#but it feels like I’m stuck under a big heavy wet blanket

[americanbogbody]

…

[lovebugism]

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

✶ ┄ LOVE YOU, ON PURPOSE (ii)

part one | part two

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

pairing: steve harrington / eddie's bff!reader

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

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

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Falling over you is the news of the day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a good kind of trapped, though. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want Steve. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You haven’t woken up yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your brows furrow. “…What?”

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

A smile pulls slow at your lips. 

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

“Yeah?” you mutter.

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

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

He only grumbles in response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel pretty. 

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

It makes all the imposter syndrome worth it. 

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

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

Eat your heart out, Nancy Wheeler.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

The ghost in you, she don't fade.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. I remember everything.”

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

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

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

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

But now he’s got you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t argue, only nods. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve winces.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just a little,” you quip.

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

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

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

“Yeah?” he hums back.

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

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

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

“Right… there.”

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

“Wanna give me the short version?”

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

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

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

“It’s dumb. Like, seriously—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” he winces.

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

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

“I think it’s sweet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Better?” you echo quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The exact same way he looks at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve doesn’t waste a second.

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

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

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

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

But Steve could. 

Steve could be yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your sudden hesitation makes him nervous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

And love, is only heaven away...

Steve’s curtains match his wallpaper.

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

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

All the minute details of his bedroom make you giggle.

“You have great taste, Steve Harrington.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

You nod.

“Wanna show me?”

You nod again, smiling wider now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod when the words get stuck in your throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you like me better out of them?”

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

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

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

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

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

It never comes, though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you answer in a broken sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Steve… Steve, please. I’m— fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve laps at your weeping cunt while you writhe. 

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

Then he goes effortlessly soft again.

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

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

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

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

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

That nearly does him in right then.

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

“Can I suck you off?” you blurt.

Steve freezes. 

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

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

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

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

But here you are, wanting more.

You never stop surprising him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All of his little reactions spur you forward. 

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

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

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

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

His hips stutter when you hum a moan against him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was that—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like bunks?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod wordlessly in reply.

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

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

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

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

It’s a lot like that, actually.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh-huh.”

“I am, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Steve…” you sigh, helpless.

“Hmm?”

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

“Touch yourself,” he blurts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Holy fuck—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But sex is different when you’re an adult. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s barely nine o’clock, grandma.”

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

He grins softly to himself. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You wore me out, Harrington.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Almost,” you mumble in response.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” you finally answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who said I wanted to, huh?”

“You will. When you get sick of me.”

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

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

His brows raise. “No?”

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

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

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

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

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

That shuts him up real quick.

[thewarriorspecial]

Hal's Big Birthday Bang (Feb. 2023)

*Archive Edition* Previously only linked to AO3, full work now available under the cut.

Read on AO3

Rating: Explicit

Additional Tags: Drinking, Group Sex, Multiple Partners, Multiple Orgasms, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Sex, Anal Sex, Impact Play, Alien Sex, Alien Biology, Canon Divergence, (Katma is Always Alive/We Don't Do That Here)

Hal's friends get together at Guy's bar for a very special celebration. At first they play nice and take turns, and then it turns into a gangbang.

Hal awakens to the sensation of the mattress dipping and shifting. A very heavy body is getting comfortable next to him. The ring gives no warning and he doesn’t feel threatened. 

“You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips,” a familiar tenor softly sings next to his head.

It’s a goddamn shame Guy doesn’t do karaoke anymore because the man can really sing. Not that Hal will tell him that. His head would get so big he’d get stuck inside the bar.

“Get out,” Hal grumbles.

“There’s no tenderness like before in your fingertips,” Another voice carries from behind the closet door. This one cannot sing.

“You’re trying hard not to show it,” the third voice lilts from behind the bedroom door. Hal sits up, opening his bleary eyes and squinting in the harsh morning light. 

“Baby!” The three cry as the closet and bedroom door bang open simultaneously. Kyle dances his way out of the closet and John struts in through the door. 

“But baby believe me I know it!” They sing into their glowing green microphones.

Hal sighs. “Top Gun is the Navy,” he mutters, picking at the pilling blanket. He knows they know. They don’t care. They’re gonna do the whole song. 

———

“We are not draping everything in black, Kyle! Fuck's sake!”

“C’mon it’s funny!”

