#Can't believe my English is getting better thanks to this
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A red thread tying you to me (Charles Leclerc)
There was something pulling you to him and Charles was ready to act on it
Note: english is not my first language. I loved the blurb and now we have a big piece too!
Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!
my masterlist
Tw: mentions the death of reader's father's and Charles' father's deaths
Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3
"The congress is just outside of Milan, the exact city and details are in there", your colleague Lucia offered as she flickered though the pages, "I've been a couple of times before and it's really enriching, I just know you'll love the students and the department head - she was my supervisor for a couple of years".
"It sounds great", you looked at the panel information and then the travel details, "it's such a shame you can't come with me though, but I also wouldn't want to risk your little dude showing up and have me as your midwife", you chuckled as Lucia rubbed her baby bump.
"You're capable of many things, Y/N, but I would prefer if the fate of my baby and my underparts was in the hands of a professional!", she bumped your shoulder, "and the area is really nice too, I'm sure you'll find something to keep you busy during the weekend".
"I have plans, actually, I'll be fine I think", you smiled.
Like Lucia predicted, you had a great time in the conference and the guest lecture you gave was applauded and discussed for nearly an hour after you showed the last slide of the presentation, topics going back and forth until everyone had to absolutely leave the room before the next lecture began. For now, you'd get to enjoy the region, drinking some wine and taking in the views you recognised.
The park where your father used to take you didn't look too different. The slides didn't look rusty anymore, and the swing was a bright red colour as you sat on it once you didn't see any other kid around who might want to use them and let yourself feel the breeze on your face and hair as you kicked your legs in and out. Your father used to make you feel like you could touch the sky with how high he helped you go, "you're going to touch the clouds, mia piccola stella", he would say and you would laugh loudly.
You missed him every single day, but over the years, your grief allowed you remember all of the happy moments you lived with him, cherishing them close to your heart. Spending the whole weekend in Monza and attending the race was something you hadn't done without him since he passed away. The circuit was your father's favourite - "it's the fans, Y/N, there's a thrill in the air that no other circuit has - Tifosi cover the streets, they're all you can see around town and it's magical almost" he would say to you, so when you noticed the conference was in the area and coincided with the Grand Prix weekend, both you and your mother agreed you should take the opportunity.
On your way back to the hotel, you stopped by the track, wondering what the preparations for a race weekend looked like after so many years. You still followed the sport, but you never got the chance to catch this on television.
"Oh my, oh my", you heard someone say beside where you were standing, "I can't believe my eyes, it's Y/N Y/L/N".
Turning around you spotted Salvatore, one of the mechanics your father worked with. He also had kids around your age and you would often play together whenever you were both in the garage for the weekend.
"Salvatore!", you cheered, giving him a big smile after kissing each of his cheeks, "you better believe your eyes then".
"It's been so long since I've seen you last", he recalled, rubbing your back softly. You and your mother had gone to Maranello for a tribute ceremony the team had for your father - that had been the last time he saw you.
"It has been, yes - I'm sorry", you apoligised. You told the team you'd be around and so much had happened since and you only watched it through a screen instead of living it in the flesh.
"It's okay, it was the time you needed - What brought you to Monza this weekend?", he wondered as he walked inside the paddock with you, scanning his card and getting you both in.
"A work trip actually - I finished a conference yesterday and I also gave a lecture at the university", you nodded, "and my father always loved Monza", you smiled at the memory, "he knew how cliché that sounded, but he always said there wasn't a better weekend on the calendar. And I've missed the rush, too", you offered, letting the tears flow freely and accepting them even though you were in the middle of the paddock, loud noises coming from every angle as the teams prepared the finishing touches for the upcoming race.
"He's very proud of you, I'm sure", Salvatore comforted, "and everyone will be happy to see you here - the little girl with the high pigtails is a grown woman now who attends conferences and gives lectures, who would've known?", he joked as you stepped inside the garage.
"Is this little troublemaker Y/N Y/L/N?", one of the oldest mechanics said after he applied a sticker to the halo.
When your father took you to the races, everyone knew they had fun guaranteed with you, always pulling pranks and laughing loudly, "my troublemaker days are over, I'm a responsible woman now", you chuckled, giving a quick wave to everyone before greeting everyone individually.
"Do you have tickets for this weekend?", Fred asked. Even though he had just met you, it was clear to him how much you mattered to everyone who worked with your father, "we can get you a pass, I'm sure".
"I have grandstand tickets", you stated.
"Silvia!", the team principal called the woman, making her approach him and rub your arm kindly, "do we have any guest passes left?".
"Let me check", Silvia mumbled, "we have one left, actually! Charles didn't even notice he asked us to save a ticket for his mother twice - I'll get it for you, it's in the meeting room upstairs", she smiled.
"Charles will also be very happy to see you around, did you tell him you were coming?", Salvatore mentioned.
"I haven't actually - I've been really busy", you mumbled.
You met the monégasque driver when he was Scuderia Ferrari's development driver and Prema Racing driver in Formula Two, accidentally running into him in the dining area of the hospitality and ending up spending most of his free time there throughout the whole weekend.
Quickly, it became a tradition to do so whenever he was over and whenever he was done with his Formula Two duties and you happened to be at the same track.
When you stopped attending races because the memories were too painful, you lost contact, opting to react to eachother's Instagram stories every now and again and sending quick messages through the social media app.
"The boys arrive today, but they're only coming to the track tomorrow", Fred added, "you'll have plenty of time to catch up".
Charles had finally arrived to the hotel after all the flights and drives, thankful that there weren't many fans around already and he could get inside without a hitch, checking in and getting his room keys.
"Hold it, per favore!", he said to the person on the lift, dreaming of the changing from his travel outfit and the bed waiting for him. When his hand helped him inside the metal door, he couldn't believe his eyes, "Y/N?".
He could remember the last time he saw you. He had just started his first season as a Formula One driver for Alfa Romeo and you had come back to the paddock for the first race of the season like you promised you would. He sat with you whenever he had a little break, you caught up with him and his early days as a driver with a seat rather than just watching from the sidelines.
"Charles, hi!", you gasped, hugging him and feeling him squeeze your body against his.
"I- what are you doing here? Are you here for the race?", he wondered. This couldn't be a mere coincidence. He hoped it wasn't.
"I had a work trip here that coincided with this weekend, and I thought of it as a sign", you explained, "you're staying in this hotel too?".
"Yes, the team are at the one where we usually stay for the weekend, but until Thursday, I'm staying here, yes", he smiled, "Goodness, I feel like it's both been forever and like it was yesterday", he chuckled, "do you want to get a drink? I have a nice selection in my room whenever I stay", he offered.
"I'd love to, Charles", you said, hoping that the tingly feeling on your tummy mirrored Charles' own excitement at this unexpected but valued encounter, "are you sure though? You just arrived".
"No, don't worry about that! My room is... 705", he checked on the card he was handed, "so you can join me now or maybe you want to set those things down first and meet me there?", he pointed to the bag you were carrying.
"Yes, this is quite heavy actually", you blushed, "my room is on this floor, so I'll meet in your room in fifteen? I need to freshen up because I've been walking around town all day".
Leaving the elevator on your floor, Charles waved at your before the doors closed andyou headed to your door. Stepping inside, you left the totebag with the books you bought in the chair before heading to the bathroom, brushing out any tangles in your hair and splashing your face with water to freshen up.
After getting yourself ready to go, you went up to Charles' floor, knocking on the door and waiting for him.
"Come in, come in!", Charles offered after he opened the door, "I've unpacked but kept it very organised still", he chuckled as you walked inside the room. It looked the same as yours did, only a different colour pallette for the decoration.
"How have you been?", you wondered once you sat down and shared some sparkling water, neither of you really feeling like drinking anything alcoholic.
"You surely know more about me than I know about you", Charles smiled, "but it's been good, this season has been great so far, I feel like we're in a really good path and things are working well", he took a sip from his cup, "the team have done such an incredible job".
"And the driver on the car doesn't have anything to do with that?", you squinted at his ever so modest take on things.
"I suppose I do", he blushed.
"I may have not been here, but I've watched every race - minus some of the ones at daft o'clock, I only watched those when my sleep was all messed up", you joked, "you're an essential part of this team, Charles, everyone can see that so you should give yourself more credit", you touched his arm.
Even though it had been years since you last saw eachother, you hit it off immediately and it seemed like no time had passed.
"And you? What is this work trip that brought you here?", Charles nodded.
"You're not the only one who gets to travel for work, alright?", you tsked, "I had to do a presentation on a conference and then the department invited me for a lecture, nothing big".
"Who's being ever so modest now, hm? That is fantastic, mon ange!", he congratulated before he noticed the words coming out of his mouth.
"When I noticed it fell around this weekend, I told my mum and she said that I should try and dip my foot here - I've been wanting to come to race sooner but...", you trailed off.
"I get it - it's hard going to the places that remind you of them", Charles took his hand in yours and squeezed it, "he was so cherished by the team, I'm sure everyone will be very happy to see you".
"Actually, I walked to the track today so I could see it up close before the race - I hoped it wouldn't be such a big shock once I got there on Friday -, and I bumped into Salvatore", you smiled, "he let me go into the garage and I saw everyone, it was really nice", you looked up so the tears on your eyes wouldn't fall.
"I can get you a pass, let me just text Silvia!", Charles said as he got his phone from his pocket with his free hand.
"She already did", you chirped, "apparently you booked two for your mother, so they had a spare one".
"You see, a couple of years ago, my mum was too late to tell me she was coming to the race and I was out of the guest passes, so I always have one on hold for her and I sent the list with her name on it as well", he admitted, "but it seems to have turned out just fine - meant to be even".
You ended up requesting room service for the two of you for dinner, neither feeling like going out of the room after feeling so comfortable there. Conversation was steady, vulnerability was easy to show and the butterflies were happily dancing on your tummy.
"I better get to my room, then", you stated once Charles told you about what he needed to do tomorrow once he was at the track.
"I didn't mean it that way - I'm fine!", he said after doing his best attempt at containing a big yawn, "I'm fine!".
"You're tired, and frankly so am I", you admitted as you got up from the bed.
"Would you like to come with me to the track tomorrow? If you don't have other plans that is", he mumbled the last part.
"I don't - I was just going to work a little bit, but if you find me a spot in the hospitality, I'll happily take my stuff there", you smiled reassuringly as you put on your shoes and headed to the door.
"I can take you to your room", Charles got up from the bed and followed you.
"No need, my room is just downstairs", you reasoned, kissing his cheek in a silent thank you still.
"That's right - so we'll go tomorrow after breakfast?", he rested his body on the door once you opened it.
"Yes, that works for me! Good night, Charles", you smiled before walking up to the elevator.
.
Walking inside the hospitalitynwith Salvatore and the rest of the team, he was quick to show you where you could set up.
"Charles likes to spend as much time as possible with the fans and it's right about now that they start becoming more and more and they're everywhere, too", he explained as he helped you in the table on the lounge area, "there's food and coffee in there if you need anything", Salvatore smiled, "if you need anything, just ask someone".
"Thank you - this is perfect", you assured, sitting down and working on your laptop and reading some of the books you had bought.
Charles and Carlos finally arrived at the hospitality, greeting the team and talking to them for a while before they headed upstairs for a meeting.
"You didn't tell me you had a girlfriend and you were bringing her here", Carlos told Charles as he poured some coffee on a mug after the meeting.
"I don't - I haven't brought a girlfriend here", Charles quirked an eyebrow at his team-mate.
"So who is that young woman you just smiled at and are pouring coffee for after giving her the heart eyes?", it was the spanish driver's turn to raise his eyebrows.
"Oh, Y/N!", Charles smiled as he mentioned your name, "she's an old friend! Her father was a mechanic before he passed away a few years ago - the older team members have known her since she was little, everyone loves her", he mused.
"Everyone loves her - I can see that", Carlos chuckled as he followed Charles to the table.
"We don't want to interrupt or disturb you too much", Charles announced as he set the mug next to your laptop.
"It's fine, sit sit!", you encouraged as you closed the books you no longer needed to make room for them, "I'm Y/N", you told Carlos.
"I'm Carlos", he smiled back, "nice to meet you", he said before you dove into conversation, discussing anything that popped into your minds and getting to know eachother.
"Don't let her fool you into believing she has always been a responsible, put together girl because she used to steal and hide all of our tools!", Antonio, one of the engineers pointed at you after he got himself a bottle of water, "Charles knows her tricks already but you, Carlos, don't fall for that!".
"You loved it every time I was on the computers and drew on Paint! You even had one of my drawings as the background for almost an entire season!", you threw at him as he approached you, patting the top of your head protectively.
"I'd like to see that! I've only known her since she was way older", Charles pouted.
"Jealous much?", Carlos teased, his voice above a whisper as Charles seemed to get flustered.
"Is it really that obvious?", the monégasque driver mumbled once you got up to get something to eat, "I've had a crush on her since I was a development driver".
"Why have you never said anything? She seems like she really cares about you too", Carlos mused as he thought to a few moments before where you too gqve him heart eyes. He would have to be blind to not notice it, and even then the energy between you too would still be felt.
"The timing wasn't right, I guess - her father passed away almost right after as I became a driver for Alfa Romeo, and she hasn't been in the paddock since. We have texted every now and again over the years and now she happened to be here for the race too", Charles offered.
"I'd say you should take a shot - trust me, she likes you back", Carlos patted Charles' shoulder after getting up, watching you go back to the table with a big smile on your face.
.
