#nah she can fix him
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For fucks sake, don’t marry people whose life goals aren’t the same as yours. You want kids? Cool! Don’t marry someone who doesn’t!
Like, imagine being in a relationship believing you can convince your partner to change their mind only to be hit with a “uh no” permanently. Dumbass 💀
#this is aimed to the idiot wife who admitted that her husband didn’t like their firstborn and thought a second child would make things#better 💀 what a fucking idiot fr#husband was like ‘nah’ and dipped and now she’s bawling her eyes out LIKE HOMIE WHAT DID YOU EXPECT#‘he could’ve gotten a vasectomy’ you gonna pay for it?#this is also about that idiot boyfriend thinking his gf would change her mind after she gave birth#and she straight up gave him full custody and dipped#good for her#don’t force people who don’t want kids to have kids#this isn’t something you can fix
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Me: My cleric wants to buy two platinum rings
DM: *gives me a look of dread*
Me: It's just for a spell! "Warding Bond". What are you thinking?
#now. Is my cleric going to give this matching ring to the teammate she's unknowingly in love with that is secretly in love with her#and possibly not tell him what it's for because she wants to hide the harm the spell causes the caster?#hehe. heheheheheheh. HAHAHAHAHAHAH#jo plays dee and dee#I think I've played my character a little too bisexual I think he thought I was about to propose to an NPC#Nah man#she's over that nice shopkeeper. Her corruption arc is going too well. She wants the evil paladin. She CAN fix him.#Them falling in love was the other player's idea but I'm thinking of keeping this particular plan a surprise#one of the other players dropped the most insane secret on the rest of us tonight and damn. To have even a fraction of that shock. DRAMA#Also the lore is insane. Yes it took 3 sessions to play one day. But what a day it was
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Part Five
Can't stop thinking about the attempt of reconciliation and reader ain't having it. Our girl is going to be wilddddd y'all. Also goodnight. See y'all tomorrow (maybe)
You call Meredith when you get home.
You. Are. Fuming. She's not sure she can ever remember a time you using so many swear words at one time.
How fucking dare them? Immature? You're the immature one? You were the one trying your best to salvage four failing relationship meanwhile none of those assholes could be bothered to try and keep one. They had one person to manage: you.
"I wanna go out this weekend." "Wear something tight and borderline risk indecent exposure."
"You know what I always say," Meredith begins. "The best way to get over someone-"
"is to get under someone else." You finish. You weren't exactly keen on the idea of bringing someone to your bed just yet, but a little attention would do you some good. "I don't want to fuck someone just yet." You admitted. "I'm more on the getting drunk and making out."
"I didn't know we resorted back secondary school heavy petting?" She teased.
"University, Dear." You corrected. "I didn't peak until after I graduated."
"No." She argued. "You didn't put your books down long enough to realize that boys actually wanted to fuck you." You were glad she couldn't see you roll your eyes. "Saturday work for you? I have a late night Friday and won't be up for it."
"That works."
"Sorry." She apologized. "I plan on getting you absolutely smashed so I need to be ready to play the nanny. I know how you love to get drunk and run off."
It was true. You had always found it hilarious when you were drunk to just run. Quite literally run away. It got to a point during university where Meredith would handcuff you to her so you didn't stray.
"I won't run." Your sober mind promised.
"Uh huh." Meredith's tone told you that she knew that was a load of shit. "I'll text Tabs. Let her know the plan."
The next day at the shop was pretty uneventful. No more unexpected visitors. You still had them all blocked. Not caring if now they decided to offer up some bullshit apology.
Months. This had been a steady decline for six months. A text or a simply sorry won't fix this. You weren't sure anything could.
But it didn't matter. You were done and they obviously were too.
You had picked up enough take out to feed a family, but you didn't plan on making your lunch before work or cooking when you got home. The rest of the week you planned on just going through the motions until you could go out Saturday and hopefully get everything out.
You weren't paying attention as you walked down the hallway to your flat. Fishing in your purse for keys. You were at almost at your door when you saw him.
Sitting next to your door was a familiar face. A face you felt you haven't seen in forever.
“What are you doing here, Kyle?" Your voice was flat as you continued to blindly try and find your keys with one hand. Fuck. You really need to clean out your purse...
“My key wouldn’t work.” He explained. "So I’m out here.”
"I'm aware why you're not in my apartment since I changed the locks," you said, trying to keep your irritation at bay. "What I am asking is why did you come here?"
"You won't return any of our messages."
"You're all blocked, so technically I didn't really get any messages." "Besides, you don't get to complain to me about not responding to texts, Kyle Garrick." Your fingers finally wraps around them. God bless. "If you're here for your things, it'll have to wait. I have to sort through everyone's shit and I don't know whose is whose."
"We need to talk." He explains as you put the key into the lock, opening the door.
"Nah," you say scrunching your nose in that way he used to adore. "I'm good. But you can swing by tomorrow and pick up your things if you'd like." You say before trying to shut the door on him. You were stupid in thinking you could be faster than him.
Dammit.
"I know things haven't been good and I've definitely could have been better,'' he admits. "But can you at least try and let us apologize? Let us try and work it out."
"No." You answered, trying to close the door. Not caring if you had to resort to kicking his shins to get him out.
"Why not?" He countered.
“Maybe because I've already tried, Kyle?” You gave up on trying to shut him out. You were strong, but he didn't have any issues in besting you. “Because I actually tried with you. With all of you. You didn’t need to come here giving me excuses about your life being hectic because I’ve made the excuses for you.” You didn't miss how he practically flinched. He had always blamed his busy life. Family. Work. You stopped caring about whatever excuse he gave you and realized it was just that. An excuse. “I’ve been telling myself for months that everything you guys didn’t do for me wasn’t because you didn’t care about me. It was because of the stress of your deployments is the reason none of you tell me when you get back from until it’s time to fuck. I tell myself it’s because of the fucked up situation of me being with all of you that makes it awkward to meet your families. Families you all have that I now know I’m not worthy of meeting.” He wanted to correct you. You were. You were worthy. He was an idiot. “It’s not that I need your excuses to make me feel like what you did was justified. No matter what it was, it was apparently to you because you did it.”
He took a step back, processing everything you had said. He had been selfish. You were the reliable constant in his life. Someone he believed he never disappointed. Someone he couldn't disappoint no matter how many times he fucked up.
You took the opportunity to slam the door. Quickly turning the lock before he had a chance to open it back up.
God...
That felt good.
You had spent that evening collecting their thing in case Kyle did show back up tomorrow. You wouldn't make their lives easier by sorting all their shit and organizing it. Everything. One box. Let them figure it out. You almost had a mind to add a shirt that you knew didn't belong to any of them just to have them argue over it. Or least make them think there was someone else...
You were almost tempted if not for the premise that you wanted them to realize this was their fault. Their fuck up. But now that you were officially all broken up, you were free game.
#captain john price#kyle gaz garrick#simon ghost riley#call of duty#john soap mactavish#angst with a happy ending#angst#grovel#jealousy
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Just found you and read all your Alastor fics. Love them! My request is jealous fucking with breeding. But the jealousy comes on because of Lucifer. Luci comes to visit the hotel and causally makes a sweet comment to reader but as soon as he notices that it pisses off Al, Lucifer just goes all in offer to buy readers soul and free her just to piss off Al until reader and Charlie have to break them up before they fight. Then comes in the breeding, so everyone knows your his as if him owning your soul wasn’t enough
Oh I appreciate it so much! I hope you enjoy it around these parts and I am happy you enjoy my writing!
Warnings: fem!reader, jealous!Alastor, flirting, Lucifer riling up Alastor, rough sex, breeding kink, pregnancy mentioned
The hotel was in an uproar over the King of Hell's impending visit.
Charlie was a nervous wreck and you were doing everything to make sure that the hotel was somewhat presentable and that everyone was well behaved.
”Now just be your charming self and make sure to help promote the purpose of the hotel for Charlie” you said fixing Alastor’s bow tie. He smiled down at you, waving his hand dismissively “Oh don’t worry my dear Ill be the perfect host. There’s nothing to worry about”
Lucifer Morningstar, the King of Hell…was not what you had expected.
You could see where Charlie got her flare from.
He was looking around the lobby, taking in the interior and the residents. You didn’t miss the way his face scrunched up a bit.
”And here are our lovely hotel managers dad” Charlie said, turning towards you and Alastor.
You smiled, giving him a slight curtesy “Its a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty, I hope that you enjoy your time here at the hotel”
Lucifer dawned a sultry smile, grabbing your hand and bringing it to his lips. Kissing it.
”The pleasure is all mine”
Alastor growled, stepping between the two of you. He gave a tense smile “Pleased to meet you sir” he slapped your hand out of his and took it to shake. Lucifer blinked, a slight frown on his face “and you would be?” A snort escaped the red demon
“Alastor! Im the host of the hotel. Maybe you’ve heard of my radio broadcast?” Lucifer deadpanned “nah never was one to consume media” he shrugged.
He slipped by to your side, looping an arm around you “Now I’m sure you wouldn’t mind giving me a tour hmmm? Show me all of the more intimate parts” he chortled, as you nervously turned to Alastor.
Alastor's smile was tense and his eye was twitching slightly.
Irritated and annoyed.
Lucifer seemed to pick up on that.
He eyed the lanky demon, before cooing at you “oh don’t tell me you need the bellhop’s permission? ”
oh no. The lights flickered.
You cleared your throat “I would be honored your grace,but Alastor knows the hotel better than I. He can show you around” you offered, making the King groan.
Charlie chirped in “Yes yes. Alastor has been a great help. Well shall we?”
The tour went without any mishap. Alastor had you tucked away into his side as Charlie gave a run through of what she was trying to achieve.
Charlie suggested dinner before her dad left, to give him a little convincing to help.
You bustled about the kitchen, setting everyone’s meal down and making your way to sit by Alastor.
A hand grabbed your wrist, you stiffened as Lucifer gave you a charming smile “why not sit by me. Charlie has told of some of the improvements you think would work for the hotel”
You heard a static buzz as you took a seat by him.
You listened quietly as Charlie went on and on about her plans.
Lucifer had been not so subtly subtly flirting with you the entire dinner.
”Well I will think about it Charlie. I do believe your dream is possible” She smiled happily. he turned his eyes to you
”Especially with such lovely help” you blushed.
He seemed more interested in you.
”sooo what’s your deal with that guy” he was referring to Alastor
you tilted your head in question, he clarified his intention
”I mean he own your soul or something? A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be tied to the likes of him. how about I nullify whatever deal you made and you take you under my wing instead”
You looked at him shocked.
The sound of glass breaking sounded and Alastor shook his hand of the liquid once in the glass
He chuckled darkly “Well I am afraid it is late, wouldn’t you agree dearest?” His eyes narrowed on the man as he stood, coming around to stand behind you.
His eyes were black and glowing red as he practically sneered at the King.
Lucifer was unfazed by the intimidation tactic.
”haha what I strike a nerve? You’ve got this amazing beauty on a leash and for what? Im sure shell do much better being tied to you”
Before Alastor could lunge at the man, you stood up and pressed yourself against him as you heard Charlie grab her dad to pull him away.
Your hands reached for his face, turning his enraged eyes to you.
You shook your head at him slightly. You know when someone wa just trying to ruffle his feathers.
”I am feeling quite tired from today’s activities why don’t we turn in for the night yes?” You pleaded with him, softly pushing him back towards to door.
Large hands gripped your waist as his turned his eyes back towards Lucifer, he hissed lowly before whisking you out of the kitchen and to your shared bedroom.
———————————————————————————
The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room.
You whined at a harsh thrust that jolted your body against the silky sheets.
The room was buzzing with static as Alastor fucked into you.
Green chains hung heavy around your collar as Alastor pulled on them to pull you into his thrusts.
He was pissed.
His usual composed and controlled demeanor slipping the moment he slammed the door.
He had taken you against the door roughly, too pent up to let you get a single word out.
He had thrown you onto the bed after, a dark aura surrounding him as his antlers grew with the angry emotions swirling inside him.
“Ah! Ha! A-Alastor!” You moaned as another orgasm racked through you.
He twisted your chains around his arm as he used them as leverage to drill his dick into you.
“Who do he think he is?” He growled, pushing your head into the mattress
“Thinking he can just take you from me…ME?! You are mine”
You let out a cry as he ruined your walls, balls slapping against your cunt.
“You wouldn’t leave my side would you sweetheart” he hissed down at you, turning your head so you could see him.
”Who would want you after I ruin you hmm? You would be nothing but sloppy seconds.” He regraded you, angry at the very thought of you thinking you could terminate your deal with him.
Your deal with Alastor was nothing too extreme. Your complete devotion to him for his protection.
While he might not admit it, Alastor had grown accustomed to you being by his side, able to help him see reason and take on tasks he found too mundane.
You were like his wife in a sense.
Soft and caring, always doing whatever he asked of you.
You never complained, happily fulfilling your duties to a tee.
And some goofy, short king thinks you would leave your benefactor?
Had he not given you anything you ever wanted?
You were the most free soul he had, that was a privilege.
Your cunt squelched as he pulled out, the tip kissing your outer lips as he stilled in his rough fucking.
You panted, clammy sweat sticking to your body as he tugged at your chains.
You were on your back, thighs spread around his waist.
A hand wrapped around your throat, Alastor leaning down to press a surprise soft kiss to your forehead
”You wouldn’t dare leave me would you baby” he cocked his head at you.
You shook your head quickly, hoping that he had blew off enough steam to finally be reasonable.
But Alastor’s jealousy was ugly.
He wouldn’t be done with you until there was nothing you thought about but him.
He should be what plagues your thoughts.
You should crave him by the time he was done.
He slotted back inside you, making you gasp as he returned to his fast pace.
”Leave me for that sorry excuse of a king? Ha! You wouldn’t. No not my pretty girl. Youre my good girl aren’t you?”
You mewled as you watch him transform.
”I-Im your good girl Ah! Pl-please!” Your eyes clenched closed in pleasure.
”Youre mine. You understand that? I own you. Your every thought. Every feeling. Your body, mind, and soul are mine. You gave them to me oh so happy. I can do whatever I please with you. Ruin you and dump you off into the street like a common whore if I wished”
You whimpered at his words.
”But thats not enough is it? Hmmm? Noooo. Youre not mine” he purred.
you pouted, ready to reassure him that you were, in fact, his.
He lifted one of your legs to your chest, angling his hips down
”Ill make sure every disrespectful wretch knows you are mine. Fir it seems my constant presence isn’t enough”
Your cunt fluttered.
How else would….
His dick hit that sweet spot deep inside you
”Oh! Ah!” His hand on your neck tightened as a sharp smile appeared on his face
”So maybe putting a claim to you will do the trick”
Your mouth shaped into an ‘O’ as he fucked you roughly, hips grinding down as if to make you mold to his very shape.
Sinners couldn’t reproduce.
Right?
that was your last coherent thought as he slammed his hips into yours over and over til he sighed, his dick twitching as he filled you with his cum.
You whined as he gave soft thrusts to keep his cum inside you, purring as it spilled around him, pooling around your ass.
You whined when he pulled out, hearing a soft ‘pop’ as you clenched around nothing.
A hand settled on your lower belly, now full of his cum, Alastor grinned wicked “Let’s see how much the pipsqueak will want you now my dear” he chuckled.
———————————————————————————
“Its nice to see you again sir” you said welcoming the King of Hell inside the hotel.
He smiled and once he got a good look at you, it fell.
”Charlie will be down in a second do you need anything?” You asked sweetly, hand resting on your swollen belly.
He stuttered out a response in surprise “O-oh w-why thank you. I take it you’ve been well”
Alastor manifested behind you, grinning at the short monarch, his arm roping around your waist, hand settling on the side of your stomach “Ah yes! We’ve been busy. Im sure you can tell”
Alastor- 2
Lucifer- 0
#hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#alastor#alastor the radio demon#alastor x reader#hazbin hotel fanfiction#jyoongim#alastor x y/n#alastor smut#alastor hazbin hotel
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MC: Okay, guys. I actually love here!
Ace: *has been finally able to connect to them* The fuck you're talking about? Grim needs you!
MC: Nah. Fr bro. I've got myself a baby goat. *moves the phone at Rollo*
Rollo: ...
Rollo: I'm not the goat they're referring to, but this. *showing the baby goat to the camera*
The baby goat: MEEEEHHH!
MC: *moves the phone back to them* Guys here are so mentally healthy.
MC: Except Rollo.
Rollo: *in the background* Excuse me?
Ace: Ohh... Okay, okay. I think I get it.
Ace: So you need to fix him?
MC: Yeah... I think? I mean, the Bell of Solace can't talk so I don't really know what she wants from me.
MC: Either therapy or marriage, right?
Rollo: What?
Ace: Bruh? What's with your obsession of emo boys?
MC: BWAHAHAHA!
Rollo: You should end that call now.
MC: We still have a few minutes before the class starts?
Rollo: The student council starts working before the classes even start. You should know that by now.
MC: I'm not part of the student council. The heck-
Rollo: You are now. *grabs the phone and hangs up*
Ace: ...
Epel: So...?
Ace: Yeah. We need to go there.
Deuce: How can they be convinced to stay there when it hasn't been a week?
Ace: They got tired being our therapist.
The secretary: You'll be doing my job from now on! Good luck! <3
MC: Ayo- Why?
The vice president: President Rollo wants you to learn the student council's tasks immediately.
MC: ...
MC: *looking at Rollo* Really?
Rollo: Yes.
MC: ...
MC: Or you just want to have an alone time?
The vice and the secretary: Pft-
Rollo: *frowns*
Rollo: You're disappointing me with your behavior.
MC: Your depression is a shame. Speak for yourself.
The vice president: Now, now. Fighting isn't good.
The secretary: That's right! Besides, you two always get along!
Rollo: *scoffs* Start working.
MC: Tch. Fine.
Lilia: I'm glad you're not mad that MC is studying in Noble Bell College.
Malleus: Why would I be? When they are sending me updates.
Lilia: Wait. Really?
Malleus: Yes. *shows him their recent chat*
MC: Find some free time so we can troll Rollo. :D
Lilia: ...
Lilia: *laughs*
#twisted wonderland#twst mc#twst rollo#twst malleus#twst lilia#twst ace#twst deuce#twst epel#twst mc in noble bell college
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𝘚𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘵
*+:｡.｡ Miguel x afab Reader
Summary - Miguel finally had time to visit your universe , little did you know Dr. Strange would stir up some jealousy inside Miguel.
Warnings - 18+, unprotected, language, semi-public sex?, ass smacking, cream pie, jealous Miguel, pet names [doll, sweetheart, honey, good girl], mirror sex. Strange flirts with you in front of Miguel…, possessive Miguel, pussy eating, edging, teasing
Continuation of this series! (Pt.4) → Consequences
Miguel finally worked things out so he could visit your universe, Jessica happily volunteered to take care of everything while he was gone. She was thrilled to finally see Miguel happy, blabbering about you, he wouldn’t shut up about how excited he was to see your life.
You were anxious about him seeing your universe, the both of you have been together for around 7 months. Although you were supposed to take Miguel with you when you first went back, an incursion began to form in another universe but as always, Miguel fixed it.
But now that everything is settled and Miguel finally asked if he could go and see where you grew up you happily obliged. The only thing he was silently dreading was being introduced to Dr. Strange.
You suspected from the first time you met Miguel that he idolized Dr. Strange due to his fascination but it turns out it’s quite the opposite. Miguel knew about the mess other Stranges have caused, yet Dr. Strange was talked about like a cryptid or folktale.
The other spiders claim to have met Dr. Strange yet Miguel doesn’t seem to believe them since he’s never personally met him.
“Ready?” You smiled as you walked up to Miguel. He was tense, he’s done this thousands of times, traveling through the universe was like breathing to him but he felt like his heart was about to explode.
“A little nervous” he chuckled. “Nothing to be nervous about, let’s go”
Once the both of you arrived, Miguel wasn’t as tense. Your universe wasn’t very different from his which he liked. “I have to go check up on my sister, please don’t bring up any of the spider stuff up… she doesn’t know” you awkwardly smiled.
“Of course, my mouth is sealed” he winked as he wrapped his arm around you “Lead the way”
You made it to your sister’s apartment, you could hear her music blasting from inside. Your sister was the wild child, being only 3 years younger than you she got up to much more mischief even with you being a human spider.
You knocked on the door, once, twice, and still no answer. Finally, you knocked loud enough causing the door to fly open “YOU ARE HERE!” She yelled, jumping into your arms and pulling you inside.
“You must be Miguel? My dear sister won’t stop talking about you when she’s here. Always Miguel’s this, Miguel, that it’s annoying” Your sister smiled as she hugged Miguel.
“I’m flattered” Miguel Chuckles as he returns the hug. “Also I forgot to tell you that wizard guy came looking for you, he said to call him whenever you could” your sister nodded.
Your eyes grew wide. Why the hell was Strange needing you? You automatically think it’s something horrible, he usually never contacts your family if he was looking for you.
“Strange came over? Did he say anything?” You questioned “Nah he just said you work for him at his museum thing and he needed help finding a book” she shrugged.
Shit. It must’ve been that damn book of Vishanti he’s been bothering you about. He had you fetch it for him as a ‘sorry I went to another universe and fell in love with another spider’ apology gift.
Strange was pissed when he found out what had happened but surprisingly said it was meant to happen anyways which was something you’ve never heard strange say.
“Hey, sis? Would you mind if I go see what Strange wants? I promise I’ll be back, I’ll even bring you some ice cream” You smiled with a dramatic grin and your eyelashes fluttered as you looked at her.
“Ew don’t do that and yes you can” she shooed you away as she walked back into her kitchen. “Nice to meet you, Miguel!” She waved as something popped into her oven.
“Fuck! My cupcakes” she whined as you closed the door behind you.
“So what do you think strange wants with you?” Miguel asked as soon as you both were out of the apartment “I’m not sure honestly, the only thing I can think of is the book of Vishanti but I’m not 100% sure why” you sighed.
“You’ll finally get to meet him though! He’s um…. Let’s just say passive-aggressive as a heads up” You rubbed your arm as you looked over at Miguel. You couldn’t imagine the disaster that would happen if both of them got into a fight.
Both stubbornness and believing they are always right is something they have in common. “We’ll see how we get along” is all Miguel mutters.
You made it to the sanctum, the giant building standing tall as you look back at Miguel “Ready?” You smiled “Yup”
You walked into the giant building, it was completely silent as both you and Miguel’s footsteps echoed through the building. “Strange what the hell do you want!” You yell as you look around.
“Hey sweetheart” you hear Stranges voice boom from the left. You rolled your eyes as he walked into view with a confident stride. Strange's pet name wasn’t new to you, you don’t believe he says it in a flirtatious way, more of an enduring way. “so this is that Spider-Man right? Are you as annoying as the other spiders coming in and out of there?” Strange teased.
You can see Miguel’s jaw clench tight as Strange walks down “Can you be nice you shit, yes he’s my boyfriend” You scoff as you move towards Miguel.
Miguel didn’t say a word as he stood there, arms crossed and jaw clenched. “Anyways what do you want Strange” you hiss while pointing a finger at him “Just wondered where you were is all, it’s boring around here with no spiders especially when my favorite one disappears for a while, how couldn’t I miss her?” He teased.
“If you went and bothered my sister just because you missed me I can get 5 other spiders here right now if you want, you’ll surely be occupied” You shrugged.
You could hear it in a stranges voice that he was purposely trying to make Miguel mad. “No, but when will I have you back here?”
“You act like you don’t call me whenever you need help, I was rarely ever here. I don’t know if you're acting this way because Miguel’s here but don’t you ever flirt with me.” You hiss.
“Gosh, I’m joking! Wanted to see if this spider had the temper everyone was talking about” Strange laughed out in amusement.
Miguel was silent, you know he was fuming inside by how red his eyes were. “Let’s go” you seethe as you drag Miguel out by the arm.
