#xoxo stranger girl

[emblazons]

It feels so refreshing and honest compared to these over-dramatic romeo and juliet-esque romances. It feels more real and tangible than two attractive people meeting and “falling in love at first sight.” (x) part i

[fullyinconsequential]

genuinely alarmed that glamrock fronnie is basically steddie for furries /hj

[fastasyoucan1999]

i love to find a nice spot at the library and take out all my books and load up my laptop and open all my tabs and assignments and then pack up and leave immediately

[omgeto]

OMGGG OXBRIDGE REJECTA UNITE UGH I GOT REJEVYED FROM OXFORD

Lmao I’m a stem girlie and I was tryna Elle woods my way into Oxford and honestly fumbled so I’m just somewhere in the south east😭😭😭

ANYWYAS GOOD LUCK WIRH PAKCINF AND WRITINF UR FIC ANS HOPE U HAVW A GREAT FRESHERS ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️SO GLADD I FIUND UR BLOG

-🍿

I'm doing psychology yeah and why was the first question they asked me in my Cambridge interview "why do humans have two eyes" I KNEW IT WAS OVER AFTER THAT. LORD THEY NEVER TOLD ME THAT IN A PSYCHOLOGY CAMBRIDGE INTERVIEW, THEYD ONLY FUCKING AS EVOLUTIONARY BIOLOGY QUESTIONS TRHIUSEHTSHURHSUTHF ALL MY PREP WASTED. but it is fine since the uni im going to now is definitely wayyyy shitter BUT I SHALL STILL HAVE MY ELLE WOODS FANTASY REGARDLESS.

BUT YESSSS THANK YOU IM SO GLAD I FOUND U YK. LIKE I ACTUALLY LOVE BRITISH PEOPLE SO UR MY NEW FAVE.

[bau-bee312]

♡ 𝐈 𝐝𝐮𝐛 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐞٫ 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐧𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐲! ♡

Reader gender not specified. Slightly OOC.

for us sleepy girls <3

♡*:. 𝐃𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐢 who is definitely a stranger to high amounts of love from others. Even through his sexual relations in his port mafia days he never had the pleasure let alone the opportunity to feel true love and affection from the people surrounding him.

♡*:. 𝐃𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐢 who feels a overwhelming mixture of surprise and a foreign exuberance when you plop down on top of him suddenly as he lays on the agency couch. You had seen him laze around the office every day and had never allowed yourself to join him no matter how long he pleaded. However today you had finished your reports early and decided to take a nap on the couch, with him.

♡*:. 𝐃𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐢 who has absolutely no idea how to react at the sudden closeness. He stiffened up almost immediately, eyes racing down to where you now lay. With your one arm draped across him, the leg that wasn’t hanging off the narrow couch hooked on one of his, and to top it all off you had your head resting on him, head sideways so you could breath, resulting in a smooshed cheek as you looked back at him with half lidded eyes.

♡*:. 𝐃𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐢 who for once had nothing to say, but he quickly and expertly wiped the bewilderment off of his regularly composed face. He shot you a boyish grin as a replacement.

♡*:. 𝐃𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐢 who’s quick to speak, as always. “Oh? To what do I owe the pleasure of such a comfy visit from my darling?”

♡*:. 𝐃𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐢 Who is pleasantly surprised when you hush him, rasping something alone the lines of “Just enjoy it”

♡*:. 𝐃𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐢 Who has no objections and pulls you up closer to his face by your waist. Resting his chin on your head as he feels your breath slow and pan out. Realizing then how tired you must have been.

♡*:. 𝐃𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐢 who decides to follow your words and close his eyes as well. He wasn’t going to sleep, not when you were cuddled up to him so perfectly. He gently raked a hand through your soft hair absentmindedly.

♡*:. 𝐃𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐢 Who maybe never felt love, but this was probably it. At least it was in his book.

Do NOT post my works as your own.

I’m so sorry it’s short 😭

-XOXO Bau

[lixzey]

ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ, ʟᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ᴍɪɴᴇ ᡣ𐭩

𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝙼𝙴 જ⁀➴

hi, my name's ellie and welcome to my blog!

i just started writing on this platform last september 2023. i've been writing fics since i was twelve (yes, it was cringe) on wattpad. i would love to read your feedback, or be friends! my inbox is always open for anything 🫶🏻

anyway, here's some lil facts about me:

i'm 21 years old • she/her • filo-canadian • enfp • libra baby • mother of a four year old girl • a gryffindor child of aphrodite and legacy of apollo and athena • has adhd and wears glasses • has photographic memory • loves writing (obvi), music, and reading

- i live in the philippines, so pls bear with me. i try to be awake the whole night so i can post when most of my followers are awake

- as i've mentioned, i am a mother to a four year old. so when i get delays in posting, blame her (lol pls don't blame my kid)

- pls don't be rude to me :( i cry at the simplest things :( so hate will definitely be deleted.

xoxo, el 💘

𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐇𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐈𝐗𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

╰┈➤ CHARLIE BUSHNELL

╰┈➤ LUKE CASTELLAN

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ divider by @saradika-graphics

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

‼️All of my works are purely fictional and are intended for entertainment only. I do have a wattpad account of the same username (lixzey_), but I haven't posted anything that I have written there aside from one. Please do not repost any of my works on any other site. ‼️

TIMOTHÉE CHALAMET `✦ ˑ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹

The Story of Us - In which you are Timothée Chalamet's high school sweetheart. After a messy break up ten years ago, Timothée is Hollywood's it boy, while you are a rising star. The two of you will star in a new movie, what could possibly go wrong?

Letters - One day Timothée receives a package from someone unknown: a basket of eighteen letters. Letters from a girl named y/n. A mysterious fan who poured her heart out in her letters and is trying to fix herself. As Timothée begins to read, and the letters begin to run out, he finds himself falling for this girl.

Until one day he stopped reading.

Because she stopped writing.

Can't Help Falling In Love - In which two strangers accidentally get married.

Forever Yours

Heart to Heart

My Girl

The Girl With Hair Longer Than Rapunzel

24 Hours

Paradise

Bride for Rent

The Unknown Number

Bad idea, right?

Catching Feelings

Over and Over Again

Angel Eyes

Risk It All

TIMOTHÉE'S CHARACTERS `✦ ˑ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹

Foolish Ones - Theodore Laurence

Crazy Little Thing Called Love - Wonka

Choices - Paul Atreides

Against All Odds - Hal [The King, 2019]

STAND ALONE `✦ ˑ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹

• Rising Star

• Daddy's Angels

• More Than Words 🔥

THE MARAUDERS `✦ ˑ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹

James Potter

• Almost A Love Story

• Must Be Love

• To All The Boys I've Loved Before

• Once Upon A December

• Me Before You

Regulus Black

• Monster Among Men

• To The Moon and Back

• Protego Maxima

• Forever and Always

Remus Lupin

• Professor, Professor

• Head Over Heels

• Seven Minutes to Forever

• Timeless

Sirius Black

• Golden

• The Name of The Game

• If Only

• Safe and Sound

PERCY JACKSON AND THE OLYMPIANS `✦ ˑ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹

Luke Castellan

• Serendipity

• Sincerely, yours

• Lovelorn

• Late night cravings

[tyxoxo]

RxLuSTx0_

pairing: jeno x fem!reader

genre: smut, cam couple!jeno/reader

words: 2.5k

warnings: pwp, degrading, erotic asphyxiation/breath play (choking, headlocks/chokeholds), facefucking/throat fucking, spitting, slapping, near unconsciousness, reader wears eyelash extensions (didn’t know if this needed to be mentioned but its necessary to the story trust me!!) 

a/n: horny JAIL!!

playlist: deftones - beware • she_skin - 55

“alright baby, tell ‘em what you told me earlier.” jeno’s words were sinfully sweet, filled with excitement to hear you voice your death wish to thousands of people. 

“i want you to go as hard as you can on me. don’t. hold. back…” you ended your request with a giggle, knowing the audience got a kick out of your boldness, which would only get stomped in the dirt by your boyfriend later. 

currently, the two of you were in your bedroom, only in your underwear: him on the ottoman at the end of the bed, and you sitting back on your heels in between his spread legs, both facing the camera. 

the stream had only started minutes prior. the first ten were usually spent sitting leisurely in front of the camera, drinking sips of water to hydrate for the scenes ahead. it was definitely unassuming at first, but once the comments started flooding in, any outsider would realize that this side of the internet was nothing but filth. 

you didn’t even have to look behind you to know that jeno sat there, eyeing all of the comments with a smug look of satisfaction, cock growing harder and harder by the second. even if there wasn’t a camera lens to glance at the top of the laptop, you would still be able to sense his anticipation. 

raddad234: can’t wait to see you destroy her pretty little mouth today _

vix3n11: what’s daddy have planned for his girl today? so happy to see you two after a long day of work - xoxo

those were just a few of the many subscribers tuning in for the night. just from the sight of your two faces alone, money started pouring in. 

01bbyGirl: just sent $50!!

prXncesS666: just sent $25!

“01bbyGirl, prXncesS666, we haven’t even gotten started yet! you’re too kind, thank you so much!!” you attached your hands to your mouth, followed by blowing a kiss to the screen.

jeno’s remained quiet, leaving you to do most of the “thank you’s” for any of the gifts or money sent, as you were more eloquent with your gratitude. truthfully, his job of looking delectable for the camera was more than good enough, and you always made an effort to mention that to him. 

he continued to caress your shoulders, slender fingertips tapping along your curved skin ever so often. 