After Charles took pole position in qualifying, the team stayed a bit longer for the debrief, going over a few points of the discussion and the changes they still needed to make before the race.
"Y/N! We're having dinner at one of our favourite restaurants in town and I'm counting you in, okay?", Charles said as he spotted you in the garage, followed by Andrea, who had been keeping you company along with his brothers, Charlotte and Pascale.
"Your family is here for you, Charles, I don't want to intrude", you said as you got up, unaware of the Leclerc matriarch behind you.
"Chérie, of course you won't be intruding - we'd love to have you there!", Pascale chirped in.
"Well, in that case...!", you smiled, "just tell me where I should go and at what time, or are we going straight there?", you wondered.
"I was thinking we could go straight there if that's okay with you - you can can come with me and Andrea can ride with my brothers", Charles suggested, "unless you need to go back to the hotel", he quickly scrambled.
"No, I'm fine! Unless this outfit is not restaurant appropriate", you muttered as you looked down. Against all odds, you managed to not get any food stains on your dress. It was a midi skirt cut, flowy to allow your body to feel cool considering the warm Italian day.
"It's fine - you're fine, you look beautiful!", Charles was quick to assure you.
"Good, that's good then", you smiled before excusing yourself to go and get your things.
"You have to tell her, Charles - your affection is no use to either of you if you keept it in here", Pascale tapped her son's chest.
.
"Y/N", Charles called you before he had to go and get ready for the race, "I have something for you - we do", he said as some of the mechanics, including Salvatore, followed him.
"Oh, what is it?", you smiled.
"We commented with some guys back at the factory that you were here with is this weekend and they found something we thought you'd like to have", Salvatore said as he handed you a bag.
Looking inside, you noticed an old Ferrari cap and some embroidered lettering on the side, recognising it immediately. When you were a teenager, you decided to try different hobbies and hand embroidery was the one that stuck the most, so much so that on one of the race weekends, you embroidered caps for everyone on the team that asked you.
"My wife remembered the one I have at home and then the guys at Maranello found your father's and apparently one you did for Charles' as well", Salvatore offered as you took them both out.
"Dad always said he had plenty of embroidered things at home and this one was the one he had to travel with him", you chuckled as tears welled up in your eyes, feeling Charles soothingly rub your back.
"I remember getting this and loving it - I thought I had lost it!", Charles said, unaware if how close he was pulling you together so he could get a peek at the old caps.
"There's some loose string here", you chuckled, wiping the tears and fiddling with the red thread, "I didn't know how to properly tie it at the start, I kept losing it - I think I even glued it down at some point. Thank you for bringing this out", you smiled.
"Would you mind if I wore this for the driver's parade?", Charles asked you.
"I was planning on wearing my dad's while I watched the race", you offered, testing the fabric and placing it on your head before doing the same with Charles, fixing it on his head and looking up at him.
You never got over how handsome he was. The little scar on his cheek, his mole, the smile that never failed to make you smile, his beautiful green eyes. His kindness, his gentleness, his talent - there wasn't a way to deny how much you liked it. How much you liked him.
"We will be matching then!", Charles squeezed you against him before going to his driver's room.
Only when Charles was headed to take P1 on the grid did he hand the cap back to Salvatore and put on his helmet, giving you a wink before he left.
"How are you feeling?", Pascale asked as she sat next to you to watch the race. Over the last couple of days, she had grown close to you, not only because you had captured her son's heart and she wanted to get to know you, but also because Charles had told her how emotionally charged it was for you to be at the track, in Monza nonetheless.
"It's a lot", you admitted, "everyone has been so kind and warm, so all of the heavy feelings have been slowly infiltrating the good ones and it's been easier to deal with them like that", you blinked away a few tears.
"I get it", Pascale nodded, "losing someone is not easy, and I can't imagine what it feels like for you - the boys and I talk about my late husband every now and again and it gets easier to talk about it, I think that's what it is anyway".
"Yes, definitely like that. My mum and I have reached the point where we don't cry at every mention - despite what you might have noticed this weekend", you chuckled.
"It's emotional, chérie - I, for one, always cry whenever the boys achieve their goals. Hervé isn't here to see them, but I know he knows, and the boys know how proud he is of them", Pascale smiled, keeping some tears at bay too.
"You raised amazing young men, don't doubt that", you let out. At this point, you were sure she had noticed or had at least an inkling. As any mechanic for the red team who knew you since you were a kid would say, you were never a good liar - anytime you said you didn't touch something, they knew to look in your backpack first.
"Thank you, dear", she added, "you know, Charles is quite careful in who he lets in, but he's never been good at hiding how much he cares about someone and I can tell he cares a great deal about you".
"I care a lot about him too", you smiled before you were handed a pair of headphones each with the race about to start.
When Charles successfully kept the cars behind him away with a good gap, you clapped and watched the remaining laps number get smaller and smaller until there was only the current lap left.
Charlotte held your hand together with hers as you watched Charles be the first driver to see the checkered flag and when Xavi yelled "And P1!" into the radio, you did your happy dance, not having a care in the world about what others thought as you watched the Tifosi erupt in cheer.
"He did it! He did it!", Pascale clapped for her son, Arthur hugging her while Lorenzo did the same with his girlfriend while you softly touched your father's embroidered name on your cap with your fingers.
Running up to Parc Fermé, you stood in the sea of red, waiting for him to come back and hug them.
"You did so well, congratulations!", you said as you pulled Charles for a hug.
"Had my good luck charm with me!", he smiled back, kissing your cheek as he took advantage of you being shielded by the mechanics and engineers.
The team celebratory dinner was going really well, everyone happy with how the weekend panned out with both drivers on the podium and enjoying the meal on the restaurant's outside patio.
"If you guys want dessert, they're going to set them out on that table and you can grab as much as you like", Fred spread the message as you could see all kinds of sweet foods being brought out, a pudding catching your eye along with some raspberries.
You and Charles got the dessert plates and served yourselves, noticing the staff was already clearing up the tables, meaning you'd have to move to the bar area, many people opting to skip dessert and get some drinks instead.
"You can see the stars so clearly tonight", you mused as you looked up at the sky, setting your plate on the high table.
"My father always said that the stars did shine brighter here, and tonight the sky is very clear", Charles hummed in agreement, looking at your face. The moonlight and the dim lighting for the lamps and fairy lights illuminated all your features perfectly - your smile as you looked up formed the dimples on your cheeks, your eyes that were a tiny bit squinty and the way your whole body seemed relaxed.
The goosebumps on your arms caught his eye though, "here, have this", Charles said as he offered you the cardigan he had carried around all night since according to him his mother made him do it because it would be cold.
"Thanks", you smiled as you pulled the sleeves and folded them around your wrist so they would fit better, "this is really comfy, I might steal this if you don't ask for it back", you joked.
"I don't mind if you keep it, you have had my heart all these years", Charles stated. There it was.
"What?", you faced him, heart beating fast inside your chest.
"It's true, I've had a crush on you since I first met you, and these past couple of days have been amazing, and I can't believe it took me all these years to realize how I truly feel about you Y/N", he told you, no stutter or sign of regret on his face.
"I haven't been around, really, it's my fault", you fiddled with your thumbs before looking at him again, "but I can't lose you again".
"You never lost me, amour", he smiled as his eyes flickered between your eyes and your lips, his hand cupping your cheek your mouth pressed on his, ignoring everything and everyone around you.
Interrupting the kiss for air, Charles giggled as you hid your face in his neck once you heard the cheers and whistles, your lashes tickling him as his arms circled your waist and pulled you closer to him.
"He wins inside the track and outside of it, Charles Leclerc, P1 to Y/N's heart!", Carlos shouted before whistling again.
"Just so you know, I want an invite to your wedding!", Salvatore pointed his finger at you, "I still remember when you invited me for your wedding with Vettel!".
"You and Seb?", Charles chuckled once you pulled away from his neck.
"Sebastian was my favourite when I was little", you giggled, hiding your face on Charles' chest this time, "when he was back in RedBull still, I asked my father to ask him if he could take a photo with me and I cherished that for so many years - it was my most prized possession!".
"I can't promise you Seb, but I can promise you the very best of me", Charles said as he kissed the top of your head.
#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc fic#charles leclerc fluff#charles leclerc x reader#f1 fluff#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader
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Part 1 | Fic masterlist | Masterlist
SUCROSE
Chapter 2: Sugary
Paring: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Word account: 2005
Summary: Where the nicknames came from, how they meet, starts. (They live in the same building, in the same corridor, just in front of one another… which helps the friendship but couldn't stop Dr. Reid from falling in love)
Warnings: Fluff, friends to lovers, anxiety, mentions of menstruation and coffee facts?
A/N: English is not my first language. Reblog, like and comment. I am accepting suggestions for next parts. Please be nice. Past in italic. Gif is not mine, credits to the owner.
Spencer’s point of view
It has been weeks since Morgan met my neighbor and he can’t just drop it aside. At least he has capited a secret so far.
“I am just curious. That 's all. The girl has the key of your place and you never mentioned her.”
“I did talk about her…”
It's a murmur, Morgan almost can't hear it, maybe things were better when no one knew she existed besides me.
“She called you Sugarpout… Does Pretty Boy have a Lady?”
There is mocking in his tone, and a little of happiness.
“What exactly are you asking Morgan?”
“Are you two dating?”
“She is my friend, we ain't dating”
“Oh, pitty, she is beautiful, maybe I should gave a shot, she is very talkative”
“Leave the girl alone Derek.”
“Why? Are you jealous? Worried that I stil her? We could be your couple's best friend. Me and her would make cute babies”
“I am not jealous. Just shut up”
He leaves me be, we take care of paperwork, but he can't stop, it's like I can hear the engineers of his brain thinking.
“Ok, I just really got to know, where Sugarpout came from? I can't stop thinking about that”
“Why? Is just a nickname”
“A special nickname”
“Why does it matter to you?”
“Why so much secret?”
The truth is, I don’t really know why, where, when it all started. Is if we have being knowing each other even before we existed.
—----------------------------------------------------------
It was a rainy day, and I was just getting to my building when a strange woman got under my umbrella tugging herself at me.
“My savior. Could you leave me there? To that building?”
Was my building… is she a stalker?
“Sorry for just throwing myself at you. Is just I am made from sugar, so I could have melted with the rain”
Ok, she gots a weird sense of humor. Doesn’t she know about the danger of talking with strangers? That is one of the reasons I get so much work to do. She smells nice though… What am I thinking? Why is she staring at me? Say something Spencer!
“Ahn… yes… I was just going that way too.”
We walk together to the building and she opens the door, almost closing it in my face.
“Sorry. Why are you coming in?”
“I live here”
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know that. I am a new resident. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too”
She didn’t try to shake my hand… so she respects boundaries and personal space the same way she doesn’t do that? She is so confusing, she seems like a very complex human being.
We both get to the elevator and she presses the button… is my floor button… How I didn’t know about someone moving to my floor? Maybe because I spent the last three days away in a case. The elevator stops and she gets out with me behind her, observing her body language. Wait a minute, that’s… she lives just in front of me.
“Are you following me?”
“Ehn…” she catch me staring, I am probably very red and more awkward then the normal me. “No, no. It's just, we are neighbors, I live here, just across the hall.”
She keeps looking at me, like if she is not sure to believe me or not, just open your damn door Spencer, and prove you ain't lying.
“See?”
“Nice place, very organized…”
When she ends up beside me? Her eyes run across my place, making quick analysis scanning what she can see by the door.
“Ok, I will live you be, sorry for being so intrusive, and thanks for the umbrella ride.”
“You’re welcome. Also, welcome to the building”
She smiles, her smile is pretty.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There is a nock on my door. Weird, I basically don’t get visited. I open it slowly and there she is the rain day girl, and she has something in hands.
“Hi, I made some cookies, and decided to give you some, since you were so nice to me that day”
“Oh, thanks.” I was very surprised. “You didn’t have to.”
“No problem, it is a pleasure. I hope you like them. It is the classic one, with chocolate drips.”
“It was very thoughtful of you. I really appreciate it.”
I take it from her hands, every time I see her there is that warm feeling, she is always so nice to me.
“How is the moving going?”
“Slow, I'm still putting things in place. The kitchen is almost ready. I am not in a rush to finish it to be honest. Just, baby steps, one day at a time…”
“Well, it is your space, your stuff, it is alright going slow, its you, it should go in your pace”
“Thanks. Well, when you finish the cookies you can return the ball.”
—--------------------------------------------------------------
The cookies were the most delicious ones I have eaten in my life. I made sure to compliment her, and the way she smiles and giggles, makes my heart beat faster in my chest.
Today I discovered that I am out of sugar, so why don't I go to the new girl? She made cookies and other delicious stuff she is always happy to share with me, for sure she has sugar.
“Just a cup? Sure Sweetie, I will go grab it for you, make yourself comfortable.”
I shyly enter her house, the first thing that hits me is the smell, I think haven smell exactly like it, I can see she still has a few boxes, but all the essentials are displayed, a kindle, books, a lot of types of books, fantasy, biography, history, classics… she also has a few plants, no much decoration… Why is that hard profile her?
“Here you go, a cup of sugar to my sweet boy”
I asked her sugar a lot of other times after that, just to see her, to feel my blood run in my veins, the fast piece of my heart, the smell invading my nose, that warm feeling.
—----------------------------------------------------------------
“Hi, so, do you have plans for today?”
She was standing outside my door, smiling at me, eyes glowing. How can she always be so beautiful?