He doesn’t move. He stands in the same spot, staring at Strange with narrow eyes “Do you have a bathroom?” Miguel blurted out. “Uh yeah it’s to the rig-“
“She can show me” Miguel Blanty replies as he drags you by the arm “Miguel let’s go you can go at my sister's” you whispered.
“Where’s it at?” he asked as held onto you close. “I- this way” You gave a confused look as you pointed him to the restroom.
Before you could turn he pulled you into the bathroom with him. “God he pisses me off” Miguel groaned as he buried himself in your neck. A shaky moan spilled out of your mouth as his actions took you by surprise.
“What’s up with you?” You chuckled as he lifted you onto the sink. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders instinctively as he began to rock into you.
“I don’t appreciate him disrespecting both of us like that” he sighed, his arms running up your thighs as you kissed down his jaw. You had a clue of where this was going and you loved it.
“Think I should fuck you loud enough for him to hear huh? Let him hear how pretty you sound when you're begging me to cum in you? I think I should” he purrs.
You whine at his words, your hips bucking to his as his hand snake onto your throat “yea…” you pant out, already out of breath from how fast your heart was beating.
Miguel knew the power he had over you, he could have you melting in his touch within seconds. You hummed in pleasure as his fingers unbuttoned your jeans “You want it doll? Say it, tell me what you want” Miguel coos.
“Yes” is all you could get out as he tugged your jeans down, tossing them onto the ground “Yes what sweetheart?”
You could feel your cheeks burning in embarrassment. Where you really going to fuck Miguel in the sanctum? It wasn’t professional on your part but you couldn’t help but feel turned on as Miguel whispered dirty praises in your ear.
“Fuck me” it came out desperate and pathetic, Miguel loved it more than you can imagine. He chuckled at your response, obeying instantly as he pulled your panties off.
You were struggling to get his pants off, the need making you jitter while you unbuckled his belt. He leaned in for a kiss, Moaning into your mouth as he tossed your hands to the side and removed his belt and pants in seconds.
“How can I resist something this gorgeous huh? Look at you” he mocked as he held your face up to his and chuckled at how red your cheeks were. He ran two fingers down your folds, groaning at the wet sound of your cunt when he plunged his fingers inside you.
You let out a shaky moan as he shoved two fingers into you, pulling them out with a smirk as he licked them clean “Taste so good” he purred before kneeling to your pussy.
“Miguel please need you inside me” you pleaded “Shh doll you’ll get what you want, patience” his arms wrapped around your plump thighs, tossing them onto his shoulders as he lifted you to his face.
You leaned onto your elbows, staring at Miguel as he stared at your pussy in awe. He licks his lips hungrily before burying his face into your cunt. You let out a loud cry as he licked and sucked on your clit, fingers tangling into his hair as he moaned into you.
Your head fell back onto the mirror, back arched off the counter as Miguel lapped at your soaked pussy “Why’re you covering your mouth huh? Let him hear you” Miguel seethed as he looked up at you.
He ripped your hand away from your mouth, using one hand to keep your hands pinned onto your stomach and the other to keep you from squirming.
You never got tired of the way he held you down so easily, you didn’t know it was possible for someone to keep you still with only 2 hands but Miguel made sure you knew he could.
Your moans grow heavy and loud as you feel your stomach fluttering, the back of your heels digging into his back as your thighs squeezed around his head.
He moaned at the feeling of your thighs locking him in and before he knew it your orgasm washed over you. That little add of vibration of his moan tipped you over the edge causing you to let go.
“That’s right baby, let him know” he mumbled as he pulled away from your thighs. His mouth and chin were covered in your slick, his lips connected to yours as he pulled you onto him.
You pulled at his boxers, dragging them down to his knees causing his cock to spring out onto your stomach. You clenched around nothing as you noticed how big he was on your stomach.
You had no idea how he always managed to fit inside you, even when you felt like he was splitting you in half. Your hand wrapped around his cock, aligning his thick tip onto your hole.
He pushes in softly, hands on your waist as you buried into his chest. Loud groans came from both of you as you wrapped around his cock perfectly, your nails digging into his shoulders as he picked up his pace.
“Migu- mi-“ you stuttered as he looked at you in admiration, his eyes watching the string of spit from your sloppy kiss drip down your chin as he fucks you brainless.
“Yeah doll?”
You didn’t know why you were saying his name, you had nothing to say. You just bounced along with his hard thrusts as he stuffed you full. He switched positions quickly, turning you around and lifting your ass in the air.
“Want you to look at yourself, look at how pretty you fucking look” he hummed. You were met with your own fucked out reflection, cheeks burning red and saliva all over your mouth as you stared at yourself in the mirror.
He didn’t waste any time pushing into you, his fingers digging into your hips as he watches your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes connect to his, a smile formed on his lips as your mouth hung open at his new angle.
Your eyes rolled back, your hands holding onto the counter as he fucked you hard onto the marble sink. “Oh m- my” you moaned out “who makes you feel this good huh? Say it, who?” He cooed, his hand palming your ass before his heavy hand slapped onto you.
You moaned at his smack, your body jerking as the new feeling made you clench. “Miguel” you panted as he picked up his pace “Not loud enough honey” he seethed, earning another harsh slap on your ass.
“Miguel, you Miguel please please I- I’m so cl- fuc” you whine out as his hand snakes onto your clit, his fingers impressively playing your body like he’s done it all his life.
“Huh?“ he grunted “I can’t hear you doll” he clicked his tongue after his words, his pace slowing as he looked as if he was going to pull back “NO! No Miguel please I- Im so close don’t stop pleas-“ you cry out. You were so lost in the pleasure you didn’t realize why you were even fucking in the bathroom.
You forgot about the whole strange situation, your pleads and begs echoing in the bathroom as you thrust onto his hips for friction.
You hated being edged, he knew that but he loved seeing you like this. Fucking yourself onto him when he decides to tease. His eyes burned into you through the mirror, your teary eyes looking up at him as he rubs your ass.
“Good girl”
He thrusts into you once again, this time his fingers playing with your clit with precision. His name spilled out of your lips, your hand wrapping around his wrist as you felt yourself reaching your 2nd orgasm.
His free hand pinned your hands onto your back, giving him a better grip for him to slam into you even harder. The pornographic sounds of slapping skin and moans fill the room as you stare at yourself in the mirror.
Your eyes fluttered as you felt yourself shake, tears streamed down your face as the orgasm hit you hard. Miguel’s eyes watching your tears stream down as you moaned his name was something he could never get tired of.
“That’s it doll, let it out. Let it alll out” he hummed. His eyes glued onto your pussy, the wet sticky slick sticking and stringing onto his lap with each thrust. The white ring forming around his cock made his eyes roll back, he felt himself twitch. “Shit b- ba- doll fuck”
His body slouched forward as he thrusts harshly, his fingers holding your hips as he took in your tight walls. His heavy pants and groans sounded like music to your ears, you lazily looked up at him and his messy strands of hair stuck to his face.
He dropped onto your back, kissing your shoulders as he filled you full of his seed. He stayed inside for a few seconds, waiting to come back to earth before pulling out of you. He watched as he spills out of you, the white warm liquid dripping down your thigh making you shiver as you heavily panted.
Your hair was a mess, eyes puffy and red, and cheeks burning. Miguel looked just as fucked out as you did, his lips puffy from the amount of biting he did, hair sticking to his forehead, and cheeks blushed.
“Don’t you look pretty?” He coos as he leans forward to grip your face, teasingly moving it side to side as your droopy eyes stare at him through the mirror. You chuckle at his actions, slumping completely onto the counter as you eased your heart rate.
“You okay?” He smiled at you as he lifted you back up “mhm” you nodded as he pulled you into a kiss.
Miguel grabbed some paper towels, turned on the sink, and cleaned you up. He cleaned himself up soon after, collecting his leftover seed and shoving it inside you with his fingers before putting on your panties “Make sure we don’t miss any” he cooed.
You stood up straight as he buttoned your jeans back up, you held yourself onto the counter as you watched him buckle his belt. “I need to fuck you in front of mirrors more”
You stood anxiously as the actions you both did sink in. You just fucked your boyfriend. In your boss's bathroom. Well, could you call him your boss? You didn’t know but you considered him one.
“Hope he heard all of it” Miguel chuckle as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder before pushing the door open. As soon as you walked into the hallway your eyes darted around, waiting for strange to appear and say something.
Both of you walked to the stairs, seeing Strange walking over awkwardly as Miguel smiled at him “We found the bathroom, thanks. Nice meeting you” Miguel cockily smiled as the both of you walked down the stairs.
“He knows you’re mine now”
Tag-list: @tati-the-fangirl @mxtokko @taleiak @zelzablues
#marvel smut#smut#miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara imagines#miguel ohara#miguel o’hara smut#miguel o hara x reader#spiderman#spiderman across the spiderverse#miguel o hara#miguel x reader#spider man smut
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death before decaf
opla!zoro; 10,414 words; coffee shop/college!au, vague enemies to lovers, fencer!zoro, sports medicine!major reader, slightly ooc zoro (he's a bit more talkative), fluff and flirting, bff!robin, zoro makes the first move, zoro calling reader "princess", mutual pining, both reader and zoro are dumbasses, making out in locker rooms
summary: sanji and nami bet on how long it'll take you and zoro to finally crack over your caffeine-related discourse; or -- that one coffee!shop zoro au that literally no one asked for.
a/n: i keep on saying "this is the longest fic i've written to date" but this really is the longest fic i've written to date. and no, this will not be the only time zoro calls reader "princess" in one of my fics. trust.
one.
“How long did you say?”
“Two weeks, max.”
“Nah… you think?”
“Probably closer to a week. Week and a half.”
Sanji stubs out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe before tossing the smoking nub into the bin, casting Nami a disbelieving look.
“They’ve been going on like this for like three months… and you think they’re gonna crack in the next week and a half? Nah, fam — I call bullshit.”
Nami shrugs, smirking, “Your funeral.”
Sanji scoffs as Nami pushes through the swinging double doors into the main body of the cafe, hitching a smile onto her face as she greets the customers already lined up in front of the counter.
“Yeah, whatever,” he mutters to himself, dusting his hands off on his apron before pushing in after her, putting on his best customer-service smile.
“Mornin’ folks! Welcome to the Straw Hats Cafe, where the coffee’s hot but the people are hotter — what can I get started for you, sweetheart?” he grins as he shoots you a wink and you flash him your best Colgate smile.
“Can I get a decaf latte with —”
“Oat milk, two pumps of caramel, and whipped cream on top? Oh — and a sprinkle of cinnamon cause you can’t have a fall latte without cinnamon, right?” Sanji finishes for you.
You nod, your cheeks flushed a bright, wind-kissed pink from the cold outside.
Behind you, a green-haired boy in a tight-fitting tee and no jacket scoffs under his breath, shaking his head.
“Yep! You know me so well,” you say, giggling and making a point to speak just a bit louder.
“Course I do, darlin’. It’s what I get paid for,” Sanji jots down your order and pushes it to the side where Nami’s already halfway done with making your drink.
“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite mosshead jock — lemme guess, double espresso, no sugar, no nothin’, right?” Sanji punches in the order just as Zoro makes his way up to the counter, his eyes narrowed.
“Yeah.”
Sanji grins, hiking an eyebrow, “Talkative as always, I see. Alright — that’d be —”
Zoro wordlessly slides a full punch card onto the counter and Sanji pauses.
“Ah — pardon me, I do believe that’s your free drink! You sure you wanna use it on an espresso? Maybe… you wanna try one of our seasonal specials? The maple spice latte’s one of our best —”
Zoro scoffs again, “I’m good. I like my coffee real, thanks.”
Down passed the pastries, you roll your eyes, making an exaggerated face as Nami hands you your drink with a grin.
“Y’know, if you guys just made out I feel like it would fix a lot of this unresolved tension,” she says, even as you nearly choke on your drink.
You’re still coughing when Zoro joins you by the finished drinks counter.
“I’d rather lose an eye than make out with someone who drinks decaf.”
Nami sighs, shooting you a meaningful look as she slides the double espresso toward Zoro.
You wipe your lips with a napkin before leveling him with a glare.
“Well I’d rather gouge my own eyes out than make out with someone who never grew out of his middle school emo-phase.”
“At least I don’t try to use sugar to fill the gaping hole in your life where a real personality should be.”
“At least I don’t make that gaping hole my entire personality.”
“Princess.”
“Edgelord.”
You turn resolutely away from Zoro and smile back at Nami and Sanji, both stealing glances at the pair of you even as they continue to handle the Monday morning rush.
“Thank you guys — I’m gonna be late for class.
Zoro tsks, taking a sip of his espresso.
“I’m gonna be late for practice.”
You huff, pivoting away from him towards the door, purposefully letting it swing shut behind you; Zoro swears as it almost makes him spill his coffee.
Back in the coffee shop, Sanji finishes another order just as Nami washes off her hands to take over at the cashier.
“One and a half weeks?” Sanji asks as he rolls up his sleeves and grabs a few metal cups for steamed milk.
“Yep,” Nami replies, shooting another look out the glass door where they can both still see your’s and Zoro’s silhouettes as you head towards the university campus, “Just about.”
“Alright then, you’re on.”
Nami’s smirk only grows, “Like I said — your funeral.”
two.
You’re fuming all the way to your first morning class — Bio-Organic Chemistry — that you don’t notice your friend Robin until she’s standing right next to you.
“Are you mad at your fencer-boy again?”
You roll your eyes, huffing out a breath, “He’s not my fencer-boy, and no. I’m not mad.”
Robin grins, “Your tone says different.”
You cast her a reproachful look, “I just… bumped into him at the coffee shop again.”
“Ah,” Robin says, her voice saturated with understanding.
You groan, “He just… pisses me off so much! Like, why’s he care how much sugar I put in my drinks or if I drink decaf? He’s just a muscle-head loser who thinks drinking espresso shots makes him somehow more manly or something. Ugh.”
Robin’s grin is amused when you turn to chance her a glance.
“Then… why do you care how he takes his coffee?” Her question is light, but you’ve known her for long enough to know when she’s teasing.
“I didn’t! At least… not until he made fun of my drink first. I mean, who does that anymore? We’re in college! Like, grow up!”
“Mm,” Robin hums, schooling her expression into one of careful consideration and marked compassion, “and of course, you’re just engaging in his… childish antics because he started it first, right?”
You sigh, cupping your very sugary latte between your palms as you both duck into the main lecture building, teaming with students shedding scarves and jackets, shaking off the late autumn chill.
“I know, I know it’s stupid but… he just… pisses me off so much!”
Robin chuckles, her smile distinctly sphinx-like as you press your lips into a pout.
“Well, we can talk about it after morning lecture, hm?”
You sigh and nod, waving her off as she heads down the hallway towards her Ancient Worlds class and you head upstairs for the sciences.
You spend the whole lecture in a mood and by the time you’re excused, your temples have started to throb.
But true to her word, you find Robin waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs, a thick leather-bound book clutched to her chest. You give her a questioning look.
“Just some light reading,” she says. You roll your eyes.
“Just say you’re a gigantic nerd and go.”
At this Robin laughs, falling into step next to you as you both start to make your way towards the dining commons.
“Have I ever denied that I was?”
You let out a noncommittal grunt.
Luckily, the commons isn‘t as crowded as it usually is and you both quickly find a seat.
“So,” Robin says as she slides into the seat next to you, propping up her chin on the heel of her hand. There’s a low, lilting tone to her voice that tells you there’s no getting out of it this time.
You sigh again, pursing your lips, staring down at your açaí bowl.
“So what?”
“Tell me about him.”
You scoff, “Not really much to tell — he’s… one of the fencers on the national team. So obviously, he’s got his own head shoved so far up his ass he can probably watch his own lunch dige—“
“So he’s quite good at fencing then.” Robin keeps her voice neutral, taking a contemplative bite of a banana.
“I guess — I mean we’re the top feeder school for the Olympic team, aren’t we?” You jab your spoon into the yogurt, nearly splattering Robin’s new book. She gently tucks it into her bag and motions for you to continue.
“I dunno, there’s not much to tell after that… he’s an arrogant jock who judges people by how they take their coffee,” and at this, you shove a large spoonful of yogurt and açaí into your mouth, glaring at nothing in particular.
“Doesn’t your practical applications class look after the fencing team?”
Again, you grunt, sinking a bit further into your seat at the thought.
“Yeah, I’ve been dreading that all morning, and the class isn’t till Wednesday.”
Robin’s smile is almost too academic as she carefully finishes her banana and gets started on an egg salad sandwich.
“It can’t be that bad, can it?”
You sniff, swallowing another huge mouthful of yogurt.
“It can,” you say, grimacing, “You should see the number of times I’ve had to hold back from dislocating his shoulder on purpose.”
Robin laughs her tinkling, all-knowing laugh, “Every day, I wake up glad to be on your whitelist.”
Your lips twitch into a reluctant grin.
“I’d be nicer too if I were as tall and pretty as you are. But since I’m not one of god’s strongest soldiers, I’ve gotta find other ways of defending myself, y’know?”
“I’m not sure what you do can be called ‘self-defense’ in a court of law but…” she smiles, “You shouldn’t sell yourself short either.”
You cast her a deadpan look, “But I am short. It’s like where 90% of my rage and spite come from.”
Robin grins, “You know that’s not what I meant.”
You make a rather childish face, but a comfortable warmth spreads from the center of your chest out towards all your extremities at Robin’s words. She cocks her head and continues.
“Plus… I’ve a creeping suspicion that your fencer-boy would agree that you’re prettier than you think.”
You freeze mid-swallow on your last spoonful of yogurt, eyes wide.
“Wait — what?”
Robin sighs, looking at you as if studying a particularly interesting monolith carved with all her favorite dead languages. You sit back, crossing your arms, feeling raw beneath her inquisitive gaze.
“You can’t still think that this little… feud you two have is purely based on a difference in coffee preference, can you?”
You realize you’re chewing on your bottom lip and force yourself to stop.
“I — I don’t know how it can be anything else though…” but even to your own ears, you sound distinctly unconvinced. Robin cocks her head.
“Think about it — when we were all little kids and running around on playground, which girls would get their pigtails pulled the most?”
Your frown deepens, “But we’re not kids anymore and this isn’t a play —“
“Yes, I know. Just humor me for a moment.”
You squirm in your seat, your heart thudding erratically in your rib cage, making you feel strangely breathless.
“It was… always the girls that the boys had a crush on,” you answer, your voice growing smaller with each word as the realization seeps into your skin like sunlight. And suddenly, it's too hot. The thought that Zoro might be doing this because he likes you isn’t something that’s crossed your mind. Or rather, it isn’t a thought you’d allowed to cross your mind.
“You know, boys aren’t technically considered ‘men’ until they’re in their mid-thirties,” Robin says, conversational and satisfied to have driven the point home to you. She leans back even as you reach up to press your face into the palms of your hands.
“But…” you try to grasp for some thread of logic that might be able to refute Robin’s claim but come up empty. She’s always been too smart for her own good. And yours.
When you finally lift your head again, it’s to find Robin still watching you, an oddly indulgent smile on her lips.
“C’mon,” she says, gathering her things, “don’t want you to be late for your next lecture.”
She has the audacity to wink as you hurriedly grab your stuff as well.
“Shut up,” you say, bumping her lightly with your elbow as you walk passed her, cheeks darkening with every step. Your next lecture, you both know, is the Nutrition of Sports — which is one of the few actual classes that you and Zoro actually share.
“Have fun in class!” Robin calls as you split ways outside the dining commons. You consider flipping her off but decide against it and opt to stick out your tongue at her instead.
Robin shakes her head, laughing quietly to herself. Really, she thinks, this is just starting to get interesting.
three.
You walk into Nutrition of Sports fully prepared to see Zoro slouched in his usual seat at the back of the class — except, he’s not there. You blink; he’s always been there, always early despite what others might assume of his punctuality. And yet.
“Lookin’ for me, Princess?”
You jump as you hear Zoro’s voice behind you, dangerously close to your ear. Jerking around, you find him smirking, arms crossed as he stares at you.
“N-no.”
“Tch.” He saunters into the room, his arm barely grazing yours as he drops into his seat, leaning back with a sort of damnable, feline grace, doing nothing to hide a huge, lethargic yawn. When he makes a show of stretching his arms over his head, you pause as you notice the way he winces, favoring his left side over his right.
You narrow your eyes.
“You’d be a shit poker player,” he says, grinning as he turns his eyes back towards you, catching you staring before you flush a deep purple and stomp towards your own seat, just one row ahead of him.
You noisily start setting up your supplies — an endless parade of jelly pens and perfectly coordinated sticky notes in aesthetically pleasing colors — pretending like you hadn’t heard him.
Thankfully, the professor hurries in soon after as the rest of the students file in.
Halfway through the lecture, you’re stifling the third yawn of the hour as you feel a small, crumpled something hit the back of your neck. You jerk around to find Zoro ducking behind his arms even as you spot the small wad of paper that he’d obviously just tossed at you.
You bend down to pick it up, only to find a note scribbled in slanted, uneven handwriting —
Sugar crash? Ha. Serves you right.
You nearly whip around but the professor clicks another slide and drones on. You huff, flipping the paper over to scribble on the back —
What happened to your arm?
You surreptitiously toss the note back to him and grin to yourself as you hear him sputtering behind you. The professor glances towards you. You flash him a winning smile as you continue to jot down notes; behind you, you hear the distinct sounds of Zoro scrambling to appear as if he’s paying attention.
The rest of the lecture goes by uninterrupted, though by the end, you swear that your hackles are raised from the way Zoro’s been staring at the back of your neck the entire time.
“What?” you ask, whipping around to face him.
Zoro, for his part, has the decency to look sheepish as he clears his throat and sighs, leaning back.
“There’s nothing wrong with my arm,” he says as he looks away, a slight darkness dusting the high of his cheeks. It’s not the first time you notice the bone-chiseled features of his face — like some gorgeous, careless god, rendered by the loving hands of a besotted Renaissance artist and preserved for the world to see — the way a constellation of freckles scatter across the bridge of his nose, the way his jaw is sharp enough to sting the imagination.
“Right. Fine. Sorry I asked.” You shove your notes and pens back into your bag, rolling your eyes as you shoulder your tote, “And… you’d be a shit poker player too.”
And with that, you turn and leave the room without a single backward glance.
You’re gone so quick that you don’t see the way Zoro stares after you, his own eyes narrowed into slits. You don’t see the way he frowns as one of his teammates nudges him with an elbow, reminding him that afternoon practice starts in 15 minutes.
four.
Tuesday night finds you slumped over a stack of books on the 3rd floor of the library, your entire body feeling odd and boneless. Hundreds of tiny flashcards are scattered across the top of the desk, each filled with a system you have to memorize before your test on Friday for your O-Chem course, when suddenly, a white paper cup appears in your field of vision, plopping onto the tiny slip of table still available between all your study materials.
“Hm?” you jerk up, blinking blearily up at a vaguely familiar green-haired figure even as he crosses his arms and sighs.
“There. Some real coffee. Looked like you need it,” Zoro says, glancing away the moment your eyes come into focus.
You stare at him for a solid ten seconds before looking back down at the cheap, watered-down cup of unsweetened coffee on the table before you.
Ew, you want to say, but somehow, “Thanks,” is what comes out of your mouth.
You reach for the cup, wincing slightly as you jerk your fingers back from the scalding exterior of the thin paper cup.
Zoro immediately leans down, snatching the cup from the table to blow on the surface. You watch him with wide, wondering eyes. It takes him a second to catch himself before he blushes a deep shade of maroon and clears his throat, quickly setting the cup back down on your desk, tucking both his hands into his pockets, looking anywhere but directly at you.