“for those of you that just now logged in, i hope you all are having a good day/night, wherever you are. you haven’t missed anything, we’re just waiting on a few more people to join before we get started!” 

the viewers continued to rise with every blink: 

2,033

3,455

4,550

it was astonishing to say the least. every saturday, at 11pm you felt pampered. so many people—strangers who were obsessed with watching jeno manhandle you for however long he saw fit.

his stamina was never short of amazing, making you dazed, confused, cock drunk…whatever words described your undoing the best. 

“repeat it again baby…” jeno’s “strong but silent” façade was wearing thin as the stream progressed. as soon as the night of debauchery began, he would turn into a degrading machine. 

just as you set your bottle of water down from taking another sip, you smiled for the camera, eyes fluttering at the upcoming repeat of your death wish.

you looked back at jeno, who’s eyes had already transformed, pupils dilated to the size of a marble.

he smiled at your intentional doe-eyed expression, nodding his head to signal that you should and will repeat it.

“don’t take it back now.” he chuckled after, offering the right amount of lightheartedness. he nuzzled his face into your neck, rubbing his nose up and down the smoothness of your skin. he inhaled deeply, catching the scent of your pleasant perfume.

“i’m nottt. don’t worry…” you giggled, leaning into his feline embrace.

“i’m sure you guys can tell jeno’s excited. reiterating from earlier, i decided that i want him to go as hard as he can on me tonight. no holding back…”

jeno missed the comments that flashed by, as he was too absorbed in wrapping his arms around your neck, lips barely grazing across your warm cheeks.

uKKixo_9: are you sure can handle it babygirl?” 

osAkalov3r: woww, you’re such a perfect sub! ur gonna do great! i know you will!! 

the ability to read more of the comments were becoming increasingly difficult. it was evident from the fact jeno had strengthened his hold on your head and neck. 

he had only did a few chokeholds in the past, but this seemed different. 

he was hungry; starved to see you gasping for air at the very start.

the fluorescent colors of the vaporwave inspired chatroom began to melt in front of your very eyes, becoming blurry from his relentless affliction. you immediately brought your hands up to clasp onto his veiny arms, breaths getting hollow with every attempt to wiggle within his broad frame.

“you asked for this. let’s see how good you do.”

his tone had dropped an octave deeper, hitting against the vein that was now bulging from your temple. 

he had clearly done this on purpose, catching you off guard like this. you couldn’t even clear your throat, let alone speak. you attempted a shallow breath as he held you in place, saliva bubbling out past your trembling lips.  

“if you fucking pass out, i won’t get to use this throat now will i?” he spat against your ear, taking a peek at the chat. a devilish grin spread across his face, resonating through the laptop screen, completely high off of the comments plastering on the screen like bets. 

bets to see how long it would take for you to tap out.

you would go against all odds, no matter the sting, no matter the lack of oxygen. 

“you make me so fucking hard baby…mmh, all this cock is for you.” 

the ability to comprehend anything that came out of his mouth was nearly non-existent. you slammed your eyes shut, hoping to sacrifice your sight for the ability to hear, as the ringing got louder and louder.

as a result, you missed the chat,

1hEllygrrl0: i can’t help but touch myself, this is so hot

kInKstarxx77: you weren’t joking, jesus christ

you were sure your face was contorted into an unsightly expression from the pressure against your entire jaw, but the self-conscious thought didn’t matter. all that mattered was jeno’s love for seeing you struggle from his brute strength. 

just as you tried to hook your nails deeper into his arm and claw away at his taut skin, he released, arms flailing back, hitting against the arm rests of the velvet ottoman. 

you persevered through the burn surging from your trachea, making sure to keep your teary eyes glued to the screen. chest heaving, ragged breaths escaping from your glossy lips. 

now you understood the science behind being addicted to this; head spinning, ears blaring, skin tingling, heart racing. 

being on the brink of consciousness felt better than any runner’s high. more fulfilling than a wrestler on steroids. 

and you wanted more.

a single, heavy cough from deep within your chest was all that you were allowed to do. as jeno had already hooked a single arm around your neck, this time rising to his feet, and pulling you up to be face-to-face with his bulging cock. 

the viewers were no stranger to your boyfriend’s strength, especially the frequent donator’s. every now and then he would gift them with videos of him exercising at the gym, coming up close to his phone screen so people could see the sweat practically streaming down his chest and abdomen.

they all knew he could destroy you. 

the chat had an excellent view, now that jeno switched the position of the laptop so everything could be watched from the side. they all tuned in as jeno stood above you, running his fingers through his hair, before taking off his boxer briefs. you used that time to take as many deep breaths as you could, fearing that there wouldn’t be much opportunity left. 

his length stood loud and proud against his navel. his girth alone took up most of the view of his chiseled face as you panned your eyes upward.  

your star-crossed eyes still showed admiration behind the angst, waiting for his next command.

he was painfully hard, tip pink and leaking down the pulsing veins on his shaft. 

there was anything but self-control as he forced your head forward onto his groin, arousal immediately coating your eyelids, balls pressing against your closed mouth. fortunately you were still able to breathe through your nose, as you would grow accustomed to by the time this was over. 

he directed your head like a rag doll, smearing your face back and forth across his length.

“she’s gonna let me use this throat any way i want to…isn’t that right baby?”

all you could do was nod violently, not having the power to speak past his balls that were prodding at your lips.

your hands remained on your thighs, clawing at the skin to take your mind off of your own arousal, that was now leaking past your underwear. 

jeno peaked over at the laptop, smirking to himself at how pathetic you looked—being controlled like the useless slut you were always meant to be.

he found himself satisfied from that little show, knowing it was time to get down to the real art. 

with his left hand still locked onto the back of your head, he pulled you back, enough to give you whiplash from the sudden movement. 

“open up. tongue out.” 

those four words were all it took for you to obey, letting him guide his tip onto your drooling tongue. he didn’t bother starting off slow; all of the subtlety could be left to rot for all he cared.

he pushed past your lips, tip hitting your uvula in a single blink. you gagged instantly, heaving further onto his length. 

his let his head fall back, finding instant gratification in your supposed journey towards resilience.

what a sick joke, jeno thought, as he let out a sigh of relief. 

he kept you still for what felt like minutes, eventually using both of his hands to usher you closer to this bare groin.  

“be a good fuckdoll…show them you can take it.”

jeno was somewhat surprised you hadn’t tried to back away so soon, but considering the years of training that led up to this point, it had definitely paid off. 

though, he could tell when it became too much. the way you began to tap his thighs over and over, was a telltale sign that even your nose breathing didn’t offer invincibility to his wrath.

your taps had turned into slaps, somehow keeping a steady rhythm despite the world spinning around you.

he ignored you, just like you expected.

it felt too good to let you go, especially with the way your tongue spasmed along the underside of his shaft. 

you used all the strength you could muster, grasping his thighs and pushing your head back against his palms. 

mau5Queen: uh ohh, she’s in trouble now hehe!  

a coughing fit ensued as you successfully managed to release yourself. your hands remained on his toned thighs, head staring down at the floor where tiny little puddles of his essence had remained. 

he used his left hand to grip your chin, squishing your face together like putty. you held your breath as you met his eyes, brows furrowed in disappointment, lip upturned in a snarl.

the tears that stained your cheeks made a connection with his right palm, a single slap that was enough to make your head turn. 

“don’t try to run from me bitch. who said my cock could leave your mouth?” he growled, patience hanging by a thread that would soon snap into seething anger if you didn’t pull yourself together quick.

he grasped his dick once more, attempting to put himself back inside where he belonged.

you purposefully pursed your lips together with a shake of your head, preventing him entry…hoping he would slap you again.

he winded his hand up and brought it down on your cheek as you faced the laptop screen. giggling to the audience, and to your sadist boyfriend that your wish had been granted.

a scornful smile adorned his face, with only the nose-down of his figure being available to the camera, which made it all the more hotter. 

you kept your head facing the camera as he finally found himself inside, knowing he loved the sight of his dick poking through your cheek from this position. for once, he thrusted slowly, letting his cock slip out with a pop, occasionally directing his tip to rub against the corners of your mouth. 

you kept your hands locked behind your back to show obedience as he continued his playful actions like constant rewinds on a videotape. your saliva and his precum formed a delicious elixir, decorating your breasts in a lustrous shine.

“turn towards me, i wanna fuck this pretty little face…” he whispered into the cold air. you complied, opening your mouth wide. 

this was considered take 2 as he started up again. you made an effort to maintain eye contact this time, wanting to witness his looks of pleasure. 

he was unreal, managing to rough you up with so much finesse, keeping you hungry for more. 

the disgusting sounds of him fucking your throat not only filled the room, but the ears of all of your viewers. you wished to read more, but keeping your eyes locked on jeno was more rewarding. 

his mouth hung open, tongue darting out to lick along his upper lip every time you bobbed your head to match his momentum.

he reached one hand down to cup underneath your jaw and the other to rest on top of your head. this headlock was rare, only on the special occasions that he knew he would reserve all of his cum for just your mouth. 

your eyes started to burn as he used his middle finger to prop your eyelid up as high as it could go, the air from his thrusts brushing against your cornea. the most fucked out expression you could ever make, was there for all to see. wearing eyelash extensions was clearly a mistake, as you felt them detach one by one from his harsh pull on the delicate skin.

“look at you…so fucked up, just for me.” he choked up the words, feeling his orgasm approaching in the pit of his stomach. 

now you felt numb, not even realizing that your eyes had rolled back into your sockets. 

your chest had grown tight, body going slump from the spent ability to breathe in through your nose. your ears rang louder than ever before, a sign that this may be the last you would ever hear for a while. 