“No. I did not plan anything for today.”
“Great. What do you say about taking me to a coffee shop? Any coffee you do like to go. Wanna know more about my neighbor.”
“Hm… Yeah, sure. I will just grab my things”
We go to a nearby coffeehouse and order our drinks while we have small talk.
“I love those cloudy and rainy days, so calm…”
Our orders get to the table and she points out when I drink my full of sugar cup of coffee
“Someone really likes sugar.” She smiles and is like electricity running me. “I can't drink black coffee, it gives me an awful headache.”
“Actually. Caffeine withdrawal could be an important but often overlooked cause of headache.”
She nods in agreement.
“People say that I am just being silly or have an infant paladar. I have tried a lot of types of black coffee, but nothing worked. So i decided just to drink my milk coffee, tha latte”
“Caffeine or 1,3,7-trimethylxanthine is totally, actually 99% and rapidly absorbed; it reaches the highest plasma concentrations after 30-60 minutes of ingestion, but this duration can be shorter or longer due to the variation in gastric emptying time. The half-life of caffeine fluctuates between 2.5 and 4.5 hours in young individuals but can be longer in elderly. Caffeine can cross all biological membranes including blood-brain barrier because of its lipophilic character. Only a very small amount of caffeine is excreted in the urine. It is metabolized in the liver, mainly by the cytochrome P450 1A2, to paraxanthine, theobromine, theophylline, and further to urates. Caffeine acts on the brain and the heart by blocking adenosine receptors and inhibiting phosphodiesterase. It is considered the most common psychostimulant, it enhances concentration, improves mood and energy, induces wakefulness, and enhances exercise performance. It can also trigger anxiety, tachycardia, and hypertension. Caffeine is known to cause dependence and withdrawal symptoms such as fatigue and headache.”
Oh, no, no. She is going to think I am such a weirdo now. Couldn't I just keep my mouth shut? Things were good, where nice, and now I ruin it all.
“I have heard that coffee was addictive, but I didn’t know it was absorbed that fast, or that it didn't get expelled out of our body by urine like most of the other drinks. Maybe one of those things causes my headache every time I try to drink black coffee”
“Caffeine also narrows blood vessels that surround the brain. That is its link to headache. In some types of headaches, the blood vessels in the brain dilate, or swell. They expand into the surrounding tissues, which triggers pain.”
Why can’t I shut my mouth, she is lookin at me. She will avoid me like the plague. Why am I like that? Can’t have anything nice, ever! It is like I can’t stop, and she does not stop me, so I just keep rumbling.
“Headaches in general are a common problem for reproductive age women. Migraine headaches are 3 times more common in women than men in this age group with the difference believed to be the result of hormonal fluctuations. In women with spontaneous ovulatory cycles, headaches have been documented to occur more frequently immediately before and during the first few days of menses. Approximately half of women with migraine headaches report their occurrence associated with menstruation, with decreasing estradiol levels hypothesized as the etiologic factor. Today's low-dose oral contraceptives all contain the same estrogen component (ethinyl estradiol [EE]) but vary in the progestin component. Until recently, all progestins in OCs, the oral contraceptives (norethindrone, levonorgestrel, desogestrel, and norgestimate) were derivatives of 19-nortestosterone. A novel OC with the progestin drosperinone (DRSP) is not derived from 19-nortestosterone, but instead derived from spironolactone. This DRSP-containing OC has been shown in a large placebo-controlled trial to significantly improve the physical and behavioral symptoms of premenstrual syndrome (PMS) and premenstrual dysphoric disorder (PMDD) attributed to its unique antimineralocorticoid activity. This improvement in symptoms has been attributed to the antimineralocorticoid activity of the spironolactone-derived DRSP. Spironolactone is the only diuretic shown in randomized placebo-controlled trials to improve the behavioral and physical symptoms of PMS. While studies using validated instruments have shown improvement in PMS/PMDD with DRSP-containing OCs, headaches have not been specifically addressed.”
I managed to hold myself for a few seconds and she finally speaks something.
“Are you trying to mansplain my menstruation cycle to me?”
“No, no… that's not it, I was just…”
“It is ok, I believe you”
She smiles, how her chicks don’t hurt with how much she smiles? Why, how is her smile always so captive.
“Spironolactone. I didn’t know about the diuretic in the OCs. It is interesting to know that, I have noticed that when I drink more water my period of blood in the menstrual cycle feels less worse than normally does.”
She… she paid attention, and… interacted? My heart hammers as a symphony in my chest. It seems the whole word is more worm, as if I had been in the cold dark without releasing it until she showed up illuminating everything and involved me with a cozy blanket proofing there is more, what truly could my life be, how good could it be.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------
From that day, I knew I was different, happier, she became a constant thought, always making everything better, the world more supportable. I felt the butterflies, the tingling, that stupid and uncontrollable happiness, the craving of being in contact with her, the maximum and anyway I could. It just happened, little by little. With no rush, never.
“Hey, Kid.”
Morgan snaps his fingers in front of my eyes.
“Where did this pretty brain of yours was?”
The teasing again, but we hadn’t had time, JJ passed rushing calling for a case, urgent.
A/N: Did you guys like the dades I insert? I had to read a few articles, I have the links, they will be right below. Thanks for the support. If you like the little facts let me know so then maybe I will bring more (cause in my opinion is a very Spencer Reid thing to do, talk about the facts.)
Links:
https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1663116/
https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S1051227621000339
https://www.uclahealth.org/news/caffeine-connection-between-coffee-and-headaches#:~:text=Caffeine%20also%20narrows%20blood%20vessels,surrounding%20tissues%2C%20which%20triggers%20pain.
https://headachejournal.onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/full/10.1111/j.1526-4610.2007.00650.x
#criminal minds#criminalminds#doctor spencer reid#dr spencer reid fluff#spencer reid#spencer reid criminal minds#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds fanfic
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Can't wait to write my DNF fanfic with king!George, assassin!Dream, assassination attempt, major character death, bad ending, smut, knife kink.
I am so sorry.
Maybe.
I'm sorry for taking too much time actually, nothing else.
#dnf#fanfiction#I'm autistic and this is my damn fucking restricted interest#I actively want to die#Why am I like this#Also I'm sick and have a fever good lord help me#I think I'm gonna write all my ideas on tumblr#Bc my autistic ass needs to talk about it#dreamwastaken#georgenotfound#c!dream#c! george#UA royalty#What else#Smut#i guess#Can't believe my English is getting better thanks to this
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A Persuasive Argument - dpxdc
"Great!" Danny says, clapping his hands together to get everyone's attention. The dinner table falls silent as everyone looks towards him. It's a full house today and, honestly, Danny's a little nervous. "I'm sure you're all wondering why I gathered you here today."
"It's dinnertime. In our house." Duke mutters, while doing a very bad job of concealing his yawn. He holds his fork poised over the braised beef, but, just like everyone else, still looks towards Danny before tucking in. It's intriguing enough to wait.
"Yeah, no one misses Alfie's dinner." Dick says, with a brilliant smile that Danny can't help but return.
"Precisely! What better time to talk to you all than when you're all actually here!"
"Wait, I thought you came round to work on our English essays?" Tim asks, blinking owlishly.
"I'm afraid I've lured you here under false pretences, Tim."
"This is where I live."
"I would still really appreciate help on that essay though, I mean, what the hell is Hamlet even about? I just don't get that old time-y language, like 'Hark! A ghost hath killed me!' - absolute rubbish, what does that even mean?"
"The ghost never kills anyone in Hamlet, he's there to tell Hamlet that he was murdered. Have you actually read it?"
"No, but it sounds like you have. Tim, I want this guy to help me with my essay instead. I know for a fact that you haven't read Hamlet, either."
"So? We don't need Jason, I've read the Sparknotes."
"Hi Jason, I'm Danny, pleasure to meet you, summarise Hamlet in three sentences or less."
"Am I auditioning to help you write your essays? I can't believe you’ve gone through your whole school life without reading it, it’s good!"
"Hamlet, along with a number of other classics, was banned in our house because it portrayed ghosts as intelligent and sympathetic beings rather than evil, animalistic beasts. I didn’t even get to see The Muppet's Christmas Carol until last year with Tim! It was surprisingly good, and I hate Christmas because everyone always argued and it sucked. But we're getting off topic. I—"
"No, no, please go back to that, because what the fu—"
"Boys, please." Bruce interrupts, looking to the world as if he wants to hang his head in his hands. "Danny, you were about to say something?"
"Oh, yeah, Mr. Wayne! Thanks!"
"Please, call me Bruce."
"Well, that very succinctly brings me to my point, because I'd actually really like to call you dad."
Nobody says a word. Nobody even blinks, all as shocked as the other, watching open-mouthed as Danny pulls his laptop out from beside his chair. Bruce can definitely feel a headache coming on.
"Before you say anything, I've prepared a 69 slide PowerPoint presentation on why you, Bruce Wayne, should adopt me, Danny Last-Name-Pending. Please save your questions, comments, and verdict until the end, thank you."
#dpxdc#batpham#i forget - can we tag the parent fandoms? w/e#immediately alfred's like: while i do appreciate your initiative may i suggest it wait until after dinner?#and danny - who has barely eaten proper homecooked food ever - takes one bite and then absolutely wolfs down the whole lot#after he's finished he's like 'bear with - I've got to add that to the 'Reasons I Would Like to Live Here' section'#danny's powerpoint has tailored sections for each batfam member with lists of reasons why they'd get along#my au thoughts on this is that the fentons disowned danny when he told them he was phantom#and that this is after the ultimate enemy - wherein which he allied himself with the JL to fight against dan#(which didnt really work at all - BUT he knows some of their identities now INCLUDING batman's)#so one of the main reasons why he'd be a great fit is that he knows their vigilante status anyway so they don’t need to worry about secrets#dick just turns to tim like 'he’s your friend. he learnt this from you.'#tim: 'i didn't tell him our identities!! i would never!!'#dick: 'no i know that. it's the stalker tendancies. it's baby tim all over again'#tim: scandalised gasp#they all eat dinner in silence just super subdued and in shock and sending glances to bruce and danny#duke like: 'so i know I'm the last one in the family but like... this isn't how it normally happens right? did any of you make powerpoints?#tim gets all shifty because he absolutely did make a powerpoint he just never actually showed it to anyone#everyone stares at tim because they all know. it was in one of bab's blackmail files she has on him#damian's slide has danny offering to throw down at any time. 'tim says you like to prove yourself with your skills?#how about a real challenge? if i beat you then you have to vote yes to adopting me!'#damian is in two minds about accepting because... 1) look at him damian could take danny in his sleep! but#2) on the off chance that he does win... damian does not want any more brothers#(he takes the bet and its a suprisingly fun fight - and while he'll never say this... he would vote yes even without the wager)#on one of danny's slides there's a picture of ellie: you'll also get my clone sister! two children for the price of one!!#uhhh.... thats it now - I've been having fun with this haha#spent all day with the 'ive lured you here under false pretences' 'danny i live here' line in my head haha#anyway enjoy!!!!!! this was fun#i wanna make these slides so bad
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HOW YOU GET THE GIRL | CL16
— 01. THE BEGINNING
NEXT PART — [ SERIES MASTERLIST ]
summary: in which charles has an embarrassing crush on alex's childhood best friend and everyone meddles.
content warnings: faceclaim is taylor hill but you can picture her as you’d like! some cursing.
note: hiii i love being a little delulu, so i had to do this. it is also my first time doing a smau for the f1 fandom, so be kind with me! if you see some mistakes please know that english is not my first language and i noticed them once everything was finished, lol. ♡
INSTAGRAM POST
📍MIAMI, FL
Liked by lilycollins, alex_albon and 365,751 others
yourusername unexpected trip. 🧃
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user1 Alex x Y/N content incoming????
user2 they haven't been seen together in a while
user3 i don't think they're friends anymore
user4 he left a comment lol
alex_albon brownie's the real star in this pic
yourusername forget about pic credits.
user5 she was in greece a couple of days ago, oh to be rich
user6 and pretty
user7 and have famous friends
user8 and BE famous
williamsracing Thanks for accepting our invitation, we can't wait to have you with us this weekend!
alex_albon YOUR invitation???
user9 we're sleeping in the fact that she's gonna be in the paddock this weekend for the first time
user10 she's living the dream
TWITTER
Y/N’s IMESSAGE
INSTAGRAM POST
Liked by haileybieber, tomholland2013, landonorris and 972,431 others
yourusername i only came here to drink and watch guys in very fast cars.
📸: @alex_albon who i had to physically drag out of his hotel room after free practice was over.
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user11 caption is so real
user12 she's just like us fr
tchalamet call me next time you're in nyc
user13 ARIANA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE
user14 timmy is doing what all of us want to do
haileybieber pretty girl
user15 idk abt u guys but i see lando in the likes 👀
user16 don't read too much into it
user17 they’re probable friends
user18 i wanna be her
alex_albon i'm so good at taking pics i should dedicate my life to photography
yourusername please stick to driving
user19 i want their friendship :(
ALEX’S IMESSAGE
INSTAGRAM STORIES
Seen by zendaya, charles_leclerc and 287,386 others
there is no cause in calling or messaging alex, you know he will not answer. not when qualy is just an hour away and he needs to be prepared.
you don’t know where you are. you see the main entrance a couple of meters away, but you can’t remember where to go from there. but you also can’t stand all day in a place you don’t know, surrounded by fans and people too eager to notice how lost you look. the best you can do is walk around and find your way back; if you have any luck you’ll find alex’s garage before he has to go out. to wish him luck and punch him in the face.
you send him one last message, promising to make his life a living hell, and put your phone away.
you’re trying to follow the path you remember in your head, when someone comes barreling into you.