“It’s — careful — I mean — it’s from the vending machine downstairs so it’s not as fancy as the stuff we get from the coffee shop —”
Maybe it’s because you’re truly too tired, or maybe because Robin’s been right since day one but — you reach for the cup, carefully cradling it between your palms as you take a tentative sip and grimace at the watery, bitter aftertaste.
“Gross,” you say, though without any malice, glancing up at him. Zoro scoffs, dragging out an empty seat across from you, turning it around to straddle the chair, propping both his arms on the back as he looks at you. Your eyes once more catch on the way he’s gentler with his right side.
“What’s wrong with your arm?” you ask again, taking another tentative sip of the truly awful coffee.
Zoro grimaces, “None of your business.”
You sigh, the will to snark back rather feeble as you consider the mountain of vocab you have to memorize before your Friday test.
“Right, sure — keep your secrets,” you drone as you set the paper cup down and nudge it further away from you, “be mysterious for the next —” you check your watch, “eighteen hours before Practical Applications when you’ll have to explain to Coach Mihawk why you've been lying about an obvious injury three weeks before your next —”
“Fuck — okay.”
You pause, looking up from collecting your flash cards.
Zoro digs his fingers into his right shoulder.
“I — I think I pulled it at the tournament last week.”
Your eyebrows shoot up, “Your tournament was on Thursday.”
Zoro shifts uncomfortably, “And?”
“And it’s now Tuesday.”
Zoro doesn’t answer this time, but you have to actively fight down the urge to throw the no-longer-scalding-but-still-very-hot-coffee at his face. You tell yourself that the only thing stopping you is professionalism and sportsmanship instead of an unwillingness to damage his Michaelangelo-sculpted features.
“It’s been five days!”
Zoro’s expression flatlines, “Contrary to popular belief, I do know how to count.”
You bite back a frustrated scream as you push away from your chair and round the table to stand behind him, not giving him enough time to be bewildered before you press a palm to his right shoulder, already focused on finding the tender spots.
“Tell me where it hurts.”
You run an expert palm over the width of his shoulders, focusing on his right, fingers digging into various muscle groups until he winces.
“Ow.”
You grin as you find a tender patch to the right of his spine, almost beneath his shoulder blade.
“You strained your Rhomboid.”
“Gesundheit.”
You roll your eyes and reach over his back for the cup of coffee. You feel his breath hitch as your front presses full against his back.
“Hold still,” you say, pressing the side of the warm cup to the sore muscle.
Zoro makes a choked moaning noise that he tries to bite off, but not soon enough. It sizzles down your spine to curl at the base of your belly, spreading heat through your body in a way you have no urge to examine at this current point in time.
You hold it there for a minute, and then two, till the coffee’s gone lukewarm.
“Here,” you say, tugging the cup away to offer it to him.
He stares at the cup before glancing up at you.
“Caffeine helps with muscle soreness and pain — it’s probably why you’re so addicted to espresso all the time,” you offer by way of an explanation, even as he opens his mouth to ask. He closes his mouth and takes the coffee, downing half of it in a single gulp.
Then, he sets it down on the table before digging a crumpled packet of sugar out of his pants pocket.
“It’s… probably not as sweet as you usually like it but…” he presses it into the palm of your hand, looking anywhere but at your face, “should help the bitterness.”
And then he’s gone, slouching off towards the elevator bank, leaving you gaping after him with the packet of sugar in your hand, your rapidly cooling coffee, and a mountain of revisions you’ve got no hope of finishing tonight.
five.
Wednesday finds you practically sprinting as you reach your Practical Applications course, clutching at your chest as you burst through the gym doors, gasping for breath. Professor Kureha quirks an inquiring eyebrow at you while Mihawk, the fencing instructor, slates you a sharp, rueful glare.
“— as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” his bright hawk-yellow eyes flash back over the fencing team, “regionals are quickly approaching and we need you in top form. So — warm-ups stretches, everyone. Pair up and get to it. Zoro, up here with me.”
You duck your head and hurry towards your normal spot along the bleachers, slowing as you notice what looks like a cup of coffee from the Straw Hats Cafe occupying the place where you normally sit. You pick up the cup — it’s still hot to the touch.
On the coffee slip is a single word — Princess.
And though it’s in Sanji’s familiar coffee shop scrawl, only one person has ever called you that.
Heat crests up your chest, prickling at your cheeks. You don’t have to taste it to know that it’s your order — your favorite order. Briefly, you wonder if Sanji made Zoro recite the entire thing before agreeing to put it down, or if he’d spared Zoro the pain of having to say the word ‘decaf’ unironically.
And then you wonder if Nami teased him at all, waiting for his own drink on top of yours.
“Chop chop,” Professor Kureha says, grinning too wide as she wanders over, peering at you over her John Lennon shades, “you heard old Hawk-eyes — time to pair up.”
You hurriedly drop your bag and take a quick sip of our drink, letting out a soft groan of appreciation as the caramel-cinnamon goodness seeps into your blood vessels. Some nameless freshman hopeful from the fencing team is your partner for stretches and you patiently walk him through all the major motions, pushing on his back and laughing kindly when he can’t quite reach his toes.
You feel the faint tingle on the back of your neck that tells you someone’s staring, and you privately think that you don’t need three guesses to figure out who it is. But you don’t give Zoro the satisfaction of looking over till you help the blushing freshman finish all his stretches, giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder, reaching up on tip-toe to ruffle his hair even though he’s got a solid four inches over you.
When finally, you glance over towards where Mihawk is putting Zoro through his paces, it’s to find him flickering through the motions — flashes of silver, lithe, fluid — and you find your breath held captive in your chest by the sight.
You’ve always known Zoro to be a graceful fencer, but grace has nothing on the way he flows from one move to the next, each muscle drawn like a bow-string, each intake of breath timed and perfect. His arms and legs move in tandem and there’s a bewitching rhythm to the way his body breaks and bends. It is beauty and strength, dance and magic — power and promise and the sword-tip’s whish of premonition.
When he finishes, you suck in a breath you hadn’t been aware you were holding.
You watch as Mihawk murmurs something to Zoro, who winces, looking chastened before Mihawk waves him away and Zoro sets down his epee, making his way over to you.
You open your mouth, about to make some snarky remark but Zoro reaches over his back with one hand and tugs his shirt off in a single, unbroken motion. You gulp, your voice failing you as your eyes settle on the strong ripple of his muscles as he tosses his shirt aside.
Zoro smirks, “Keep starin’ and I’m gonna have to start charging.”
You rip your eyes away, fire licking up the length of your torso as you reach into your bag for a roll of sports tape.
Zoro slumps down in the seat in front of you as you take stock of his sweat-slicked torso, your eyes still catching on the patch of swollen muscle beneath his shoulder blade. You reach forward and run a thumb along it, careful of the way he hisses.
“A hot-patch is only going to do so much,” you say, frowning as you drop the sports tape to focus on massaging the tender bit of skin.
Zoro groans, his eyes falling half shut as you slowly work at the various knots in his shoulders. Your fingers are slow and deliberate, applying just the right amount of pressure. And more than once, Zoro has to bite back what he’s sure would’ve been an indecent moan before it rolls out of his mouth at the way your soft palms press into the planes of his back, the tenseness of his shoulders.
“Keep moaning like that, I’m gonna have to start charging,” you say, much too close to his ear.
Zoro jerks, even as you pull back, laughing. The sound makes his skin prickle up with goosebumps and he doesn’t want to think about the myriad reasons why.
“I bought you coffee, twice,” he grumbles, cheeks pink, his mind still buzzing from the warmth of your palms.
You hum, your fingers flickering over his skin, pulling away for a second before he feels something wonderful and cool pressing against his sore, aching muscles.
“You’re right… you did buy me coffee twice. Even though the first time was horrible vending machine coffee and I used most of it as a heating pad for your injury.”
Zoro grunts, letting you manhandle him as you gently twist his right arm into an array of different stretches to test his range of mobility.
“Still counts.”
You put down his right arm to test his left. Zoro chooses not to think about the way his body tingles where your hands touch him, and especially not where you’re standing too close, your chest occasionally brushing against his shoulder. He chooses actively not to think about the way he can smell the soft, coconut milk fragrance of your lotion as you lean over him, rambling about doing the proper warm-up and cool-down exercises.
He grins as you reach over mid-sentence to finish your drink and you pause, watching him with narrowed eyes.
“What?”
He shrugs, “Nothin’… just that… seems like you liked your drink.”
Your eyes slingshot from his face to the nearly empty cup in your hands.
“I always like my —”
They widen when you realize that Zoro had in fact ordered a double shot of espresso in your usual drink instead of your normal decaf. And, that you’d been too distracted by him to notice.
“I — it — wh —”
Zoro languidly rises from his seat, grinning, “Thanks for the treatment, Princess. I owe you one — lemme buy you a coffee sometime, yeah?”
You stare after him as he makes his way across the room, back to the rest of the team for proper bouts. You force down another blush as you shove the now-empty coffee cup into the nearest trash can, your heart skidding to the rhythmic squeak of feet shuffling against the floors, the bell-like ting of epee blades, the murmur of the watching crowd.
six.
Thursday morning finds you ill-rested and grumpy as you join Robin in the quad, heading for the Straw Hats Cafe during free period.
“Trouble sleeping?” Robin asks, looking you over with mild concern.
You grunt, adjusting your bag, “Had coffee too late in the day.”
At this, Robin frowns, “But you only drink decaf.”
You grunt again, not looking at her, “Yeah, well.”
Robin blinks for a second before a knowing smile splits her lips, “Ah… so. Fencer-boy’s made his move.”
You round on her, fists clenched, “He has not! He just — he just bought me coffee!”
Robin remains infuriatingly unfazed as she stares at you, “Yes. And to most, that would constitute as ‘making a move’. And here I thought you were a fan of romance novels.”
You turn away from her, huffing even as your cheeks fill with color, “I — I am.”
“So?” she asks.
“So?” you echo, cursing yourself for sounding like a petulant child.
“So…” she continues, patient as always, “he bought you coffee.”
You crinkle your nose, your stomach a roiling mess as the pair of you make your way across the quad and duck into the cafe to Sanji’s bright, welcoming voice, your eyes scanning the queue even though you know that Zoro’s got morning practice. This does not go unnoticed by Robin, though she mercifully elects to not question you about it.
“Yes, he bought me coffee. But instead of decaf, he made it a double-shot.” You try very hard to make this sound like a personal affront, but Robin only dips her head.
“Ah,” she says again, and you feel the urge to run out of the building even as the pair of you shuffle towards the front of the line.
“Hi there, oh! I’ve got a special message for you,” Nami says as you get to the registers, her voice silken with glee as she reaches behind the counter to tug out what looks like a receipt. You glance down at the paper, confused, but she only winks as she moves to ask what Robin would like.
You inch to the side, distracted by this strange turn, your eyes dropping to the slip of paper, upon which is scribbled — Good luck on test tomorrow. Evening bout. Gym.
You stare at the cryptic message for a full minute before Robin ushers you toward the counter where Sanji is pumping out drinks, making girls blush as he winks at them each in turn.
“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite Decaf Princess — though… seems like your tastes are a-changin’ these days,” Sanji says, grinning wide as you get to the counter, pushing a steaming cup towards you. You frown at the drink — cinnamon sprinkled atop a perfectly placed dollop of whipped cream, underneath which you’re sure is your favorite drink order. You look back up at Sanji.
“A certain mosshead jock put in an advanced order for you — said to give you an extra shot of espresso for the test you’ve got tomorrow.”
You sputter as Robin laughs beside you, thanking Sanji for her own Long Black.
“You know, you could just be normal and call it an Americano,” you say as the pair of you make your way out of the cafe. Robin grins, sipping at her drink.
“I could… but where’s the fun in that?” she slates you a glance, “More importantly, are you going?”
“To what?” you ask, not meaning to sound so defensive, but you can’t help it, and even as Robin sighs, you know that it’s useless.
“To the bout,” she says, unruffled.
You hunch into your upturned collar and your thick, layered scarf, cradling your drink, the sweet scent of syrup and cinnamon wafting up to tickle your nose. You blush at the thought of Zoro’s voice, full of morning gravel, shy as he lists out all the extremities you like in your coffee order.
“Maybe. I mean… why not, right?”
Robin nods, humming as she takes another long drink, “Mhm — why not indeed.”
You nudge her; she nudges you back. You both laugh as a church bell rings out from across the quad, sending a flock of birds scattering through the misty, morning air.
seven.
Friday evening finds you pushing through the wide gym doors, pressing your hands over the skirt you’d painstakingly picked out, chewing on your bottom lip.
You silently curse at Robin for pulling out last minute, begging off to some Ancient Languages focus group.
“I bet it’s not even real…” you mutter to yourself as you slip into the front row of the bleachers, looking for an empty seat. You somehow manage to look up just as Zoro is about to go on, his mask under one arm, his blade in the other.
You raise your hand in a half wave before catching yourself and shoving it back down, scowling as Zoro’s lips pull into a lopsided grin. You drop into a seat just as Zoro tugs his helmet on and stretches his arms. You tense as you see the slight wince he twitches away as he tests the weight of his blade.
But you needn’t have worried — the bout is quick and decisive, Zoro scoring one point after another, his blade flashing through the air, bright as fish scales. And before you know it, the buzzer sounds, marking his victory. You leap to your feet, cheering with the rest of the crowd as Zoro tugs off his mask and pumps his fists.
You catch his eye and for a moment, the wild rumble of the screaming crowd fades to a dull, thumping baseline. He jerks his head towards the lockers and you nod, swallowing hard as you duck through the still-cheering crowd towards the back of the gym.
When you get there, it’s to find him methodically polishing his blade, his mask set to the side, his thick jacket pulled down to pool around his waist, the rest of his protective wear scattered in heaps on the ground around him. You have half a mind to scold him for being so careless with what you know is expensive gear but you can’t keep yourself from staring at the wide planes of back, curving up to his shoulders, the thick cords of muscle that flex up either side of his neck.
He looks up as you shuffle in, your skirt suddenly feeling a bit too short, too risque for the near-winter weather outside.
You clear your throat and cast your eyes about the empty lockers. You don’t miss the way his gaze skates up your bare legs, pausing at the place where your skirt brushes the top of your thighs.
“Uhm — how’s your shoulder?” your voice sounds too high, echoing strangely along the white-tiled walls.
Zoro licks his lips and puts down his blade, rolling his right shoulder.
“Better but… still not great. Mihawk’s making me to do PT.”
You nod, letting out a soft laugh, “I’m glad. You’d never do it otherwise.”
He scoffs, “You know what that means though, right?” There’s a raw, rolling tension beneath his words, a sort of thickened expectation as he stares at you with dark, meaningful eyes.
You purse your lips, your stomach tightening.
“I —”
Zoro gets to his feet, and you barely register the soft clatter of his blade as it rolls to the side on the bench. He closes the space between you in three quick steps and you find yourself marveling at his speed — wondering vaguely if this is how all his opponents feel when he slips forward, the tip of his blade digging into their shoulder or stomach or the bend of their hip.
“Means we’re stuck with each other. At least till you fix me for regionals in two weeks.”
Your back meets the icy chill of the locker doors and the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them —
“Bold of you to assume that you’re fixable in two weeks.”
Zoro quirks an eyebrow, even as you resist the urge to clap your hands to your mouth, cursing inwardly at whatever the hell made you say that out loud. Your heart thuds an insistent drumbeat inside your chest as Zoro leans casually against the lockers next to you. Like this, you can feel the heat of his skin, the rhythm of his long breaths as he looks you over with sharp, curious eyes.
You think you can taste the sweet, tepid weight of his breath. It smells faintly of coffee and mint and synthetically flavored protein bars.
“Then…” he drawls, propping an arm against the locker door right next to your face, his eyes flickering from your lips up to your eyes and back down again. Your gaze is unabashedly caught on the shape of his mouth, but when you finally force yourself to look up at his eyes, it’s to find them warm and amused.
“How long do you think it’ll take?”
You gulp, “To fix your shoulder?”
Zoro shrugs, “That and… whatever else you think needs to be fixed.”
You purse your lips, an entire kaleidoscope of butterflies erupting in your stomach at his words.
“Who knows? Might take three weeks… might take — forever —” your words cut off as he leans in to graze his lips against yours. And you’re momentarily caught between delight and bewilderment that you’re right — they do taste of coffee and mint and salt — but that they also taste of a dull, throbbing hunger as he leans in to kiss you proper. And then, the blooming realization that you’re just as desperate as he is, pushing in, fingers scrabbling against the skin of his chest as his skim along the sides of your ribs, the dip of your waist.
He kisses you so deep and so long that you’re actually gasping when he finally pulls away to suck a stinging hickey into the smooth of your collarbone, his fingers digging grooves into your thighs as he hoists you up to press you against the cold, hard metal of the lockers.
You let out a clipped moan at the same time he does, and his right arm twitches, though he makes no move to let you go.
Distantly, your mind registers the fact that he’s still technically injured, but the part of you that’s hungry and clawing at the base of your stomach with a fierce, immutable need refuses to listen to reason. It takes more effort than it logically should’ve done to extricate yourself from his grasp, to push him away despite his disgruntled sigh as he stumbles back and stares at you with dark, dangerous eyes.
“What —”
“Fuck —” you hiss, even as you let your head fall back against the lockers, the dull thunk pulling a wolfish grin to his lips.
“Yeah, well —”
“Wait — no —”
Zoro cocks his head, “No?”
You reach forward to tug him back, to kiss him as deeply and desperately as you dare, but you pull away before he can properly sink into the kiss and you pin him with a look.
“We — your shoulder —”
“Fuck my shoulder —”
You shake your head, almost delusional with the heat and want and the insanity of it all, “No! We can’t! We — we’ve gotta take care of it first!”
Zoro rolls his eyes, “It’ll get better if we just leave it alone —”
You shake your head again, laughing as he presses back in, slower this time, grazing his knuckles along the skin of your jaw, tilting you back towards him.
“It won’t,” you say, softly, letting him run a thumb along your lips, “but… if you let me take care of it. It will heal faster…” you trail off, letting the implications simmer beneath the surface of all your unsaid words, and it only takes a second for Zoro to consider before he lowers you to the floor and starts haphazardly gathering up his things.
You drag a hand across your lips, watching him.
“So…” you feel yourself blush as you muster up the words but Zoro scoffs, already impatient as he shoves his stuff into one of the larger lockers and slams the door.
“Mine. It’s closer.”
eight.
His, is — in fact — much closer than you’d thought. Only two blocks from the campus, and in one of the most expensive dorm buildings. You wonder how much he must be paying for it before you realize that he's on a sports scholarship, but you can’t even bring yourself to be bitter as he lets you into his spacious dorm, the giant living room scattered with game consoles and opened cereal boxes, leading to a short hallway that opens into his bedroom.
It’s cleaner than you’d imagined, with a set of light green linens drawn neatly over a full-sized bed, and two sets of pillows.
“Sorry for the mess,” he says, sweeping some energy bar wrappers into the trash from his desk as he tosses down his duffle bag.
You shake your head, looking around, your eyes catching on the thick volumes of fencing books, the endless stacks of sports magazines, the huge set of free weights on a rack in the corner by the closet.
“Uh… do you want a drink?” he asks, suddenly awkward as he scratches at the back of his head.
You turn towards him with a grin, “No. But I do want you to take off your shirt.”
Zoro blinks before he smiles and moves towards the bed, tugging off his shirt and tossing it to the side. You fight the urge to roll your eyes as he leans back on the bed, his perfectly tanned stomach flexing beneath the slanted desk-light as he watches you through lazily hooded eyes.
“On your stomach,” you say, your voice light and surgical as you open your own bag and tug out a tub of medicated massage cream.
Zoro stares for a second before the smile slips off his face to be replaced by a dull, knowing scowl. Still, he doesn’t argue as he flips onto his stomach and sighs, pillowing his cheek on his arms as he pouts at the wall.
“Like I told you — we need to take care of your shoulder first. Regionals are in two weeks. We can’t have you performing like you did tonight.”
Zoro attempts a glare over his shoulder as you carefully maneuver over his back and straddle his hips, warming your palms with the massage cream before setting to work.
“I still won.”
His voice is tight and petulant. You nod, sighing as you work your thumbs into the dip beneath his shoulder blade where you know he’s still sore. He hisses, jerking away from you. You pin him in place with your free arm and continue to roll your thumb across the bundle of muscle.
Two minutes in, you press a bit harder and he lets out a pitched whine that makes you pause in your ministrations.
“F-fuck —” he buries his face in his pillow, thumping a fist against his bed as you laugh and continue the massage, though taking care to be a bit more careful around his injury.
Nearly twenty minutes later, you climb off the bed and wipe your hands. Zoro groans, shifting to watch you with half-lidded eyes and color-stained cheeks.
“I know,” you say, holding up your hands, “that really hurt but you feel much better now, right?”
Zoro grins, sleepy as he blinks slowly up at you, “Yeah. Whatever.”
And then, a long moment later —
“Hey,” he says, his voice soft, flipping onto his side and shifting on the bed as if to make room for you, “stay.”
You freeze, almost unwilling to believe your own ears as you finish putting away your supplies. You glance at him with tight lips and hopeful eyes.
There’s a tiny grin threatening the corners of his lips as he sighs, making a show of yawning and stretching.
“It’s late… and I don’t really feel like walking you back.”
You fold your arms, “I could just call campus security to escort me.”
Zoro stills for a second but a moment later, he casts his eyes up at the ceiling, “Yeah… you could…”
You make no move to leave.
“But you still owe me coffee in the morning,” he says.
You frown, “Wait, what? How’s that?”
He glances at you, “I’ve bought you coffee twice.”
“Yeah, but I just gave you a free 30-minute medical massage treatment for your shoulder.”
“You would’ve had to do it anyway on Wednesday in Practical Applications.”
You narrow your eyes, “Professor Kureha might not have assigned me to you.”
At this, Zoro scoffs, “Yeah right. You’re the best, and so am I.”
“S-she might not have!” you say, though there’s no real conviction in your voice. You both know that he’s right.
“Yeah. Whatever.” He turns away from you, making as if to go to sleep.
You glare at his back, dropping your bag with a loud thump.
“If anything, you owe me coffee now. That massage was worth at least two coffees, if not more.” You plop down on the edge of his bed, scowling at the opposite wall.
Zoro is quiet for a beat too long and you chance a glance at him, only to find him peering you with a strangely indulgent look in his eyes. You blush, tearing your eyes away.
“How’s breakfast?” he asks, his voice once again going soft. Your skin prickles with heat.
“What about breakfast?”
“Coffee and breakfast. That enough to pay for the massage?”
You can’t help the smile that threatens to break across your lips as you glance back at him and catch his eyes.
“I…. guess.”
Zoro chuckles, the sound so low in his throat that it makes you shiver. Quick as anything, he reaches over to pull you down towards him, easily looping an arm around your middle and flipping you both so that you’re pinned beneath him. You barely have time to gasp before you find his lips on yours once more, slow and sweet and shockingly steady.
You kiss him back, letting him push you gently into the crumpled linens of his bed. His fingers are light as he slowly works your skirt down your legs, reaching behind your torso to loosen your bra and tug your shirt from you in a single, smooth motion.
You shiver beneath him and he pulls back to stare. You search his eyes, feeling suddenly uncertain.
“God, you’re gorgeous…”
Heat crests into your cheeks as you try to look away. But he tugs you back with his thumb and steals another kiss.
“It’s late…” he says, pulling away to press your foreheads.
You nod, chewing on your bottom lip. “Yeah, I know…”
“Let’s sleep in tomorrow.”
You laugh, shifting as he curls his body around you, tugging you easily against his chest and pulling the covers over you both. A moment later, the lights click off and you’re both thrown into darkness. You let yourself relax into his arms, wondering just how you’re going to explain this to Robin tomorrow.
“Don’t think too hard about it,” Zoro’s voice murmurs into the nape of your neck.
You grin, nodding as you press further back into him and he grazes a soft kiss along your skin.
