think you’re okay,” Red says, sensing his energy changing already, “just make sure she knows how much you like her. Make it really, objectively obvious.”

Yeah. He just has to make it obvious.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he says to Red, his eyes locked on you as you laugh at something Carlos says, making his stomach twist and tingle, “I just have to make sure she knows how much… I like her.”

Red watches him make his way over to you, a spring in his step and a plan in his mind. Thank god for Dr. Phil, Red thinks, or else there’s no way he’d be able to help his friends navigate all their drama. He chuckles at the thought, watching Ashlyn fix the strap of your dress.

Ricky checks his phone one more time on the way over, looking over a chart of love languages one more time. He’s not sure what your love language is, so he’ll just have to try all of them and see what you seem to like best. Gift giving and acts of service aren’t really options right now, so tonight he’ll focus on words of affirmation, physical touch, and quality time. If he has to drown you in all five love languages at once to make sure you know how he feels about you, he will.

“Hey,” he starts, watching your reaction nervously, scared you somehow already hate him. You turn around at the sound of his voice, eyes lighting up.

“Hey!” you smile, “You’re back!” you grab his arm, pulling him in closer to the group.

“Seb’s here,” you say, and he smiles, relieved at your reaction.

“Hey, man,” he smiles.

“Fill me in later,” you say quietly, referring to giving Gina a ride, and he nods, a little bit ready to forget the whole thing.

Now that all the drama, wardrobe malfunctions, and late entrances are out of the way, you and what remains of your friends spend the rest of the night like you intended; dancing, laughing, and taking great pictures together. Later on into the night, everyone’s just about had their fill of fun and the party starts winding down. You split up, most of your friends piling into the Salt Lake slices delivery van so Red can drop them off. After some more hugs and laughs, you finally part ways, climbing into the passenger seat of his orange Volkswagen Beetle.

His heart is thumping as you grab his hand and squeeze it a little once you’re on your way back to his house, causing a fresh wave of heat to rise to his face, and god he's nervous right now. His mind is still screaming at him that you're going to hate him, that he has to prove his feelings to you. He lets out a small little laugh at the gesture.

“Well,” you start, tired from the night, but thriving off the energy between you, “that could have gone way worse…”

“Yeah,” he laughs, nodding in agreement. You talk for the whole drive back to his place. You’d planned on staying over tonight since Ricky was driving and you figured it would be late, plus your mom’s car is at the mechanic so she’s using yours until some time tomorrow. You exchange sleepy chuckles as he parks. He checks his phone one more time as you leave the car, opening an article of women submitting stories about how they knew a guy loved them in a new tab. He sees a text from his dad - the date went well, he hopes Ricky and you had a good time at homecoming, and he’s going to bed so try to keep the noise down when you get back.

“My dad’s asleep,” he says softly, unlocking the door. He guides you inside, hand resting low on your back, and closes the door quietly behind him. Walking quietly from his foyer to his room shouldn’t have been a problem, but standing in the darkness with Ricky, you both suddenly find it hard not to start giggling. Hushing each other, you quickly sneak up the stairs past Mr. Bowen’s room, down the hall to Ricky’s room. He barely closes the door and flicks the lock closed before dissolving into giggles. You kick off your heels, glad to finally take them off, and grab a makeup wipe from your bag. He digs through his clothes for a second before handing you a big t-shirt to sleep in.

“Thanks,” you say, throwing away the makeup wipes. He gazes at you, watching you transition from formal and made up to casual and comfortable, your beauty unwavering. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone as pretty as you before. You watch him take off his jacket and tie, and undo the first button or two of his shirt. The action sends butterflies to your stomach and heat to your core. You glance away. You stand up, seeing if you can reach the zipper of your dress. Before you can ask, you feel Ricky behind you.

“Need some help with that?” He asks, closer to your ear than you’d expected and resting his hands on your waist. You both chuckle.

“Yeah,” you state, voice low and soft. He moves slowly, unzipping the back of your dress, careful not to snag the delicate fabric. You feel the bodice loosen around you, the end of the zipper stopping at the small of your back. He doesn’t move away. You can feel his breath fan over your shoulder, hand still resting on your waist.

His face is so close to yours, and he mutters your name softly before pressing a kiss to your jawline, then another and another. He moves down, burying his face in your neck as he continues to press hot, open mouthed kisses against your skin. He breathes in your perfume, peachy and sweet and intoxicating. He nips at your neck causing you to gasp, his hands moving below the draping fabric and directly onto your warm skin. You sigh at the contact. He pulls you closer to him, holding you tight as he sucks on your neck. Your dress is slipping off your shoulders, barely on at all anymore, as he begins to feel you up, touching you and caressing you so tenderly.

“Ricky,” you sigh. Your voice sounds so pretty when you’re like this.

“God, I-” he breathes, barely catching the words before they’re out. He lets out a nervous laugh, causing you to giggle in his grasp. He shushes you through his own laughter, his hands never ceasing the way they rome over your body.

"We have to be quiet," he says, turning you around in his arms, pressing himself up against you, trying so, so hard not to kiss you yet.