“He’s not even that old! I’m not that old! We’re not dead!”

“Fine, fine. What’s the plan then, chief?”

Guy lifts apple boxes onto the table in front of them. He pops the lids off revealing a bunch of decorations; old-timey cars, records, 8-tracks, beads, animal print and neon colors.

“It looks like the 70’s threw up in here,” Kyle says, scrunching up his face.

“Wow,” says John as he turns items over reverently in his hands, “You got everything but the wood paneling!”

“No way. This is—“

“Awesome!” John cuts Kyle off as he holds up a lava lamp.

“It is awesome!” Guy agrees.

“No. No way.” Kyle crosses his arms.

“Ugh! Yes, way! I made centerpieces!”

John snorts.

“What?” Guy demands.

“Nothing, man.”

“What?”

“How did you get to thirty before you realized you were gay?”

“Shut.” Guy snaps his thumb and middle finger together, forgetting to finish his sentence. He’s glowing red all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Why all the retro stuff? Are you trying to make Hal feel old?” Kyle asks.

“He’s fifty!” Guy exclaims as explanation.

“Okay?”

“He’s an antique! These are all antiques!” 

“So the party theme is Getting Railed at Pee-paws House?”

John guffaws.

“You know what. Fuck you guys. Do whatever you want. I’m gonna finish the cake.”

“You decorate cakes now?” John asks, wiping his eyes.

“I have always done this stuff! Nobody appreciates me!” Guy stamps his feet and disappears into the kitchen.

“Alright,” John says, thumbing through the records, “A lot of this stuff is…” 

“Yeah.”

“The music is great. And the lava lamp stays.”

“I can live with that.”

“Oh yeah,” John drums his fingers together, “It’s all coming together.”

——

For the first time in many years, all of the shutters are drawn on the windows of Warrior’s Metro. CLOSED FOR PRIVATE EVENT reads the sign on the door. As if the eight foot bouncer in the biggest hoodie ever made wasn’t enough of a deterrent. 

Kilowog is not enjoying the planet’s cold, temperamental weather. Everything is wet. It’s quickly getting dark and as the darkness grows so does the cold. It’s making him lonely. Where on Earth is Hal. Late to his own shindig. Poozer.

—

At 9pm all of the guests are milling about. All the guests except for the Man of the Hour. Guy had conscripted Kyle and John to rearrange all of the furniture so that the VIP couches were front and center and al of the tables were pushed to the walls. Dinah and Ollie lounged across one side of an L-shaped leather couch. On the opposite side, Jess perched on the edge of the seat and fidgeted. She twisted her hair around her fingers as Dinah shared some of her favorite No Shit, There I Was stories. Ollie smiled, hands in his lap as he watched the two women flirt with each other. 

Guy and John are watching Simon lift the hood of beautifully restored 69 Impala that’s parked where the VIP couches used to be. The dim, interior light sparkles off of the frost green paint and chrome.

Simon sets the hood prop and the two men beside him make noises of appreciation. A fully restored, big block V8 topped with a four barrel carb sits gleaming at the center of the enormous engine bay. A man-sized emerald green bow is wrapped around the roof. 

John puts his hand on Simon’s shoulder, “So, for my birthday…” They all laugh and elbow each other playfully. 

Guy points at the big gap between the floor and the under-carriage, “Awful lot of clearance. Did you lift it?”

Simon lights up and walks circles around his lovingly built gift, “Ok, so all of the upgrades are mostly invisible. The body and the powertrain are all old-school. We got disc brakes now, we got coil over suspension, and adjustable ride height. She’s built to drive.”

“Drive??” Guy balks, “I’d keep this thing under glass!”

“Hal’s gonna freak out. “John grins as he lightly touches the edge of the carburetor. “I’m freaking out.”

—

Carol chooses to lean on the bar next to Kyle; the closest thing to a quiet spot. 

“Not a car guy?”

“I can appreciate it.”

“Me too. I love to drive. I love my M3, but I’m no mechanic.”

“I don’t know what that is,” Kyle laughs with a big shrug.

“That black car I picked you up in.”

“Oh yeah,” Kyle leers, “I remember the backseat pretty good.”

They’re interrupted as Guy does a practiced one hand leap over the bar top instead of using the swing door. “Hal still not here?”

“Still nothing,” Ollie shouts from the couch. “I texted him twice.”