“That kinda thinking needs breakfast and coffee first,” you say, to which Zoro chuckles, nodding as he lets you hook your ankles between his, your bodies settling against each other, warm and perfect, the curves and bends meeting like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle finally, finally finding each other at last.
You don’t have long enough to ponder on the light, musk-salt-sweet of his skin or the way you can feel his heartbeat as it threads along your spine or the way that somehow, the shape of him doesn’t feel foreign against the shape of you, before you’re already falling asleep. And to him, he doesn’t have time to ponder the lovely silk of your hair, just as soft as he’d always imagined, or the way your waist feels perfect beneath his hands, or how he’s somehow he’s always known the rhythm of your breaths before he too is falling into the warm embrace of a dark, sweet, restful sleep as well.
nine.
Saturday morning finds you both tangled in each other, the winter sun bright and cold as it slates through the slits of Zoro’s bedroom window. He wakes up first, shifting to stretch until he feels the weight of you beside him. And then suddenly, he's somehow achingly awake and aware of his body against yours, of your paced breaths and his own rapidly increasing heartbeat. For one bewildering moment, he can’t quite remember what brought him here, and then the scenes from the night before — the bout, the lockers, the kiss — the way you’d tasted, how utterly irresistible you’d been, blushing in the dim light of his room, your skillful fingers digging into his tender, swollen flesh — his own rash promise of breakfast and coffee — it all comes rushing back. Zoro lets out a long breath and leans in to brush his lips along your forehead.
You let out a light groan as you shift in his arms, and when you turn, it’s to find him watching you.
“Oh… hey.”
Your voice is quiet, almost shy as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, and he finds himself more endeared than he has words to say.
He clears his throat.
“Morning. Uh… sleep well?”
You laugh, the warmth of your expelled breath ghosting across his clavicle in a way that makes him shiver.
“Mhm… pretty well… and you?”
Zoro clears his throat, “Yeah. Guess it wasn’t… bad.”
He resists the urge to roll away, if only because your cheek is still pillowed on his arm, and he can’t bring himself to pull away from you just yet. So instead, he drops his nose into your hair and takes in the milky scent of your coconut lotion. Tiny, pin-pricks of desire shoot through him, teasing goosebumps into the skin of his back and arms, but he forces himself to lie still as you snuggle against his chest with a contented sigh.
“So… breakfast and coffee?”
Zoro grunts, “Hn. I did promise.”
You smile, letting yourself sink into the thick and syrup of his sleep-deepened voice, his moss-green hair even more tousled than it normally is as he adjusts his head on his pillow.
“Hey,” you say, breathless as you look up at him beneath the sweep of your lashes, your eyes so big and dark and wide Zoro wonders if they might swallow him whole.
“Hey,” he answers, just as breathless, uncertainty creeping up the center of his chest as he stares down at you, lying in the glistening, mercurial light, the bend of your shoulder kissed by the morning sun, the shape of you limned in silver and gold.
You lean up to kiss him before he has the chance to second-guess himself, and though he was the more bold, self-assured one last night, you press in against him this morning, the languid sweep of your tongue along his lips making him groan, helpless, against you. He tastes the satisfied grin at the corner of your mouth as he opens his own, his mind frizzing into gorgeous, white static as you spend what feels like hours exploring the sweet depths of each other's mouths — all tongue and teeth and kiss-swollen lips.
When finally you pull apart, he is more breathless than he’d planned for, his body too warm for his liking, an urgent, pulsing something burning at the base of his stomach as he fights the urge to shove you back and sink his teeth into your skin, to hear you hiss, to make you gasp, to leave the indent of his fingers along the soft flesh of your hips and thighs, to mark you as his in every way he knows how.
But instead, he places a lingering kiss on your cheek and sits up, slowly stretching his arms.
“Careful…” you warn, pushing yourself up as well, watching him, “how’s it feel?”
Zoro tests his right side, drawing his arm up and then to the side, and then pulling it across his torso.
“Whoa… so much better.”
You smile, satisfied.
Zoro chuckles, “Guess I really do owe you breakfast. C’mon.”
He slips out of bed, tugging open a drawer to toss you a thick sweater and a pair of sweatpants. For himself, he only tugs on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, even as you frown, squinting at him from where you’re nearly swimming in his clothes.
“You’ll freeze.”
Zoro smirks as he looks you over, reaching over to pull the hood over your mussed tangle of hair, “Nah, I’m fine.”
You pout, jerking open the drawer to pull out a sweater and tossing it at him.
“You have to keep your right side warm so your muscles don’t just seize up again.”
Zoro stares at the sweater in his hand, looking reluctant before you press your lips into an exaggerated pout.
“C’mon… I worked so hard on getting it better last night… please?”
Zoro groans, rolling his eyes as he tugs on the sweater.
“Yeah, yeah — fine. Let’s go.”
He doesn’t wait for you, nor does he extend his hand. But the pair of you walk elbow to elbow, hip against hip down the bright dorm room hallway, into the chilly Saturday morning air.
“Geez, if you’re gonna yell at me to keep warm —” Zoro reaches over to tug on the drawstrings of your sweater, frowning as he notices how much skin he can still see beneath the opening of the hoodie.
You blush, tugging at it as the pair of you make your way across the empty campus quad.
Halfway across the frost-kissed lawn, he wordlessly reaches out to catch your hand in his, tucking your entwined fingers into the depths of his pocket. You bite back a stupid, dopey grin as you duck your head, quickening your pace to keep up, your footsteps crunching in the dew-bitten grass, the freshly raked gravel.
ten.
There’s already a decent line at the Straw Hats Cafe, but when the pair of you walk in hand in hand, both Sanji and Nami pause for a second longer than usual. Sanji’s eyebrows jerk up his forehead while Nami’s lips curl into a much too satisfied grin as she turns back to the humming espresso machines.
You savor in the smell of freshly ground coffee, absently tracing your thumb over the back of Zoro’s hand.
When you both reach the front, Sanji looks between you expectantly.
“Well, well, well — I’d like to say I’m surprised but —” he shrugs, grinning cheekily, “Well then I’d be lying, wouldn’t I?”
Zoro clicks his tongue but you shoot him a sheepish smile, pursing your lips.
“So… the usual then?” Sanji asks, his fingers poised over the register.
“Yep,” Zoro says, curt as ever, though there’s a distinct blush on his cheeks that not even he can write off as anything else.
You nod as well, “Oh, but… I think I’ll try a non-decaf latte this time. Just one shot of espresso though, please and thank you.”
Sanji blinks at you for a second before letting out a startled laugh and nodding, punching in your order.
“Coming right up, sweet cheeks. Right then, that’d be 8.75 for the latte and 5.50 for the double espresso.”
Zoro reaches into his wallet and pulls out a 20, slipping it across the counter. Down the bar, Nami is humming, looking cheerier than you’ve ever seen her this early in the morning as she goes about making your drinks.
Sanji sighs as he shakes his head, handing Zoro his change.
Zoro narrows his eyes but Sanji cuts him off.
“Take it from me, fam. You don’t wanna know.”
You and Zoro share a puzzled look as you both shuffle down to the pick-up counter, where Nami is sliding your finished drinks toward you with a bright, knowing glint to her eyes. Zoro clears his throat and reaches over for a packet of sugar, nonchalantly tipping it into his drink before picking it up to take a sip.
You try not to gape as you grab your own drink, flashing Nami a quick smile before turning to follow Zoro.
He picks a table as far away from the counter as possible, tucked into a corner, nearly invisible to the rest of the shop. When you sit down, he frowns at your chair for a second before reaching out to tug you across the floor till your chair is next to his. He goes back to his drink without a single word.
It’s all you can do to blush and stare at your steaming cup.
“I thought we were getting coffee and breakfast,” you say after a brief moment of silence.
Zoro grunts, “We are. Coffee first.”
You nod, somewhat mollified as you take another sip of your drink. The warmth trickles down your chest to rest somewhere in the center of your stomach, spreading heat throughout your body in waves.
“We could just get a chocolate croissant,” you say, giving Zoro a sidelong look.
Zoro frowns, tapping his finger against the side of his cup, “Dessert isn’t breakfast.”
You scoff, “Says who?”
Zoro’s expression flatlines, “Says me. And I’m payin’ for it.”
You purse your lips, wondering if you should argue more before deciding against it. A few seconds later, Zoro sighs, casting his eyes about the cafe interior.
“We can have a croissant after real breakfast.”
You giggle into your drink, swallowing down the glee fluttering in your stomach, threatening to spill out of your still kiss-chapped lips.
“Kay, whatever you say.”
Zoro rolls his eyes and folds his arms, but his elbow presses against yours and he doesn’t make to move away.
Across the cafe, Nami leans to watch the pair of you, Sanji at her side, looking both stunned and somewhat pained.
“C’mon man, it’s not even been a week!”
Nami grins, rinsing out a few cups and placing them mouth down to dry before pivoting on her heels and holding out an expectant palm. Sanji sighs as Nami’s eyes glitter with mirth and a hard-won glee.
“Right. I think you owe me fifty bucks.”
Sanji narrows his eyes, glancing back at where you and Zoro are tucked into the corner of the cafe.
“Double or nothing on when they’ll have their first fight. I say… not till next week.”
Nami’s eyebrows twitch up. She looks back at where the pair of you are now bickering over where to have breakfast. A smirk teases at her lips.
She puts down her hand, “Alright then… but like I said — it’s your funeral, Sanji.”
Over in the corner, there’s the dull scrape of chair legs as you push yourself away from the table to fold your arms.
“— Belgian waffles are absolutely an acceptable meal for breakfast!”
Zoro rolls his eyes, though there’s still an amused spark behind his eyes.
“Breakfast without eggs ain’t real breakfast. And doesn’t count if it’s smothered in syrup either.”
You make an indignant noise, frowning even as Zoro tugs you back to press a napkin to your upper lip, where there’s a faint line of whipped cream residue.
Sanji backpedals immediately, “Uh — right so, I feel like we need to define what really constitutes a ‘fight’, yeah?”
Nami tuts, shaking her head, “Nope! A bet’s a bet. Now pay up.”
feedback always welcome :) reqs are closed.
#one piece#one piece live action#opla zoro#opla roronoa zoro#roronoa zoro#roronoa zoro x reader#roronoa zoro x you#x reader#opla#one piece netflix#opla zoro x reader#one piece live action x you#one piece live action x reader#roronoa zoro fluff#one piece fluff#opla fluff#roronoa zoro imagines#opla x reader#roronoa zoro scenarios#one piece x reader#floofy floof floof#scheduled post#*incoherent screeching noises*#i hope you guys liked the nico robin tribute hahahhahha i love robin tbh#can't wait to see her in live action#also kureha tbh -__- jaime lee curtis WE ARE LOOKING DISRESPECTFULLY#college fencer zoro
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Post Tension | Charles Leclerc x McLaren! Reader
Summary: Back in the same country, Charles realises that the most important thing isn't winning; it's that he was wrong.
Warnings: Swearing, female reader, Verstappen! Reader. Tooth-rotting fluff.
This is the final part!
Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3
Main Masterlist
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YourUserName just posted
liked by arthur_leclerc, kellypiquet and others
YourUserName something in the orange tells me we're not done
7,956 comments
User 1 excuse me, miss thing?!?!
User 2 not miss verstappen posting this on media day when charles and her were spotted in the background of each other's interviews
francisca.cgomes that silhoutte pic is serving 🔥
User 3 just me or does that bear have a ferrari hoodie on
User 4 he is not the love of your life. he is literally just a guy. hit him with your car
→ User 1 nah 'cause does anyone else think charles would run her off the track if she got ahead of him again
→ User 5 wtf that's his girlfriend? he wouldn't try and hurt her
→ User 6 he did push max in a puddle once
lilymhe @ alex_albon why don't you buy me this stuff
→ alex_albon because you don't support McLaren
→ YourUserName excuse me?!?! what is this betrayal
→ lilymhe @ YourUserName i can explain
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User 7 mum and dad putting those cheating rumours to rest
User 8 y/n a stronger woman than me because i would've keyed his car for implying i was sleeping with my teammate
→ User 9 actually it was arthur who implied that
→ User 10 don't drag baby leclerc into this. he was fighting in the trenches alongside us for his otp
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scuderiaferrari just posted
liked by pierregasly, carlossainz55 and others
scuderiaferrari P4 and P8. A strong weekend for the tifosi 💪
tagged: charles_leclerc, carlossainz55
6,459 comments
User 9 i can't decide what i want to ride more
User 10 scoring some points in azerbaijan. well done, team
charles_leclerc why are you not posting the photos of me being #1 wag
→ YourUserName because this account doesn't post papaya, liefje
→ charles_leclerc no excuse
→ lilymhe because you are not #1 wag, clearly i am the only wag for @ YourUserName
→ charles_leclerc defamation
→ YourUserName @ lilymhe you tell 'em, bby
→ alex_albon i leave you alone for two seconds and you're stealing my girlfriend again
User 11 be still my beating heart
mclaren just posted
liked by charles_leclerc, georgerussell63 and others
mclaren P3 and P5. roll on the points for team papaya (ft mclaren's #1 wag)
tagged: YourUserName
7,321 comments
mclaren we apologise for interrupting your regularly scheduled papaya posts with a splash of red but you'll never guess who this racer was looking at to make him smile like that
→ maxverstappen1 sickening
→ charles_leclerc i am honoured to be awarded such a prestigious title by team mclaren
→ landonorris does this mean i can stop pretending to like y/n now?
→ charles_ leclerc @ landonorris no
→ YourUserName @ landonorris no. you're my emotional support pookie
User 11 so proud of our papayas. they did so good this weekend
User 12 i'd let y/n hit me with her car
liked by charles_leclerc
victoriaverstappen couldn't be prouder of you! 💕
maxverstappen1 just posted
liked by victoriaverstappen, kellypiquet and others
maxverstappen1 a disappointing dnf but very pleased for the less-famous verstappen 🧡
8,066 comments
redbullracing still made us proud. we'll come back stronger in france
kellypiquet well done y/n. p was cheering you on
→ YourUserName tell her i'm coming over for a pizza party soon! 🥰
YourUserName i swear he loves me really, guys
→ charles_leclerc well he threatened to run me off the track if i didn't fix things so i'd say he does
→ maxverstappen1 for legal reasons, this is a joke
→ YourUserName ah, so that's why you apologised. not because of your undying love for me
landonorris feel like that should say the more talented verstappen
liked by YourUserName, charles_leclerc
danielricciardo don't let this fool you. the man was close to tears when y/n was p1 with just one lap to go
→ danielricciardo and then cried when her tire burst
→ danielricciardo and then cried when she finished p3
→ maxverstappen1 i'll sue you for defemation
→ User13 the Grid seemed to have learned a new word this week
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YourUserName just posted
liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and others
YourUserName ik houd van je
tagged: charles_leclerc
6,124 comments
charles_lecerlc je sais
→ YourUserName never going to let me forget that one, are you
→ charles_leclerc no
→ maxverstappen1 no
→ danielricciardo no
→ landonorris no
→ arthur_leclerc no
→ pierregasly no
→ victoriaverstappen no
→ lilymhe no
YourUserName how about everybody get off my dick
→ YourUserName my only friends here are the lovely ladies thirsting over my hot boyfriend with me
→ User 14 you tell 'em, honey
charles_leclerc just posted
liked by landonorris, redbullracing and others
charles_lecerlc as the people on twitter say, i would let y/n hit me with her car
8,593 comments
maxverstappen1 my eyes 🤮
→ charles_leclerc look away! i was going to block you for this
→ maxverstappen1 block me forever
YourUserName wow, not even a tag.
→ charles_leclerc everyone knows who you belong to, mon amour
→ YourUserName yeah, the guy who invented ice cream
→ landonorris @ charles_leclerc at least you know what to do if the racing thing doesn't work out
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Thank you for all the support shown on this series. I never expected such a response when I posted my silly little fic.
I've had so much fun making these. I have a few more ideas coming up but not loads so if you have any, please do request and I'll try my best to do them justice! <3
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Tag list: @mehrmonga @luvsforme @lemon-lav @missenclod @halleest @formula1mount @k4marina @evie-119 @letmeseeyougotowork @sleepybrokenmelle @eiaaasamantha @tinyhrry @janeholt3 @allywthsr @callsignwidow @raizelchrysanderoctavius @prudyhoo @valentinanappipage @leah-also-known-as-creatoronwp @delululeclerc @e-nonsense @scott-mccall-could-lift-mjolnir @butterfliesflyaroundmymind @bloodyymaryyy @kqliie @lifeless-firefly @woozarts @silverxxs-world @personwhoisther @eugene-emt-roe @anthonykatebridgerton @qualitygiantshoepsychic @entr4p3 @carpediem241108 @forevercaffeinated-lee @xyzstar @theendofthematerialgworl @geniusalpaca @chfiosr
#formula 1#f1#formula 1 smau#f1 smau#formula 1 social media au#f1 social media au#social media au imagine#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 headcanon#formula 1 one shot#formula 1 fluff#formula 1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 drabble#f1 headcanon#f1 one shot#f1 fluff#f1 x reader#charles leclerc#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc drabble#charles leclerc headcanon#charles leclerc one shot#charles leclerc smau#charles leclerc fluff#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x verstappen reader#max verstappen
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Pansy’s interrogation II
Enzo, Blaise, Mattheo, Draco and Theo
Pansy’s back with more teasing and questions to confirm her suspicions.
Honestly, I know this isn’t peak writing, but I personally just love these little scenario’s. Also, no warnings!
All interrogations are separate scenes, so you don’t need to read part 1, but if you’re curious: read it here.
I’m currently working on a request based on the scenario’s of part one of ‘Pansy’s Interrogation’. Theo’s I will post later today, like in a few hours or so. The other one about Mattheo’s scenario is a bit of a struggle, so hopefully tomorrow evening.
Enzo Berkshire
Pansy joins Enzo at the Slytherin table in the great hall for an early breakfast. “Lorenzo, sweetie.” He looks up as Pansy takes a seat next to him. Oh dear, she wants something. He hates this, he gets nervous when Pansy wants something from him. He really isn’t good at keeping secrets.
Pansy fills her plate, while Enzo contemplates what she could possibly want from him. “Yesterday the girls and I were talking and it came up that-“ Enzo drops his spoon on his plate, startling Pansy. He then turns to her, catching her full attention. “I wasn’t staring at (y/n)’s boobs… or ass. I mean I wasn’t looking at her. I’ve never seen (y/n) in my life.”
Pansy smirks. Dearest Lorenzo, you're a simp. Blaise and Theo join them, but immediately frown at Enzo’s flustered face. “He just confessed his love for (y/n).” Pansy chuckles.
Enzo eyes widened. “I didn’t confess to anything.” Blaise drops his head as he laughs. “Enzo, mate, almost everyone knows.” Enzo narrows his eyes in frustration with his friend. “Pretty sure I’ve heard you say her name in your sleep.” Theo adds.
Pansy laughs content with all the information she’s collecting. “It was more like a moan.” Blaise argues, making it worse. Enzo is losing his mind by now, worried what you’ll think of him. He’s pleased when he spots Mattheo and Draco approaching.
“Guys, help me out here. They’re saying I’m in love with (y/n).” Draco chuckles. “You mean the girl you yesterday referred to as your future wife.” You’re all a bunch of assholes!
“Okay, Pans, are you open to bribes? Because I really don’t need (y/n) knowing about this.” Pansy grins. “Maybe.”
Blaise Zabini
Blaise walks away from you with a blissful smile. Pansy’s already grinning when he makes eye contact with her. He groans when she laces her arm with him. “So attentive of you help her carry her books.” Blaise just nods. “I would do the same for your Pansy.” She just darts her eyes at him. Flattery won’t help you, dearest Blaisy. “Reminds me of when you helped her during potions last week and let’s not forget that you lent her your notes for Herbology.”
Blaise forces her to let go of his arm, creating some much needed distance so he can keep up his cool act. “What can I say, Pansy, I’m just a really nice person. Maybe you should follow my example.”
“You’re nice on the eyes. But that’s as far as you go on the topic of nice.” Pansy argues, making Blaise’s eyes roll up in frustration.
“Hey, hey, Blaise, mate, I need your help.” Mattheo comes running towards them.
“You’re in luck, Matt, because as of recently Blaise is a nice and helpful person.” Mattheo frowns at Pansy, but decides to ignore her and turns to Blaise. “Sluggy says I really screwed up by not showing up to class… for two weeks. So, next week we will team up so I can fix my grades, alrighty?” Blaise just stares at his friend, while cursing that Pansy’s still there.
“Can’t you ask Theo?” Mattheo shakes his head. “Nah, I’ll annoy the hell out of him and get the content of the cauldron in my face.” Blaise sighs. “I can't, I need to help… someone else.”
Pansy licks her lips. “Let me guess?” She sings. “(Y/n)?” Mattheo grins in realization and Blaise clenches his jaw. A twisted smile tugs at Pansy’s lips.
“Alright then mate, since you’ve already got Pansy to deal with I won’t cockblock.” Mattheo leaves and Blaise just groans at the fact that Pansy’s still staring at him with wicked eyes.
Mattheo Riddle
Mattheo watches you excitedly explain something to Hermoine at the Gryffindor table. When you catch him staring he winks at you and looks away. “Ahww.” Mattheo suddenly hears Pansy’s voice next to him, making him lose his appetite.
“It’s cute, but I don’t know in what male fantasy world, staring and winking makes a girl fall in love with you, but in this world it won’t work.” Mattheo’s tongue is poking the inside of his cheek as tries to ignore her presence.
“I might know what will make her fall in love.” Pansy whispers near Mattheo’s ear. His eyes search you and he finds you laughing with the Weasley twins, reminding him that you’re both worlds apart.
“Yeah, that’s great, go tell it to someone who cares.” Mattheo’s tone is calm, but his eyes are dark. He gets up and heads for the common room. Pansy raises an eyebrow at Mattheo’s sensitive behavior, before filling her plate without a care in the world. Apparently, someone’s still in denial of their feelings.
Draco Malfoy
“What's up with that (y/n) girl?” Draco snars as he sits down in the great hall, making Pansy drop out of the conversation she was having.
“She’s wearing mismatching socks like some looney. Which is nearly as bad as that glittery thing she was wearing during the last quidditch game.” Pansy’s head was resting in her palm while enjoying Draco’s little rant.
“And what’s up with all those hearts that she draws next to her notes? Makes me sick.” Draco’s face fills with disgust and annoyance.
“Those hearts are because of you.” Draco looks up at Pansy, a blush immediately creeping up on his cheeks. “Really?”
“No. Of course not.” Pansy laughs and Blaise, who sits opposite of Draco, can’t help but snicker, earning himself a dirty look from Draco.
Pansy licks her lips, ready to play her game. “You sure know a lot about her. Been watching her? Or should I say stalking?” Draco gets a little nervous and avoids Pansy’s eyes. “I just notice things.” Pansy hums, not impressed with his answer.
“Then you’ve probably also seen her hang out with Diggory?” Draco snorts, unable to hide his frustration about the matter. “Yeah, what is that even about?”
“Maybe those little hearts on her notes have something to do with it.” Pansy watches Draco carefully so she can pinpoint the moment he realizes you might have a thing for Cedric.
“The girl obviously has no taste.” Is all Draco says before he starts picking at the food on his plate. Pansy smirks as Draco eyes land on your figure. Please, please, don’t let it be true.
Theodore Nott
Theodore was lying in his bed with a book over his head avoiding everyone, but unfortunately Pansy is unavoidable. When he heard the door he didn’t react, but did listen to every step the person took to figure out who it was. Theo sighed when he came to the conclusion it wasn’t one of his mates, so it really couldn’t be anyone else but Pansy.
”What do you want?” Theodore snares when Pansy stops next to his bed. “No, need to be mean. I brought you overly expensive coffee.”