“hey!” the person says a little out of breath. “i was just looking for you.”
you take off your sunglasses to get a better look and it dawns on you that you definitely know this person. or at least you’ve seen him countless of times in your tv, sometimes in alex’s instagram stories too.
“charles!” you really don’t know him, this is definitely the first time you are speaking to him, but you’ve never been so happy to see someone you barely know before. “oh my god, you won’t believe what alex did to me.”
“i know,” he says immediately and you furrow your eyebrows. he shows you his phone, as if that will tell you what you need to know, but when you don’t speak, he smiles hesitantly. you don’t know if the blush on his cheeks is because he was running to get to you or if it’s for a whole different reason. “i saw your story and thought maybe i could help you?”
you process his words for a few seconds, until you realize who really is in front of you. “oh my god, charles!” you exclaim a little louder, drawing attention, and you witness how people begin to notice charles’ presence because of that. he looks at you with confusion on his face, race suit hanging low around his waist. “you’re not supposed to be here, you should be in your car.”
charles’ blush deepens. “yeah,” he says, scratching his neck and avoiding your gaze. “but i couldn’t leave a pretty girl here all alone.”
now it’s your turn to blush, cheeks heating up so much that you’re sure everyone around you can see it.
“let’s go, please. i don’t want to be the reason why you’re gonna be scolded for.”
you walk beside him, trying to give him space as he takes selfies with a few fans that have the courage to approach him. however, charles apologizes with a smile when he sees you a couple of meters away and, as you walk side by side, you can’t help but notice heads turning in your direction and whispers of your name and his.
you fall into an easy conversation that ends up sooner than you’d have liked. but you don’t part ways until his number is on your phone and the promise to text him on your lips.
TWITTER
Y/N’s IMESSAGE
INSTAGRAM POST
Liked by charles_leclerc, romeestrijd and 676,823 others
yourusername what an incredible weekend! i got to attend my first GP thanks to @/williamsracing (and alex too, he gets mad if i don’t say he had to do with it) and meet new and amazing people. let’s hope this is not the last. 🏎️🤞🏼
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user20 SHE LOOKED SO BEAUTIFUL
user21 mother is mothering
williamsracing Oh no, thank YOU for accepting our invitation and enjoying with us, even if you got lost for a minute. 💙
yourusername it was all alex’s fault
alex_albon NO DON'T LISTEN TO HER, THEY ARE FRAMING ME !!!!
user22 everybody calm down… CHARLES IS IN HER LIKES
user23 so it’s true what everyone’s been saying? they were together on saturday???
user24 idk but there are pics of them walking together
user25 not my boyfriend trying to steal my girlfriend
romeestrijd you need to take me w you next time. ❤️🔥
yourusername we'll have so much fun!
user26 does this mean you're going to the next race?
user27 why do people always assume a driver's dating someone when they like a pic??? u’re acting crazy
user28 like friendships between a man and a woman exists, HELLO !?!?
charles_leclerc thanks for stopping by.
user29 CHARLES WHAT
user30 Stopping by where?
user31 what do you mean?? i mean what do you- what do you mean??
user32 not Y/N replying to all her friends comments and not charles' 🤣🤣
user33 she's too much for him
user34 HE'S too much for her x
note: ups, hello to you again… if you make it here, thank u sm! let me give you a lil kiss on the forehead. btw i’m planning on making this a series, so if you liked it please let me know. and if you want to request something, feel free! comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated. 🫶🏼
#꒰꒰ 📁 ─ verstappen cult files ꒱꒱#charles leclerc x reader#f1 social media au#f1 x reader#charles leclerc imagine#f1 smau#f1 imagine#social media au#charles leclerc#f1 grid x reader#f1 instagram au#charles leclerc fluff
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Just can't stop deep throating the western propaganda can you? Hong Kong is occupied? By who? The Chinese? Alright, winston churchill settle down.
Question: Is Hong Kong directly administered by Beijing like Shanghai or Shenzhen, or is it an SAR?
The answer is: it's an SAR! Which means, Beijing has no direct administration thanks to its handover agreement signed in 1997. Beijing can only get administration after 2050. This is why billionaires run to HK to escape Beijing's mire! This is why HK housing is fucking terrible compared to literally everywhere else in China! This is why HK companies can get away with 996, whereas companies and billionaires who push for 996 on the mainland, like Alibaba and jack ma, are disciplined under threat of capital punishment!
Funny how you only believe us if we agree with you, otherwise we're "brainwashed propagandized buffoons". Look in a fucking mirror sometime, would ya? You've got propaganda flowing out of every orifice like a racist 长江. Not surprising, coming from a zionist.
Tank man climbed off the fucking tank. He did not get run over! Did you all forget this? You can also search for the Tiananmen incident on the Chinese internet and literally everyone under the sun knows about and talks about it. Maybe if you weren't looking for it with english terms, terms which Chinese people don't use, you'd have found them! And I FUCKING WISH talking about Tiananmen square would get you fucking arrested IM FUCKING SICK OF HEARING IT!!! My fucking libshit uncle has been going on and on and on about "184", "muh tiananmen", "muh CPC oppressions" and the motherfucker is still coming in my messages to drop translated pragerU videos. That's whose side you are on btw. A man who thinks all muslims are all "terrorist cockroaches [sic]". Though I reckon you do actually agree with him on that.
Tell you again how communism is so much better for the workers? Here you go you fascist shitlib:
Workplace democracy in the CPC. Chinese wages are rising. Mandatory annual pay raises for private sector (public sector is a given) and CPC control. 95% of Chinese people have insurance and an annual visit costs just 2 USD. Workplace safety is better than Australia.
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bitter
dunno what brought this on but reader has good taste;P also let's pretend that lyla is team reader x miguel for plot reasons
word count: 2.3k
WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, MDNI, f!reader, ex!miguel, aged up bf!hobie<3, miguel has some v descriptive sexual thoughts about you (p in v sex, f!receiving oral), swearing, jealousy, ANGSTTT
English is not my first language so I apologize in advance for any misspells, errors or grammatically incorrect sentences.
Miguel often thinks about how he ended up giving in to his desires and starting a situationship with you, how he regrets it when he can tell how you've fallen for him. How your eyes crinkle when you smile at him, looking at him like he hung the moon. He regrets it because that's how he looks at you as well.
Why’d you have to ask him on that stupid date?
“That’d be unprofessional.” is what Miguel had said in reply. Because it was the truth. You were only fucking, nothing more.
You’d scoffed, “Oh come on, Miguel, we’re not office workers. Surely we can go out together?”
“What, fucking me ain’t enough for you?”
You'd huffed, your expression dull, shaking your head in disbelief, “No, actually, it isn’t. I genuinely like you, is that so bad?”
Miguel had ignored the flip his stomach did at your confession “You know why we can’t, now drop it.”
“No, I want you to tell me why.”
“It’s not in the canon” He cringes every time he remembers what he’d said, but it doesn’t change the fact that he was right. He was, but fuck, how he wanted to be wrong. He so desperately wanted it to be him that you were meant to fall in love with, him you were meant to build a life together.
“Fuck the canon.” had been your reply, before you turned to walk away and he'd made no move to follow you.
He'd failed to ignore Lyla when she'd whistled, “That was painful even for me,”
“Jesus- can you not?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, can't interrupt your brooding time. I'm just saying. You prevented the woman of your dreams from falling in love with you, because she's meant to fall for someone else? But that's stupid- Your heart literally jumps when you see her-”
“Lyla I swear to God, if you don't stop talking-”
And now, as he stands in front of your house months later, waiting for you to answer the door, Miguel found himself to be annoyed. Annoyed that he hadn't gotten your mission report on time, and had to come and fetch it for himself.
Some sick, twisted part of his brain wanted you to have forgotten it on purpose, and ignored his calls in order for him to come over, maybe reconcile- fuck your brains out till you're begging him to take you back, even if it meant putting your feelings aside.
“She better be home,” Miguel hisses to himself, his hand massaging his temples, and he doesn't even flinch when Lyla shows up out of nowhere “Oh, she is. The thermal scan picks her up, see? Wait who’s-”
Miguel was thankful for the interruption, but what he saw when you opened the door was not at all what he expected, or was even prepared for.
You were practically naked, an oversized t-shirt covering your body, stopping just under your ass and- Jesus Christ were those thigh highs? Yes they were, pretty ones, too. They were sheer white tights, that ended just in the middle of your plush thighs, the material hugging your legs beautifully, the very top of them decorated with a lace material, giving them a sexy twist.
God, he'd get on his knees right here and now if you just asked-Miguel licked his lips and cleared his throat, quickly averting his gaze, praying that he doesn't appear flustered.
“Miguel! Are you okay? Is something wrong? Hey Lyla-” you seem out of breath as you talk, clearly not bothered by your lack of clothing in front of him. Lyla offers you a bright hello and wave, one you softly smile at.
No, he's not fucking okay.
“I'm great.” he hisses, but really he was trying to convince himself of it. You study him for a bit longer before humming, not believing him for a moment.
“I need the report from the mission that you were sent to do yesterday. The one you forgot to send me.” Miguel inhales sharply and stands taller, trying to hide the fact that your presence damages his brain functionality severely, by trying to look more intimidating.
Memories of last night flash in your mind suddenly, being pressed against your bookshelf, the furniture rattling loudly, books almost toppling to the floor, but you didn’t have the heart in you to care. Not when he was grinding up at you, hand under your thigh to keep you upright as you moaned against his mouth crossing your legs around his waist and bringing him closer, the sound of your watch beeping pulling you out of your trance, “Fuck, wait. T-the reports-”
He undid your watch expertly with one hand, and you gasped trying to snatch it from his grasp, but he held it up above your head, placing it on top of your bookshelf carelessly, before grabbing the top shelf to brace himself and grind himself harder against you, moaning under his breath, “Fuck ‘em.”
Your eyes widen comically, and you sputter, “Right! Shit- fuck. I'm sorry, umm, wait here.” and you slam the door right in his face. Miguel's eyebrow twitches.
There's shuffling from inside before Miguel realizes that you're talking to someone-
“Can you go in five minutes? Please?”
“Nah, ‘m afraid I need to go right now, love. Got things to do, places to be.”
“Can't you open up a portal here?”
“When there’s a perfectly usable front door? I don’ think so,” “C’mon pretty.. what are y’so afraid of?”
“He’s our boss.”
“He’s your ex. Now, if you’re ashamed to be seen with me, I get it-”
“No! Baby, no. I just don’t want to rub it in his face, don't want him to think that I am either,”
“But that’s so boring. Let’s make ‘im suffer, you’ll thank me later-”
“Hob-”
The door opens suddenly and Miguel could act surprised, could act like he’s been waiting for quite a while not knowing what’s going on inside, but he doesn’t.
Not when he’s face to face with Hobie. Not when he obviously knows how good Miguel’s hearing is, how he could definitely hear every word that was spoken, not when you’d tried to be nice- tried to whisper and be subtle, not when Hobie blatantly did the opposite out of spite.
So he just stares ahead with a blank face, as Hobie leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest lazily. There’s a hickey on his neck and Miguel feels like he might throw up.
And somehow, Miguel still thinks that this is all some sick joke, a prank, a dream. Anything to explain what he's seeing. Because there’s no way you're dating Hobie. There’s no way you fucked Hobie fucking Brown- the single most annoying person in Miguel’s life (after peter, of course). And after what, only eight months after you stopped seeing him? That's how long it took for you to get over him? He can almost hear Lyla laughing in his head, 'You're just bitter that you're not over her yet'
Hobie smirks at him “Hello mate, long time no see.”
Miguel at least has the human decency to offer him a curt nod, which Hobie apparently finds hilarious as he huffs out a laugh, “'S alright if I send my report later, right? I'm kind of exhausted right now, did a lot of runnin' yesterday, y'know,”
Lyla visibly winces and disappears a second later.
Running. Miguel needed breathing exercises and he needed them now-
Miguel's eyes snapped to yours. Were you just gonna let Hobie talk all that shit, without saying anything? (Knowing Hobie's life was in imminent danger?) Apparently so, because you just scoffed and rolled your eyes with a smile on your face. What a great couple you two made.
He refused to believe that this is who you chose, refused to acknowledge that his anger was pointed at himself and not you. He’d never, ever, admit it, not even at gunpoint, but Hobie was a good kid, he’d treat you right and that's what pissed him off the most.
“Fuck the canon.” Hobie would have laughed and nodded in agreement at your words, not Miguel though. Miguel had said nothing and it had cost him his future with you.
Sensing that Miguel wouldn’t reply anytime soon, Hobie just shrugged nonchalantly, “Thanks for understanding, boss.”
Miguel felt like he could hear his own veins pulsing. Boss, he'd called him boss. That little-
Turning to you, Hobie throws a hand around your waist and squeezes you against him, pressing a kiss on your cheek “I'll see you later love, don' forget to put some ice on that, yeah?” he lays a slap on your ass that makes you almost tumble forward, and Hobie's smirk widens when he sees Miguel ball his fists at his sides, nostrils flaring. Hobie throws a wink at Miguel before squeezing through him to walk out, seeing as Miguel didn't make any attempt to get out of the way.