“i’m almost there, fuck!!” 

with one final thrust, jeno flooded your mouth with his cum, a string of groans overpowering the sounds of it bubbling inside your abused throat. spurts of milky white stirred you from the light that almost consumed you. 

“drown in my fucking cum…” 

he backed out in a flash, watching you stumble backwards onto the floor. 

your sprawled body was just out of view, leaving the chat to wonder if you really were unconscious. 

you weren’t, but lying there for a while sounded the most appealing.

prXncesS666: is she dead wtf? 

~

//tagging: @glitchfiles @jasminexox5

lmk if you want a part 2 of aftercare/subspace, cuz this was pretty hardcore sksksk.

[mellowinfluencermiracle]

The avengers of Formula 1

request: Would love to see baby sainz suddenly approached by a male who is not in F1 and suddenly everyone shows up like the avengers to scare him away ❤️❤️❤️

It was a sunny day at the Marina Bay street circuit. It was the first time Amira had ever visited Singapore. One could clearly see how delighted Carlos was to have his baby sister by his side.

As they entered the paddock, the Sainz siblings were surrounded by Carlos’s fellow colleagues. Of course, it was just a coincidence that Lewis, Lando, and Oscar were at the entrance as well. It’s not like they had been waiting there for the past 20 minutes.

As soon as Carlos saw them, he knew what he had to do. “Hermanita, look! There’s a bit of shade. Why don’t you sit down and wait for me for a second? I will come back with an umbrella. We wouldn’t want you to get a sunburn, right?”

“Okay, Chilli,” she answered with a dimpled smile. Carlos swore his heart melted. He leaned down and gave her head a quick kiss. When he turned around, the other drivers were already approaching. After a quick look back at his hermanita, Carlos began to drag those demons away from his darling sister.

“Hey! You can’t just drag me away like a potato sack, you muppet!” Lando complained. Lewis and Oscar followed them like little children.

“Muppet? MUPPET?! You do not get to call me a muppet when you’ve been lurking at the entrance like a… a… como un bicho raro!”

When Lewis and Oscar started to chuckle, Carlos immediately turned to them. “And YOU! How dare you wait for my sister. I expected it from Lando,” “Hey!” “But you two? Unbelievable!”

During their scolding, the quartet was approached by other drivers. Charles was gloating with happiness. For once, he was not on the receiving end of Carlos’s yelling.

After some time, it was George who interrupted Carlos’s yelling. “Oh, what the hell?! Who is THIS idiot?” All the drivers turned to look at what George was pointing at.

There she was. Amira Sainz was talking to a man. A stranger! From far away, they could see the guy trying to flirt with her. But baby girl was that dense and thought he was just a nice guy trying to strike up a conversation.

When he sat down next to her, the other drivers exchanged amused glances. Carlos clenched his fists, ready to intervene if necessary. Little did he know that this chance encounter would change everything.

When he sat down next to her, the drivers saw red. How dare he sit down next to her, talk to her, or even breathe the same air as her?!

Quicker than a Mercedes F1 car, all the drivers sprinted to her side. The air filled with screams of “Oi, Idiote!” and “Hijo de puta!” and “Back the fuck off, dude!”—followed by Oscar’s emphatic “Stranger Danger!”

Imagine Baby Sainz’s surprise. One second she was chatting with the friendly stranger who called her the most beautiful girl in the world, and the next, she was engulfed by her brother and her friends. From the outside, it looked like a massive puppy pile.

While the drivers were busy scolding the man (and ensuring he’d be banned from the track), Carlos raced to Amira’s side. He instantly dropped to his knees and cradled her face in his hands.

“Pobrecito mío. ¿Este idiota te estaba molestando? ¿Estaba siendo grosero? ¡Oh, Santa María, estás tan pálida!” During Carlos’s rapid-fire rant, she just stared at him with wide eyes. When she made a confused noise, he immediately stood up, took his sister’s hand, and led her toward the parking lot.

“Oh, my poor hermanita. I’m so sorry. Let’s go shopping and grab something to eat. That must have been really scary!”

With that, the Sainz siblings left the track and headed to the nearest high-fashion shop.

As for the man? Well, let’s just say he vanished from the racing scene—never to be seen on any track again. 😇

Let me know what you thought about this littles piece. My request are OPEN. I will try to update as soon as possible💕

-XoXo

@barcelonaloverf1life @omgsuperstarg @formula1mount @xoscar03 @stinkyjax @khaylin27 @iamapersonwholikesunicorns @tinyhrry

[emblazons]

I really like fictional couples that actually enjoy spending time with each other. It seems like such a simple, mundane thing. It feels like such a basic thing, but it’s something that I actually don’t see that often.  insp. (x)

[lovebugism]

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

✶ ┄ LOVE YOU, ON PURPOSE (ii)

part one | part two

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

pairing: steve harrington / eddie's bff!reader

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

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

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Falling over you is the news of the day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a good kind of trapped, though. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want Steve. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You haven’t woken up yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your brows furrow. “…What?”

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

A smile pulls slow at your lips. 

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

“Yeah?” you mutter.

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

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

He only grumbles in response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel pretty. 

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

It makes all the imposter syndrome worth it. 

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

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

Eat your heart out, Nancy Wheeler.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

The ghost in you, she don't fade.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. I remember everything.”

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

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

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

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

But now he’s got you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t argue, only nods. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve winces.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just a little,” you quip.

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

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

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

“Yeah?” he hums back.

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

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

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

“Right… there.”

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

“Wanna give me the short version?”

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

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

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

“It’s dumb. Like, seriously—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” he winces.

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

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

“I think it’s sweet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Better?” you echo quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The exact same way he looks at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve doesn’t waste a second.

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

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

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

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

But Steve could. 

Steve could be yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your sudden hesitation makes him nervous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

And love, is only heaven away...

Steve’s curtains match his wallpaper.

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

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

All the minute details of his bedroom make you giggle.

“You have great taste, Steve Harrington.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

You nod.

“Wanna show me?”

You nod again, smiling wider now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod when the words get stuck in your throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you like me better out of them?”

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

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

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

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

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

It never comes, though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you answer in a broken sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Steve… Steve, please. I’m— fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve laps at your weeping cunt while you writhe. 

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

Then he goes effortlessly soft again.

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

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

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

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

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

That nearly does him in right then.

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

“Can I suck you off?” you blurt.

Steve freezes. 

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

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

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

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

But here you are, wanting more.

You never stop surprising him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All of his little reactions spur you forward. 

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

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

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

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

His hips stutter when you hum a moan against him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was that—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like bunks?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod wordlessly in reply.

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

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

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

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

It’s a lot like that, actually.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh-huh.”

“I am, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Steve…” you sigh, helpless.

“Hmm?”

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

“Touch yourself,” he blurts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Holy fuck—”

The boy slams his hips against you with a final, dense clap that sounds deafening in the quiet of his bedroom. Your gushing and fluttering cunt milks his cock. The feeling of your weeping pussy and the sound of your pretty whines throw him headfirst into his own orgasm. His thrusts still as he twitches within you. A moment later, you feel the subtle tingle at the base of your spine when he spits his come inside of you. 

His come paints your welcoming, rippling walls. It’s warm, like the first sip of coffee in the morning or fuzzy socks on cold feet. It blankets you in a sinful comfort.

Steve noses at your cheek while he rides the high of his climax. He rolls his hips slowly into you, much softer now that his cock has grown so sensitive. He clamps his mouth shut between his teeth to stifle his too loud moans and desperate whines. They’re forced to crawl from his throat as suffocated grunts.

You mourn the loss of not seeing his face while you’re tucked so securely into the nape of his neck. It’s a work of art you can imagine so clearly — his pinched brows and scrunched nose and parted lips. But you relish in the searing hold he has on you now, happy to hold and to be held.

The shuddering is slow to subside, especially from you. The aftershocks of your orgasm keep your hips spasming over his lap. Steve groans into your shoulder every time your pussy quivers around his softening cock.

And then the two of you just lay there. You hold onto each other and try to catch your breaths. With the both of you covered in a fine sheen of sweat, your skin sticks together with every tiny movement. The feeling of it makes you smile. You feel like the two of you really are melting together.

Steve’s fingers part from your wild strands of hair and take to tracing the expanse of your damp back. You hum in contentment at the feeling, nuzzling your nose up and down the right side of his neck. 

The moment is melted ice cream and early morning rain and marshmallow fluff. It’s spring mornings on the porch and warm breezes in the fall. It’s a soft and familiar thing that’s still so, so new.

You think you could spend forever here, if you had to. In Steve’s bed and in Steve’s lap and with all of Steve’s languid touches.

But sex is different when you’re an adult. 

When you’re a teenager, you get to be irresponsible. Carelessness sort of comes with the territory. You have sex in a dirty bathroom of a bar you snuck into and don’t think twice about the implications of any it. But as an adult with bills and a nine-to-five and groceries you’ve got to get once a week, all you can think about is how inconvenient a UTI would be.

“I should probably use the bathroom,” you murmur, already grieving the loss of his touch before you’ve even parted from him. 

You leave the safety of his neck to peer down at him. His heavy lids mirror your own. 

“I have this thing where if I don’t piss after sex, I feel like I’m gonna be, like, cursed or something. Kinda like when you break a mirror and you’re stuck with shit luck for seven year— or however that dumb superstition goes,” you ramble, voice heavy with fatigue and lingering pleasure. “Anyway. Yeah. Plus, I should probably clean up, too.”