Theodore calms down and removes the book from his face. “Thanks, I guess.” Pansy rolls her eyes but offers him the coffee. Theo takes a sip, while carefully watching Pansy sit down on his bed. “What do you want?”
”Nothing! Is that so hard to believe?” Theo nods and takes another sip. Pansy scans the fresh bruise on his face and purses her lips. “I heard about the fight.” “Of course you did, why else would you be bringing me expensive coffee.”
“For what it’s worth, I think it’s sweet that you’re defending (y/n). What that guy said was outrageous.” Theo stares down the paper cup he is holding. He really didn’t need all of Hogwarts to know he punched a guy for calling you pretentious and fuckable. Especially since you and him weren’t exactly friends. “It had nothing to do with (y/n). He wasn’t watching where he was going and his dumbass walked into me on a bad day.”
“Punching people for walking into you, wow, you’ve been hanging out too much with Riddle.” Pansy sighs pretending to buy into his cool act.
“Theo, my dude, I found all the ingredients for that potion you were talking about! That piece of shit will never say a bad thing about (y/n) again!” Enzo’s enthusiastic face drops when he spots Pansy. “Oh hey Pans.”
Pansy smiles at Enzo and turns her face to Theodore with a victorious smirk. “I knew it.” Theo’s annoyed eyes roll to a very apologetic looking Enzo.
Did you spot a mistake or typo? Let me know, you’ll be rewarded with a virtual smootch!
#slytherin boys#slytherin#theodore nott#theodore nott imagine#theodore nott x reader#blaise zabini imagine#blaise zabini x reader#enzo berkshire#enzo berkshire imagine#blaise zabini#mattheo riddle imagine#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo riddle#enzo berkshire x reader#papercorgiworldwritings
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You Are Mine part 1
When Eddie decided to come out he thought it’d be funny to do so with a music video, so he wrote a song and presented it to the band. The boys loved it and the song was declared the first one of their next album, the third one.
And then it was time to shoot the video.
They hire their personal friend and favorite director, Argyle. Just Argyle, like Cher.
Between him and Argyle they come up with a cool script. The band is going to act in it, they just need two extras, so they hold auditions for a couple in their twenties.
On the day of the auditions, Argyle tells them the interviews are mostly for show, the band can pick whoever they feel the most comfortable with, and the boys tell Eddie he should pick since it’s his song.
The five of them sit at a long table like it’s fucking American Idol or something and just stare at the couples waiting in line through a one-side glass mirror whispering among themselves and watching amused as the couples start getting progressively nervous.
There’s a couple that immediately grabs Eddie's attention when he does a pass-over, a pretty tall dirty blonde and a brunette with big soft-looking hair.
The guy is absolutely gorgeous, with big kind eyes, a straight cute nose, a square jaw, big shoulders, a small waist, and tan skin that seems to be covered in beauty marks.
He just strikes Eddie as someone that would make Michelangelo cry with his inability to capture his perfection.
‘Oh, that’s good. I should write that.’ He thinks.
He and the girl are talking in hush tones and Eddie watches as she fixes his hair while he jabbers nervously and then, evidently says something that makes her angry because she pokes him in the ribs. The guy giggles cutely and loudly enough to carry over to their room and then blushes furiously when heads turn toward them, hiding behind his friend. The woman in question snorts and chuckles as he chastises her.
Eddie stands up, crouches behind Argyle’s chair, and tells him, “I want that one.”
“What?” he answers, so Eddie points at the couple, “I want him.”
Argyle looks at them considering and clicks his tongue and Eddie insists, “Please Argy, please, I love him, I want him, I want that one, pleaseee”
“Eddie, we need to at least consider the rest of them. This is my job we are talking about here. Please, take it seriously” Argyle says in a calm voice and Eddie deflates,
“Dude...I’m sorry I-”
“Nah man, I’m kidding!” Argyle cuts him off, “Couple number four! Please step forward!” he yells into a mike.
The blonde and the brunette look at each other and walk in nervously as Eddie goes back to his seat at the end of the table and Argyle does a small flourishing move with his hand inviting them to introduce themselves.
“Hi! My name is Robin, and this is Steve, pleased to meet you!” The girl says smiling kindly at them. She nudges Steve on the side and he does a little finger wave at them.
Eddie has to bite his lip not to smile too much because they are really fucking cute.
Argyle returns the wave enthusiastically, because nothing ever faces him, and looks at the list he has in his hands, “Any experience acting Robin and Steve?”
Robin says yes, something about drama club in high school and Steve just shrugs which amused Eddie to no end, and frankly makes him really curious, for all intent and purposes, Steve doesn’t seem to be interested in the job.
“How did you find out about this job?” Jeff asks them, and Gareth nods like he was just about to ask the same thing.
“A friend of ours told us about it?” Robin answers “He’s a photographer but I don't want to drop names, especially in case we embarrass ourselves,” she says jokingly and looks relieved when she gets a couple of chuckles from Argyle and the band.
“And you were interested because…?” Frank inquires.
Robin starts saying some carefully prepared speech about learning experiences but is interrupted by Steve saying, “We needed the money”
“Oh my god! Shut up!” Robin suddenly turns to him completely red in the face.
“What? You told me to be myself!” Steve tells her frowning.
“This is exactly why I always talk in interviews”
“What does that mean?”
“You suck at this Steve! Just as much as you suck at-”
Gareth clears his throat loudly making them stop and look at him sheepishly, “So tell us, do you know the band? Are you fans?”
Eddie takes a moment to look at his bandmates and to his relief they all look as amused as he feels, especially Argyle. The couple of newbies is clearly a mess but in an endearing kind of way.
“Well…” Robin starts but doesn’t seem to know what to say.
“Never heard of it,” Steve says looking apologetic.
“Wait, Really?” Robin asks him, once more ignoring the director and the band, “They are like, Mike’s favorite band, man! You never heard of Corroded Coffin?”
“Oh well,” Steve shrugs, “I mostly tune out when Mike is talking so…”
Robin snorts and is about to reply but Argyle raises his hand and they both look at him, flinching a little when they realize they had started talking among themselves again.
“Ok.” Argyle tells them clapping once, “Unfortunately for me, I love your energy my dudes, but I’m going to get serious for a second here: I need you two to be professional ok? We have a budget and a schedule and only three days to shoot and I can’t hire you and find out in the middle of the shoot that you are not okay with making out with someone-”
Robin visibly takes a step back and Steve snorts, “Yeah no, I’m not making out with my sister.”
Eddie, who was wondering what kind of relationship they had, does a little happy dance in his head at that.
“No, I meant one of the members of the band” Argyle answers amused.
Robin takes another step back and actually looks a little disgusted and Eddie tries not to find it offensive, “Me?” she asks unsure.
“No,” Frank answers and points at Steve, “Him.”
Surprisingly, they both relax at that, “Oh!” They exclaim in unison and it’s kind of creepy but again, in an endearing kind of way.
And then Steve looks at them one by one, he’s unmistakably and unashamedly checking them all out and Eddie swears his eyes linger on him the most before he smirks and says, “I’m okay with that”
Eddie immediately pushes the contract laying on the table toward Frank, who pushes it to Gareth, who pushes it to Jeff, who pushes it to Argyle and gives him a pen.
Argyle laughs loudly and shakes the sheet of paper, “Well shit, I guess you are hired.”
“We are?!”
He stands up and shakes their hands, hands them the contract and another paper, “This is the script, not that it has any dialogue but just in case you have any questions.”
They push their heads together and read the script at the same time.
The story is about the band being on tour. Robin and Steve would play as their roadies and the video is supposed to show them in concert, traveling, working, and hanging out. The whole video hints that Eddie is sneaking out with one of them and it ends with the band plus Robin opening a curtain on the tour bus to find Eddie and Steve making out.
The song is called You Are Mine.
When they are done reading, Steve smiles and says “Cute”
And Robin asks, “So which one of you is Eddie?”
Eddie lifts his hand lazily and winks at them.
And Steve, still holding the script, lifts it enough to cover his face but Eddie can still see the tip of his ears as they turn bright red.
‘Oh, he’s gonna eat him alive.’
to be continued
part 1: is this
part 2: ♫
part 3: ♫
part 4: ♫
☕ cafecito?
#steddie#stranger things#eddie munson#steve harrington#i wrote something#corroded coffin#omg another rockstar eddie au? mimimimi
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Simmer #8
CH8. Boiling Point | The Menu
[3.7K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.
You wished the diner was busier.
You would’ve done anything for more customers to serve. Anything. But Jim’s was quiet, only a few regulars scattered around the tables, only wanting coffees, no refills, scowling if you came too close, blocking the sunlight that fell onto their newspapers.
Robin and Steve were by the bar, throwing a crumpled napkin between them like a baseball, talking softly about nothing important and you felt too hot as you stood polishing the cutlery, shoving napkins into dispensers with clumsy hands. You could see Eddie through the kitchen hatch, prepping the burger buns for the dinner rush that you hoped would come. His eyes were trying to find yours as he rolled out the dough but you were avoidant, moving around each empty table with your head ducked.
Eventually, the rolling in your stomach became too much and the sight of Chrissy loitering in the kitchen was making that hot flush creep higher up your neck, across the back of your ears. You slammed a pile of menus down on the coffee bar, ignoring the way Mr Creel grumbled at you, looking at Steve and Robin as if they’d be able to fix the way you were feeling.
“Did Eddie and Chrissy used to date?” You came right out with it, voice rushed and quiet, speaking low in hopes that your question wouldn’t carry into the kitchen.
The radio was on, a female voice crooning from the speakers and you hated the way Chrissy was swaying to the beat, powder blue uniform skimming the tops of her thighs as she stood too near Eddie, refilling the salt and pepper shakers.
“It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want, cry if I want to, cry if I want to. You would cry too, if it happened to you…”
“Chrissy?” Robin wrinkled her nose and looked into the kitchen, too obvious. You tugged at her arm, pleading. “Don’t look.”
Steve snorted, hopping off of the bar to block lean over it instead, knocking his knuckles against yours. “Nah. I mean, I don’t think so?” He squinted at you before he shared a look with Robin and the girl shrugged, confused. “Chrissy just likes to flirt. With like, everyone. Her and Eddie were friendly, I guess?”
“Friendly,” you repeated, swallowing the word with the lump in your throat.
“It’s not, it’s not like that,” Steve murmured softly. His eyes were searching yours, watching the way they turned glassy. “It’s not like it is with you, trust us, you don’t have to worry about that, okay?”
Robin nodded, reaching out to hold your hand. She squeezed your fingers and smiled. “Yeah, you seriously don’t have to panic. Eddie doesn’t worry about our eating habits,” she grinned when you rolled your eyes. “And can we talk about that hickey yet? ‘Cause, shit…”
You groaned, cheeks warm but your friends had succeeded in quelling the ache in your chest, if only just. You felt like the new kid again with Chrissy around, watching her sit on the stool - your stool - at Eddie’s station, laughing at a joke you couldn’t hear, pocketing tips from the truckers who came in for coffee and cake, asking her how her summer was, if she was still working seasons at the camp a few towns over.
Chrissy was confident and bright, a bubblegum pink smile and rosy cheeks, a pretty, bouncy thing that made you feel two inches tall and every time you caught her near Eddie, your heart sank a little. She touched him a lot, a delicate hand on his arm, shoving at his shoulder when he made her laugh, brushing a crumb off the lapel of his chef whites after he whisked up a new batter.
You stayed away from the kitchen, only taking orders that Jonathan handed you from across the hatch and you could see the way Eddie’s brows knitted together every time you turned your back on him but the jealousy was too overwhelming. The uncertainty, the self conscious ache that made your neck feel too hot and you knew you were being ridiculous.
You did. You knew.
But it was too soon to be marking your territory and scaring away the boy with questions like, ‘what are we? Have you kissed her? Have you kissed her like you kissed me? Are we more than friends now? Are we more than what you have with her?
“Chicago,” Jonathan’s voice interrupted your pity party. He was pouring a coffee for Mr Creel, the man’s seventh refill of the afternoon. “Chef’s asking for you.”
Your stomach flipped and you grimaced, trying to pull off the expression as a smile. You weren’t sure it worked. You held up the cloth you’d been walking around with for an hour to look preoccupied, shrugging half heartedly. “Busy,” you told the boy.
“He said he’s made you lunch,” was all Jonathan replied.
So you sighed and tried not to let his words tug on your heartstrings too much. You smiled and gave in, throwing the cloth onto the workstation by the kitchen door and you didn’t even bother announcing your arrival when the diner was so quiet. Eddie looked up the second you appeared, eyes wide and he was just finishing plating up a stack of pancakes, a bundle of chopped strawberries in a bowl beside them.
“Hey,” he breathed, wiping his hands on his apron. “Hey. You okay? I’ve not seen you all shift.”
The kitchen was empty, no sign of Chrissy. The stoves were off and only one grill was still sizzling, leftover pancake batter crisping in the corners as it cooled down, a simmer in the quiet. You smiled weakly, unable to stop the wobble in your lip.
Cry baby, cry baby, cry baby.
You coughed, clearing your throat until the lump there disappeared and you nodded. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Sorry, it’s, uh,” you winced as you gesture back to the empty diner. Steve was sleeping in one of the booths, his head against the window. “It’s been… busy.”
“Sweetheart,” Eddie murmured, a frown on his face. It was soft, concerned. “Sit, yeah? Have lunch with me?”
You took a step forward, aching to walk to the boy, to let yourself push your face to his chest and let him smooth his hands over your hair. You got to spend the night into the early morning with him, draped over his lap as you shared triangles of grilled cheese and then kisses after it but you missed the way he felt already.
Then the fire exit door opened and Chrissy sauntered back in, cooing at the sight of the pancakes on the worktop. Eyes wide, she skipped over, ponytail bouncing like something out of a damn daydream and you didn’t know what to say when she picked up the fork Eddie had laid out for you and speared it through the stack. Her lips were sticky with gloss and maple syrup as she licked them, moaning sweetly as she looked at Eddie.
“Oh my god, Eds,” Chrissy sounded pornographic. “I missed your cooking so much, you know that?” She turned to you, grinning. Oblivious - maybe. “Does this cutie pie cook you up some food too? I swear, I used to get three meals a day when I worked here full time. Oh my god— Eddie! Remember the triple stacked pizza—?”
You didn’t hear the rest of the story. You really didn’t care to. And as rude as it may have seemed, you walked right past Chrissy and Eddie and the pancakes that were no longer yours. You could feel the tears burning the corner of your eyes and it made your nose itch, your cheeks burn. You weren’t doing this where people could see.
The door to the walk-in was heavy but you yanked it hard, breath catching in your throat like a hiccup and you were quick to close it behind you, the thud making the shelves inside rattle but it was suddenly quiet as it was cold. The heat of embarrassment faded, the burn crawling up the back of your spine disappeared and you sniffed, gazing up at the ceiling as if that would quell your tears. You stared at the patches of ice, focusing on the goosebumps rising across your bare arms instead.
It was silly, you thought, to feel such a way. To let someone make you feel that way. But beside Chrissy and her perfectly curled ponytail and her pretty Mary Jane sandals, you felt small. Unimportant. Like you suddenly didn’t belong in the stupid diner with its stupid chequered tables and its broken soda machine. Chrissy hadn’t done anything wrong, not really. It was mean of you to dislike her, with nothing more than a name and her connection to Eddie to fuel your jealousy.
Feeling petulant, you decided that was enough. You swore, mostly at yourself, and pressed the heels of your palms to your watery eyes. You felt replaced and it was an awful, ugly feeling. As much as you tried to remember what Robin and Steve had told you earlier, you couldn’t get over the way Chrissy looked at Eddie, like she really knew him, like she had some sort of claim on him. It was a very female thing to pick up on, only seeing the subtle signs through the eyes of being a girl.
The glances, the quick up and down she gave you as you arrived that morning, weighing up the chances of you being competition. The touches on Eddie’s arm, the territorial way she barely left his station, the too sweet smile she gave you as she ate the lunch Eddie made for you. The chit chat that seemed pleasant enough, the not so hidden reminders in her stories that she knew Eddie for longer than you had, better than you did. They had inside jokes, old memories, shared stories.
There was a knock at the door.
An odd thing to hear, on the other side of a walk in refrigerator, but you knew there was only one person it could’ve been. So you sniffed again and swiped meanly at your eyes, leaning against the door, ignoring the chill, the way your cheeks were both hot and cold at the same time.
“I’ll be out in a second,” you called through the steel. “I’m just… trying to find some—” your mind blanked as you looked around the space aimlessly, eyes landing on crates of vegetables. “—some asparagus.”
You made a face, annoyed with yourself for such a lame excuse and you heard a shuffle from outside before a familiar voice came through. “Sweetheart? Can I come in?” Eddie sounded muffled, mainly from the inches of steel and insulation between you but you could still pick up on the concern in his voice.
You sighed, bottom lip wobbling and you opened the door, the brief wash of warm air hitting your cold face. The fridge didn’t lock. Eddie could’ve bathed in whenever he liked. But there was something about the way he’d asked you that had you giving in easier than you thought you would. You stepped back, arms goosepimpled and crossed over your chest as you made room for the boy inside the walk in. Back against the metal racking, your hip bumped against a pallet of butter, boxes of it stacked high. You didn’t look at Eddie not yet.
“Why’re you crying?” Eddie asked gently, ducking down and bending slightly at the knees so he could look at your face, so he could try and coax you into meeting his gaze. It was a soft question, not anywhere near an accusation and he said it so sincerely, like he really wanted to know what was upsetting you.
All you heard was crybabycrybabycrybaby. So you turned your chin and hid your face in your hair, letting the strands stick to your wet cheeks and you swiped at your eyes again, too harsh for Eddie’s liking. Your breath left you in a hiccup, a holding thing that made the boy’s brows pinch together.
“Hey, hey,” Eddie reached out and curled a hand around your wrist, wide and still warmer than your own skin. “Hey, c’mon, c’mere.” The boy pulled you in closer, hands coasting over the apples of your cheeks, tutting softly as he wiped the way the tears there.
You cringed, embarrassed at being caught in such a state but Eddie pushed his thumb into your cheek until you let him lift your face and your gaze met his. He frowned, eyes big and earnest and he made a noise that was meant to soothe. You couldn’t help but lean into his palm, eyes watering again and you moved away, stumbling over your words, not sure if you should be apologising first or asking the questions you didn’t wanna know the answer to.
“God, I’m sorry,” you scrunched your face, mortified. “I’m— I don’t know why I’m getting myself like this, m’tired or something.” Before Eddie could respond you pulled back to stare at him, cheeks hot. “Is Chrissy like… did you and Chrissy— are you—?”
Eddie blinked at you, surprised. “I—”
You regretted it immediately, the accusatory way you asked such a personal question. It had been two months, one date, one kiss. You felt so stupid. “I have absolutely no right to ask you that,” you rushed out, eyes wide. Fuck, you felt worse than before. “I’m sorry, that’s— that's none of my business.”
“Sweetheart, you spent the majority of last night with my tongue in your mouth,” Eddie tried to joke, smiling weakly. “I think you’re allowed to ask that question.”
You looked at him, mournful, the lump still stuck in your throat and an awful feeling of unease clinging to you. You shrugged, a little hopeless. “Were you guys like.. a thing? Are you a thing?”
“No,” Eddie answered, soft and sure. “We’re not. We’ve never been— not like that. Chrissy…” Eddie swallowed and pulled at his apron, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “Chrissy just likes to be the centre of attention. And well, I guess you could say, uh, I used to have a crush on her?”
Eddie noticed the way your shoulders tensed. “But that was way, way back in high school. Nothin’ happened. Ever. And— and I don’t want anything to happen now.” Eddie grinned, wry, awkward. “She just likes to make sure she’s got everyone’s attention, y’know?”
You did know.
“You used to make her food too,” you noted sourly and you hated the way your voice came out small, delicate. Moody. “She said she was your favourite.”
“Babe,” Eddie said a little gruffly, fondly. He reached back out, hand catching yours and you let him. He played with your fingers, the ring on your middle one, his touch delicate and comforting. “I’m a cook. I make food for everyone, they just— they just gotta ask me.”
Well, didn’t you feel silly. So you bit a little, heat rising up then back of your neck again, embarrassment tingling, your voice rising. “I don’t know! It could’ve all been part of your— your moves, or something.”
“Moves?” Eddie choked out, incredulous. “Sweetheart, it took me two months to kiss you, you think I’ve got moves?”
You squirmed, embarrassed still. You shrugged, unsure what to say because in your eyes, Eddie had all the moves. You could still remember the way he kissed you, the feel of his hand on your jaw, your waist, in your hair, on your thigh. The way he kissed you between making you your grilled cheese, the bread almost burning as he got too caught up in you, in the way he pressed you back into the counter, dotting kisses over your cheeks, your nose.
“I don’t know,” you said again and you ducked your chin, hiding.
Eddie tsked but it was a soft sound, sympathetic and he pulled at your hand, tugging you into him until you relented. Your face found his chest, nose pushed to his fresh chef whites and he smelled like his cologne, lemongrass and something sweet like leftover icing sugar. He let you hide there instead, your hands clinging to the front of his apron and you only pressed closer when his hands smoothed over your shoulders, climbing down your sides until he could hold you to him. His lips were on your hairline, a little hesitant, because all of this was so new, because you were clearly upset, because he didn’t know what this was yet, how this worked.
“What can I do, hm?” Eddie asked you softly, voice a low murmur. The walk in didn’t seem as cold with the way his nose was pressed to your temple. “What can I do to make you feel better, tell me.”
That hopeless feeling melted away with each pass of Eddie’s hand up and down your back, fingers trailing over the curve of your spine. You mumbled something intelligible, shrugging your shoulders again and hoping that Eddie couldn’t feel the heat that radiated from you. “I dunno,” you whispered. You swallowed, throat tight. You didn't know what to ask for too much, not so soon. “I don't want to— I’m not trying to—”
“Breathe, sweetheart.” You could hear the frown in his voice.
“Last night meant something, right?” You didn’t ask for the world. No labels, not yet. Nothing too scary. Nothing too deep. “That wasn’t just a, uh, one off or whatever?”
Eddie laughed, the sound softened by the way he buried his face in your hair and the arms he’d wrapped around you tightened, squeezing, affectionate. “I have absolutely every intention of doing that with you again…” he murmured, coaxing you out of hiding only to cup your jaw, thumb pushed to your cheek. He grinned down at you, all flirt and charm. “And again and again and again. If you’ll let me.”
It was unnerving, what those words did to you. The tilt of his lips, the pretty cadence of his voice. Eddie’s thumb coasted over the apple of your cheek and suddenly you forgot all about the other waitress who was no doubt still outside in the kitchen. “That sounds nice, yeah.” You nodded, warm all over again, all for the right reasons.
“You gonna let me take you out too?” Eddie asked and he leaned back against the racks, the cold metal doing nothing to deter him as he spread his legs a bit, pulling you between them by the tie of your apron until you were framed by his thighs. Closer, closer. “A proper date this time, please. A movie, some dinner, a walk somewhere real nice so I can kiss you goodnight and all that stuff?”
You grinned, cheeks aching, surprising yourself with the suddenness of it because now? Right then? Nothing else mattered but Eddie. “That sounds even nicer,” you told him and your eyes crinkled with the brightness of your smile. “Please.”
“Can I kiss you now? Been wantin’ to kiss you for ages,” Eddie murmured and his eyes were on your mouth, thumb moving closer to your chin, the tip of it ghosting the curve of your bottom lip and you nodded, eager in a way that should’ve been embarrassing but you pushed yourself to your toes and clung to him a little tighter.
A soft kiss, much, much softer than the ones shared the night before but still not appropriate for the workplace. Especially not a walk-in that was cold enough to make your toes ache. Not that you cared. But Eddie didn’t seem to either, humming in appreciation when you pressed yourself against him, face tilting to the side for him to deepen the kiss a little, lips moving a little more urgently against your own.