Miguel doesn't turn to see him open up a portal to leave, he's too busy looking at the way the multi-colored lights illuminate your face, how you grin and wave shyly at your boyfriend.
“So sorry about him.. d'you wanna come in?” you ask, shifting from one leg to another once the portal disappears. Miguel just stares at you, eyes hooded, mouth pressed in a tight line.
“Ookay, I’ll just go get the- yeah” you trail off and turn to walk deeper into your apartment, and Miguel hates himself for craning his neck to catch a glimpse of your ass. And then hates himself even more when he thinks about how smug Hobie would be if he knew Miguel was checking out his girl. He'd say some dumb shit like "Wanting somethin' you can't have again, boss?"
Meanwhile, you're standing on your tippy-toes in front of your infamous bookshelf, arm outstretched, trying to grab your watch but to no use, cursing Hobie in your mind for putting it so high up. You had no idea that by trying to get your stupid watch, you were giving Miguel the perfect view of your backside, seeing as your shirt rode up each time you stretched out your arm.
No, fuck that. You knew exactly what you were doing, and Hobie was right. Let him suffer. He chose this, so now he can deal with the consequences.
Miguel wanted to give everything up right then and there. It's funny how quickly you could strip him of his morals, and he just wishes he could have done that before realizing he'd lost you forever. He could picture his future in his mind so clearly, if only he'd just said yes to your question.
“Will you go out with me?"
He’d resign, move out some place nice, next to a beach preferably. Spend his days laying on the sand and drinking piña coladas with no care in the world.
Except you’d be there. Straddling his lap to steal his drink, giggling and laughing when he tried to take it back from you. He’d grab your hips and with a swift motion you'd switch places, your back against the hot sand. The drink would spill from the movement, the liquid falling over your bikini covered tits, and you’d gasp oh-so prettily when he’d bend to lick it all up.
You’d moan even sweeter when he’d move lower, when he’d eat you out till you’re a crying, babbling mess, whining that you can’t take it anymore. Oh, but you could. You would take it, and he’d prove it when he’d later fuck you against the pool, and he’d make sure he fucked you good. Your mewls would be panted against his ear as he’d thrust into you relentlessly, your fingers digging into his wet back, and all he’d taste would be your pretty moans and the faint taste of rum against his tongue.
His cheeks would hurt from how hard he'd be grinning as he stared at you when you both would go for a walk by the beach later. He'd jog up to you, springing you in his arms, nuzzling his head against your hair- your distinctive smell fogging up his brain- your laughter mixing together, as you chased each other through the waves.
When you'd had enough, and stood panting, your -now wet- dress clinging to you like second skin, he'd drop to his knee, pulling out a ring from his pocket, one he was anxious not to drop when he was chasing you around, and you'd gape at him, tears already welling up in your eyes.
You would have said yes that night. In fact, the word would have been repeated against his shoulder as he fucked you later, rolling his hips into you slowly, kissing your pretty tears, holding you, loving you–
“Done! I just sent it–,” you could have sworn you and Miguel shivered at the same time when he blinked down at you, his mouth parted. His eyes were glistening all of a sudden, and it made your whole being fill with a sense of longing and dread.
“Lyla?” you swallowed harshly at Miguel's hoarse tone, gnawing at your lip as you avoided his gaze.
It was as if Lyla knew not to fuck with him either, because she didn't even make him beg for it, instead pulling up a hologram that showed the report, “Yup, got it!”
You cleared your throat, eager to get back into bed and forget the look on his face just now, suddenly feeling nostalgic for a memory you couldn't quite place- “I'm sorry that I forgot, it won’t happen again, promise.”
Yes it will.
“See you back at HQ?”
Miguel hums, not saying anything, not even caring to correct you, because he’d sooner see you in his dreams than at headquarters.
2023 © l13 | Do not steal, copy, edit, translate or re-post any of my works.
#•ूᡣ𐭩 — hobie#•ूᡣ𐭩 — miguel#miguel ohara x reader#miguel x reader#hobie brown x reader#spiderpunk x reader
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a day || matt sturniolo
matt x fem!reader
summary: what would a typical day as Matt's girlfriend would look like
warnings: pure fluff
word count: 1,6k
a/n: idk let me know how I did English is not my first language but I am working on it
🍒
I was on my way from a long, Friday, morning meeting and all I was thinking about was going back to bed and never leaving it again. My week started with my car breaking down out of nowhere, then I got my period (which is not as bad when you think about it because it would be worse if I didn't get it), and then I had an actual meeting, in an actual office, with actual people (I usually work from home in my pajamas).
I had to drive my boyfriend's car to the meeting downtown. I am glad that I could, but let me tell you one thing, my boyfriend's car is giant and to park this lady downtown I needed to leave 30 minutes early.
chris 🦋:
waiting for u outside thx for picking me up kid ❤️
"oh fuck" I said to myself as I quickly did a U-turn before it was too late. Was it safe? No. Did everyone survive? Yes.
I totally forgot that I was supposed to pick up Chris from his own meeting since Matt couldn't because I had their car. I dialed Chrise's number.
"hi, ur okay?" he asked.
"yes, I just might or might not forgot to pick you up so I'll be there in 15 okay? I'm sorry I had a rough morning..."
"Bro no worries I'll pick up some coffee while I wait and you drive safe okay?" I smiled because wasn't he the best? He doesn't even drink coffee.
"Okay I'll see you there"
I ended the call and typed Chris's location. It wasn't that bad with the traffic so I was there in less than 15 minutes.
I was able to park where he was waiting so he got into the passenger seat and smiled at me while I started driving again. I really want to be home.
"I would say good morning but I'll keep that to myself. Got you an americano and banana bread" He put my coffee in the cup holder and threw his backpack on the back seat.
"Thank you, that's really sweet, I am literally half dead so that will help" I laughed and took a sip of my coffee.
"I still think that my brother is dating a weirdo, how can you even drink it black and unsweetened?" Chris looks at me with a disgusted face.
"You are all literally bunch of weirdos so I just matched the energy you know" I blinked at him and stopped on the red.
"How was your meeting? New fresh love is gonna be fire. I got the drafts in my mail this morning. Did not change a thing. You and the team did great" I said and smiled at him.
I was a graphic designer and helped Chris at the beginning of his brand, but I did not really want to work for him so I just help sometimes if it's needed. I am really happy that he still likes to know what I think about the projects tho. I also used to work for Laura but not anymore. That's basically how we all met. I quit after me and Matt started to be a thing.
"I know right? Well, I knew you will love it. The meeting was great, we should be able to make everything work by the end of the month. And guess what... I actually got samples and I have a pink set for you kid"
"Honestly... made my day, I am going to wear it for everything now" I laughed.
"Just don't post it yet" He said and started to click things on the car's screen.
"Just use my phone for music" I gave him my phone and he typed my code and put our favorite song by lil skies on.
"Still can't believe I memorized Niall Horan's birthday just to get to your phone"
I blinked at him and started rapping with the song. I loved make a toast. Music taste is probably one of the things that made my and Chris's bond strong. Don't get me wrong I love Nick as much as I do Chris, but he just always gets me and we were best friends since day one. The funny thing is that me and Matt did not really liked each other at first.
The ride home made my mood better. We sang and laugh, I wasn't tired of my life that much anymore. I took my shoes off while holding all of my stuff. Matt was on the couch watching something while we made our way up the stairs.
"Hi baby... How was it?" He asked as soon as he saw me.
"Crap, I am going to call Laura to take me back" I laughed and put my stuff on the table and went to wash my hands in the kitchen sink. I then walked up to Matt and just threw myself next to him to cuddle his side.
He kissed my forehead and started to rub my back.
"I am going to take a nice nap, you kids have fun but not too much" Chris waved at us and went back down the stairs to his room.
Matt rolled his eyes and kissed my head again.
"How about we do something nice together? Nick is going to come home with Madi soon, I think, and that means laud. We could go to that beach you like and just get food and watch the sunset later" He asked.
All I was thinking about was his cold hand on my back and how much I just loved that man. He knew exactly what I needed.
"Yes, please. I just need to change. I wore a bra man, can you believe this?" I sit back up.
He laughed at me and shook his head.
"Go then," He said patting my thigh.
I went to put my new fresh love set in Matt's bedroom, used the bathroom and when I was ready we went out.
"Wow, so it's your car now, huh?" Matt started to change the mirrors and seat but he also raised his eyebrows looking at my stuff next to the shift gear.
"Baby it's only essentials to drive, okay?" I smiled and got comfortable in the passenger seat.
We drove to get food and dessert. The weather was perfect to just spend an entire afternoon on the beach. Boys did not have any work plans today so I knew Matt was all mine for the rest of the day.
We sat on the beach, had our food, and just talked or cuddled in comfortable silence. That's what I mostly love about spending time with Matt. We could just sit the whole day without a word and be alright with it, but also we could talk for hours and we would always have something to talk about.
"I love you Matty, thanks for taking me to the beach. This new project sucks but I know it's going to be better after that. I really needed just you today"
I kissed his sweet lips. He tasted like the cherry Pepsi that we just had. He pulled me into his lap and slid his hands under my hoodie while he kissed me back.
I rested my forehead on his as I pulled away and smiled.
"Anything for my girl, I love you kid" He kissed my nose and I just wrapped myself around his body.
"I am not moving, you might as well carry me to your car like this" I said into his neck.
He laughed at that and hugged me back.
"Or we can just stay here" He lay back down on the blanket.
"I promised your brother that we are going to watch Criminal Minds with him tho" I said.
"Sometimes I just wish you and Chris weren't the same person y/n..." He joked and looked at his phone, holding it above my head.
"Let's go back after sunset in that case baby"
We did watch the sunset, my favorite part of the day. We came back home and spent time with his brothers as I had promised Chris.
"Spend the night?" Matt whispered in my ear while the last episode for tonight ended.
I smiled and nodded. I was off tomorrow and did not want him to drive me home that late anyway.
We said goodnight and went to his room.
"I will go take a shower" I said and opened his drawer to take a pair of boxers and a T-shirt.
"Go ahead, I went shopping while you were gone. I did restock your basket under the sink. I hope I did it right" He scratched his neck looking at me.
I had my stuff here, but I usually did the restock. Especially my period stuff under the sink.
"Matt...you did not have to do that, thank you, baby" I said pouting my lips.
"I wanted to, I want you to feel comfortable here. Not only you tho, all our girlfriends that come to our house. It's great that you did the basket and stuff" He smiled and I kissed his cheek.
"You are too sweet Matthew"
I went to the bathroom, when I was done he went to take a shower while I waited in his bed scrolling on TikTok.
When Matt came back from the bathroom I looked at him. He was wearing just his pajama pants.
"Should I just say what all of the girls in my books would say? Matthew, you are such a tease" I wiggled my eyebrows at him.
"Oh my god, would you stop?" He got into bed laughing at what I said.
"You love me for that" I put my phone on the nightstand and rested my head on his chest.
"Goodnight Matt" I closed my eyes.
He turned the lights off and tucked us in with the blanket.
"Goodnight sweet girl" He kissed my head while I was already half asleep after this long day.
The best way to end the day is knowing that I will wake up in his arms the next morning.
#matt sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo#nick sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#chris sturniolo#sturniolo fanfic#matthew sturniolo#Spotify
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WOW I can't believe you opened them! I adore you! Please Tumblr lacks Krueger fanfic, can you write something NSFW enemies to lovers, where he and the reader joined Chimera at the same time and are at "war" with each other mainly because reader is an ass, she likes to annoys Krueger by constantly reminds him that she is younger (like four/five years, no more) than him and more skilled as a soldier and sniper making Krueger get on his nerves? Sorry for my wtriting, english is not my language and i'm not good at it, i hope i was clear enough and i also hope i formulated the right question without violating your requests. Thank you and good job at the flower shop!
—Ain't Giving Up My Pride
⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ
╰┈➤ ❝ [You get on his nerves, partially because you want to. But what happens when he finally snaps?] ❞
You have to wonder if you expected to be ass-up and face-down getting fucked in the back of a storage room today, and you have to admit, the answer is most likely a resounding negative.
But war is always interesting.
Krueger and yourself had a little…thing…going on. Call it what you will—a rivalry, a large annoyance, whichever word better fits the state of twin crashing atoms constantly waiting to prove something to the other. To you, any real satisfaction can only be drawn by the way his shrouded head would look your way with obvious scorn—imagining a sneer to his lips as you walked past and smirked, loudly talking about your success at the firing range.
About beating the top mark yet again. Krueger.
“Interesting, hm?” He grunts to you now, belt jingling as you hide your burning face into your arm; pelvic bones getting repeatedly pushed into the crate. “Little winner, yes? Willing to bet she only feels good when she gets filled up by my cock.”
You open your mouth to speak, but his hands on your hips drive them backward and forward, skin smacking rapidly as your speech is reduced to garbled whines and loud moans. It was pathetic how fast he was already working you to that point—pussy spasming and legs kept open by Krueger’s hands.
“Hm?” The man leans in close, his fully-geared chest stapling itself to your spine. “What was that?”
“F-fuck,” you blink quickly.
He chuckles, covered face hidden from you. “That is what I—”
“Fuck better than you shoot,” you gasp, hips instinctually meeting his thrusts as your toes curl, pants at your feet, and a stain of fluids dripping down to them. The man falters, pace stuttering as you shove yourself back into him with a shiver down your vertebrae.
His throat releases a low growl moments later, hand going to the back of your neck as you smirk. But any chuckle is lost as you’re pulled by the collar of your shirt backward, getting kept to Krueger’s front as the prodding ruthlessness of his member drives itself home again and again.