Steve breathes out a laugh at your sudden prattling but humors you nonetheless.

Somehow you manage to pry yourselves off of each other — you, feeling significantly emptier without him inside you and Steve, already shivering with the lack of your warmth all over him. 

You separate just long enough for him to wet a washcloth in the sink while you piss just a couple feet away from him. The bathroom connected to his bedroom seems to be a foreign sight for you — a least, that’s what he assumes because you rave so enthusiastically about it the entire time. 

It’s all Steve’s ever known, though, so he finds it difficult to do anything but nod along with your rambling. More than anything, he’s glad you’re not as weighed down by the domesticity  of the moment as he is. Because he, for one, feels a little like he’s been hit by a freight train. 

Perhaps spending so many years all alone has made him sensitive to closeness.

You sit on the marble countertop and rest your forehead on his shoulder while he cleans you up. He runs the warm cloth along your delicate folds and wipes away traces of your slick and his come that glisten on your thighs. He pleats the rag and does the same to his softening cock and surrounding skin. 

It feels so strangely intimate, more than the sex somehow.

Steve tugs on a fresh pair of boxers and gives you a faded Hawkins Phys. Ed tee to change into. The loose fabric and baggy fit feels much more familiar than the costume you’d initially arrived in. He might be happier than you are, though, to finally get to see you in your most natural state — makeup sufficiently smudged away and ill-suited clothes forgotten on his floor. 

You crawl beneath the mussed navy comforter of his bed and smush your face into his pillow. “See? The dino sheets aren’t so bad, are they?” the boy teases when you hum in contentment. 

The mattress dips beneath his weight as he settles in beside you.

You smile but don’t open your eyes. “I’m just sleepy… Sue me.”

“It’s barely nine o’clock, grandma.”

“It’s your fault,” you argue, voice dripping with exhaustion. Your skin purrs as he reaches blindly beneath the covers to rub his palm along your forearm.

He grins softly to himself. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You wore me out, Harrington.”

“I’ll make it up to you in the morning, ‘kay?” he promises, then laughs when you smirk and raise your brows — eyes still shut. “Not like that, you perv. I was talking about breakfast. I make a mean scrambled egg.”

You tell him you’re looking forward to it, to breakfast in bed and breakfast in bed. He falls further for you somehow, despite his lingering disdain for your silly little innuendos. It’s the price you have to pay when you love someone, he figures, like when your crush gets a bad haircut or has shit music taste. 

It’s a quirk he welcomes along with your many others — your rambling and forgetfulness and social unawareness and inability to sit still. All your little idiosyncrasies weren’t obstacles he had to get over to love you, just more reasons for him to.

And it isn’t this one-sided thing, either. Most people would look at the two of you — at the dowager king and local freak — and they’d think he was doing charity work to love you. But Steve’s got peculiarities of his own. 

His best friends are a fourteen-year-old nerd and a closeted lesbian because they were the first two people in his life that didn’t judge him. He chews on the ends of pens and pencils, and his handwriting is shit because he never cared about school. He buys things without ever looking the price tag, then leaves them to collect dust in his room because he never really needed them anyway. He still feels the need to be the center of attention sometimes because the faintest hint of disregard makes him feel neglected.

These are all things you’re aware of. Most of them came with being the wealthy, popular kid from the right side of the tracks. And you liked him anyway — no, you liked him because of them. You adored him through all the heavy shit, and here he was, doing a shit job at pretending to like metal music and horror movies.

“Are you asleep?” Steve wonders after a few moments of velvet silence. He’s still looking at you, one arm propped beneath his hand and the other toying with your fingers splayed on the mattress between you. He hasn’t been able to stop looking at you.

“Almost,” you mumble in response.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Your heart stops at the innocent question, tired eyes flying immediately open and knocking you out of your fatigued stupor. 

All of a sudden, it’s 1984 again. You’re the weirdo who bites people and Steve’s royalty who’ll fuck anything that walks — and here you are, in bed with the asshole. For a moment, you expect Tommy Hagan to bust out of the closet with a tape recorder and for Steve to tell you this was all just some stupid bet.

It’s a pang of blue lightning, an ice pick to your abdomen, that lasts no more than a couple of seconds. 

Internally, you curse yourself for getting so worked up. You make a promise to yourself to work on all that — the regressing and the disbelief that comes with the not-feeling-good-enough bullshit.

“Yeah?” you finally answer.

“I don’t actually like Dio. Or Def Leppard,” he confesses, finding it hard to meet your gaze  like a child who’s been caught in a lie. He focuses on running his thumb over the irregular pattern of your chipped nailpolish. “And I don’t collect vinyls either, not really. I just… I kinda just said those things so you’d like me.”

And, compared to the web you were just spinning in your head, that’s nothing.

“Ooh,” you wince playfully. “Def Leppard I could take, but Dio? I don’t know… That might be a dealbreaker, Harrington.”

He only smiles because he can tell you’re making fun. “I could learn to like them, you know? If it means that much to you. That’s what we’re doing now, right? Loving things on purpose?”

You capture your smile with your bottom lip between your teeth. Your eyes sparkle at him when you nod. “Yeah… We are.”

“Which means you could learn to like football and Bruce Springsteen,” Steve jokes and shifts on the mattress so he’s closer to you. 

Your feet bump together, then entwine effortlessly. He plops his head on the same pillow you’re using. The proximity leaves your faces no more than a couple inches apart. 

You scrunch your nose, wondering if you should hide your disgust in his playful request or make a joke out of it. You don’t do either. “I could… If it means I get to keep you.”

“Keep me?” he scoffs. “Good luck, getting rid of me, Punchy.”

“Who said I wanted to, huh?”

“You will. When you get sick of me.”

He’s smiling like he’s kidding, but you can tell there’s an edge of self-loathing to his tone. 

Your hand crawls from beneath his own and settles on his stubbly jaw. You run your thumb over the cheek, effectively sealing your promise into the blushing apple of it. “I’m never gonna get sick of you, Steve Harrington.”

His brows raise. “No?”

You shake your head against the pillow, then shove the side of your face further into it when you get nervous. There’s a timid quirk to the corners of your lips and a more sheepish glint in your eye. “You don’t get sick of people you love,” you tell him.

Steve opens his mouth to retort. He wants to tell you that he gets sick of Dustin all the time, but that it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love the little shit. He gets sick of milkshakes and pizza and Cheers re-runs when he consumes too much of them in a single setting, but he loves all those things too. 

You get sick of things because you love them, he reasons, because you love them too hard and you hate how much you need them.

He doesn’t get the chance to argue any of this, though.

“Not when you love them on purpose,” you clarify with a sunshine-coated grin.

That shuts him up real quick.

[ash5monster01]

I would love prompt #1 with Steve Harrington! Pretty please 🫶🏻

Wrong Address

Valentines Celebration Prompt

Pairing: Steve Harrington x FemReader

Warnings: fluff, language, miscommunication, instant connection

1. Three dozen roses have just been delivered to your door on accident, in attempts to find the sender and correct the mistake, you discover you might have just found your match.

word count: 1.5k

Masterlist

While running late for work, the last thing you expect to do is nearly trip over three dozen roses sat outside your apartment door. Shock is what hits you first considering you couldn’t think of a single person who would be sending these to you. Especially today. Being late is no longer on your mind as you bend to grab the note sat perfectly in the center of the most gorgeous bouquet you have ever seen.

Robin,

I’ll always be your Valentine if you need one xoxo

Steve Harrington

Professor - University of Chicago

Realizing the flowers aren’t for you, sadness washes through you. Sighing you accept being late is just what’s going to happen today. Collecting all the flowers you walk to the phone on your wall and dial your work number. Lisa your boss is understanding when you say you won’t be in for a few hours and to take the day if you need. So with damaged pride and defeat, you hail a cab with enough roses to make you look crazy, and find yourself on the way to University of Chicago.

It takes twelve wrong turns and three employees to finally point you in the direction of Steve Harrington’s office. You prepare yourself for a balding middle aged man when you knock on the door but instead a young boy with dough eyes and fluffy hair surprises you. Confusion covers his face first as you give him a sheepish smile, a little bewildered because he was cute and you were holding three dozen roses outside his workspace.

“Sadly I’m not Robin, but I do appreciate the gesture” you say with a shrug that lifts the three bouquets in your arm. Realization finally paints his face as his looks at you.

“Shit, she is always yelling at me about not writing down her apartment number. I should have listened” he says, sultry voice wrapping around your heart and squeezing.

“It’ll be our secret, I promise I won’t tell” you say, lifting the flowers his way which he immediately moves to grab. The electric shock that vibrates through you due to his touch is surprising.

“A trustworthy stranger, my favorite kind” he says with a grin, red petals now tickling the bottom of his chin.

“I couldn’t just leave them, it’s Valentines Day after all. She’s a lucky girl” you offer and the boy is instantly shaking his head at your sentence.

“Oh, it’s not like that. She’s my best friend and she just got her ass dumped. I was just doing my part” he says quickly and the blush that covers your face surprises you both.

“I don’t know if that makes me like you more or intimidates me” you finally say, a rush of confidence spiking your heart rate.

“Maybe you’d like to decide over a cup of coffee?” he suggests and the smile that covers your face answers the question for you.

“I’d like that” you say and he nods, turning to dump the roses on top of his desk and quickly step out into the hallway with you as he shuts and locks his door.