“Need to stop,” he breathed as he pulled away, grudgingly, giving in again to press a peck to the corner of your mouth and then another to your cheek. His palms smoothed over your jaw, up across your temples to swipe away the baby hairs there. “Gonna get carried away.”
You felt dizzy, miles and miles away from the kitchen, from that awful feeling, from Chrissy. You knew exactly what he meant.
“Can I make you some food now?” Eddie nosed at your cheek, arms winding around your waist and you felt so adored, the affection pouring from him by the bucket full. “You’ve not eaten all day.”
“Because someone ate my pancakes,” you said sourly and you regretted it immediately. You didn’t want to be the jealous girl, the insecure girl, the petty girl. But Eddie made it very hard to want to share. “Sorry, that was rude.”
Eddie snorted and just kissed your head, a touch so casual it made your heart jump. “C’mon,” was all he said. “Get your butt out of here before you freeze.”
It was easier to shuffle out of the walk-in when Eddie was leading you, his hand holding yours, the burning embarrassment you’d once felt fading to a shameful simmer. Chrissy was still at the boy’s station, picking out pieces of strawberry from the bowl, the plate of pancakes now empty. Steve was placing a bucket of dirty coffee cups into the sink and he looked up as the two of you appeared.
“Oh hey,” he frowned in concern at your red rimmed eyes. “I wondered where you’d gone to, you ok—?”
“Couldn’t reach the top shelf,” Eddie interrupted, smiling as if nothing had happened. He sent Steve a look and Chrissy watched, sucking fruit juice and sugar from her fingers. Eddie grinned at you, squeezing past you and the counter, his hands on your hips as he passed. “Had to lend a helping hand, didn’t I? Short stack.”
Your heart ached, your chest feeling too full with the kindness, the affection. So you could only nod, looking sheepish and even if Steve didn’t believe Eddie, he stole a knowing glance at Chrissy and nodded. The kitchen was filled with the kind of tension that had made you run off in the first place, but the feeling of being out of place disappeared when Steve asked Eddie:
“I’m going for a smoke, you comin’?”
Eddie shook his head and busied himself with pulling an old stool out from Argyle’s prep station. It had one wobbly leg, but you didn’t care. Not when Eddie took your hand and helped you hop onto it, the chair closer to him than the stool Chrissy was sitting on.
“Nah, man,” Eddie said. “M’gonna make my girl some food.”
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson fics#eddie munson fic#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson smut#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson drabble#eddie munson imagine#linecook!eddie
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i want sweet revenge and i want him again !!!
*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which their post break-up era is them ignoring their feelings and making the worst decisions.
or
for when they will always be your summer love. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
social media au // pierre gasly x fem!reader
sequel - you were my summer love ⋆·˚ ༘ *
warnings - language
author's note - posting this at 3am bc i have midterms from monday and it's very unlikely i'll post again this month 💔💔💔💔 i love u all so much thank u for reading <3
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yourusername "get him back!" is finally out!!!! i wrote this song in my car after breaking down over the consequences of my own actions and getting yelled at by my twitter girlies <3 summer was fun i had fun we all had fun but the aftermath is not pretty so fuck them boys u all stay happy and thriving hydrated!!!! get ur sweet revenge and get him back!!!!! but fr pls tell his mom her son sucks ❤️
8,628 comments
username there's too much going on idk what to decipher first
username the caption omg 💀💀💀
username her captions never fail to blow me away like girl 90% of these things do not belong here 😭😭😭😭😭
username not her telling us to get our man back but also tell his mom that her son sucks
-> username top tier advice idc
username THE SONG'S A FUCKING BOP OMG
username those lyrics are so her and him coded like 💔💔💔💔💔
charles_leclerc don't call me weird
-> yourusername this is so unprovoked get out
-> username nah what the fuck is charles doing here 😭😭😭😭
-> username CHARLES????
username "bc everyone knew the guy was missing a screw" BABE LET HIM GO!!!!!!!!
username THE TEXT OH MY GOD
username i miss her and that dude ngl
-> username no bc they were so cute together 💔💔💔
-> username why do men ruin everything 😐😐😐😐😐
username "i can fix him" GIRL YOU ARE WORSE THAN HIM
-> yourusername UNCALLED FOR
username i fucking love her and her fans so much like the way we're all js best friends with her and she's sooooo in touch with her fans ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
-> yourusername not true u all js bully me
-> username bc u make stupid decisions
-> yourusername ://
username y/n having beef with 80% of her fans will never not be funny to me like wdym ur FANS bully u
-> yourusername i have proof and im not afraid to use it
-> username "proof" and it's literally just her being a dumbass and us having NORMAL reactions to it
-> yourusername FURTHER PROOF UR HONOUR
username so MUCH for summer LOVE and saying US cause u weren't mine to LOSEEEE
username this is sooo 2000s romcom coded idc
landonorris WEIRD??? ME???
-> yourusername GET OUT OF MY COMMENTS SECTION THIS ISN'T ABT Y'ALL
-> username what the fuck is doing on
-> username im so out of loop wtfff
username "i want sweet revenge and i want him again" unhinged behaviour fr
username every time we think she's healing she comes back and writes a song that's basically a BIG cry for help like girl pls we're getting tired 💔
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paddock.club rumours have been swirling around pierre gasly and his anonymous girlfriend, who's affectionately called 'augustine' by his fans, and their alleged break-up for weeks now. the said rumours were confirmed as gasly was seen out in monaco and he certainly wasn't alone — or with just one consistent company. "this may confuse some people but they were very different from each other," sources close to the couple claimed. "after summer break ended, it felt like so did whatever they had going on." this comes as a shock as despite knowing almost nothing about augustine, fans adored her and they're devasted about the end of their summer love. click on the link in our bio for everything that we know about their relationship.
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pierregasly you're trippin'
9,638 comments
username NAH THE AUDACITY OF M*N SOMETIMES
username BROTHER IM STILL RECOVERING FROM THE AUGUSTINE REVEAL SLOW DOWN
username HELLO???????? HE'S SEEING SOMEONE???????
-> username "he said i was the only girl but that js wasn't the truth"
username the fact that he used HER lyrics for his caption like..........im SICK rn
username when 😭 i 😭 told 😭 him 😭 how 😭 he 😭 hurt 😭 me 😭 he 😭 told 😭 me 😭 i 😭 was 😭 trippin 😭
username im actually in shock rn like my jaw is on the FLOOR
landonorris caption 😬
username no bc im here thinking like she called his friends weird 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 that's why charles and lando were so offended in the comments 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
username boy she's over there listening to summer love by one direction WHAT R U DOING
username that's not y/n in the last slide and im throwing up rn i need them BACK
username need this all to be a nightmare bc i cannot fucking do this anymore 💔💔💔💔
username it's on SIGHT when i see u on streets
username im so 💔💔💔💔💔
username y'all i feel bad for bullying y/n bc if i were her i too wouldn't move on from this man
-> username fr like we gave her sm shit for being in love with him and im like "girlypop same omg"
-> username real like i see what she saw
charles_leclerc nice choice for caption 👍 very strong words 👍
username here for charles and lando calling him out for the caption like yasss kings ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ do ur work ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
username y/n needs to be more cunty rn bc this is so wtf
username L caption 🤣🤣🤣🤣🫵🫵🫵🫵
username im gonna miss their summer love era so much like we were FED ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
username "and when he said something wrong he'd just fly me to france" WOW OKAYYYY
username something about his last post before this being all about augustine and their summer and now this one is basically shading her like 💔💔💔💔💔
username everyday we stray further away from good
username ripping my hair out why cant bitches be happy ffs
#f1 x reader#f1 x female reader#f1 imagines#social media au#fake instagram imagines#pierre gasly blurb#pierre gasly au#pierre gasly imagines#pierre gasly imagine#pierre gasly x reader#pierre gasly x y/n#pierre gasly x you#pierre gasly instagram au#pierre gasly angst#pierre gasly x ex!reader
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can we please get oscar with logans best friend and he cant help but pout at how close they are??
Aww but this is so cute
When’s It My Turn? (OP81)
Summary: When Oscar can’t find Y/n and realizes she’s off with Logan, he gets possessive over how much time his girlfriend has to give.
Warnings: literally none, Oscar being a cutey
“Have you seen Y/n?” Oscar asked Lando as he sat around in the garage waiting for the car to be fixed for testing.
Lando shook his head, “Uh, no? Shouldn’t you know where she is? You’re her boyfriend.”
Oscar rolled his eyes, “You’re tellin’ me.”
Lando giggled and squinted up at Oscar, “I think I saw her with Logan. She’s probably in Williams. You know how close they are.”
Oscar huffed and began shuffling off toward the large blue building down the paddock, whispering, “Oh, trust me, I know.”
—
He could hear his girlfriend before he saw her. Her bright laugh reverberated off the walls of Williams racing, warming his heart. She came into view when he entered hospitality and he was not surprised to see her laughing with Logan at all. Truth be told, Oscar knew this would happen from the start. Logan and Y/n had been friends for years before the American decided to grace Oscar’s presence with Y/n. They were close, extremely close, and as much as Oscar loved that his girlfriend had a steady, loyal friend in her orbit, he hated the moments where he was filled with jealously like this.
He sidled up next to her when he got close enough, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her temple as Logan stopped talking.
“What’re you doing here?” The American smiled at the sight of the Australian.
“Looking for my girlfriend.” Oscar mumbled, pulling at Y/n’s body lightly to signal he wanted to leave.
She pat his chest softly as she looked up at him, “You’ve found her, I’d say.”
He blushed before reverting his gaze back to Logan, “Mind if I steal her back?”
Logan shook his head and waved his hand around, “Nah, knock yourself out.”
At that, Oscar was practically dragging Y/n out of the building, hands tight on her waist as he steered her away from cameras and fans. Although, she had an inkling there was another reason for his snug hold on her.
“I’m not going anywhere, Osc.” She laughed, pushing him a bit before he pulled her back.
“Oh, sure.” He gave, sarcasm in every syllable of his statement.
Y/n’s eyebrows furrowed, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He exhaled a loud breath before turning the corner, tugging their bodies into McLaren’s corner of the paddock. “You’re always gone right when I have time to see you.”
Her face scrunched, “No, I’m not.”
He nodded right back at her, “Yes, you are.”
When he closed the door to his driver’s room, she rolled her eyes playfully, “Oscar, no, I am not.”
And when she looked back over at him, his eyes deep with sincerity, she realized he was not playing around, “Yes, you are, Y/n.”
She cocked her head as she stood before him, “Wait, you’re serious?”
He sighed as he shrugged, “Well, I just feel like you’re always with Logan.”
She walked closer to her boyfriend, wrapping her arms around his torso and looking up at him with soft eyes, “I’m sorry, Osc, that you feel that way. I don’t mean to make you feel not prioritized.”
His arms rounded her body, “I know, but I just wish I could keep you all to myself. I love that you have close friends. I just wish they weren’t on this paddock.”
She giggled and moved her hands to push the hair out his face, scratching at his scalp lovingly, “I can understand that feeling. I get that way when I see all these fangirls chasing after you. But, I love you. You’re my favorite person. Does that help? What can I do to help?”
He thought for a moment before stooping his head lower and mumbling, “Can I have a kiss?”
She laughed and nodded, “Sure, baby.”
After a few pecks, Oscar pulled back and, in the same volume as before, asked, “Am I really your favorite person? Like, more than Logan?”
Her eyebrow raised as she turned her head to the sides suspiciously, “Between us?”
He giggled and laughed before she continued, “You are my most favorite person. More favorite than Logan.”
He kissed her cheek and pulled her further into him, “Well, if that’s the case…”
“It is the case, Osc. You’ll always be my favorite.” She smiled, kissing his shoulder softly.
He blushed and squeezed her lightly, “You’re my favorite too.”
#mclaren#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 fic#oscar piasstri#oscar pia#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri fluff#oscar piastri fanfiction#oscar piastri imagines#oscar piastri fanfic#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri
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How they react to you throwing up:
(Wrote this cause I also thrown up 🥲)
LUCIFER
Panicking.
Straight up panicking as he holds your hair back or just pats your back.
If you are crying after throwing up and are weak. He literally rushes to make you soup and maybe even a customize duck blanket he made for you for Christmas.
If you tried to get out of bed, he’s pushing you back in bed gently with a stern look.
He’s not letting you lift a finger at all
He stays while you sleep having a trash can by you just in case you thrown up.
CHARLIE
She’s freaking worried and kinda scared you have something serious until you tell her it might just be a sickness or bug.6
She pulls your hair back patting your back.
If you are too tired to get up she lifts you up with ease as you sniffle after throwing up. She lays you down getting razzle and dazzle to keep you company as she fixes you noodle soup to be better. She even gets you a water bottle.
She doesn’t like seeing you sick so she hope you get better.
She stays to make sure you need anything else before she leaves. She would check your temperature every 30 minutes just to make sure.
VAGGIE
She’s concerned but not worried sick as this is normal. She knows what to do for you.
Stays beside you as you throw up as she goes your hair back. She has a water bottle ready in hand just incase you need it.
She thinks it’s a bug since you haven’t been feeling yourself which worried her.
She has Charlie give you crackers and soup so you can eat something if you feel better at least.
She knows what to do as she have been sick herself at times. Of course she is staying by your side while you sleep or eat your soup weakly. She can’t just leave your side without knowing you aren’t getting better.
ANGEL DUST
“Are you pregnant?”
That’s what the fucker would asked to lighten the mood, but you glared at him with a sick expression not liking the joke.
He thinks maybe it’s because you drank too much, but really he doubts it since you drank hard before and never thrown up like this.
He then stopped joking as he helps clean you up while making you a bath to relax in as your body was obviously weak with shaking legs like a scared doe.
He has Charlie to help him learn how to make a soup to settle your stomach.
HUSK
“Fuck is wrong with you?”
This grumpy kitty is calm as he drinks while watching you throw up. He grumbles leaving the bathroom as you finish throwing up.
Shit you thought he left you like a bitch but nah he came back with a water bottle grumbling at how could you even get yourself this sick.
He might as well throw a towel for you to clean up your face as he’s not getting too close at first.
He lets you only this time cuddle him for comfort as he purrs with a blank face. He stares at your red face from your fever as he scoffs holding you close grabbing the thermometer for you.
ALASTOR
“Ah darling. This won’t do at all. Not at all.”
He smiles taking you to bed as he grabs the thermometer as his shadow try to fix you up and get you comfortable in bed.
You accidentally thrown up on him and you were so embarrassed by that as you covered your face expecting him to be mad as he only chuckled
“DONT worry darling! It’s only a stain.” He says taking off his jacket.
He understands you can’t control it so he helps you get better. He can’t leave a ‘dear’ friend in needing of help.
SIR PENTIOUS
“Holy fucking shit! Are you okay [Name]??”
Pentious is worried and is extremely scared at what is happening to you.
Charlie has to calm him down saying it’s probably a stomach bug. So he calms down and listens to Charlie for how to take care of you.
He gets his egg boiz to check up on you as they surround you with a worried expression
“Boss are they dying?…please don’t die boss’s friend!” Frank yells hugging your leg as you groan by the toilet.
The sweet egg boi really wanted you to feel better as Pentious grabs the soup for you and water with a side of crackers.
He definitely gets the alphabet soup as he smiles at you happily
#hazbin husk#hazbin angel dust#hazbin charlie#hazbin alastor#hazbin x you#hazbin hotel lucifer x reader#hazbin hotel headcanons#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel x you#hazbin hotel imagine#hazbin lucifer#x gn reader#gender neutral reader#hazbin vaggie#sir pentious#hazbin sir pentious#sick rn#sick reader
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heyy can you do a tim bradford x fem reader where she is like his girlfriend or even fiancé and she gets arrested because she got in a physical fight with some other woman and when tim saw her handcuffed and brought into the station he told the officer who brought her in something like “i will handle it from here” or something like that. hope that makes sense
Double the ring
Tim Bradford x fem!reader
Warnings/Tags: language, fluff, mentions of violence (only if you squint real hard)
Word count: 776
Authors Note: Hey love, thanks for the request! I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope you'll like it!
Enjoy!
"You're fucking kidding me..." Tim mumbled as he saw you - handcuffed, a bruise on your cheek.
An officer brought you in, walking you to the cells. Tim followed, jogging to catch up with you.
You heard him, before you saw him. "Y/N!" he called after you, worry lacing his voice though he tried to hide it, as the officer told you to sit down on a bench.
You did as you were told, looking up at your fiancé, who stopped right in front of you, as the other officer cuffed one hand to the bench.
Shaking his head slightly Tim looked at the other officer. "I'll handle it from here." he told her, to which she nodded, before she left.
When she was out of sight he crouched down, carefully inspecting the bruise on your face. "What the hell happened?" he wanted to know, brows furrowed.
You weren't one to do something criminal or even illegal - hell you apologized when someone knocked you over - so he couldn't place what caused you to end up being arrested.
"When I was at the mall there was a woman who wanted to have the shoes I just bought - high heels. She tried to rip them from my hands, as one of them slipped and hit her straight in the face. She thought I attacked her, so she hit me - thus the bruise. Someone called the cops, she's at the hospital right now - caused a scene that she could have internal bleeding - from a hit in her face!"
Sighing, he tried to stifle a laugh, causing you to roll your eyes, as you slightly pushed him. Trying to keep his balance he narrowed his eyes at you.
"Did you just attack a police officer?" he wanted to know, chin held high. Rolling your eyes again you smiled. "Am I double arrested now?"
He huffed, shaking his head at your antics.
"I need you to take off your shoes, socks and jewelry." he explained. Wiggling your fingers in front of him you grinned. "You mean this one?"
Your engagement ring glittered in the ceiling light, causing him to smile proudly, as his eyes fixed on it.
"Nah, keep it on there." he told you, pointing at your other hand, that was cuffed to the bench. "Look, now you have two rings."
Huffing, you shook your head. "Yeah, double the ring, double the luck."
Chuckling to himself he took your things, before doing the necessary paperwork.
"How long am I going to be in here?" you wanted to know, sighing. Your day couldn't have gotten any worse.
He snorted, cocking a brow at your words.
"My fiancé isn't going into a cell." he declared, shaking his head as he scribbled something down. "They have the report, your statement and evidence. There is nothing that should have even led to you being arrested. You're going home."
You looked at him in utter confusion, hoping he didn't do anything stupid like messing with the papers.
Then he gave you your belongings back, nodding to himself, as you slipped back into your socks and shoes. "I'm going to have a chat with that officer." he told you, biting his cheek. "No one falsely arrests my fiancé and gets away with it."
Eyes widening you looked at him in shock.
"Tim, no!" you stopped him, before he could have get that officer fired. "It's okay - she just did her job."
Staring at you he tilted his head. "Then she did it poorly." he argumented, looking at you like you were out of your mind. "She shouldn't have arrested you, no matter if you're my fiancé or not. I'm gonna talk to her."
Rolling your eyes you tugged at the handcuff still on your wrist. Mumbling something to himself he freed you, helping you stand up.
"Listen, baby, I know that you're angry at her, but please try and be gentle - don't get her fired immediately." you tried to reason, looking up at him, though he didn't meet your eyes.
"Timothy Brad-" He cut you off, eyes widening as he finally looked at you. "Okay, okay!"
Chuckling, you shook your head. He hated it when you called him by his full name.
"I'll try." he assured you, before putting his hand on your lower back, directing you back to the lobby. "And next time someone wants to arrest you, call me."
Cocking a brow you looked up at him, when you halted in the lobby. "There'll be no next time." Huffing he shook his head, a smile on his lips, before he kissed you.
"Never say never, baby."
#tim bradford x you#tim bradford imagine#tim bradford x reader#tim bradford#the rookie x u#the rookie imagine#the rookie x reader#the rookie
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𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫? | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
summary steve finds out that falling in love can be really, really easy. you find out what it’s like when somebody wants to take care of you [10.5k]
warnings fem!reader, fluff, mutual pining, getting together, dustins next-door neighbour!reader, sick fic, hurt/comfort, reader is implied to weigh more than nancy, you’re upset one time and steve goes overboard, small s4 spoilers no major plot details, post s3 pre s4, feat. the lunch club, karaoke, rollerblading, sunbathing
𓆩❤︎𓆪
A vast green jungle, so damp the forest floor bathes your ankles in rainwater runoff. The air is thick with humidity and smells green. Earthy, the sweet scent of petrichor tickles your nose, and-
A shadow distends over the yellow pages of your paperback, dark, eating up the image of the amazon and replacing it with reality – a normal summer's day in Hawkins.
Steve Harrington stands in front of you, his body blocking the sun and its warm glow. The light throws a halo around his head and turns the ends of his brown hair golden.
"Watcha reading?" he asks in lieu of ‘hello’.
"Ever read Journey to the Center of the Earth?" you ask him, leaning towards him invitingly.
You love to mess with him like this, watch his cheeks slowly pink as you bend towards your knees with a demure smile playing on your lips.
"Yeah, I did. In middle school," he says, trying his best to play it cool, hands pushing deep into the pockets of his pants.
"Well, it's nothing like that."
The grin he gets when he realises you're messing with him is adorable. He chuckles warmly and pulls a hand through his hair, looking down at the ground and then up at you again with a bashful pinch to his thick eyebrows.
"You're looking for Dustin?" you ask. You haven't seen your young neighbour since this morning. "He ran off earlier with his huge radio thing."
Steve rolls his eyes. "Typical. I paid him fifteen dollars," he says, his frustration clear, "fifteen dollars, Y/N, to fix my Walkman like three weeks ago. Every time I come by he's out. Little shit probably hasn't even looked at it."
You like Steve. He's a great looking guy who's more than nice when he sees you even though you're always pushing his buttons, and his poorly hidden fondness for Dustin is something you find heart-squeezingly attractive. You don't think twice about your next move.
You stand up from your lounger and have to shield your eyes from the sun, tucking your book under your naked arm. "If you want… I have a cassette player I'm not using. I got a Walkman for my birthday." You don't give him an opportunity to say no as you start for the front door.��
"Are you sure?" Steve asks. You hold the door open for him, standing at the threshold with a grin.
"Positive. It's collecting dust, at this point."
"I mean, sure, if that's cool. Just until Dustin gets his act together," he says, pushing past you. His hand brushes your hip.
"That's cool," you confirm, walking behind him through your open kitchen and living room. "It's on the left."
Steve pushes into your bedroom. The window's open, breezing around the smell of fresh linens and the hydrangeas in the planter on your sill, shifting the gauzy white curtains.
The suncatcher hanging from the window sprays rainbow kisses over your walls and posters, your laundry basket full of summer dresses and discarded night shirts. The carpet is freshly vacuumed and plush underfoot as you beeline for your desk. Steve hovers by the door before leaning his weight against your bookshelf, eyes taking it in curiously.
"Cyndi Lauper," Steve says, eyes on a big poster of said singer with her iconic orange hair and hat. You raise your eyebrows at him, pleased, and he shrugs. "She's famous."
"You like her?"
"Nah," he says. "But I'll listen to anything. Except Depeche Mode; sharing a player with Robin all summer has sailed that boat."
"Yeah?" you ask, kneeling down in front of your desk to dig through the cabinet underneath. You frown, up to your elbow in bric a brac and forgotten trinkets. "It's in here somewhere."
"Yeah. I mean, maybe not anything. I don't think I have the palate for some of those rock and roll bands. Dustin made me listen to Black Scabbard in the car last week and…"
"Black Sabbath," you correct lightly, pulling out of your cupboard with a relieved huff.
"Right," he says.
You look over your shoulder to find him perusing your bookshelf, his hand running lightly over the shiny glass paper weight you use as a book end. He teases the spine of a hardback book curiously but must feel your gaze, turning to you with a sheepish smile.
"Do you like to read?" you ask.
Steve wrings his hands held at his hip. "Sure, I don't mind it. Bigger fan of movies."