You gasp loudly, eyes snapping back and mouth releasing tight moans before a hand covers your lips, a low snarl in your scalp.
“You always have such a mouth, Vögelchen,” he grunts, feeling the effect of your tight cunt himself as he draws closer to his finish—what you did to him was criminal; no one should make him act like this, like a heathen in the back rooms seeking a carnal release into your womb. “How do I fix this, then?”
You pant from behind his hand, letting him play with you like a doll because, damn if this wasn’t the best sex you’d ever had.
“Ah,” he replies to himself, that smooth voice right in your ear as he moves a hand down to play with your clit. You tense up, noises of pleasure heard from behind the tight press of his grip. “Yes, that’s it.” Your release snaps through you like a storm—not even a proper build-up before it shatters what little of your mind is left at this point. Not once did Krueger’s hips slow or stop, pushing you through it until you were whining like a dog, another round started just like that even as the man rides his own high, spilling into you.
The wet splatter of cum leaks to the floor as you’re back facing the crate, eyes rolling back into your head and body shaking with unchecked pleasure. A shuddering growl is right in your ear, a heavy body rocking against your spine.
“I have to fuck it out of you.”
#rough smut#cod krueger#sebastian krueger#krueger x reader#krueger x you#cod#cod x reader#cod x you#call of duty#x female reader#call of duty x you#cod mw22#mw2#mw2 2022#cod smut#call of duty smut#x reader smut#smut
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daniel x gradschool reader?? maybe they’re not officially dating but he meets her when he’s in new york and they spend the summer together??
big apple lovin' | daniel ricciardo social media au
pairing: daniel ricciardo x gradschool!reader
sparks fly when daniel visits new york on his winter break
yourusername
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yourusername: studying up a storm in the city of my dreams
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yourbff1 stop being so pretty and so smart
yourbff2 yeah leave some for the rest of us
yourusername omg stopppppp i'm blushing
yourclassmate now zoom in so i can steal some notes
yourusername at least do the stealing urself
danielricciardo
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danielricciardo: big city exploring
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username he's looking so fucking good DAMN
landonorris miss you already
danielricciardo i tend to have that effect
username i'm sad he doesn't have a seat but he seems so much better right now
maxverstappen1 so like none of the pics we took matter?
danielricciardo didn't want to hurt your feelings when everyone ignores you for my sexy ass
newyorkstreetstyle
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newyorkstreetstyle: our usual warren street fashion icon has been double trouble recently, obsessed with both.
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username warren street girl having the best taste in men as well ... mother
username not daniel ricciardo on new york street style do they not know who he is?
username DANIEL CONTENT
username people in the comment section freaking out over the man but warren street girl is the real nyc celebrity here
username warren street girl i do not know you but on behalf of the f1 community thank you for taking away danny's skinny jeans !
yourusername
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yourusername: found this stray cat in central park, anyone recognise them?
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yourbff1 idk who he is but he looks freakishly similar to the guy who hasn't left our apartment in a week
yourusername ah yes now you say it they do look strikingly similar
danielricciardo i won't stand for the bullying here !! y/n stopppppp
username what.do.we.have.here
username i'm totally chill about this rn
yourclassmate1 if he gets us all coffee again he can stay for as long as he wants
danielricciardo finally someone on my side
danielricciardo
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danielricciardo: wet dream concrete tomato or something like that
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username i am not okay
landonorris you got a gf WE GET IT
danielricciardo i'll leave you to your thirst traps
carlossainz55 low blow ricciardo
danielricciardo LET ME BE HAPPY
username bf!danny is something so personal to me
yourusername whoa what shade of lipstick is that?
danielricciardo a pretty one :)
yourusername
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tagged: danielricciardo
yourusername: final stretch of grad school with some extra motivation
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yourbff1 believe me everyone in the apartment can hear the motivation
yourusername THERE ARE KIDS ON THIS APP ACT APPROPRIATELY
danielricciardo sorry not sorry
landonorris so this is who the honey badger is obsessed with
yourusername as he should be
username GRAD SCHOOL? educated wag incoming let's go
nyu
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nyu: nyu graduate y/n y/ln has had her graduate study published in the journal of english literature and cultural studies!
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username so how did danny's dumbass pull a published researcher?
yourbff1 ENGLISH LIT SLAY
yourusername thank you nyu will miss you guys :(
nyu come visit soon!
danielricciardo congratulations smarty pants xx
yourusername love you honey
username she's so mother i can't
yourusername
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tagged: danielricciardo
yourusername: grad school ... completed it mate ;)
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maxverstappen1 congrats y/n !!
danielricciardo love you so much, so glad i met you xx
yourusername thank you for spilling your coffee on my manuscript xx
username they're so cute oh myyyyyyyyy
yourclassmate1 but now we need jobs
danielricciardo
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tagged: yourusername
danielricciardo: finally showed the mrs my day job
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username FULL LAUNCH AT A RACE OH LORD
yourusername so you really are that famous?
danielricciardo who wouldn't be a fan of my face?
yourbff1 so where's our tickets we had to deal with you all spring term?
username she's so fucking pretty STEP ON ME
note: pls enjoyyyyyyy (p.s. there's a lando request i finished but tumblr deleted it from my drafts so i'll get that up asap) xx
#f1#f1 x you#f1 instagram au#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#daniel ricciardo instagram au#daniel ricciardo x reader#daniel ricciardo#daniel ricciardo imagine
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would you maybe be able to write a fic for leah where the reader is a famous singer and goes to an arsenal or england game and then gets to meet the team after and leah is secretly a huge fan trying to play it cool (kind of like becks/posh)???
fan behaviour | leah williamson
pairing: leah williamson x reader
a/n: love this ask, feel like i miiight have read something similar to this but can't remember who wrote it, so apologies for conceptual similarities if there is any. also i reference reader wearing leah's no. 8 england jersey even though leah has worn many different numbers for england lol.
summary: reader is a famous singer who goes to an england game and goes back to meet the girls after, not knowing leah williamson thinks she is the fittest woman to walk the earth. leah's fellow lionesses taking the piss out of her a bit for her crush. reader finding it endlessly endearing, as you would.
word count: 2.1k
When you had asked your manager if she could organise getting you tickets to see the Lionesses play, you hadn't expected that your love for the women's team would be reciprocated in any way. So you were pleasantly surprised when your manager informed you that the team wanted to meet you after the game, and agreed immediately.
You had briefly met a few of the players already at a GQ event last year, and on that occasion you had found yourself completely infatuated with the captain Leah Williamson. You had watched on in the Euros as she lead the team out with such confidence and from there you had definitely developed a small crush on the footballer. You had even sourced yourself a number 8 Williamson jersey to wear to the final at Wembley.
After the historic final you shared a photo of yourself and your family donned proudly in your England jerseys to your instagram that night with the caption 'claiming the title of the @lionesses biggest fan. the girls brought it home ⚽️🔥❤️'. Little did you know that when Leah saw your post, she had made sure everyone on the team had seen that you were wearing her jersey. She couldn't believe her eyes, or that a musician of your status was posting about the Lionesses. In a simple display of mutual affection, Leah liked the post and left a comment saying 'The feeling is mutual, thanks for the love x'.
It wasn't until later in the year that the two of you had finally met at the GQ Men of the Year event after the Euros. You had seen her across the room and made a shamless beeline for her. Though no introductions were necessary, you both introduced yourselves, and right off the bat Leah mentioned the fact that you had posted a photo of yourself in her jersey. You tried your best to play it cool, but you certainly were blushing, which Leah only found more endearing.
"I've got to back the captain haven't I?" You'd told her.
"I'm not complaining, it looked better on you than it does on me," she responded flirtatiously with practised ease.
"You're making me blush now," you pat your cheeks, feeling the warmth of your face.
"Surely you get people complimenting you in every room you walk into," Leah said matter of factly, only flattering you further.
"Leah Williamson, stop inflating my ego!" You laughed, "You live a far more respectable life than I do, and you manage to look this bloody good while doing it," you motion up and down her body with your hands to her outfit, completely blown away by her ability to look so damn good in and out of kit.
"Well I'll take the compliment, but I'll have you know I have a great respect for you and your music," she says sincerely.
"Thank you, I guess it's my turn to take the compliment too," you tell her, and sadly your conversation is cut short by an announcement that the award ceremony is about to commence and that everyone must move to their seats. The rest of the night your mind was occupied with thoughts of the English captain, especially since she was honoured with multiple speeches of people singing her praises.
And while you couldn't have known it, Leah's mind was filled with you. After that night she had strictly listened to your music on repeat for weeks, much to the annoyance of her teammates who demanded something else be played since it was Leah who had the role of team DJ.
A few months later when you decided to secure tickets to the Arnold Clark Cup game in Milton Keynes, you had secretly hoped you might get another encounter with Leah, and your manager had confirmed this at the start of the night.
When the girls were in the change room before hand, news began to travel that you were in the crowd, but it hadn't reached Leah until she queued up one of your songs in the pre-game playlist and realisation dawned on Ella Toone's face.
"Can you believe Y/N Y/L/N is here? Apparently she's going to come say hello after the game," Ella said.
"Is she really?" Leah said, her voice coming out squeaky, the excitement evident.
"Oh good Lee, maybe you can just ask her out like a normal human instead of listening to her like an obsessive fan," Georgia Stanway said loud enough for every one to hear, making the team laugh.
"Give it a rest," Leah shook her head, but she smiled, knowing Georgia had a point.
Leah knew she had spent way too much time thinking about you for only having met you that one time, but she couldn't help it. She definitely felt there was a little chemistry in your brief conversation at the GQ event. She tried not to let herself believe that but, after all, you were one of the most famous artists in the world, and she was just a footballer. She wasn't even sure that you dated women. Either way, the idea that you were in the crowd made her want to put in a good performance.
From your posh seats, which you felt extremely lucky to be in, you were enthralled in the game, cheering as loud as anyone when the girls scored their 4 goals against South Korea. You'd even come wearing a Williamson Jersey under your coat, and throughout the game your eye was consistently drawn to the blonde defender who charmed you those months ago.
When the game ended one of the many people working behind the scenes for the Lionesses came to find you at your seat to escort you and your manager through the back of the stadium down to where the team was.
You could hear the sound of Murder On The Dancefloor playing loudly as you followed your escort towards the change room where the team was clearly celebrating their win. The girls were mostly too busy dancing and shouting along with the song to notice your entrance, which made you smile. You didn't want to disrupt their celebrations by any means, but the woman who brought you down had cleared her throat to get the girls attention.
"Sorry to interrupt ladies, but I've got someone special here who has kindly come to say hello!" She announces to the room and instantly the heads turn your way.
You flash a smile and wave as the music gets turned down, "Sorry to show up in the middle of such a good song," you apologise.
"Are you kidding me? The music can wait, you're Y/N bloody Y/L/N," Ella said, making you laugh.
"And you're Ella bloody Toone, it's so good to meet you. I'm a huge fan of you all," You said, expressing your love for the entire team, looking around the room. Even though you've brushed shoulders with more celebrities than you can count, staring into a room of footballers you admire felt extremely surreal.
"We're fans of yours, especially Leah," Georgia says, gesturing across the room with her thumb towards Leah who you were only managing to see now.
She stood resting against the wall with her arms crossed, shaking her head, "Thanks for that G."
You decide it's getting a bit awkward with everyone staring at you, as if you're about to give a half time pep talk so you try to diffuse the situation a little.
"Well I'd love to get around and have a chat with all of you, but please put your music on and do your thing, I feel silly standing up here in front of you all," you say, smiling.
"You heard her girls, stop staring, play the music Leah," Millie Bright said instructively and you watched as Leah picked her phone up and pressed play on the music.
Instantly many went back to singing along to the Sophie Ellis-Bextor classic, and you made your way over towards Georgia Stanway giving her a hug hello, and sitting down with her for a chat.
"That penalty was unreal," you told Georgia, referring to the goal she scored in the game. You spoke with her easily, feeling like you were catching up with a friend.
You continued to move your way around the room, chatting with some of the girls individually and with some in smaller groups. While they all had compliments for you and questions to ask, you met them with the exact same energy. The room quickly filled up with more people who work for the team and friends and family which made you feel less like you were a lucky fan who had orchestrated a private meet and greet with the team.
The whole time you were in the room you were looking for Leah out of the corner of your eye, wanting to save her for a bit later so you could get some more time to talk with her. Once you'd basically made your rounds of the room chatting to the players and their family members you finally made your way over to Leah.
"Saving the best for last?" Leah smirks at you as you approach.
"Well I'm not one to pick favourites, but I did wear my Williamson jersey tonight," you say, pushing open your coat to show off the white England jersey tucked loosely into your pants.
"I can't get over you wearing my shirt," Leah said, her pearly white teeth on full display, which you reflected with your own face.
"Is it surreal for you? Since I hear you're such a big fan of mine and all," you say, reference Georgia's little quip from earlier which didn't fly under your radar.
"Oh, she's got banter," Leah says, an eyebrow raised.
"She tries," you shrug your shoulders.
"Well if you must know, yes I'm a fan. I may even have been told off for playing too much of your music around the girls," she admits, "But you've got my name on your back so I'd say the feeling is mutual."
"Oh, it's definitely mutual, if anything I'm underplaying how big of a fan I am," you say, your honesty laced with sarcasm.