“Thank you by the way. Not many people would’ve taken the time to find the correct owner” Steve says after a beat, wringing his hands together as you exit the building and step out onto campus.

“You’re welcome, kinda helped you signed it with your job title as well” you say with a chuckle and the realization that you know his name and he doesn’t know yours comes quickly.

“Shit I’m sorry, I should properly introduce myself. I’m Steve and you are?” his big eyes glance over into your own and you can’t stop the blush that covers your cheeks as you repeat your name back to him.

“What do you teach?” you ask after a moment and Steve smiles, his hand reaching up and running through his messy locks.

“Sports History” he says with a soft chuckle like he can’t even believe it himself. “Not really the most noble profession but it pays the bills I suppose” he says, a bit embarrassed. After all the chaos in Hawkins he found himself at community college doing a degree that didn’t bore him and somehow he ended up here.

“I wouldn’t say that. I mean you’re a professor. You’re teaching people no matter the subject” you offer and the soft smile that covers his face shows his appreciation towards you.

“I hope you don’t mind campus coffee” he finally says, nodding towards a small building that you’re happy to go in.

“Coffee is coffee” you agree as he holds open the door. After giving him your order you find a small table for you both, being careful not to glance up at him too much.

“What made you get into teaching?” you ask when he returns, warm cup of coffee now placed in your hand.

“The kids. Back home I was friends with this group of kids and as much as I pretended I didn’t, I adored them. When I planned to move away there was something comforting about the idea of spending time with people their age” he says and somehow this perfect stranger becomes even more perfect.

“Where is home?” you find yourself asking and he smiles, reminiscing on a place he hadn’t been in a very long time.

“Small town Hawkins, Indiana. Me and Robin moved out here a few years back and I landed the job at the University” he explains, taking a sip of his own coffee and glancing up at you.

“That’s sweet, you two have been friends that long?” the suggestion in your voice isn’t masked well, it’s just surprising to hear of opposite gender friends and not assume there are some sort of feelings there.

“Since I was eighteen. We never go anywhere without each other, especially when we moved here. She only recently moved out to live with her girlfriend, the one who thought it’d be cool to dump her right before Valentine’s day” and suddenly it all makes sense. The kind gesture, three dozen roses, saying he would always be her Valentine, how there was no shared feelings between the two.

“That sucks. You’re a good friend for trying to cheer her up” you say, now smiling at the idea of there being a man out there caring enough to send three dozen roses to his friend who had her heart broken.

“Yeah, which I guess now that my office hours for the day are over I better hand deliver the flowers” he says, laughing to himself for writing down the wrong address. Then again it would’ve never led you to him.

“I probably should be heading home anyway” you mutter, a bit disappointed that he was already thinking of leaving you behind. You must’ve not left the same impression that he did on you.

“I can drive you, if you like. After all you live in her building” and the offer has you perking up like an excited puppy dog.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind?” you grin and he smiles right back, taking another sip of his coffee.

“I don’t mind at all” so you find yourself in his old maroon BMW, still in pristine condition, with the flowers collected from his office now on your lap. You laugh when he tells you it’s his same car from high school and the more you find out about him the more charming he becomes.

“What floor?” you ask him in the elevator, giggling at his rose filled arms.

“4th” he mutters out, shifting and then sneezing from the flowers in his face.

“Well Romeo, try not to send them to the 3rd next time” you say, referring to your own floor and he chuckles as the doors close and lift you up. When the doors open on you floor you go to step forward before noticing he is following you.

“Oh, sorry. This is my stop, one more floor for you” you say and a sad look crosses his face quickly.

“Oh, I guess I just figured you’d deliver them with me” he says with a soft chuckle and you look at the sweet boy who had managed to crawl his way into your heart within the last hour.

“This feels like something you should do alone but hey, I’m not going anywhere all day and it’s Valentine’s after all. So if Robin is willing to share, you know where to find me” you say with a grin, stepping towards him and planting a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Does seven work?” he asks with red cheeks as you step into the hall and you flash him a quick smile.

“It’s a date” and the elevator doors shut close, lifting him away and leaving you with a dopey grin.

Who would have thought three dozen roses not meant for you would still turn out to be the best Valentines gift you ever got.

[lovepookie]

₊˚ෆ Green Light - l.hs

♡︎ sypnosis: in which you have a staring problem—and lee heeseung notices. the weirdest part? he’s totally into that. he just needs the traffic light to turn green to make a move. did you like him like he’s come to like you? find out next episode! on-

♡ genre: fluff, college au, fem!reader, crack, strangers to lovers

♡ 3.4k word count

♡ warnings: uhh cussing, stalker-ish?, stalking mentioned as a joke, please let me know if you’d like me to add any!

♡︎ nano note: hello lovelies! i’m trying to feed the hee-stans so i really hope u guys like this. feedback is much appreciated! (this may or not have been inspired by the song greenlight by 5sos lmao) may or may not write a part 2 idk lmk. xoxo

.♡.

You saw the way the corners of his lips turned up at his friend’s joke. He was so entrancing, and you didn’t know why. Literally every little move would have your breath hitched in your throat. It was actually kind of annoying. You watched him as he blew his hair out of his eyes, leaning back in his chair in a lazy way. He was just so attractive.

But why?

You’re not sure. You let your mind wander in almost anger as you try to compose yourself.

“Yah! Heeseung there she goes again.” Sunghoon whisper yells in a teasing manner.

Heeseung feels his ears turn warm and refuses to look in your direction.

“Ahhh your secret admirer?” Niki leant in, a playful smirk gracing his lips as he put his full trust in the chair he was sitting on, leaning back on the back two legs to support himself in the air. The professor had told him multiple times about not doing the dangerous act.

Did he listen?

No.

“Leave it alone.” Heeseung mumbles, picking up his pen and spinning it throughout his fingers as he looked down at his notebook. It wasn’t like he was taking notes or anything, the professor was late again to the lecture so everyone was conversating about as they waited.

“You should talk to her.” Jay said nonchalantly, a bubble gum lolipop in his mouth.

“Yeah~ You should~” Niki says as he giggles and bumps his shoulder into Heeseung’s. All Heeseung could do was blush further.

It wasn’t like he was new to the attention, he’d always had an admirer or two, but this felt different.

He’d always liked a couple of the people who took interest in him first, but it was always a sort of physical and straight off the back type of attraction. He was just like Jake and Sunghoon; having many girls lurk his way, but only the popular and pretty ones were the one’s they gave actual chances to.

But you?

This was different.

He’d be lying if he said he couldn’t say why. He had taken notice of your stares one day and had thought nothing of it. You were probably just another admirer. Right?

But one day, he decided to meet your eyes and smile at you for once. And low and behold, he wasn’t sure if it was the best or worst thing to ever happen to him because all you did was stare back. You seemed slightly caught off guard for just a moment, but your gaze never relented. It felt like a a couple seconds at most before his friends nudged him out of it, but damn. He felt so entranced through such a little interaction. The boys took notice of this of course, and now they tease him for it, but he didn’t really care. During the stare down, it felt so…

Different.

He’s given a girl the eyes before, but when he stared at you and you stared back unafraid and even unfazed, he suddenly felt as if maybe he’d been caught checking you out. It lit a fire in his stomach and released the butterflies from their cage—sappy enough to say.

From that day on, he had grown interested in the girl who stared. Almost no emotions could be read from your eyes, so Heeseung felt like he’d remember it forever.

What could he say?

He didn’t understand why he suddenly gained fondness for your cold unfaltering eyes.

He just knew it all felt…

Different.

-

There he was again.

You sighed as the pretty grey-haired boy had rounded the campus hallway, going in the opposite direction that you were headed out of.

Your breath hitches as you took him and his friends in.

Well, more like just him.

He was tall and lean, but strong within himself and the laugh he let out made you feel weird. He was very attractive. You couldn’t quite place a reason why, but you felt it—the steady feeling of your heartbeat speeding up.

After indulging yourself with a few glances, you decided to place an earphone in your ear and go on with your day.

Maybe the song you were listening to had reminded you of him—you’d never admit it though because by this point in your infatuation you were just trying to seal away any and all ideas of him. If it was up to you, you’d forget the lingering thoughts of him altogether.

You saw the way he looked at you too.

Still.

As far as you were concerned; you had no chance with Heeseung.

That was just reality.

One foot hovering over the gas pedal—yet the red-light never changes.

-

“Guess who’s here…” Jake says as he swings his arm around Heeseung.

Heeseung’s eyes go up from his phone as he looked around almost instinctively and found you. You had your headphones in and wore a pretty moonstone necklace around your neck—but this time your eyes weren’t on him. He watched as you wandered the hallway and scrolled through your phone, most likely to pick out a song. He wandered what songs you’d be listening to; what songs would you specifically take the time to seek out? Did they sound pretty and soothing like your demeanor, or were they loud and abrupt like your gaze?

Heeseung cursed himself for thinking of someone this way.

He didn’t know why he did if he was being completely honest. It was like one glance from you and his whole world changed. To this day he refuses to aknowledge where the butterflies came from.

“Bro at this point, you’re the stalker.” Sunghoon joked, gaining a laugh from Niki and an elbow to the stomach from Sunoo.

“Hey, just because she stares at him doesn’t mean she’s a stalker, genius.” Sunoo mutters.

Jake just chuckles.

“I don’t know. I’d say they’re both stalkers.” Jungwon chimes in, running through a bag of mini chocolate chip cookies like he was a thief in a jewelry store.