"Right, Family Video must get pretty distracting," you say, walking towards him on light footing to offer the dinged-up cassette player. "She's well loved but she works, I swear."
He takes it from you, fingers brushing the backs of yours. "Thank you."
You shift from one foot to the other — because oh my god there's a boy in my room — before smiling with teeth. You stop. "You're welcome. Want a drink?"
"Uh…"
"I've got pink lemonade."
"Oh, then definitely."
You lead him into the kitchen and install him at the kitchen table with two empty glasses. The carafe of lemonade is beautifully cold from the refrigerator with slices of lemon and strawberry bouncing around the top as you pour it. The condensation wets your fingers.
Steve looks handsome and maybe slightly silly behind your homely oak table, all clean cut and well dressed. You feel bare beside him in your tank top and flowy midi skirt, too much skin.
"Are you hungry? I make a mean BLT," you say, bringing your feet up onto the chair, knees digging into the table.
"I'm good, thanks," he says.
"Are you having a good time of it at FV? They denied my application, but that's 'cos Keith has a vendetta against me for wiping out his score on the Palace's Tempest."
"You're a Tempest girl?"
"Everybody plays Tempest," you say.
Steve gives you a look. "Nerds play Tempest."
"Fine, every nerd plays Tempest," you allow, rolling your eyes. "Lemme guess, you're a Centipede guy. No, worse! You play Pac-Man. I can tell."
His silence is enough to make you giggle in triumph, elated to have sussed him out so quickly.
"How did you know that?" he asks finally.
"You called Black Sabbath 'Black Scabbard'. You're not a nerd."
"I could be."
"But you're not."
You share a steady look over the table. His eyes are bright with mirth, a sleek brown like fresh brewed coffee. You love the shape of them, deepest with the round under eye blanketed in straight black lashes. A red polo stretches across his chest. You find your eyes drawn down the length of his arm to his hand where he's drawing circles around the rim of his glass. He takes it into his hand and you watch his wrist bend, his arm flex as he brings the cup to his lips and a drop of condensation drips onto the table mat.
"I don't look the type?" he asks after a rough swallow. He sounds almost incensed.
"No, of course you don't. King Steve," you croon.
He crosses his arms across his chest and leans back, looking you up and down showfully. "Neither do you."
He's all charming smiles as he raises his chin and shakes his head, lips stretched up in an open-mouthed smile.
"Tempest," he mutters in bemusement.
You burst into laughter, quick to defend yourself when there's a pounding knock at the door. You're still laughing as you stand, calling to Steve as you walk to the door, "Tempest isn't even that nerdy! It's the Dragon's Lair dorks you need to watch out for. Oh, hi baby. What's wrong?"
"You haven't seen Steve, have you? His cars outside," Dustin announces, standing under the porch with his wild curls stuffed under a hat, his pulley cart ditched halfway between your yard and his.
"He's in the kitchen. You want some lemonade? You look frazzled," you offer, brushing your hand over his sunburned shoulder lightly as he scoots right past you.
"Thanks, Y/N." Dustin strides into the kitchen with purpose, glaring at Steve pretty heavily as he takes your seat at the table. "Why are you here?"
"Fucking charming. I came to see you, Henderson, but you're never home. Too busy finding secluded knolls to radio your girlfriend and play karaoke."
"Dick," Dustin says, though he defrosts as you fill a glass for him.
"What do you want?" Steve asks him.
"Why do you assume I want something?"
"Don’t be coy, you're not Madonna. It's tacky."
"Dick," Dustin says again, glaring.
"Dustin, do you want something to eat? You shouldn't go out in the sun all day by yourself, you know? What if you get heat stroke?" you ask.
Steve gives you a strange look like he's puzzled with you. You smile back at him, hand coming down on the back of Dustin's chair easily.
"Steve, I need a ride to Mike's," Dustin says, completely ignoring you.
Steve kicks him under the table. "Manners."
"Can I please have a ride-"
"To her, dipshit. Jeez, what's wrong with you? She asked if you're hungry."
Dustin beams at you innocently, soft cheeks rounding. "No thank you Y/N you're a godsend and I appreciate you very much," he says all in a rush, turning back to Steve, the act entirely dropped. "Now can we go?"
"Christ, fine. I'm gonna get you one of those rewards cards for being a shithead. This incident would be a double stamp, by the way."
"Uh-huh," Dustin says.
The younger teen chugs his glass of lemonade and spins off, calling a thank you over his shoulder. Steve gets up to follow him, your old cassette player held carefully in his hands.
"I'm sorry about him."
"Don't be. I've known him his entire life. He's in a phase," you inform him with a small grin, shrugging as if to say, what you gonna do?
"Long phase. Thank you. For the player and the lemonade."
"You're welcome," you say warmly, walking him to the door.
Dustin's already in the passenger seat, having taken his pulley cart back inside. He makes a hurry up motion from behind his window and Steve mutters expletives to himself, giving you one last smile before he trudges off.
The two boys wave at you through the windshield. You wave back.
When Steve's car has winked from view you take your lemonade and paperback outside again to lie under what's left of the sun. You try your best to fall back into the jungle and conjure its sights and sounds, only you keep finding your thoughts wrapped up around a certain boy's laugh and the face he makes as he does, that startled grin, a fist half raised to his mouth.
-
"Y/N!" A familiar teen voice accompanied by battering knocking at your front door.
You pull it open, still in your pajamas, hair a mess. His knocking had woken you up. You'd had about ten seconds to check you hadn't drooled too violently in your sleep before he was calling your name, and so you hadn't bothered getting dressed.
You wish you had. Dustin stood at the door with Steve Harrington behind him, a happy smile on both their faces.
You try not to flinch as you throw an arm across your chest subconsciously. "Hi?" you ask. "Is everything okay?"
Dustin's dressed for the beautiful weather in shorts and a shirt with sleeves so short it may as well be a tank top, a hat perched familiarly over his cute curls. Steve is dressed in a tormenting pair of jeans paired with a denim jacket. Double denim. He looks hot, physically and figuratively.
"Do you wanna come skating?" Dustin asks urgently.
You blink at him, pulling the edges of your strappy vest down to cover your navel, plaid bottoms low on your hips – you're a mess.
"Skating? I don't have one."
"A skateboard?" Dustin asks, shrugging. "Bring your rollerblades."
You err at the door, leaning your weight against it as you think. "When?"
"Now!" he says.
"I don't want to hold you up," you say, aimed more towards Steve than Dustin.
Steve smiles, hooking cheeks pink with the heat, and is about to talk when Dustin says, "He made me come ask you, he's fine to wait."
You bite back a smirk at Steve's deer-in-the-headlights expression and nod happily. "Alright. Twenty minutes and I'll be ready. If that's okay?"
"Totally," Steve says.
You close the door most of the way and catch a look over his shoulder, finding his pretty friend Robin in one seat and a gaggle of Dustin's friends in the back.
You hear a sharp thwarping sound as you spin away followed by a "What the fuck, dude?" from Dustin and hope that he hasn't tripped over one of your flower pots. You get ready and spend at least ten minutes worrying after your appearance in the mirror before grabbing the skates and jetting into the kitchen. You gather as many impromptu snacks you can find and shove them into a grocery bag, struggling to lock the door behind you in want of a free hand.
Steve jumps out of the driver's side to open the side door for you. You smile gratefully and dump the snacks and your skates in the footwell before climbing in, an empty seat between you and Dustin’s redheaded friend.
You're saved from the awkwardness of seeing people you've met but don't quite know by their ongoing debate, something about which Bruce Springsteen song is best.
“It’s obviously Dancing in the Dark. I don’t really know why we’re still talking about this,” Robin says from the passenger seat.
“You’re just saying that because it’s his most popular,” the girl next to you says.
“Things are popular for a reason.” Robin shrugs.
“Yeah, Max. Plus, popular or not, it’s his best.”
Max scrunches up her entire face. “Better than I’m on Fire?”
There’s a long pause where each child deliberates. Dustin and Mike dissolve into fierce looks.
“Nobodies talking about Born in the USA,” Steve says into the quiet, eyes on the road but head tilted back.
“Shut up, Steve,” Mike says, looking as exhausted as he usually does when you’ve seen him coming in and out of Dustin’s. Though it's been a while, he hasn't changed. Perpetually done with people's shit.
“Disrespectful,” Steve murmurs. His eyes flash to the rear view, catching you red-handed as you stare at him. “What do you think?”
“About what?”
“About Springsteen."
You consider him, his smile, his gaggle of cruel children. “I like Born in the USA,” you say nonchalantly.
“That’s two points,” Steve says triumphantly.
The skatepark is pretty busy because of the good weather. You and Steve end up unpacking your snacks onto a blanket Robin lays out whilst the boys go look for their friend Lucas, who's supposedly already here.
Max doesn't seem pleased with this revelation, sitting down heavily by Steve's picnic basket. Steve offers her a PB&J from the basket and a cold caprisun and she perks up, but not a lot. You want to spend time with Steve, you're not disillusioned into thinking you're anything but a flower under his attention, blooming and wanting, but Max's sad eyes get the better of you.
Too late for introductions, you dive straight in. “What’s in the Walkman?” you ask, nodding at the player sticking out of her jacket pocket, the foam padded headphones around her neck.
“Wild Things Run Fast, Joni Mitchell.” It sounds like a question.
You’ve struck gold immediately. “I love Joni Mitchell! Have you heard her new stuff?”
Max seems alarmed and happy at once, red messy braids swaying as she lifts her chin. “I mean, only what they’ve played on the radio.”
“Her album came out this October, Dog Eat Dog? I have the cassette if you wanna borrow it. It’s amazing.”
“Really?” she asks. She’s peeling the crusts off of her sandwich, one side at a time, dropping them into the small pile of discarded Saran Wrap.
“For sure. You’ve heard Shiny Toys?” Max nods. “It���s all as good as that one. Seriously.”
“Awesome,” she says, taking a huge bite of her sandwhich.
You realise you might’ve come on a little strong and try to backtrack into cool territory again, hand brushing Steve’s ankles as you lean away from the poor girl, smiling sheepishly.
“My mom loves Joni Mitchell,” Robin says.
“Robin," Steve chides lightly.
“What?”
You and Steve share a look that’s so familiar it gives you pins and needles in your hands, something small between the two of you clicking into place. Or at least that’s how you feel.
Max has almost finished her sandwich by the time Mike returns. “Are you ready?” he asks her.
She clambers onto her feet and grabs her skateboard from behind Steve. The two walk away, a distance from Dustin and Lucas, who both seem to have acquired a pair of skates each. Dustin in knee pads and a helmet, Lucas without.
“Why would you say Max listens to mom music?” Steve asks incredulously once they’re out of hearing distance.
Robin shakes her head, similarly incensed. “I didn’t say that.”
“There were so many other things you could’ve said, Robs.” He sounds less mad and more pitying.
"I didn't say that! I said my mom listens to her. She does!"
"Don't take offense. Robin got dropped as a baby," Steve says to you offhandedly.
You know the best course of action here and you take it – in what world would you make an enemy of a boy you might like's best friend who is a girl? Not this one. Plus, Robin seems super nice.
"I'm not offended. My mom loves Joni too," you say cheerily, smiling at Robin, unabashed.
You're slightly disappointed when she looks away towards her lap, until she says, "Projections a bad look on you, Harrington. He has, like, a flat head," she tells you.
Steve starts yammering loudly. "Shut up! My head's perfect, you're being ridiculous. Perfectly round and ordinary, thank you."
"Yeah, I'd definitely say your head's perfectly round," you agree through giggles, reaching for your skates.
You have a funny feeling that a silent conversation is happening as you slide off your shoes and into the skates, lacing up tight, but when you look up Robin's sifting through the accumulated snack pile and Steve's looking the opposite way, towards the kids.
You clear your throat. "Are you guys gonna skate too?"
"Steve is."
"I didn't bring-"
"He's borrowing mine. It's too hot, I can't skate. And I don't have the coordination, anyway."
Steve looks at Robin, at you, Robin again. "I'm not good," he says. You take it for yes.
Steve gets on his skates and straps out of his denim jacket, exposing the distracting lengths of his arms. He's better than he gives himself credit for, steady on his feet. He knows how to stop and start, and you smile to yourself when the two of you skate off towards Dustin and Lucas, following their journey around the skate park, careful to stay clear of the bowls and rails.
"You're good! You said you weren't good!" you say to him.
"I'm not good."
"You're doing great!"
He smiles gratefully, the expression at home over his warm features. He's not really a very smiley guy, you've realised, his lips often pulled up into a grimace or a cruel approximation of a smile, sarcastic. It suits him. You go to say as much, eyes eating up every little detail of him.
"Hey Steve? You should-" and your foot pops over a rock.
You shriek and throw your arm out towards him. Steve catches you with impressive strength and speed as your leg buckles. You've quickly righted yourself and he brings you to a slow but not quite stop. Stopping on skates is easier said than done, especially old skates with the front guards already worn down.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
You've taken his hand without thinking, the two of you widening apart and then coming together like the eclipse of a blinking eye.
You pull your hand away apologetically, the warmth of his palm lingering.
"I'm sorry!" you say.
"Don’t be. Last thing I wanna do is have you crack your head open on my watch. I’m glad you didn’t wipe out."
"Thanks to you."
You slow and stop. Steve does the same, the two of you clumsy for different reasons. He watches as you calm your racing heart.
"Shit, I really thought I was gonna fall. You're a lifesaver." You stare straight into his eyes, their sunlight honey brown, smiling with complete genuineness. He's more than pretty. "Thank you."
Steve swallows and his smile is warmer, somehow, impossibly warmer. Maybe it's the beautiful weather, maybe it's the beautiful boy. You suddenly feel very, very hot.
"I think I might need to sit down."
"Oh, shit," he says, reaching for your arm. You're about to correct his touching – you're not dizzy, just a little nauseous. Only, his hand. His fingers clasped around your elbow, his face fiercely protective.
You let him guide you back to the picnic blanket. One hand around your elbow, the other behind your sun-warmed back, and somehow his hand is the hottest spot.
"Are you okay?" Robin asks, shielding her eyes from the sun. The book in her lap slips shut as she straightens.
"She's okay," Steve says. “Too hot. Budge up."
Robin moves over on the blanket and throws the basket open. Steve reaches in for a capri sun and passes it to you. It's lukewarm, though the day is so hot it's a relief to drink it.
"Steve's really good," you tell her after a noisy suck, the orange plastic straw stabbing your lip. You frown down at it.
"I saw you guys whizzing around. Public menaces, both of you," Robin says, though she smiles as she does. You know she's joking. You don't want to think it in case it's not true, but you feel like maybe she wants to be friends.
"We prefer speed demons," Steve says easily, still kneeling at your side.
"They should lock you up."
You snort and almost squirt juice from your nose, spluttering and coughing as you bend at the waist. Steve pats your back less than gently and then more so as you move your hand towards him.
"I'm okay," you cough, embarrassed at how you must look hacking your lungs out.
Steve's hand, again on your back, rubs a stern line. "Chill out, Y/N. You can't die before dinner."
"We're getting McDonald's," Robin supplies.
"Don't tell the kids," he says, smirking.
He's still rubbing your back. You suspect you might agree to anything while he's this close.
"You sound like such a dad when you say shit like that."
Steve scowls at Robin's words and pulls his hands away, crossing them over his chest. "Don't say that. Babysitter is more than enough, don't you think? Y/N?"
"An older brother?" you suggest to Robin's extreme delight.
She laughs. Steve scrubs at his face with both hands until his eyes are red.
-
Robin's sick and Steve's going crazy by himself, manning the desk at FV with almost no energy and even less enthusiasm. A week since he'd held your hand and he can't seem to stop thinking about it.
He catches himself staring at his own empty palm and clenches his fist, bringing his eyes back to the door in case someone walks in and he has to pull off the headphones of your borrowed cassette player.
Steve had discovered a forgotten cassette inside, listening to it out of curiosity the night you'd given him the player and then every night since then. He felt guilty about keeping it without saying anything but he was only borrowing it, he reasoned. He'd give it back when Dustin fixed his skipping Walkman.
The tape was Van Halen II. And Steve's not stupid, he knows who Van Halen are, but he's never sat and listened through any of their full albums. Now he can't stop, constantly rewinding back to the same song, over and over.
He does so now, fingers clumsy and too big over small buttons until the first line kicks in, powerful and high energy like a burst of fresh air.
Have you seen her?
So fine and pretty.
He grins as it plays, thinking of you instantly. Your smile and your legs, the wind whipping at your skirt and exposing stretches of skin he can't stop remembering. You on your rollerblades, the second time after an emergency PB&J, skating in front of him without looking behind you.
"Don't let me crash into someone, okay?" you'd asked, swaying from one side to the other as you shifted your weight.
"It'll be too late to stop you if I see someone! Turn around!" he'd demanded, though his fondness had peeked through.
You'd thrown your hands out. "You'll have to steer me!"
And so he'd grabbed your hands and you'd laughed like a fool as you skated together, squealing through close calls and bumpy ground.
He thinks of your hands in his, their weight and size, the magnetic pulse he'd felt between them, how happy you'd seemed to be with him.
He was harbouring a crush on you. Too old to deny what it feels like to want a pretty girl, Steve wonders if this is entirely a good idea – letting himself like you when the possibility of rejection feels high. You are, as Dustin had promised him, out of Steve's league. "Don't try your luck, dude."
Steve thought for a second that his thinking about you had summoned your image, your easy walk and the elegant way about your hands and how you held them, in a blue dress with matching strappy mary-jane's, white socks with the ruffle tops. He blinks. No way he could think up anything as pretty.
You push open the door and grin from across the room, a large tupperware of some type in your hands. His eyes move up from your fingers where they clutch plastic, your wrist, your arms. The puff sleeves of your dress are short and cuffed, similar to the matching ruched neckline that shows enough to make him swallow. A necklace lays in the valley of your chest, a silver chain with a blue flower at the end, small but thick. Five round petals, a cutout missing that shows a circle of your chest beneath.
"Steve," you say, like you'd been in mid conversation. "Please tell me you have a sweet tooth."
He pulls the headphones from his head and leaves them around his neck, fixing his hair as casually as he can when he says, "Sure, I like candy."
You set your container down on the counter and crack it open, the rich, buttery smells of its contents quickly filling the room.
"I made penuche for Dustin's mom's birthday, but I made so-" you drag the word out, lips a gloss-sticky 'o', "much of it. I can't eat it all. And she said I wasn't allowed to give it to Dustin 'cos he keeps using the f-word."
His laugh is startled but genuine. "Not the f-word."
The fudge is a light brown, almost pink in the neon tinted lighting. It smells divine, and he's saved from an internal debate about what's cool when you push the tub towards him. "Do you like fudge?" you ask him.
He takes one and you take one, and he tries not to look at you as you eat, or when you scratch gloss and a crumb from the corner of your mouth.
"You’re a modern Martha Stewart," Steve says happily.
"Only on special occasions. Where's Robin?" you ask, elbows braced on the counter and leaning in.
"Sick. Apparently."
"Apparently," you repeat, grinning. "What, she didn't look sick?"
"She talked to me on the phone. She sounded sick," he concedes. "Good things it's Thursday."
You look around the completely empty store. "This is what it usually looks like on a Thursday?"
"It's Hawkins. Half the people here get their VHS from the library, the others drive out to Blockbuster. We get about as much foot traffic as an ice cream stand in September."
"It's 'cos you take too long to get the new ones,'' you say. "No offense."
"The tone of someone personally victimised by a Family Video wait list."
"You got me. I've been trying to get the Breakfast Club for two months!" you complain, scratching your chest lazily.
Steve crosses his arms over his chest until his hands are hidden, rolling his eyes. "Oh, so this is bribery penuche."
You blink at him and then your lips part in horror, pretty eyes widening. "No!"
"It totally is. You're trying to butter me up," he says, suave tone disrupted by the need to giggle at his own pun. "Y/N, how could you? Here I thought we were starting to be friends and you're using me for my video store?"
His mock horror puts you eat ease when you realise he's joking. "I really wanna see that movie," you say dejectedly. You reach for another piece of fudge and bite it in half, your chewing morose. "It feels like everybody saw it at the movies but me."
"Of course they did. Why didn't you?"
You glare at him. "I was busy!"
"For the month it was in theatres?"
"Yes!" you defend yourself from his teasing. "I have things to do!"
"Like what?"
"Like school!"
"Everybody has school."
"You're picking on me after I brought you candy. This is so cruel." You don't sound like you've suffered any cruelty. Steve might say you're really enjoying yourself.
"Sorry, sweetheart."
You glare at his insincere pet name. "Whatever. Oh, hey, how's she treating you?" you ask, eyes on the cassette player. "Steve, you have my Van Halen tape! Thank god, I thought I lost it."
"Right. Sorry, I meant to give it back," he lies.
You shrug your shoulders. "Keep it however long you want to. It's good, right? Which one's your favourite?"
He pulls the headphones out and rewinds back before setting the player in front of you. You raise your eyebrows at him but click play, and the audio starts abruptly, loud and mid quality.
Yes, it's love in the third degree.
You grin, head bobbing, eyes flitting to his with approval written all over your face. You don't seem to hesitate before you sing along under your breath, high pitched but quiet.
"Ooh, baby baby. Won't-cha turn your head my way?"
He feels a little enchanted by you, that same magnetism he'd felt between his hands, can't believe how pretty you are and how sweetly you move. You laugh at yourself as you sing the next line, an intense, almost theatrical look upon your face. Like you're swooning.
"Ooh, baby baby. Ah come on! Take a chance, you're old enough to-" You flare your eyes at him and nod, mouth open encouragingly.
He won't join in, no matter how electric he finds you. You roll your eyes and your shoulders roll in a half-dance as you hum along to the chorus.
Dance the night away.
"You're no fun, Steve," you complain, giggling.
"You're enough for the two of us."
You peer over the counter, still moving with the music as you ask, "What were you doing? Before I came in?"
"Looking through the computer at what's late being returned. Riveting, extremely hard work."
"Do you get, like, secret intel on what new movies are coming in?"
"Sure we do. Wanna see?" he asks.
You creep around the counter and stand by his side. He scrolls through the system and translates acronyms for you. "This is the coming in," he says, drawing a line down a list of movie names. "These are what's being moved back to the headquarters."
"Headquarters," you repeat, leaning in to see the screen more clearly. You browse the new titles idly, slipping closer and closer to the computer.
"You'll burn your retinas."
"Invaders from Mars, Youngblood, Black Moon Rising," you list thoughtfully. You turn on your heel. "I don't know any of those. You got a chic-flicks section?"
You're really close. Steve looks at you, this close, this pretty, his hands itching to touch you. He leans in and your arms fall to your sides, the space between you growing ever smaller.
"We do," he says slowly, eye to eye, almost daring you to look at his mouth instead. He wants you to. He wants to look at yours.
You're steadfast, not impassive but certainly unreadable as you say, "Show me?"
Steve reaches for the mouse behind you like he was always intending to, hiding any smugness he feels when you exhale noticeably. You turn back around, his arm brushing over yours as he sorts through the tag system to show you "ROM-COM INCO".
"These are all the ones we have coming in. You know any of those?"
"Hannah and Her Sisters. I saw that one."
"Finally had some free time?" he asks wryly.
"Shut up, Steve."
"You know… I can keep the Breakfast Club for you. Next time it comes in."
The smile you give him is blinding. "Thanks, Steve."
"Yeah, no problem." He hopes the sudden increase in temperature is mutual.
-
Your backyard is a field of flowers. Maybe dramatic, but Steve's never seen so many, a heavy green spotted in chartreuse, vermillion, bright oranges and pink-white. You lay on a towel in the grass surrounded by them, the sun lighting you up, your skin glowing and perfect.
You're in black, spandex type shorts and a bikini top. Steve feels like a perv for looking, so he clears his throat. You don't budge.