——

In Hal’s apartment, the dishes sit “soaking” in the sink. Three outfits are laid across the back of the couch. Keys, wallet, and phone are waiting on the end table. Netflix replays three suggested previews as the comedy special Hal turned on several hours ago has ended. Hal is crosslegged on the corner seat, head tipped back and snoring loudly. He was almost ready three hours ago when a grey tabby cat came to the window to visit. 

“Still alive?” The cat had said in his cantankerous fashion. His way of wishing Happy Birthday. When Hal sat down to change his socks, the cat demanded to sit in his lap. Just for a few minutes. And then the purring began.

——

“Where’s Katma?” Carol asks.

“By now,” John checks his watch, “She’s passed out in her massage chair. Trust me she has been looking forward to having the house to herself.”

“She’s comfortable with all of this?”

“Oh yeah! We’ve hosted a few visitors in our younger days.”

“Oh? Have you ever brought Hal home?”

John takes a tactful sip of his drink. How does one say, No, sorry. My wife thinks the love of your life is whiney and butt-ugly. He chooses to fib a little, “Katma prefers the company of another woman.”

“She does?” Kyle says, loud and suspicious. “Man, I never would’ve guessed.”

When Carol turns away to give Kyle ‘The Eyebrow’, John looks at him over her head. His mouth presses into a long line as his eyes widen and his head tilts.

“Hey if one’s good two are better!” Kyle offers a high-five and John slaps their palms together. Carol shakes her head and sips her drink. 

——

A loud, pathetic shout from above snaps Kilowog out of his thoughts. Something human-shaped and glowing green is rocketing towards him. He makes a construct clone of his own hand with his ring to catch the incoming UFO.

“Oof,” the figure says on impact. 

“Jordan!” Kilowog’s ears wiggle with so much excitement it knocks the hood off of his head. Hal sits up in the glowing green hand, trying to smooth his windblown hair. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

Hal looks up at the red streak trailing across the sky, “If only you knew.”

Kilowog sets Hal down gently and immediately pulls him into a Bolovaxian bear hug. He sets Hal down again and shoves him towards the door, “C’mon, poozer you’re late. Everyone’s waiting on you.”

Hal turns to make a snarky retort but when Kilowog’s big hand connects with his ass in a playful slap, well, he’d never admit to the sound he made.

——

The bells on the door jingle and everyone turns. The room bursts into shouts of joy and Hal’s name. Hal can’t remember the last time a roomful of people were actually happy to see him. Jess and Simon use their rings to get to him first and then the dogpile begins. There’s so much chatter, so much gentle patting and touching his grown-out hair. It’s all he can do to try and return each touch, each peck on the cheek as he feels himself choking up a little.

“All right, all right let the man breathe!” Guy shouts over the din, taking Hal’s hand and guiding him fully into the bar. “Can’t even walk in the door! C’mon, siddown, everybody sit, sit, sit!”

The group takes seats all around the makeshift conversation pit. Kilowog shakes out his damp hoodie and hangs it on a peg on the wall. He sits gingerly on one of the cushions, surprised that it doesn’t yield under his weight. 

“Who’s drinking?” Guy asks, now behind the bar. Everyone raises their hands and Guy starts counting shot glasses.

“Oh, it’s time!” John says, leaping over the back of the couch.

“Time for what? John?” Guy asks, mid-pour.

Using his ring, John builds a little DJ booth. A pair of glowing green headphones appear on his head. The apple box full of vinyl records appears from within the booth somewhere. 

“Is that all you’re hiding in there, buddy?” Kyle asks with a suggestive eyebrow.

John merely returns the expression as an enormous green disco ball forms on the ceiling. As the bar lights up with the sparkling disco ball, “Funkytown” begins to play. 

Guy passes out the first round of shots. The conversation is flowing and while Hal doesn’t speak much, he’s at the center of the group, smiling and laughing. When Guy planned this whole party, he kinda forgot that Hal gets shy in crowds. That might become a problem. 

“So, any particular reason you’re secluding yourself over here? Guy asks John after he walks his drink over.

“Just not interesting in listening to Ollie talk about himself. And Dinah’s tits are distracting me. I should be looking at Hal’s tits, but he hasn’t gotten them out yet.”

“Ah, that’s an easy problem to solve. Hal’s tits will distract Ollie.”