“Hey, you say all that but I saw you eyeing her sister. She’s a Sophomore right? Like Sunoo?” Jay states, snatching the cookie bag and chomping down.

“Jungwon likes the Noona’s?!?” Jake teases, eyes going wide.

“Y-yah!” Jungwon yelps, eyebrows furrowed fiercely in contrast to his pink puffed up cheeks.

Heeseung’s eyes widened.

So you had family on campus?

Interesting.

He wandered if you two were close; he’d always been close to his brother.

Heeseung pauses as he realizes he’s curious about your family affairs but after scolding himself a bit inwardly, Niki’s voice brings him back to Earth. “Oooh~ Maybe Jungwon-hyung and Hee-hyung can go on a double date.” Niki suggests, a playful look in his eyes as he towers over his hyungs.

He was a big baby at the end of the day—they didn’t know how he skipped a grade and became a Freshman with Jungwon to be honest.

“Okay pipe down, she’s getting closer.” Heeseung mumbles, his large hand going on the back of Niki’s neck threateningly. The boys quieted down with teasing smiles on their faces as they came up on you in the hallway. In an effort to not be obvious, they achieve the opposite as you get closer and closer.

“Watch this.” Sunghoon whispers, before Heeseung’s eyes go wide.

Within a millisecond, Sunghoon’s hands are pulling at the back of Jungwon’s backpack and dragging him along to stand in front of you. The group can’t help but to stare wide-eyed at the sudden and bold interaction.

“Ummm…Y/n, Is it?” Sunghoon mutters out as Jungwon flails around trying to desperately get out of his grip.

You look up from your phone at the sudden presence in front of your walkway as well as because of the close new voice. When you meet eyes with Sunghoon, his handsome and intimidating ones are still no match for your guarded and undesiring ones.

“Hi? can I help you?” You ask, now sparing a glance to the group in front of you, a dozen plus eyes staring back. For a moment you lock eyes with Heeseung as—for what you’d like to say came from your imagination—his brows soften.

“Oh- well uh, you see, this kid right here is Mr. Yang and he was wondering if your sister was single….” Sunghoon says, gathering his confidence as he talked.

You take notice of the boy in his grasp and how he straightens up at the question. He grimaces but still stares at you expectantly. If he had been coerced into this, he seemed to be equally as interested in your response now.

“Uhh…yeah. She’s single. But not for long.” You state.

Truthfully, you had no interest in any of this, but the countless hours your sister would speak of this Jungwon kid had you wanting to stir the pot a bit.

You knew who they all were. You knew all of their names, courtesy of Heeseung—yet you never let your sister know her crush was also your crush’s friend.

“Oh?” Sunghoon asks, getting more and more comfortable being cheeky as the minutes went by.

“What do you mean not for long? Is someone currently talking to her?” He asks. You scoff as you look down to your shoes, and when you look up you let a small smile give way.

Heeseung feels his heart sink to his ass.

He’d never really seen you do that before.

You were very pretty and your smile did things to his stomach. It left him wondering what a laugh or a wide playfull smile from you would do to him.

“Well…I’m not sure…what was the name she keeps talking about?…” You ask out loud and look around as if to gather your thoughts.

“Was it Jungwon?…” You see the dimpled-boys’ eyes light up.

“…Or Sunghoon?” You pause in thought.

All of the boys’ eyes go wide. Sunghoon let’s his grip on Jungwon go as they stand speachless.

“Or was it…a short international name? I’m not sure.” You say wafting your hand in the air nonchalantly and watching as Jay, Jake and even the possible Niki go tense.

Heeseung watches in amazement as he quickly reads up on how you’re speaking and carrying yourself as if you were executing a play of some sort; your theatrics and persuasive words doing just enough to fool his dumbass friends.

You quickly do a scan over the friend group and see shocked faces, along with a grumpy looking Jungwon.

He quickly turns to you.

“Thank you for your time. I apologize for the inconvenience.” Jungwon utters before he’s grabbing Sunghoons arm to lead him back to the group for a nice and easy talking.

You let a giggle slip as they walk away, not realizing how gullible they would be.

Going back to your headphones and playing your music again in order to switch gears to leave, you decide maybe the sad love songs were too melancholy right now. That was quite a fun interaction that just played out, if you do say so yourself. This time, a love song shuffled from your playlist but before you could get far enough away from the group of boys, your music blasts out loud due to your wires not being plugged into your phone correctly.

You panic and start to fidget to fetch your phone back out of your pocket, the lyrics of love ringing through the halls.

“And it feels like oooh~ you don’t know my name~” The woman of the song sings out melodically. The smooth R&B sounds that follow really catch onto the baseboards and walls of the open hallway, and you curse yourself for walking near the music rooms to get to class. When you finally get a grip on the situation and pause the music, your cheeks are red in color and your heartbeat is at a steady and quick pace. It was at this moment you realized how fucked wires really were and that you needed a Bluetooth upgrade.

As if on cue, a tap to your shoulder pulls you into even more embarrassment as you turn around to take a look at the suspect. You lock eyes with him.

Large pupils softly looking into yours; the nerves you take notice of in them are almost overshadowed by a courageous type of interest.

“H-hi.” He utters out, almost like a whisper.

Still, you catch what he says.

“Hi.” You say back, realizing you’re probably doing that thing again with your eyes where you lock onto a target and analyze it carefully.

You were aware of this habit of yours—and man so was Heeseung. But this time, it was different.

He’d never seen you so up close and personal before. He realized you were shorter than he expected up close, his stature peering down at you to connect your eyes with his. Your eyes were back doing the thing again he noted, but my oh my your rosy cheeks accompanied them so prettily, he forgets the whole reason he even walked over.

After hearing your small response back to him, it takes him a bit to respond, snapping out of the hold your gaze held on him as soon as he realizes that you are just waiting for a response; the two of you just staring at each other in the middle of the hall. His cheeks match yours in crimson. His hand goes up to rub the nape of his neck.

He still never breaks eye contact with you.

“I- uh…I know what you did back there.” He says, unable to look away. You tilt your head sideways in confusion, and Heeseung swears his heart is about to jump out of his chest and run away for everyone in eyeshot to see.

“I…My friends? They just asked you about your sister and I wanted to say you were really good at messing with them. It was charming.” He finishes, looking back and forth between your eyes.

You blush further.

Charming?

Was he really talking about you to you right now?

“Oh- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lie, just thought I’d stir the pot a bit…” You mutter, and now your eyes are searching in each of his.

He starts to smile when he takes notice of this.

It’s almost as if the words being spoken held no meaning, the real conversation happening between eye contact—words being merely a sad excuse so that you two could watch each other up close; study each others intentions through your eyes.

His smile goes wider as he takes in each of your words and tries to multitask, and he finds himself pulling apart esch of your words so he can understand them—having no time to stop the current conversation happening silently.

“Uhm, can i ask you a question?” He asks after another pause. You stare up at him curiously now.

“Sure…”

He smiles as he continues to locate your soul through your eyes. Heeseung knew how he felt. He knew that what he felt very well might be overflowing admiration and curiosity for you.

He liked you.

And despite that it all started with catching you staring at him first, he still felt like he needed to know your intentions.

Did you really feel the same?

Was he special? Different in any way?

“…What color are my shoes…?” He questions, almost like a whisper again. You hear his words and kind of just stand there as you look up, a little confused for a second.

Heeseung chuckles and looks away for the first time in what feels like hours. When his eyes meet yours again, he’s leaning forward, his hands behind his back as he towers over you.

“I said, what color are my shoes?” He repeats, this time a little more confidently.

You knew this was a challenge by his body language; keep your eyes up top and answer the question.

Without looking down you try to rack your brain for the color of his shoes.

White?

Black?

Fucking red?

You don’t know, you don’t stare at his shoes, you’re too busy looking at-

Oh.

Heeseung watches as the realization pops up on your face. He was asking this because it was a reflection of your attention on him.

Heeseung’s shoes were bright green today.

We’re talking neon-neocity green.

The rest of his outfit was all black because he got ready this morning in a rush out of fear of being late for his morning lectures.

And so when you couldn’t answer despite him catching your glances throughout the day, he knew he had his own answer. No, this didn’t proclaim your love for him—but the interest was there, he could tell by the way you looked away for the first time during this conversation, your blush never settling, eyebrows furrowing.

If he didn’t know better, you were madly in love with him. Or so he’d like to think.

The fact of the matter is, if he’d caught your eyes so many times today, why didn’t you know the color? Don’t people who like someone else capture everything about them? What was Heeseung’s thought process? Simple.

In the many weeks he’s caught you staring it was always at him. His face, the back of his head, his side profile. This sole fact and your reaction right now let him know that you were worried that you wore your heart on your sleeve—that you were too obvious in the feelings you conveyed with your eyes. That maybe you were aware of the fact that he knew you’d been watching him relentlessly.

Your face read that you had been caught.

After quickly looking down at his shoes and seeing the godforsaken brightest color in the universe, you can’t help but grimace even more.

“They’re- they’re green. And they’re just shoes-“ You try to get out, but your words are cut off when you look back up and Heeseung’s eyes are smiling with him. For a second you see them glance at your lips, and just like that, you were done with this conversation.

“It was nice meeting you Heeseung, but i have to go.”

Your heart was pounding in your rib cage and it, accompanied with the empty feeling in your stomach, made you feel like you were going to be sick any minute now.

He was terrible; terribly attractive and he knew it.