Leah smiles, "Well if we're being honest I'm really glad you came today, I was disappointed we didn't get to chat more back at that GQ event," Leah says earnestly.
"So was I! I actually tried to find you later that night but had no luck," you said.
"Oh, you did? I was probably just sitting with Alex Scott chatting her ear off about how fit you are," Leah says, her forwardness catching you off guard just slightly.
"Well just as well I came here today then," you said, dropping your voice slightly and leaning in closer to her ear, "Because I haven't stopped thinking about you since that night."
"Well what do you say we get together for coffee soon and we can gush over each other some more?" Leah offers and you light up at the idea.
"I'd say that's a great idea," you nod, laughing, "Here let me give you my number," you motion towards the phone in her hand and she unlocks it, handing it over to you. You open her contacts and create a new one for you.
"Alright, all done," you hand her phone back to her, feeling your heart beating in your chest.
"Perfect, well, Y/N, it was a pleasure to see you again," Leah says, opening her arms for a hug, which you slip into gladly.
"Yes, always a pleasure. Make sure you text me later, don't leave me hanging," you say in your embrace, knowing that you're close enough to Leah that the other girls might not hear.
"I wouldn't dare," Leah promises.
"Alright, good," you smile as you step away.
Now that your conversation has come to an end Leah turns back to the rest of the girls, most of whom are watching your and Leah's interaction very closely.
"Alright girls, Y/N is heading off now, say your goodbyes," Leah says, using what you think must be her captain voice, sounding very assertive.
"Bye guys, it's been so good to meet you all," you tell everyone as they all say goodbye and thank you for coming. You embrace almost everyone in a hug as you slowly making your way back around to the door where your manager waits for you.
You give one last wave goodbye, and have one last look at Leah who is watching every move of yours with a small smile on her face. She waves at you as you look at her and with that you turn and leave the room.
As you walk through the stadium to the back entrance where a car is waiting for you, your manager asks how you're feeling after meeting all the girls.
You giggle like you're a teenager again as you tell her, "I think I have a date with Leah Williamson."
#leah williamson#woso community#leah williamson x reader#lionesses#lionesses x reader#woso x reader#woso#awfc
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Fitzgerald Grant x Female! Reader
Hi! This is my own work, I wrote it and I much don't like to have it posted in other social media flatforms without my permission.
WARNINGS : This contains smut, if you don't like such content please skip it and don't read it. Vulgar words has been used also. Do excuse my grammatical errors and typos, correct me nicely or else I'll block block you. English is not my first language:)) Enjoy reading!<33
Special thanks to the owner of this gif<3
“I told you to stay away from him!” Fitz yells at you, he's in the pit of rage and you know you just crossed the line.
Making him jealous because you wanted to make him pay at what he did to you a week ago. He thought you got over it, but looks like his naughty wife has a better plan. And that is to make him angry. What's on his mind right now?
I'll get you bend over this dining table, fuck you and breed you.
That's what his brain tells him to do. You're his property, you're his and he doesn't like to share. And you absolutely knew it. That's why you make everything on planned.
"I'm sorry, but you really need to stop working." Fitz firmly stated, you're shocked at his sudden statement.
"W-what?" you scoffed.
"I said... I want you to stop working." he repeats as he slowly strode over you, like a lion ready to attack its prey. His eyes tells he craves. You stumped in front of him, face to face, nose almost touched. Eyes raged.
"I. Won't. Stop. Working." you said what is to be said, "I love my work, Fitz, I love working as a professor and you know how much I love my work and you can't just barge here in my office to tell me to resign and stay with you at the white house and fulfill my duty as a first lady. How did you get in here anyways?"
"You don't need to know how I get here, what you need to do is to get all your things and sign these resignation papers and let's go at the white House." his frown deepen, but you can see his eyes averting from your eyes to your lips, his breathing getting heavy as you argue with him.
"I won't resign just because you're jealous of my colleague who haven't done anything but to do his job." you continued. He scoff, he backs away a little shaking his head.
"Believe me, you will." and that's the last thing he said before he walks out your office. You stared at the door where he just walked out of, jaw drop, can't believe that your husband can do such things.
Well he's the president of the United States after all.
You're at his birthday party, talking with some guests. Not paying attention at your husband who's been such a attention seeker for you.
Since he made you sign those resignation letter you give him silent treatment that he deserves. He can't just manipulate you just because he's jealous.
“Dance with me?” you heard a voice from your back making you turn around. It's your colleague, the man Fitz don't ever want to see.
“Well why not.” you giggle and took his hand that been waiting for you to take.
You wanted him here. His name is Race, and he's a colleague, a married man but it's a private marriage. Fitz were a fool, he doesn't even let you explain it, and now, you will take advantage of it.
Race lead you to the dance floor where there's already some people who's dancing, including your husband who's with a old lady which you can recognise as the 40th president's wife.
Well watch me turn the tables around, darling.
“So, I bet he still doesn't know.” he smiled at you which you returned with a naughty smirk.
“This is a lesson, he has been fooling himself. You know that I would never cheat on him, I love him too much to break his heart.” you factly stated. He sighs as he slowly sway you, syncing with the music.
“I know that you cheeky minx.” he whisper that makes you both laugh together.
Both of you continued to dance and talk about random things up until Fitz finally notice, well actually you've seen him, he got his eyes on you. Watching you dance with the man he despise right now, and all he wanted to do were to yank you off him and take you right in front of everybody, specially him. You're playing with fire.
“Ma'am if you'll excuse me.” he politely smiles at the woman who nods with a smile. As soon as he turns around, his face contorts into a deep frown, raging eyes glued at you.
He walks with power, greeting every person he walk pass with a smile then immediately turns back into a frown as soon as he looks at you.
“I think that would be great, I like it and I know-”
“Mind if I steal my wife for a while?” firm, and low husky voice. Fitz says as he folds his arms across his chest. His face shows it all. Anger, rage, jealousy... Lust.
Well you were about to say that you like race's idea to surprise his wife for her birthday.
“Why sure, Mr. President.” race politely agrees as he smiled at the man, not paying attention to fitz's face, looking like he's ready to punch him.
Fitz did not waste anymore time as he possessively pull you away from him by your waist. He then pressed his lips on yours, taking you by surprise. Race sealed his lips containing his evil grin. Success.
You on the other hand, didn't give what Fitz wants. You did not kiss him back making him pull inches away from your lips.
“You like him don't you?” Fitz slowly said. You stared at him, slowly, a smile formed in your lips, mocking him. You know it makes him more hungry for you, and you like every bit of it.
Knowing your husband, he loves you so much, he's a very territorial, possessive, and obsessive at you. Well because you're his wife, and he needs you to know it.
“I love you.” you smiled at him. He'll say it back. No matter how he's mad at you. You know he will.
“I...love you too.” he whisper, as he look down on your lips, almost looks ashamed. I know you too well.
“Dining room.” you whisper at him before pulling away to walk out of the room.
“What?” he asks confusedly. His brows knitted, his signature look. You smiled evily, seductively bit your lower lip as you said;
“I know you like it anywhere, baby.”
Fitz is a kinky man, you must declare.
A knowing smirk were now plastered on his face making you giggle.
“Meet you there, baby!” you turned around and walk off.
Did he waste more time? Of course he didn't. He quickly walk off the room full of guest and walk towards dining room, where you waited there. Wearing nothing but a pair of black lingerie and a black stocking.
“Y/N-” his breath caught above his lungs as the view in front of him completely astonished him. “What's all of these?” he asks, as his eyes continue to hungrily Starr at your body up and down.
You hop ontop of the table and crossed your legs. He slowly walk towards you.
“A lesson.” you simply said when he's already standing right in front of you and tries to open your legs.
“A lesson for what?” he looks confused. You smirk and parted your legs, you hooked him with your legs on his hips and forcely pull him using it.
You put a finger on his lips and it just parted for you, “You know what you've done, Fitz, and now I'll teach you.. A.. Lesson.” you lean closer to him, he thought you will kiss him, so he lean forward to reach your lips but you pull back. “Ah, ah, darling... You need to be taught and punished—”
“Screw you.” that's all he got to say before he slam his lips on you, you tried to pull away but you're too intoxicated at his taste and scent. He kissed you hungrily, both hands on either side of your cheeks. Both with heavy breathings, both were panting, and moaning in each others mouths, as their tounge collide, exploring the insides of it adding more heat down your womanhood.
Fitz grab ahold of your stockings and rip it apart making you gasp into his mouth. But keep on kissing him still anyways. He pushed your legs more apart and start to kiss your neck. His hands were now roaming you body, specially down your area.
“F-fuck, Fitz.” you moaned as his kiss went down your cleavage, to your stomach up until he reached where you wanted him to be. He place a kiss on your lingerie, as his eyes stilled on yours.
“You can't punish me. I will punish you... For being such a brat, for ignoring me, for teasing me, you think you'll get away with it? Think again...” he snarled. You scoff at him. He just smirked. That devil smirk he always does when you both on bed. It turns you on.
“Fuck you.” you smile and press your lips on his kissing him ever so roughly as your hand went to his belt and undo it. He slapped your hand away and grab a hold of your ass and yank you off the table and put you on your feet as he turn you around, panting as he retrieve his breath, as well as you. He continue to kiss on your neck as he unbuckle his belt and push his pants down.
“Fuck you, you mean.” he chuckles, he ripped your panties and thrown it on the floor leaving you gasping. There's nothing can make you more turned on than you are now.
He latched his lips again on your neck as you grab ahold of his head pushing him more to it, moaning as you did. Fitz let his mouth open while he teased your hole with the tip of his enormous cock. Confusedly you is when he put his hand tightly on your mouth, but it didn't take long when he rams his cock inside of you with a guttural groan, trying to contain his own sounds.
You swear if he hadn't covered your mouth, you would scream. You never got used to his cock, up until now.
“I will never get tired fucking this sweet, tight pussy of yours, Y/N.” he whisper erotically in your ear, while you left there moaning in his palm, grinding your hips with his as he thrust slow but you can feel the roughness.
“Now tell me, my sweet, does teasing me satisfy you?” he asks as he slowly fastening his thrust, breathing were getting more heavier. You shook your head. “Liar.” he grunts, he let's go of your lips and push you down the table, making you lay your front to it as he grab onto your hips and continue his bruising pace. He pause a little when you began to moan, as much as he wanted to hear it, you must minimise your moans so no guest will get traumatised, “Please do be quiet for me, sweetheart, there's people outside. I don't want them knowing I'm screwing my bratty wife while I have party to be at. Wouldn't want to look disrespectful yeah?” he whispers at your ears. You only nodded, panting. “Good.” he smirk before he bit your ear gently. He then suddenly pushed in roughly making you squeal and him shushing you.
Fitz won't let you dominate him, we'll at least not now. He doesn't have much time for you to tease and edge him. But he will let you do that later, when no one's in the house.
He spread your ass to watch his harden cock penetrate your wet cunt, he couldn't help but whimper looking at the beautiful view. He sure is won't ever get enough of you.
No one can ever make his cock this alive, only you, his wife. You always turn him on even in small things you do. Like the way you walk, you talk, your smell, he gets turned on easily, if it's you who'll make him.
“Fuck, Fitz, I'm close.” you quietly moan, Fitz was too lost in pleasure. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pull you against his chest as he thrust up to help you cum for him. He's nearing, as much as he doesn't want this to end, he has visitors to entertain.
“Darling, I'm gonna cum.” he whisper against your skin. His eyes closed, mouth open, eyebrows were knitted, pleasure takes over him. “I know you want to cum too. Cum hof me.” he place a kiss on your neck.
“Fitz..” you moan, almost out of breath. His hand went to your breast and squeeze it tightly as he left his other arm wrapped around your waist. “Ah! Fuck!” your walls clamped around his cock that enough to edge him, and leave him moaning as you cum.
“Oh God, you feel so good.” he groans through gritted teeth. He continues to thrust in you as he breed you, filling you with his cum—wait he breeds you?!
“Fitz!” you yell at him. He frowned at you.
“W-what?” he says panting.
“You finished in me!”
Not to be rude but you both talked about having another baby and he said it's not the right time yet to have another one, and you agreed with it.
“So?” he asks confusedly. He's still inside of you, still thrusting very slowly as he just reached his climax. “You're my wife, I have the rights to do so.” he said, he slowly pulls away making you bite your lip. You turn around to face him.
“Yeah, but I thought you don't want another baby yet?” you ask, he sighs and pull you closer to him as he wrap his arms around your hips.
“Jerry's not a baby anymore, he's four—well he'll still remain our baby but I miss having a small human in my arms,” he chuckles. He place a hand on your cheek, a finger in your lips and continues; “I want to have another baby, I know that you also want another but I choosed to deny you. I'm sorry.” he whisper, your eyes were glistening as he rub your cheeks.
“Thank you, and I love you.” you smiled at him, which he returns.
“I love you too.” he says back with a chuckle. You giggle and tiptoed his lips. Kissing him deeply and passionately.
It didn't last long when he lift you up again and sat you on the table before he push you on your back. He pulls away with a smirk dancing on his lips.
“Fitz!” you giggle when he pulls a chair and sat on it before he pulls you by your tighs to the edge of the table. He smirk at you making you part your lips.
“What? I'm hungry.” he teasingly said before burying his head between your tighs leaving you breathless as you throw your head at the back, moaning as you did.