"I can be quiet…" you state, a jokingly incredulous tone in your voice. You stare each other down, and he tries not to break first, tries not to smile or laugh, but god, it’s impossible not to smile when he looks at you. Before he can crack, before he loses all composure and bares his soul for you, places his heart eternally in your hands to do as you please with, he pivots.

"Yeah?" He asks, and you feel the energy change, growing electric between you. "Is that a challenge?"

His tone is dangerous and he watches your eyes get wide. A second later he has you pinned against his mattress, pressing playful nips and kisses against your skin as muffled giggles and sighs escape your pretty mouth. His hands move down, grabbing your exposed skin as he kisses you harder and harder, riling the both of you up. You tear off the little remaining clothes either of you has on and he begins to roll his hips against you, grinding his hot, throbbing member against your heat. You let out a breathy moan, louder than before, as he continues to rock his hips against yours.

“That wasn’t very quiet,” he murmurs into your ear between kisses to your cheek and jawline. Your chest vibrates against his, and a wave of relief washes through him. You don’t hate him. He loves that feeling he gets when he makes you laugh, he wants to make you do it again.

“I can stay quiet,” you insist, already swept away by his touch, distracted by the warm kisses and bites he’s planting on your neck and chest. You’re even more distracted by the feeling of his fingers making their way down, brushing against your clit as they come into contact with the arousal dripping down your folds. He smiles, realizing if he can get you this turned on, this touchy, you must like him. He pushes his fingers in, finally met again with the cathartic feeling of your cushy, bumpy walls squeezing and folding around him. Arousal gushes, dripping down his fingers as he begins to stimulate the tight, sensitive muscles stretching around his fingers. He dwells on the feeling for a moment, maybe two, before you’re moaning again. It makes him laugh.

“I sure hope you can,” he says, another dangerously playful look on his face, “cause if you get too loud…” He watches you for a split second, hanging on his words, anticipation written across your face, “I’m gonna stop.”

Your stomach flip flops, exploding with butterflies at his words. Before you can look at his face, before you can gauge how serious he is about following through on his threat, his lips are on yours again. He kisses you, mouth open, tongue already prodding into your mouth. You’re lucky, you think, that he’s unintentionally muffling your noises with his mouth. You’re really lucky, because he quickly finds your g-spot, and there are a couple moans you couldn’t hold back if your life depended on it.

Every sigh, every gasp, every beautiful heart pounding moan Ricky elicits from you sends a fresh wave of relief and reassurance through him. You don’t hate him, and you’re not going to. You could never when he’s this good, this devoted to you. It’s impossible for him not to be when you’re so good to him. You’re so responsive to his touch, you’re totally on the same wavelength.

You must know what he’s telling you through his actions, through the way he looks at you, the words he’s had to bite back from spilling out more than once. You wouldn’t be dripping down his fingers and moaning into his mouth and grabbing at him like this, you wouldn’t be in his bed if you didn’t feel the way he does about you - or even something close to it. He’ll happily take whatever you want to give him. Of course he wants it all, he wants to completely take over your heart, but just a little bit will keep him happy until he can.

“Right there,” you whine against his lips, “fuck, just like that… feels so good…” you mutter.

‘See?’ he thinks, ‘You don’t say stuff like that if you don’t like someone a lot, much less moan it…’

It’s working. His plan to not lose you is working, he just has to make you cum so hard you can’t think straight, as many times as possible. And he’s going to, because there’s no way he can risk losing you. So he brings up his thumb, rubbing it over your clit as he curls his fingers against your gummy walls. It’s euphoric and overwhelming, and you barely have time to tug his hair before you’re cumming and pulsing around his fingers.

You squeeze and clamp tight around him, and he can’t resist anymore. He needs his tongue inside you, he needs to taste you, feel you squeeze his tongue and cream into his mouth. So he pulls away, already missing the feeling of your mouths against each other, and gazes at you, breath fanning across your cheeks, eyes locked. He takes you in, thumb caressing your cheek while the other continues to fondle your clit. After a moment he’s able to break his gaze away, and he moves down, pushing your legs open. You heart thumps in your chest in anticipation as he begins to lick and suck on your heat, tongue flicking into your drippy hole.

As soon as he gets a taste, he wants more. He stretches out his tongue, going to town on your cunt. Every sigh and tug of his hair, every attempt to muffle your moans makes him more eager to have you gush your sweet sticky cum all over him. This time he has some experience, and he’s making the most of it. He finds those spots inside you that make your eyes roll back, switching between them, bumping his nose against your clit, drawing stifled moan after stifled moan from you. One slips out, for real this time, and he pauses. It takes all his willpower; your scent is intoxicating and your taste is addictive, but the look on your face when you realize he’s standing by what he said is totally worth it.

“I told you,” he murmurs against your core, the vibrations and tone of his voice sending electricity through you, “we have to be quiet…” Your hand is clamped over your mouth, and you nod. Your timing couldn’t be better, because you don’t have time to finish the gesture before he dives back in. After that, it doesn’t take much to send you over the edge.