“Right.”

“So we just gotta get em out.”

“Exactly.”

“I should’ve had you plan this thing.”

“I tried.”

“You’re right. I got carried away. Lemme go fix this.” Guy struts over to where Hal is seated. Leaning over the back of the couch, he sticks his hand right down the front of Hal’s shirt. 

“What are you doing?” Hal squeaks, laughing yet indignant. 

“Getting your tits out.”

“Yeah!” Kyle hollers.

“Wh..wa—?” Hal sputters.

“John wants to see some tits, Hal. Let’s get this party started.”

“Yeah!” Dinah agrees. “Tits! Tits! Tits!” She chants, thumping her fist rhythmically on the table. 

“Don’t stretch my shirt you horndog!” Hal gripes.

“Tits! Tits! Tits!” John joins in, clapping. He starts fading in the next song, “You Sexy Thing”. 

“Hold on!” Hal says between peals of laughter, “Hold on! I’m not even drunk yet.”

“Here you go,” Ollie hands Hal his shot.

“Okay, shots, then tits.” Hal offers. The group cheers and picks up their glasses. They clink them together, raise them to John at the DJ booth, and throw them back. That’s definitely the expensive stuff, Hal realizes as it barely burns. His cheeks flare, however, as his friends all stare expectantly. He gets his fingers on the top button of his shirt, right at the collar. He fumbles, sweating under the hungry gazes. He manages to get the first one undone, breathing a little faster. He starts to struggle with the second one.

“You button up to your eyeballs like a schoolboy. This is gonna take forever!” says Ollie.

“Be nice, you’re gonna scare the tits away!” says Dinah.

“I can’t!” Hal surrenders. “Somebody go first!”

“Okay!” Kyle says and flings his t-shirt into the distance.

“Yay, tits!” Dinah and Jess cry in unison, scooting over to fondle Kyle’s chest. Kyle drapes his arms over the couch to give them room to sidle up. 

“Want some help?” Guy asks, breath hot on Hal’s ear.

“Yeah,” Hal says, taking Guy’s hands and bringing them to the button at his throat.

“Playing favorites again!” John accuses from across the room.

“That’s n-not…” Hal stutters as a second pair of hands starts undoing his belt and untucking his shirt. 

“I know I’m your favorite,” Carol croons playfully.

“Bullshit!” says Ollie.

“Why don’t we have a little contest?” Kilowog speaks up. He’s holding a glass bottle, comparable to any liquor bottle, but dwarfed by his hands. Everyone turns to listen except for Guy and Carol who are rapidly divesting Hal of his button-up and undershirt. “Why don’t we all take turns? Then we’ll see who Hal likes the most.”

Hal eyes widen at Kilowog’s proposal. “Is that how you partied on your planet, big guy?”

Kilowogs grin is predatory, “You’ve never partied with me.” He offers Hal the bottle. Hal stands up, takes the bottle but before he can drink it, Kilowog warns, “That’s not just any fizzy kiddie drink there, Jordan. It’s an…” his ears wiggle as he searches for a word that will translate, “Aphrodisiac. Bolovaxian mating can be…taxing. This will help you out.”

Hal grins and takes a swing from the bottle. The liquid is thick and warm. The taste is sour and sickly-sweet all at once. He feels it squirm all the way to his stomach. He feels his whole body flush and a rush of arousal nearly takes him off of his feet. “So. Who’s first?”

“That’d be me,” Simon says before the arguing starts. “I wanna give you my gift first.”

“Oh! Okay,” Hal says as he’s grabbed by the belt loops and dragged towards the Impala. Hal’s eyes rake over the beautiful car in its classic green color, the big engine, the SS on the grille, the enormous green bow on the roof. “Wait, this whole car? For me?”

“Happy Birthday, Hal.” Simon crowds Hal against the driver’s side door, pins him there with his hips. 

“I didn’t realize you were, uh, into men?”

“Nah, just you. There’s just something…” Simon trails off as he leans in to kiss Hal. There’s a flash of green behind the steering wheel and the car roars to life. The loping rumble of the performance camshaft turning rocks the vehicle as well as the two men leaning on it. The engine revs once, and the smell of gasoline assaults Hal’s memories—racing on the dirt road behind the school, his first time with his high school girlfriend in the backseat, his first time cruising when he lived off base. And then it stops. His hands cling to Simon’s shoulders and the door handle digs into his back. 