Heeseung watches as you leave, a laugh leaving his pretty upturned lips.

“Catch you later!” He yells out, cupping his hands around his mouth to get his voice to carry over to your quickly fading figure.

“I love that song too!” He finishes, smiling like a love-sick idiot puppy, forgetting how to walk, learning how to see and trying to adapt.

He looked like a complete moron, stumbling in the halls and looking past strangers in order to continue to watch you go.

He didn’t know why.

But you lit him on fire and kept him feeling warm.

It was a small interaction—but one he’d never forget.

“Hyu-“

“Hyu!”

“HYUNG!” A loud voice rings out, taking Heeseung out of his love-coma.

He snaps his head back to his friend group and is suddenly aware of their presence altogether. Heesung can’t help his smile from falling as he realizes they just saw him do…well…all of that.

“You should’ve seen yourself-“ Jake laughs, running up to him with the others trailing; all with the most painfully teasing grins painted on their faces.

“Shut up.” Heeseung says pointedly, his blush looking worse on his ears and cheeks and along his nose bridge as he flatlines his face in an attempt to hide any and all emotion.

Safe to say, his deadpan doesn’t work.

“Oh my god! He looked so whipped- it reminds me of that one loser-in-love squidward meme!” Niki jokes, laughing with Sunoo.

Yes, even Sunoo was clowning on him; or at least laughing at the circus.

“Please be quiet.”

“Nah, but did you hear him?? wHaT COLoR aRE mY shOeS?!” Sunghoon mocks, slapping a giggling Jungwon’s shoulder.

As if one cue, Niki and Jake both mimic Heeseung’s lean forward which sends the group into a laughing mess. Jay grabs onto his stomach as he wheezes about, the whole group unable to hide their amusement. Heeseung sighs as he lets himself be ripped apart by his friends.

Whatever.

It wasn’t too serious.

As they continued on and dragged him about as they walked through the halls, he went nonchalantly, tuning them out to the best of his ability. With the way they yelled and loudly laughed, he wouldn’t be surprised if the whole school had learned of his little crush.

Still, he didn’t mind. He trudged along, staring down at his shoes with a slight smile. He liked you, and as far as he was concerned, you did too.

All signs pointed to yes—and they were painted a bright neon green.

The light had finally changed colors after waiting for so long; It was go time.

Heeseung was going to make you his.

2024 © lovepookie

♡︎ please do not plagarize, repost, copy or translate any of my works. thank you.

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[edwardslvrr]

༯ 405, TREVOR ZEGRAS

trevor zegras x singer!reader

the one where rumour has it YN has a new boyfriend and Trevor has a new girlfriend

taglist if you’d like to be added to my taglist, message me privately or comment on this post

warning this is all fake and just for fun, no hate to any of the people mentioned. Just a reminder that this is pure for entertainment xoxo

last part main masterlist trevor zegras masterlist

ynupdates

via twitter

REPLIES

username imagine if she’s back together w trevor

username after that album? bro is sobbing in the corner

username would be such a YN thing to do tho

username what if new bf is old bf 👀

username so many paparazzi and no one thought tp take a picture of the dudes face???

username this outrageous behaviour, YN. we’re out here sobbing to her new album and she has been macking on some new dude

username no fr she has me sobbing here like a child for days now

username atleast she looks hella good

username cool and whatever but tour dates pls?

username YN it was suppose to be me next😔

username imagine it is jack hughes

username jack’s probably trying to shoot his shot w trevor now tbh

username she wasn’t interested in Trevor’s unemployed ass anymore lol

yourinstagram

los angeles, california

liked by jackhughes and 1.395.728 others

yourinstagram good riddance deluxe is out NOWW!!

view 19.738 comments

username oh wow- this is depressing

username “i hate the fact that i miss you around” MOOD

username jack really feeding into the rumours abt him and YN by liking this

username not people believing that rumour what??

username honestly the weirdest rumour i’ve ever heard

username y’all will believe anything atp

username WHAT DID U PUT IN 405 WHAT

username “how are you looking at me like a stranger” my heart bro??

username imma go call my therapist.. this is too much

yourbestfriend okay OUCH?

yourinstagram oops?

username ayo jack i see u dude

username the last picture such a mood

username too much pain girly

username “i loved you so hard for a time” trevor go sit in the corner and think about what you did.

trevorzegras

liked by colecaufield and 104.749 others

trevorzegras all summer long

view 1.284 comments

username in his tim mcgraw era?

username bringing up taylor swift any time he can in his personality

username uhm.. last picture?

colecaufield suspicious

username glad u seem to think so too

username cole spill what you know

username soft launch?

jackhughes winner

username wtf does that even mean

username ellen, get jack back on the leash pls

username pls let that be YN 🙏

username YN out w her new man, Trevor hinting his new girl. Can i please go cry..

username as long as it isn’t some tiktoker you got my approval.

username trevor just wants to be a tiktok star, leave him be

username he’s unemployed, he needs to get money from somewhere

username a lot of questions rn

ynupdates

via twitter

REPLIES

username that’s definitely jack

username bro u say that abt an ARM

username she isn’t a homie hopper dude

username could be trevor🤷🏼‍♀️

username why do i feel like her and trevor are back together, like there’s no way it’s a coincidence they both have a new partner at the same time

username how did people ever get to the fact she could be dating jack?! y’all are so weird

username nah after that album i refuse to believe she has already moved on

username she’s probs dating him again

username i mean the album was writing a while back tho-

username i refuse.

username yn probably panicked so hard when she realised she posted that

username she def cried

imessages

taglist - @ihrtdan

[beybaldes]

and wouldn't you love to love her?

Warren Rojas x Fem!Reader

djats masterlist

Word Count : 2.1k

Summary : basically my fic they long to be (close to you) with a warren!ending. OR the one where Warren reveals he can't sleep without you anymore.

Warning!! I have not read the book or the show!!! All info I have gathered has been from other x readers I have read. sorry in advance if I have butchered your fav show/book because I have plainly made shit up in favour of satiating my own need for more warren fics xoxo

Moving to LA had been much more isolating then you'd ever thought it'd be. Sure, you'd moved with there with some of your closest friends, but it still felt harrowingly lonely compared to what you were used to in Pittsburgh. In your small hometown, everyone knew everyone, so wherever you went, you saw someone you knew - here, in LA, you felt lucky to accidentally make eye contact with a stranger on the street.

Warren was the number one person happy to fill the needed affection you often sought out since moving to LA. He, himself, was quite the lover - always one to take a cuddle and hold onto a hug for way longer then most would deem appropriate - which was exactly what you needed. The two of you had spent many nights in bed together in LA just for the company of it, and not that you didn't like it, you just wished it was with someone else, instead.

"You coming to bed, sweet girl?" Warren asked with a tired drawl to his words, extending a hand out to you while the other held the remainder of his joint to his lips.

"In a little." You hummed back, taking a hit out the joint he offered out to you, the joint being held to your lips by Warren instead of taking it into your own hands. "I'm not tired enough to sleep."

Warren pulled the joint back to his lips, his other hand coming to brush your hair out of your eyes and behind your ear, his hand resting against your hair and keeping you tucked in the crook of his neck. "You want me to wait up with you? Or you can come keep my company? I'll put on some Fleetwood Mac, it'll help you sleep, baby girl."

That was another thing that you missed about Pittsburgh; the constant nicknames you let the others call you. Back in Pittsburgh, everyone had some kind of name to call you except the one you were born with. Now? Karen called you sweet-pea, Eddie called you birdie, Camilla called you sunshine as did Graham and even Billy, but Warren? Warren called you whatever he liked; sweet girl, baby girl, baby, doll, his.

"No, it's okay Warren, you go to bed." Warren scooped you up in his arms, placing you down in the spot next to Graham who had already opened up his blanket for you, then pressed a kiss to your cheek. "I'll leave the door open for you."

You let your head fall to Graham's shoulder, who pulled his arm out from between the two of you and wrapped it over the back of the sofa. He allowed you to tangle your legs up in his pyjama covered ones, making sure you were comfortable before he turned his attention back to the tv screen.

"You and Warren are sleeping together?" Karen had been the one brave enough to ask, the conversation between the two of you not unnoticed by the rest of the group - it being the only thing to break the silence in the past 40 minutes. 

All heads turned to you, attention suddenly on something that had the potential to be more interesting then the rerun of Scooby-doo that had just started. "Not like that." You answered softly, eyes still focused on the cartoon dog and his gang on friends, not noticing how everyone else was now looking at you. "We both just like the company of it. I don't think either of us realised how lonely it would be coming out to LA."

"Cute." Camilla mused, a warm smile curling on her lips as she took in that even in your sleep you were reaching out for the touch and warmth of someone else.

"You're always welcome in my bed, sweet-pea." Karen added, a smile curling on her own lips as she managed to take your attention away from the tv. "I swear you run cold. Would be nice in the LA heat."

"You can't steal my blanket buddy." Graham gasped, pulling you tighter against him and furiously tucking the blanket around the two of you. "She's the perfect amount of cold. The windows open, with the blanket, with y/n is the perfect temperature for me."

"I'm going to have to pass on that one Karen, unless you want to come down to my room." You countered her offer with a soft smile, attention moving back to the tv once more. "Warren says your room is haunted."

Laughter spread through out the room as you sided with Warren even in his absence; he was so sweet to you, and that's what friends do, so how could you not?

"What?" You asked, laughing yourself. "We left it empty until your arrival for a reason." That caused another round of laughter to break out in the room, everyone enjoying the way the two of you were slowly but surely morphing into one person with the more time you spent confined in the LA rental.