He creeps closer. You're in headphones listening to your Walkman. He can hear the music from where he stands at your backdoor, so it must be loud. He stands over you and hopes his shadow will wake you up. When it still doesn't he gets concerned, kneeling down carefully with his knees digging into your towel.
"Y/N. Hey," he says.
Still nothing.
He pulls your headphones off gently, looking over your face in worry. You must be sleeping.
"Y/N, you shouldn't sleep out here. You'll get sun stroke," he says. He strokes your arm though he shouldn't. He can't help himself, his fingers pressing into the crook of your elbow.
You blink awake and then slam your eyes closed. Steve adjusts himself to block the sun from your face and you manage to pry your eyes open, confused.
"Hello."
"Hey," he says. He can't help the fondness that plays over his smile.
"Shit." Your eyes go wide and you cover your chest with your arm. "I'm naked."
"You're not naked," he says.
"I'm naked. Stop looking at me."
Steve turns away obligingly.
"Stop laughing at me, Harrington."
"Is there anything I'm allowed to do?" he asks, though he does stop laughing.
"I'm so embarrassed. I was sunbathing and I must've fallen asleep."
Steve lets his eyes stray to your naked thigh. He stares at your skin, follows a stretch mark upwards and then swiftly peels his gaze away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be a total perv. I can go wait in my car."
"You're not a perv. I'm being a priss. Sorry. I know I'm not, like, a model and I wasn't expecting to have this much skin on show. I don't look like Nancy Wheeler."
You sound more nervous than Steve has ever heard you. Worse, you sound dejected, though you've tried for nonchalance. Steve stares at you until you raise your chin, your fingers pinching meanly at your thighs.
"You're messing with me," he says.
"What?" you ask, incredulous. "I'm not messing with you."
"You gotta know you're beautiful. That's, like, a stone cold fact. A hard truth. You're beautiful. Who cares if you don't look like Nance?"
You sigh, though it's not very believable when you're smiling so much. "She's really pretty."
"So are you."
"You know what I mean, Steve. She's… small."
"She's a small woman," he agrees. "That doesn't make her prettier than you."
"You're sure?" you ask quietly.
Steve means it a hundred percent when he says, "I'm sure."
The two of you sit there for a few seconds. He can hear your breathing and he's wondering if you can hear his.
"What are you doing here?" you ask.
Your hand is still held across your stomach but you're thankfully looking more relaxed. Steve meant what he said, you're beautiful, he couldn't care less that you're taller or that you weigh more than his ex. You're fucking pretty, and seeing you all laid out and sun kissed has made him kind of crazy.
"Steve?" you ask.
"Oh. I brought you The Breakfast Club. Just got it back in this morning," he rushes to say, grabbing the VHS tape from where he'd left it on the ground. The Family Video spine is glaringly ugly compared to you and your flowers.
"Woah, thank you!"
"You're welcome. It's under my name though, so don't keep it late. Can't disprespect the FV name. I'm going for employee of the month."
You giggle. "You are? Are you the top contender?"
"Nope."
You laugh some more, the sound delicate and sweet as spun sugar, in Steve's humble opinion.
"Not that my fellow employees try any harder, but Keith just picks himself every month for the free credits."
You rub your fingers across the front of the box. "I won't be late. I mean, I'll watch it today, I've been so excited to see it."
Steve stands up. "Sorry to disturb your idyllic sunbathing."
"Idyllic," you murmur, smiling. "You're good, Steve. Thank you for the movie."
"You're welcome. I'll see you later?" he asks, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, slowly backing away.
"No," you say. He raises his eyebrows and you look sheepish but not shy when you continue, "Do you wanna stay? Watch the movie with me? I have stovetop popcorn and soda and everything."
"What about the great weather? You don't wanna waste it."
You force your hands between your thighs and hunch forward slightly. "I do wanna waste it. I mean, I've had enough for today, don't you think? I'm a half hour from heat stroke."
"You're looking pretty warm," he says. Anything to take you up on your offer without sounding too interested.
-
You're trying not to give Steve the side eye. Trying, but he's very attractive and very close, and he keeps making funny jokes. It's annoying how hot he is.
Steve has slouched back and his jeans have slowly edged down, exposing the flesh of his hip. Not that you've noticed, or anything.
You cram a big handful of popcorn into your mouth and flick your eyes back to the screen. You'd really wanted to see this movie but Steve keeps capturing your attention, again and again, over and over. You can't believe you'd asked him to stay and he had, can't believe he brought the VHS for you in the first place.
That's a dedicated employee right there.
You shuffle closer to him under the guise of sharing your popcorn. Your shoulders touch.
"Thanks," he says. His thigh hits your thigh as he takes a handful.
"Steve," you say softly.
"What?"
"I don't feel well. I think the sun killed me."
He throws his arm around the back of the couch and twists, careful not to upend the popcorn bowl as he looks over you searchingly. You've seen Steve play caretaker before, but being under his watch is different. He's almost a different person as he checks you over.
"You feel sick?" he asks. He holds his hand out between you, his knuckles at your eye level. "Can I?"
You tilt your head back and close your eyes. Steve presses the back of his hand to your forehead and pets down softly, feeling for your temperature.
"You're still really warm. Let's get you cooled down."
Steve springs up and knocks the bowl. You blink, slightly disoriented as he disappears into the kitchen, picking up spilled popcorn off of the couch and eating it with slow chews. Now you think of it, your arms hurt, too.
Steve returns and sits on the edge of the sofa, a bag of peas in his hand. "I raided your freezer. Lean your head back."
"I'm fine," you say, but tilt your head back anyways, gasping when the cold hits you.
"You might actually get heatstroke. Do you know how dangerous heat stroke is? You need to cool down. Where's the A/C?"
"It's on."
Steve feels along your cheek gingerly. "I can't believe you fell asleep outside. What's that about?" He pauses. "Are you sleeping okay?"
"I'm sleeping fine."
"Are you sure?"
His wrist turns and you feel the pad of his fingers rather than the back, the palm of his hand as he cups your face.
You peek through your lashes at him. His eyebrows are pinched and his bottom lip juts out in a concerned pout.
"You can tell me."
The way he says it – well, you imagine you could tell him anything. He sounds warm and worried. This close you can smell his cologne, something heavy with sage, a little bit of lilac hidden under unmistakable bergamot. It's all so comforting and the sun has loosened your tongue.
"Maybe not so much. It's… it's hot. You know? And…"
"What?" he murmurs. Your heart skips as his thumb rubs over your cheek.
You close your eyes like your confession might take form. "I'm kind of lonely, lately," it sounds like a question, "and it's- it keeps me up sometimes. I don't know, it sounds stupid when I say it out loud."
"It doesn't sound stupid."
"No?"
"No, I get it." He pulls away but doesn't move too far, his hand still holding the freezing peas to your forehead, the other brushing against your arm as he drops it in his lap. "These days Dustin doesn't leave me alone. I don't want him to, either. The same with Robs."
You let your head loll to the side. Steve doesn't look shy or scared to tell you, talking almost matter of fact. "But my parents were never home when I was in high school. They still aren't. I felt it more back then."
"Yeah. I don't know. I never see anybody. Besides Dustin," you say. "We have him in common."
"You see me."
"When I'm annoying you at work."
"You don't annoy me." He's stern though he abruptly turns into a conspirator whispering secrets. "Robin's fuse gets shorter with me everyday."
"How come?" you ask, co-conspirator.
"I can't stop watching the door."
You lift your head. Steve takes back his bag of peas and feels along your forehead, now cold enough to ache.
"Here, hold these to your chest. I'd do it for you, but…"
You take the peas and hide a terrible smile, heart racing between your ears. Your nausea has flipped completely into butterflies and they're rabid, knocking at your abdomen insistently.
You're trying to think of a way to make him say nice things again when there's a knock at the door.
"Dustin," you both say.
"Jinx, buy me a soda," Steve says.
You glare at him and he laughs all the way to the door.
"Why are you always here? Where's Y/N?"
"She's got heat stroke."
"I don't!" you call hoarsely.
"You sound like you do," Dustin says. "Can one of you give me a ride?"
"She has heat stroke."
You climb onto the back of the sofa to look down the hallway. Dustin stands at the front door with a huge piece of engineering in his arms that you don't understand, wires and ciricuits and things.
"Remeber when you used to bike everywhere? What happened to that?" Steve asks, sounding majorly pissed. You can't work out why he's so frustrated but it makes you laugh again.
The two boys turn to you with twin looks of confusion.
"I can't bike there, genius. This won't fit in the basket."
You laugh again, twice as loud.
"What's wrong with her?" Dustin asks, shaking his head.
"What don't you understand about heat stroke?
"Potential heat stroke," you interject.
"She fell asleep in the sun. I don't know how long she was out there her brain might be totally jellified, dude."
"You should take her to the hospital."
You clamber onto aching limbs and walk until your behind Steve, reaching for his elbow automatically. "I'm fine, babe. What's your doohickey?"
Dustin smirks and pulls the weight closer to his chest. "Prototype."
"For what?"
"Top secret."
You giggle some more, wobbling with the force of it. Steve sighs and wraps his arm around your back, his hand under your arm to grip you at the ribs.
Dustin gets wide eyes like a looney tunes character. "What's going on here?"
"Nothing," Steve hisses. "Look, let me set Y/N up with the works and I'll drive you where you want to go, you brat."
Dustin drops his suspicion, having got what he wants. "I'll wait in the car. Feel better!"
"That's three stamps on the shithead card, shithead!" Steve calls after him. The two of you watch his retreating figure and then Steve is manhandling you (not too roughly) down the hallway and back onto the sofa.
"I'm not dying, Steve."
Steve puts your popcorn bowl in your lap and the frozen peas back on your chest. He fills your glass either the warming carafe on the coffee table and then bends down to talk to you, entirely too intense.
"Are you good?" he asks.
"Perfect. I don't even feel hot anymore."
He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, okay. Listen, I'm gonna go drop Dustin off, and then I'm gonna call you to make sure you're not dead."
"You don't have to do that, Steve," you say, moving down into the couch, a cushion falling over as you do. He straightens it out, cups your face in his hand so fast you think you've imagined it and then squints at you.
"Don't die of heat stroke."
He starts to walk away and you're startled. Unfairly, you don't want him to go, and you call, "Steve?"
"Yeah?"
"What about The Breakfast Club?"
He grins at you, a lazy, King Steve kind of smile. "I was always gonna leave that here. So you can come 'annoy' me at work when you return it." He pulls a hand through his hair and gives you a once over and then spins on his heel. "Make sure you answer when I call!"
You lose sight of him as he leaves, the couch backing too tall. He shuts the door kindly and you can just about hear the crunch of gravel as his car pulls away.
"He was definitely flirting with me," you say to yourself, pouring a sweet handful of popcorn into your mouth. You're smiling so wide it's hard to chew.
-
Dustin bursts into Family Video with his small entourage, Mike and Lucas, and an urgent look on his face. Steve quickly stops his facade of being busy when he clocks them.
"What? Need to borrow ten dollars?" he asks, rolling his eyes.
"Actually, it's about Y/N," Dustin says.
Steve stretches across the desk on his elbows.
"What about her?" he asks, suspecting a waste of time.
"She was crying her eyes out in her backyard last night."
Steve blinks, feeling a pit open up in his chest. "What? Why?"
"Well…" Dustin says. "I didn't ask."
Steve pictures your pretty face crinkled with tears, sitting on the paving stones outside your house. He wonders what would make you cry, sob, whatever it was. You'd confessed to being lonely though he sort of hopes that the feeling has ebbed now that he's calling you every day. At first, under the guise of checking up on you, but, I don't think I'm at risk of heat stroke anymore Steve. It's been a week and a half.
Better safe than sorry.
"Nancy said she saw her outside outside Bradley's Big Buy last night looking miserable," Mike adds, in one of his worst outfits, a mismatch of colours and long socks, a visor that Steve once tried to bribe Dustin to destroy on a hot day with his magnifying glass. The small burned spot perseveres at the caps edge.
Steve feels weirdly proud at their concern and better, their detective skills. The three of them look like they could solve crimes, a mystery gang. Lucas is the only one dressed well in Steve's opinion, though that might be because he's in similar fashion, a nice polo and blue jeans.
"You don't know what's wrong with her?" Lucas asks.
His pride wanes. "Oh, you guys are here for gossip?" he asks scathingly.
"No!"
"You're her boyfriend, right?"
"Not-" Steve swallows, "exactly."
Robin, who had been listening from her stool a few feet back, strides over and falls into place by his side, braced by her elbows.
"If Steve were her boyfriend, we'd know why she was crying," she says, earning a round of boyish chuckles.
Steve nods and then understands her meaning, feeling stupid for assuming Robin would say something that wasn't mean while at work. "Fuck off, I'm a good boyfriend."
Four sets of eyebrows raise.
"I am! I'm romantic."
"You smashed our trellis and dislodged a drain pipe," Mike says.
Steve pins the dark haired boy with a smarted look.
"Sorry, is that not romantic? Sneaking out to see a girl?"
"Sneaking in to a young woman's bedroom," Robin says dryly.
"Pervert style," Dustin agrees sagely.
"Jesus Christ." Steve turns away from his band of adopted heathens and takes the phone into his hand. "I'm gonna call her."
"And what? Tell her we were spying?" Dustin says.
Steve holds the cold plastic to his neck. "Were you?"
"Girls lie about their feelings, anyway. You're never gonna get a straight answer," Lucas says morosely. "Trust me."
He slams the phone down. "What am I supposed to do?"
They stand in a heavy silence. Steve can feel a headache clipping his heels, approaching fast, stress and a sharp worry for you. He really doesn't see why he can't call you and check in.
"Something nice?" Robin suggests, picking at her nails.
"Like what?" he asks. Though, as soon as he says it, he already has the beginnings of an idea. Whether its a good one or not is anyones guess.
-
Somebody knocks the door and all you can think is, oh god why me?
You're in a bad approximation of pajamas - your comfiest and yet your sloppiest, old and worn and unattractive. Fresh out of a stress-cry shower, you've only just managed to catch your breath.
It's like you told Steve, everything lately feels so lonely. You'd gone grocery shopping by yourself and had known without a doubt that you were moving unseen through the world. Something about deciding between TV dinners. Nobody knew where you were, what you were doing, or where you were going. The only people seeing you were the storegoers of Bradley's Big Buy and your disgruntled cashier. You doubt you'd made a good impression.
It was maybe a silly thing to feel overwhelmed by, but you felt it anyways. Sick with loneliness and then panic. A thousand what ifs had filled your head; you couldn't stop thinking, what if it's like this forever?
What if I feel this lonely forever?
You'd finished grocery shopping with a peculiar numbness weighing you down and then you'd gone home to cry in the garden, comforted and horrified by your flowers. They were pretty and you'd planted them and it didn't matter, you were still alone. A ladybug had crawled over the nearest planter and you'd watched it until you calmed down, knees crossed and elbows digging into your thighs, pins and needles in your hands.
Another insistent knock. You consider ignoring it and curling up into a ball. Something hooks you out of it. What if it's Steve?
If it's Steve, you're gonna feel very embarrassed about your appearance. You check your reflection in the sheen of a photo frame and sigh, rubbing your face with one hand as you open the door.
Steve stands a few feet away, leaning against the side of his car with a pair of shades slipping down his nose. He takes them off.
You're so happy to see him you forget your rumpled outfit.
"Hi," you say, half-shouting to cover the distance.
"Hey beautiful!" Steve shouts, properly, loud and unabashed.
The door digs into your tummy. You don't know what to say. His compliment flusters you from the get go.
"Hi," you say again, laughing under your breath.
"Hey."
"What are you doing here?"
"Somebody told me you weren't feeling well!"
You frown, thoughts racing, and suddenly summon the image of your nosey young neighbour. You take a step back instinctively and Steve must see it because his face goes stony.
"I'm sorry, I know you probably didn't want me to know. But- when I found out you were upset, I couldn't ignore that. You'll have to forgive me."
You try pushing the smile off your face with your hand and stand there scratching your top lip. "No. No, it's okay."
He raises his eyebrows and takes a few big steps towards your house. You step out onto the porch and he closes the space between you, holding his hands out. You take them and he envelopes you, warm hands pulling you along and up the path.
He walks backwards. "Don't let me crash into someone, okay?"
A memory. The two of you hand in hand, ground flashing under your skates.
"Okay," you say weakly.
He squeezes your hands and drops them, a foot from the car. "Stay," and he doesn't finish, turning away from you. He opens the passenger door, the door behind and then the trunk.
The smell is beautiful. A floral wave.
The sight is something else. A carpet of bunches, bell-shaped freesias and carnations, roses in darkest red, chrysanthemums, dahlias, tiny orchids and irises; gorgeous purple irises with white centred petals buffeted by frilly sweetpeas.
"They didn't want to give me the buckets but I told them I had a really pretty girl waiting for me, and if they suffocated in the heat then I was gonna drive right back and complain loudly." He stands by your side and nudges you. "Break out in tears."
"That's a lot of flowers," you mumble.
"Half the store. The other half's on standby."
"Standby?"
"I worried you might not have the space."
"I won't."
Your gaze flits over soft petals and light green stems, thorns and leaves and greenery, baby breath tucked in by plastic wrapping.
"Why did you do this?"
"You…" he laughs at himself. "Okay, so. The day you had heat stroke-"
"I didn't have heat stroke. I had heat exhaustion."
"Semantics. You were lying in the backyard. Just… sleeping. I was waiting for you to look up and see me, and I couldn't- I still can't get the image out of my head. You looked unreal."
You feel hot all over as he searches for words. He's smiling wide as he talks, like he can't believe how happy he is. It's infectious.
He shakes his head. "Anyway, I know you like flowers. Obviously. So."
"So you got me a florists?"
"Half."
You hug your torso. The idea that somebody would do this for you, that Steve would do this for you, is so alien you can't comprehend it.
"They're for me?" you whisper.
"For you. All of them."
You look at him, the flowers, him again, and start to laugh. You throw your hands up to your cheeks and giggle like a little kid.
"Why are you laughing?" he asks, an undeniable affection in his curiosity.
"Why would you do this for me?" you ask in a similar tone.
He purses his lips and shrugs. "You could've called me. I want you to know that."
You scrub your hot cheeks and shift from foot to foot. "I was being silly."
"It's not silly. It's not stupid. And even if it was, I still want you to call me. These are 'call me' flowers. Call me first."
You wrap your hand around the top of the door and lean in for a look at the sea of flowers. Pollen sticks sweet in your nose.
"Do you like them?"
The smallest hint of insecurity. You can't stop laughing, joy warping every word. "Yeah, I love them," you say over your shoulder, feeling as though you've become nothing but a vestibule of breathless wonder.
"I didn't know which one was your favourite."
All of them, you think. Not sure you could pick one, your eyes bump from bouquet to bouquet.
You try to blink them away but tears form quickly, lashes heavy with them as you stand up straight and wipe under your eyes with the back of your index finger.
"Thank you, Steve."
"You're welcome." Steve comes up behind you and takes your shoulder into his hand, thumb rubbing roughly over your shirt. "C'mon, don't cry. I got you all those flowers because I don't want you to cry, not to make it worse."
"They're really pretty," you say, strained, pushing the bottoms of your palms into your eyes to stop from sobbing. That would be dramatic, you argue with yourself, so dramatic, but this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for you.
"Shit," he mutters.
You tense up as his hand moves across your back to grip your other shoulder and he hugs you to his chest, left hand stroking the length of your upper arm, encouraging your hands from your face.
"You're okay, baby," he says.
You sniffle as his right hand climbs your shoulder to cup your neck. He pulls your face to his mouth and presses a kiss into your temple, warm and tingling, firecrackers under the skin. You turn your face to look at him and he pulls back, his chin jutting down.
The shape of his lips lingers on your forehead, a burn. White hot.
Steve wipes the tear tracks from your face with the side of his hand.
"I know what'll cheer you up," he says.
You miss his touch as soon as he's gone. He leans over the passenger seat, the chair and its footwell both bursting with flowers, and turns on the radio. You watch him click to the cassette player. He turns the volume up high and then pulls out.
Slowly, the song builds into a zinging guitar.
"Oh my god."
"Have you seen her? So fine and so pretty," Steve sings with no hesitation. You're startled by his confidence.
"Fooled me with her style and ease," he continues, holding out his hand.
You take it, listening to him fight his way to the right pitch, his voice cracking.
"And I feel her from across the room-" He takes your second hand, gaze electric. "Yes, it's love in the third degree."
He tugs at your hand, nodding until you join in.
"Ooh, baby, baby," you sing weakly, searching for footing.
"Won't-cha turn your head my way?" he begs.
"Ooh, baby, baby," you both sing, Steve with more passion, pulling your arm one way and another in an awkward dance.
"Come on, take a chance, you're old enough to," and here's where you both go weak and high and enthused all at once, glad the stereo's up so high you can't really hear it when you both shout, "dance the night away!"
It's not quite night yet. You've a lot of dancing to do if you're gonna listen to Van Halen's instructions, the sun a half-disk of gold on the horizon, the sky raspberry pink bleeding up into darkening indigo.
Steve grins at your growing enthusiasm and twirls you around. You only allow him this, too afraid to step on his toes as you come to a stop.
He hums along and you clutch his hand. You covet the other where it's held to his chest, pushing your fingers through his. They fit together perfectly.
"Am I ever gonna get that tape back?" you ask.
"No," he says, laughing loudly. "No way. I love this song."
"I love this song too. That's why I bought the album."
"You said however long I wanted!"
"I didn't think you'd stick around this long," you confess.
"I did," he says. He leans down, stops. "Can I kiss you?"
You nod and beat him to it, hand at his collar as you step on your toes and press your mouth to his. You're both smiling, your eyes closed tight and your lips tight together until he pulls back, pulling his hand from your brushing grip to stroke the side of your face, rough in his rush.
When you come back together it's slower, your lips parted mid-giggle as he moves in. You sigh, a high-pitched and embarrassing sound from the back of your throat that's quickly swallowed by his ardency.
"Stop laughing at me," he admonishes playfully.
"I'm not! I'm not, I'm really happy," you defend yourself, setting back on your heels.
You've forgotten all about your pajamas and the icky feeling in your chest. With Steve's palms to your cheeks like this – like you're something worth being cradled in careful hands – you can't feel anything but happy.
"I don't have enough vases for your flowers," you apologise as he chases you down, dropping kisses over the corner of your mouth and the apple of your cheek.
"Good thing I begged for all those buckets," he says, brown eyes squinting with the force of his cherubic smile. His pert nose flares with a silent laugh.
"Good thing," you agree.
He holds you by the shoulders. "Good thing," he says again.
You descend into another round of laughter that leaves you panting for air, your head dropping into his chest. "A really good thing."
"I didn't go overboard, did I?" he asks, petting the nape of your neck.
"You did."
"Sorry, I-"
You wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze him as hard as you can. He groans lightly as he encircles your shoulders, the tip of his nose a butterfly's wing against your forehead, impossibly light and skipping, back and forth and back again.
"I'm gonna make you flower shortbread," you say eventually, soaking in his warmth, his closeness.
"Yeah?"
"I swear. And more penuche. What's your favourite? I'll make you whatever you want. What do you have a sweet tooth for?"
"Could I get another kiss?" he asks quietly.
You tilt your head back and wait. Steve isn't quite smiling though his eyes boast an emotion you're afraid to name, unbearably fond.
"Are you gonna kiss me again?" you ask into the gap.
"In a sec, just… let me look at you," he says, hand cupping your cheek.
You blink back a stinging wave of tears and smile, tracing over his features greedily.
"You're beautiful," he says.
It’s funny. You were thinking the same thing about him.
𓆩❤︎𓆪
thanks for reading!
#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington x reader fluff#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington x fem!reader#stranger things fic#stranger things x reader#stranger things 4#stranger things
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