You give him everything he’s wanted all night, squeezing and gushing all over him while he laps up everything, holding down your hips while he shoves his tongue deeper inside you. It’s always surprising how far inside you he’s able to get it. You whine and moan, choking out praise as he already begins building up another high. He’s throbbing, desperate for anything you’ll give him, and he wants to make you say more shit like that. He wants to be good for you.

“Oh god- fuck, Ricky!” you choke out in a whisper, one hand tangled in his hair, the other clamped over your mouth. You’re already close again, he can feel it. He knew this would work. He knew he could prove to you how much you mean to him. He doubles his efforts, squeezing your thighs and grinding his face against your pussy, still dripping from the last times he made you cum. His eyes are half lidded and locked on you, watching your face, the way you squirm below his touch, the way your tits bounce with every movement. You’re not sure how long it is until he has you absolutely gushing and convulsing around his tongue again, but every moment is filled with ecstasy.

“Fuck you’re good at that…” you murmur, hand now playing with his hair instead of pulling it. “You’re one of the good ones, huh?”

You probably could have knocked him out with a feather. Your words reverberate in his mind, and his cheeks flush. One of the good ones. Yeah.

He’s throbbing harder than before, almost painfully turned on. He climbs back up over you, but before he can reach into his nightstand for a condom, you flip him over, straddling him. You look down at him with those beautiful eyes that hold every star in the night sky, biting your lip in that endearing way of yours. Your hands are warm on his shoulders, and he’s stunned at the suddenness of your action, and really eager to see where you’re going with this. He could watch you like this for hours, freezing this moment in time forever, eternally content with you, the way you touch him and look at him. You lean down closer to him, breath tickling his cheeks.

“My turn.”

You smile, the words coming out in a hushed giggle. Before he can blink, you’re grabbing his rock hard cock, squeezing it in your hands and teasing the tip as you spread around the precum already dripping down the side. He watches you, eyes wide and excited as you open your mouth, wrapping your lips around him. Your mouth is velvety soft, warm and wet, and he has to try not to cum on the spot. You pump the base of his cock, taking more of him in your mouth, and he tries not to buck his hips. He tries so hard not to move at all, tries to be good for you while you work your magic on him. He lets out a long, low moan. Suddenly you freeze, popping your lips off with a small wet noise as you look up at him.

“Stay quiet or I stop…” you tease, throwing his own conditions back at him. He nods, panting at your words. “Good boy.” You murmur under your breath, but he definitely hears. Good boy. He can feel the oxytocin flooding his brain, and you barely get your lips around him and start bobbing your head before he feels it.

“I’m close,” he chokes out, and you look up at him. He watches a smirk appear at the corners of your eyes before you drag your tongue along the bottom of his cock. It’s more than enough, and he watches in utter awe as he shoots his load into your mouth, and you swallow all of it. The sight is enough to have him throbbing again. He bites back more moans, desperate for you to keep going, for you to call him a good boy again. You bob your head along his length, tongue dragging along the vein on the underside of his cock.

One hand comes down to fondle his balls, and a choked moan slips out. He never knew he could feel this good. He never knew one person could make him like this. You continue to lick and suck, squeeze and pump and rub, and soon he’s fighting another orgasm, hoping to bask in the feeling of your mouth around him for just a little longer. His prayers are in vain, he realizes, as he shoots another load of sticky, salty cum into your mouth. You have no trouble taking this one either. You continue to suck and lick, riding out the last of his high, before finally releasing him with a soft pop.

Thoroughly fucked out, he watches you climb up next to him, awestruck. You grab a blanket, pulling it over the both of you, and moving his face to press a few more kisses to his lips. Your tastes mingle as your tongues connect, and Ricky doesn’t think he’s ever tasted something that delicious. He wants more of it. It’s only when you eventually pull away that your eyes land on the clock behind him.

“Christ, it’s late,” you murmur. You blink heavily, Ricky mirroring the action, and you trace your thumb over his cheek, just looking at him a little longer. You tug the blanket up a little higher, snuggling up next to him. He holds you close on instinct, still trying to process everything that happened tonight in spite of how exhausted he is. It hits him suddenly, and he struggles to stay awake so he can appreciate the kiss you press to his jaw, the warm feeling of your hand on his chest.

He tries so hard to stay awake, to look at you for a little while, because no amount of time with you feels like enough. He refuses to acknowledge the heavy way he blinks and squeezes his eyes, trying to force them to focus on you, but he can feel himself losing the fight against the deep sleep he’s about to slip into. This night was a success, he thinks. He did a good job.

Late morning sunlight streams through his window, finally dragging Ricky back into the waking world. He looks over, missing your presence, and finds his bed empty. As he rolls over, he’s struck by the sweet, intoxicating scent of your peachy perfume. It’s all over his pillow, his sheets, his blankets. His whole room smells faintly of your scent. He buries his nose in the pillow where you’d slept, breathing it in, taking him right back to last night.

Eventually, he checks his phone. It’s later than he’d expected, but he’s greeted with a text from you, bringing an immediate, even bigger smile to his face.