A particularly loud shout of "scoob!" from the TV had everyone's attention turned back to the cartoon, letting the nature of your relationship with Warren lie for at least the time being.

By the end of the third episode, only you, Graham and Eddie remained in the room. Graham was fast asleep, his head leaning against yours making you trapped in his hold, and Eddie was sat in the armchair against the wall, legs curled into the seat and a bottle of warm beer in his hands that he'd been nursing for the last half an hour.

As the intro to the next rerun of Scooby-doo blasted from the TV, Graham startled awake, literally jumping out of his seat and pulling the blanket with him. He grumbled some attempt at what you thought was a goodnight, and stumbled sleepily out of the room, the warmth of him and the blanket leaving you alone on the couch.

Eddie got up from his seat without a word, joining you on the couch with his arm stretched over your shoulders and across the back of the couch cushions.

"I know you like him." Eddie teased, letting his arm fall around you and pull you into his side. He pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and placed it over the two of you, trying to keep you warm now that Graham had stolen your provisos blanket. "I can tell, I think we all can."

"Everyone except Warren, I guess." You complained, letting your head fall back against his shoulder, taking the warm beer he held in his hands and having a sip of it.

"He likes you too you know." Eddie laughed at the face of disbelief you pulled, taking the beer back from you to have another sip for himself. "All I'm saying is, you don't see me in his bed every night, and he likes me just fine."

You hummed into him, tucking your head away from the light of the tv screen, thinking about what Eddie was suggesting. His fingers moved to run through your hair, soothing you to sleep even if he hadn't meant to.

It wouldn't be the first time you had ended up in this predicament, you and Eddie cuddled up together on a couch in someone's living room, the night having gotten away from you. But it was the first time since coming to LA, the first time since you'd basically moved into Warren's bed, and if it weren't for the fact you were already half asleep, you would've felt sick about it.

Eddie wasn't far behind you when it came to falling asleep, his fingers shortly stilling and beer left half drank and held loosely between his fingers.

As people slowly began to filter into the living room the following morning, you made yourself plenty comfortable in Eddie's lap - instead of taking up the whole couch - allowing him to wrap an arm around your waist and hold you up and against him by your thighs. You lazily tuned into the conversation everyone else seemed to be having, mainly focused on eating the bowl of cereal Camilla had given you and the feeling of Eddie's fingers toying with the hem of your shorts. Picking up another spoonful of food, you offered him a mouthful, him taking it with a grateful smile.

"I thought you and Warren were sleeping together?" Billy asked, gesturing at you and Eddie with the tip of his spoon accusingly.

"And I thought we discussed this last night." You deflected with a shrug. Everyone apparently knew of your feelings for the curly haired brunette according to Eddie, but that didn't mean you had to admit them to them. It would only give them more ammunition to tease you with anyways. "Me and Ed's stayed out here last night, tried to stay up watching scooby-doo but failed, that's all."

"You and Ed's, huh." Graham asked, his eyebrow raised in suspicion.

"You're just jealous that she doesn't have a cute nickname for you." Eddie spat back, quickly coming to your defence as you offered him another bite of your cereal.

Scanning your eyes around the room, you took notice of the lack of a certain member of the sixes presence. "Where is Warren, actually?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Graham teased, earning a smack on the chest from Eddie who came to your defence as you left the room, leaving him with your cereal and an unusually rowdy Graham.

You crept into Warren's room, quiet as a mouse, hoping not to wake him up as you made your own way to bed. Despite your claim last night, you headed over first to the record player in the corner, pulling out your Fleetwood Mac vinyl and skipping to where Rhiannon should start. Turing the volume down enough that it wouldn't go outside the room but would reach you from Warren's bed. Cracking open the window just enough to let in a cool breeze, you finally got into what had become your side of Warren's bed.

No sooner then you'd lied down and turned on your side to slowly wake him, Warren was cosying himself into your side, nuzzling into your shoulder and wrapping his arm around you, intertwining your fingers.

"I didn't mean to wake you, m'sorry." You murmured, wiggling your arm out of his hold to wrap it over him, tangling your fingers in his mess of curls. You scratched gently at his scalp, Warren preening into your touch, yearning for it. "Well I did actually, but not like this, it's nearly 9."

"You didn't wake me, sweet girl." He purred, pressing a kiss, then another, then another to your shoulder. "Can't sleep without you, just been sat here all night trying to."

"Warren." You whined, shuffling to face him better at his confession. "You should've said so. I would've come with you when you first asked. You could've come to get me."

"I didn't want you to think I was needy." He whispered, avoiding your eyes as he busied himself in trying to get comfy now that you were in his arms again. "Plus, when I did come out to get you, you seemed pretty cosy with Eddie."

"We just fell asleep watching tv, that's all." You promised, feeling as a smile creeped onto Warren's face at your admission. "Nothing else. If I didn't have the blanket I would've come here, to you. I promise."

"You're here now, baby girl. That's all that matters to me." Warren was already dropping asleep, his need for it catching up quickly now that your presence was beside him, now that he was safe in your arms. "All that matters."

At your lack of response, Warren began to move, exhibiting the most life you'd seen in him since you'd walked into the room minutes ago. "C'mere hot stuff." Warren opened his arms to you, letting you shuffle down until your head rested against his chest and your arms were wrapped under his, going up his back and holding onto his shoulders from behind.

You gently scratched your fingers up and down his back, lulling him to sleep just as he was lulling you sleep with the soothing circles he was rubbing into your hip. You were quick to fall asleep again in his hold, as you did every night in Warren's bed, as did Warren, who, like he'd just admitted, couldn't sleep without you in his arms.

[lunedottir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤVAMPIRE .. !

where you made a real big mistake, but Miles made the worst one look fine.

inspired by Oliva Rodrigo lyrics.

pairing: e42!aged up!Miles x reader

genre: angst, no comfort.

warnings: infidelity, both of them are 19, cursing, Miles being toxic

a.n: hi guys! i haven't posted day 2 of my writing challenge so here it is! i'll post twice today to make up to it, and i'm already working on it! love y'all, enjoy! xoxo.

taglist form

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤPLEASE CONSIDER REBBLOGING!

you hadn't heard from Miles in days. sick worried, you had talked to all of his friends, and all of them would just shrug you off, and you knew something was wrong. you knew that it wasn't exam season at college, so why was he avoiding you? leaving you on delivered every day, not answering your calls, nothing. it was like you never met each other. until you got a text from an unknown number: a picture of Miles kissing another girl. the one girl that would always say how cute you two were together, the one girl that Miles told you not to worry about. you just couldn't believe that, after all of that you've done for him, you ended up being the fool. you texted him that same day.

you: we gotta talk.

mi vida <3: im omw

you: bet.

(delivered at 3pm)

he showed up at your window in his prowler suit at 2AM while you were writing your daily diary entry.

"hey." he called, making you look up from your notebook. "you good?"

"yeah, i'm good."

he looked at you, and you could see that he wanted to tell you something. you knew him better than he did, and that was the worst part of it.

"spill it."

"i… i fucked up, ma."

he mumbled out, and immediately you knew what he was talking about. why he was so distant. why his mother was avoiding you, why even his uncle, who was never even nice to you, asked if you were okay this morning when you ran into him.

"fuck yeah, you did."

"i'm sorry, y/n, i really am-"

"no you're fucking not. don't bullshit me, Miles Gonzales Morales."

"can you listen to me first?"

"no! no, i can't! God, i can't believe how stupid i was."

"ma, you're overreacting."

"am i? am i overreacting when some random number text me a picture of my fucking boyfriend kissing the one girl i was insecure about?"

"it was a one night stand, ma, i made a mistake! i love you!"

"no, Miles, i made a mistake. i made a real big one, and you made it look so fine!" you raised your voice, tears flooding your eyes. "and you can't love anyone, because that would mean you have a fucking heart!"

"c'mon, y/n, you're better than this. bet it was those crazy friends of yours that filled your head with that bullshit."

"don't you open your mouth to talk about them! they warned me! they told me you were bad news and you called them crazy like you did just now! God, i hate the way i called them crazy too…"

you leaned back, covering your face so he wouldn't see you crying. he walked to you, taking your hands and analyzing your face carefully.

"are you done? can i kiss you now?"

you scoffed, pushing him away

"is she better than me?" you mumbled, wiping the tears away.

"what?"

"is she better than me, Miles?

"you can't ask me that-"

"yes or no?"

he was silent, but you felt the energy shift.

"no one is better than you."

"it's incredible how you lie without flinching."

"listen to me-"

"get out of my fucking house."

"woah, who do you think you're talking to?"

"a stranger." you looked into his eyes, and you knew he knew it was over. "i hope you're happy, Miles. i truly do. but we both know that you'll never have another me."

he started to walk away, ego as shattered as your heart.

"thank God for that."

you took the ring out of your finger, placing it on his hands.

"we'll see about that."

you watched as he walked away, giving you one last look before leaving through the window. as you set down on your bed taking the notebook to write that down, you felt your eyes tearing up, and soon teardrops were staining the black ink that covered the pages. you knew that, eventually, Miles would regret that, but it would be too late.

this is so bad, i'm so sorry (⁠-⁠_⁠-⁠;⁠) i hope y'all like it and let me know if you want a part two !! love y'all, xoxo!!

taglist: @elusive-honeydew

edit: I'm working on a part 2 of this one!!!!please lemme know if y'all wanna be tagged!