#fitzgerald grant#scandal#olivia pope#imagines#oneshot#y/n#wattpad#romance#tony goldwyn#actors#readersgonnaread
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so today i tricked my very straight male friend into reading svsss.
okay look, i wasn't planning to at first and it's not like it was completely my fault. he wanted to read it!
i was showing him how badly they fucked up mu qingfang in the donghua by comparing it to the english novel design (he said that mu qingfang went from looking like a soft dilf to a predator registered on the epstein island list). and then, i showed him how different some of the other character designs were like gongyi xiao's ("he looks like he'd be a genshin character" -friend, to eng novel design) and luo binghe's ("lowkey, he kinda gives airbender vibes" -friend, to bunhe eng novel design)
so that was all i was gonna show him, nothing else. but after seeing them, he goes, "these designs actually look hella cool. what's the book called?"
now, do i:
A. tell him the name, eventually revealing that it's a danmei when he looks it up?
B. just straight up tell him that it's a danmei?
C: don't tell him the name just yet, spill the summary, get him interested, and tell him to not search anything up about it because there's heavy spoilers and it will reveal them the moment he types it up on the search bar
i go with C, obviously.
me: so, basically, some guy named shen yuan transmigrates into an incel harem male power fantasy novel where the protagonist, luo binghe, has hundreds of wives. thing is though, the guy pretty much took over the body of binghe's teacher he had when he was a teenager, who turns out to be a really scummy dude. and now he has to be nice to him so that the protagonist doesn't rip off his limbs and put him into a pickle pot in the future to suffer for eternity.
friend: that sounds hilarious and horrifying at the same time.
me: yes it is, and you should read it. it's like. my favorite novel at the moment. but don't search up anything about it because people spoil that shit. i'll let you borrow my novel
friend: nah don't worry, i'll just pirate it
friend: wait. does it have pictures?
me, my plan coming together: yeah, it has pictures. buuut, when you pirate it, it doesn't. trust me dude, i tried and was severely disappointed. plus, the physical copy is so much better
friend: fuck yeah ok thanks
me: hold on though. i'll text you later to see if my friend who's borrowing it rn is done reading it
he's hyped. he's excited. he craves a good book and a good transmigration interpretation. he's especially happy about the fact that it takes place in a chinese setting with cool powers and an actual good main character. "this sounds so good, god i wanna read it so bad."
i tell him that binghe is actually adorable, too. that it's pretty much found family! my friend then asks if shen yuan adopts him and becomes a father figure or something.
and i said "yes". you know, like a liar. (the father figure part probably isn't a lie though)
now i'm gonna give him the novel tomorrow! of course, i'm gonna cover the chapter 2 bunhe sexual awakening scene with washi tape and say that my baby cousin (sorry baby cousin, you would never <\3) scribbled all over that paragraph with her markers, and since i'm a neat book freak, i put washi tape and just wrote the scene! i don't know if that's really all too believable, but he didn't seem to care that much. just a simple "if my baby cousin did that to my book i would punt them into the sun"
i think what'll be more hilarious is the fact that you can't really tell that svsss is a BL. especially not volume 1. there's like, only a few lines indicating, but if you remove the baby binghe sexual awakening scene then you probably won't be able to know (...if you don't really read romance or anything. idk he's kinda dense anyways). so let's hope he gets attached and has a slow descent into the homo before i drop svsss vol 2 on him!
ok anyways i'll update you guys later with a reblog. maybe in about two or three days lol
(also don't worry, we already fuck around with each other on a daily basis like this. he's already tricked me into reading some manga i was unprepared for, and i thought that it'd be funny to mess around with him using svsss this time lol)
#greatest prank ive ever donee i think#manipulation 100 fr#absolute tomfoolery#am i a bad friend for this? perhaps. is it hilarious? definitely.#this is truly the most moment of all time#svsss#mxtx svsss#the scum villain's self saving system#luo binghe#luo bingmei#shen qingqiu#shen yuan
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Vince walked around his town's annual Oktoberfest celebration, catching sight of someone he hadn't seen in years, his high school crush, Natalie. Only not quite how he remembered her. "Wow, Natalie! Get a load of you.... looking better than ever!"
"Oh my god, Vince! I'm soooo happy to see you! And thanks.... I'm getting that a lot." She giggled, giving her belly a few good slaps as she guzzled her beer, wiping her lips afterward.
"Damn, you're putting those things away, huh? I remember you used to be all straight-edge, education comes first. You were cute, but not a whole lot of fun."
"Gee, thanks. I know, I know, I was so stuck up. But that's all changed now, and for the record this is my fifth beer already! Which, mmmm, reminds me!" Natalie slightly spread her bare legs and feet, pissing without a hint of embarrassment. "Mmmmm, that feels so good! I hope you don't mind." She bit her lip, talking as she pissed shamelessly in front of everyone.
"Not at all, a girl your size probably can barely control it, I bet."
She shook her head, still going, taking a big sip of her beer. "Just barely. I'm such breeder now, I'm getting used to just pissing myself if I need to. My womb is gigantic most of the time, my poor bladder's crushed. All the beer I drink probably doesn't help either. Mmmmm...."
"I can't believe how much you've changed. Last I heard you were a big shot in going to University in the city, about to get your Bachelor's. I still remember you tutoring me in English and I felt like a moron talking to you. Everyone knew you were the smartest girl in class."
"Those were the days! Well, I did good in college but my family talked me into dropping out and giving up on my education."
"What? For real?"
Natalie slapped her belly so hard it made a loud smacking noise. "Uh-huh! You know my family are pretty traditional, Christian types..... Sooo, they asked to talk to me and basically said that they were being quiet about how they really felt. They were proud of who I was becoming, but deep down wanted me to return to my small-town roots. They told me they always hoped I'd be barefoot and pregnant, sleeping around town, popping out kids left and right with a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other. They talked about how they prayed I'd come to my senses and lead a normal girl's life like God wants, or whatever. They said I should be breeding and having tons of sex with all kinds of guys, satisfying the local men, not leaving one behind. I should always be pregnant, and basically make my whole life about pleasure, to embrace being dumb, and to stop embarrassing them by being this super smarty city girl in college."
"And just like that you gave it up to make them happy, become a dumb little breeding cow?"
"Yep! Pretty much.... And I've got to say, I'm way happier living a simple life like this. I have all the sex I want with whoever, drink all I want, smoke like a chimney, show off my massive belly full of kids to entice the locals into getting out a little pent up frustration on me! I do such a wonderful service to the community now. I really feel like I'm giving back every time these men fill me with their seed and pound away at my poor, swollen pussy...." She giggled, giving her belly another slap, finishing her beer. "Oh! All done.... better get another. You want one?"
"Sure, I guess."
"That's the spirit! While we wait in line how about you bend me over, hike up my skirt, and show me how big a crush you really have on me....."
"Damn, I should've come back home way sooner I guess...." He gave Natalie a playful spank, leading her to the waiting line at the makeshift tavern nearby, his cock already anticipating getting to finally fuck his first major crush, with some added weight, a much bigger ass, and a huge belly full of kids. He knew in the coming days they would need to do a lot more catching up, while she could still walk, that is.
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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.
#published by bug#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington smut#stranger things x reader#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fic#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fic#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x you#stevie oneshot#st oneshots#punchy x steve
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Oh my God… as soon as I read your post I had a thought… Probably unnecessarily cruel… What if the Children of Oda (46) and Ai (7) end up in Tayvat with the reader… This would make things more difficult for the poor reader. Because In addition to trying to survive, there is also the need to take care of children… And absolutely ordinary children without abilities. And the rest will panic greatly. Especially if the reader herself is a child or a teenager, although the plus is that the reader looks like just a young creator, if this seems too cruel and/or difficult, you can ignore or change my request, thank you very much for your attention, good luck!!!
If you were not alone
Part I
_____
Self-Aware! BSD AU x SAGAU Imposter crossover
Characters:
Self-Aware! Platonic! Aya Koda, Self-Aware! Platonic! Katsumi, Self-Aware! Platonic! Shinji, Self-Aware! Platonic! Kousuke, Self-Aware! Platonic! Sakura, Self-Aware! Platonic! Yuu
Reader: Teen! GN! Reader
Warning: English is my second language
👧🏻 🚸 At first, the situation didn't look too bad. Yes, all of you woke up in the wilderness, and you have no idea, how you get here, or how to return home, but, none of you were injured, and hilichurls looked surprisingly friendly and didn't try to attack you.
However, the emotions in the group weren't even slightly positive.
You were hugging crying Sakura and Shinji. The girl buried her face in your chest, and the boy was clinging to your side.
Katsumi, Kousuke and Yuu were trying to keep themselves together, trying to act as big boys. But you can see tears in their eyes. Soon, they joined the group hug.
Aya was silent. She was a little bit tougher, then Oda's kids. You will be tough, if your adopted father is Vampire Count Bram Stoker.
But she also was hugging you. Because now, she was a child. Not a Defender of Justice.
You were whispering reassuring words, promising, that all of you will be safe.
You want to believe that.
When you were more or less calmed down, your small group start moving to the nearest city.
Aya, Katsumi, Kousuke and Yuu were walking before you. You were holding Shinji's and Sakura's hands. You were making sure, that no one will get lost.
As the oldest in this group, you must take care of them.
👧🏻🚸 Mondstadt was strange. From the game, you got an impression, that Mondstadt were a friendly city. So why... Why everyone were glaring at you?
The answer came in a form of a statue. A statue made of gold. A statue of an adult version of you, made of gold.
The statue was terrifying. It wasn't too big. It wasn't scary. But sometimes felt wrong. Something in every little bit of the statue made you feel frozen with fear and disgust.
And, it seems, that your companions got the same feelings as you.
You felt glares on you. Mondstadt was quiet. Waiting for something.
The silence were overwhelming.
Yuu's voice could be mistaken for screams in this silence.
"[Y/N], don't worry, this monster may look like you, but you will be looked much better, when you grew up."
And the first of many "Imposter! Dirty Sinner!" came.
🚸👧🏻 Your lungs were still burning. Sakura and Shinji were holding to you for dear life. All of you were chased away from Mondstadt. But, you were sure, that the people of Mondstadt weren't satisfied with simply chasing you away. No. The anger in their eyes. They wanted blood. Your blood.
It was a miracle, that you survived. And the miracle had a name.
Klee managed to hide you all away and get you to the Dragonspine. Right now, you, Oda's kids and Aya were resting in Albedo's lab.
While Klee tried to cheered kids even for a bit, you were talking with Albedo.
🚸👧🏻 The situation were terrible. You and kids are now wanted criminals, you can't trust anyone from Teyvat. Your only chance to get home - meet with Alice. The bad news is that she is forced to travel from nation to nation, not staying on one place for too long. There would be a big chance, that you would miss her.
And you must protect six kids.
You stayed with Albedo for a week. You discussed everything you need to know.
You decide to travel to Sumeru. If Albedo wasn't mistaken, Nahida would help you. Maybe, Irmensul have answers and knowledge on how to get you all home. At least, you could hide you, until Alice arrived.
Albedo gave you clothes, backpacks, supplies, blankets and much more. Everything you need during your journeys. It won't be enough for the whole journey. But, at least for the next few days, you won't worry about food and water.
And he showed you something. Something, that took all members of Hexenzirkel to use their powers to get and stay safe. Something, they stole from "Creator". What was left of a previous person, who looked slightly similar to "Creator".
"I don't want to scare you, [Y/N]. I just want you to see, what would happen, if one day they caught you. Or you decide to go to them on your own free will." Albedo looked sad. He can't go with you. He must protect Sucrose and Klee.
You nodded solemnly. You will try to stay safe.
To keep others safe.
🚸👧🏻 During your journey, you were careful. Refusing to go near people. During your journey, you start stealing. You can't let kids become hungry. You did everything a teen can do to keep children safe. While situation never called for that (you always manage to ran away) you knew, that you will fight for their lives.
When people from other nations came to Sumeru, trying to find you, you and kids were hiding.
But you were fond.
According to Lore, Capitano was a noble warrior
In Teyvat, only your hold was stopping him from striking Aya.
You were angry. You wanted to protest kids.
Your emotions reached their peak.
What left of First Creator's powers obeyed your silent wish.
The portal opened under your feet.
______
🐾 In Real World, BSD Cast were restless. Six kids and one kid disappeared without a trace! There is no way for them to stay calm.
Especially for two of them.
🦇 Bram Stoker lost two kids.
🍛Oda Sakunosuke lost six kids.
🍛🦇 Oda and Bram are looking everywhere. Criminal underworld lost huge number of criminals because of that. Ida and Bram going after any possible suspect.
🍛🦇 And when, after weeks of being missing, you seven finally returned, and this giant warrior were trying to kill you, their anger gets out of control.
_______
👧🏻🚸🍛🦇 For the next few weeks, seven of you won't be left alone. Oda and Bram will constantly stay close to you.
👧🏻🚸🍛🦇 No one would ever hurt you. You will never be scared, cold or hungry again. You won't need to steal to get food for Aya and Oda's kids. You don't need to fight for their lives.
👧🏻🚸🍛🦇 Journey to Teyvat was stressful. Thankfully, it was over.
______
Tag list: @withered-blossoms , @myluckymoon @cocodrilofeliz @c4xcocoa @vvyeislazzy @whisperingwinters
#self-awarebsd#self-awareau#bungou stray dogs au#bungou stray dogs#bsd#bsd anime#bsd x gender neutral reader#gender neutral reader#platonic#imposter sagau#genshin impact sagau#genshin sagau#sagau#sagau impostor au#imposter au#Self-Aware Aya Koda#Self-Aware Oda's kids
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