“But…”

“Sometimes less is more,” Simon leaves Hal with a kiss on the cheek and presses a set of keys into his palm.

“Yeah,” Hal smiles, closing his fingers around the keys and pressing them against his heart. “Thank you,” he says softly, his shoulders rolling forward as he bites his lip. He looks up at Simon through his lashes, big doe eyes sparkling and Simon thinks, “Yeah, whatever that is, that’s it.”

“Do a sexy pose for us on your new ride!” Says Ollie, holding his phone up.

“No way!” Hal says, throwing his arms wide to body block the classic car in its perfect condition. “I’m not scratching the paint. 

“Take your pants off!” Jess suggests. 

“Yeah Hal, take em off!” shouts Guy.

“As the guy who did the body work,” Simon offers with a shrug, “Can’t scratch the paint of you’re naked.”

“Take it off!” Dinah starts a chant and quickly has the whole group in synch.

“Alright, alright,” Hal says to his little crowd as he starts to slide his belt out of the loops, “You want me to take it off?”

“Yeah!” They answer.

“Do you?”

“Yeah!” They shout louder. Hal rips the belt the rest of the way off, spinning it over his head before tossing it towards his friends. 

Jess leaps to the front to catch it. “This means I’m next!!” She hollers.

Hal carefully sits on the front fender as he slides his pants off. He plants his hands and fully pulls himself onto the hood. From the DJ booth, he can hear “Here I Go Again” play from the construct speakers. Guy and the girls whistle and jeer and Hal groans. 

“I’m gonna dent this thing,” Hal mutters.

“You are not that heavy,” says Carol.

“I’m like, two-ten,” Hal whines.

“Yeah all up top,” says Guy, “Just keep your big hooters off’a there!”

“I’ll hold ‘em up,” Kyle offers, making grabby hands.

“Just set ‘em right here,” John says, patting his own face. 

“No! No! No!” Jess shouts, playfully swatting all three of them in succession with the belt, “I’m next!”

“I think we can all play together,” Dinah says, sidling up to Jess and taking the belt from the shorter woman’s hands, “Very,” she folds the belt over and snaps it, “Nicely.”

Jess giggles and Kyle barks.

“C’mon gorgeous, show us what you got,” Ollie croons, holding his phone up and hitting record.

Hal grins, blood humming from Kilowog’s concoction. Dinah and Ollie are the only two people here that have any idea he can dance at all much less still do splits at his age. He rolls seductively, tossing his har as he channels his middle school crush with every move. From the first effortless split across the hood his cheering friends are quickly reduced to lustful silence. If it weren’t for the Bolovaxian liquor in his veins he might feel intimidated. He very slowly works his underwear off and tosses them at his friends. Jess’ hand flashes out at light speed to catch those as well. He strikes a few more poses, carefully hiding the goods from his enraptured audience until the song ends. 

He slides his tits and belly down the front of the car, balancing on the grille. He beckons Jess over with curled finger. She floats over to him, hovering above the floor so their faces are level. He grabs her chin and pulls her into a slow kiss. 

Jess is already pulling her clothes off. She’s not sure where this courage to do what she’s planning to do in front of anyone is coming from but Hal is hot and naked and willing and she doesn’t want to waste a second thinking about it. 

She pushes Hal’s shoulders until he’s lying on his back. She drinks in the sight of him, really sees him, and he is beautiful. There’s no uniform to barely hide the angles and arches of his body, no mask to hide the molten bronze of his lovely eyes. She runs her hands slowly down his body, following the trail soft hair over his chest, his belly, and below where his thick cock rests against his hip. Every inch of him is in perfect proportion, every tapered muscle, every plane and curve, each patch of tawny hair, just the right amount softness at his chest and hips. 

Hal’s chest. She finally has her hands on her prize, she squeezes gently and Hal’s head tips back as he lets out a soft sigh. She can’t resist anymore. She shoves her face between his pecs and smashes his lovely tits into her face. She can’t hold in the moan. His gentle laugh rumbles through her body and when she looks up he’s smiling. Its like the light of a thousand stars. She doesn’t ever want to see him sad again. 

She feels his hands cup her breasts as he sits up. She watches his belly flex with the pure core strength and she can feel her own wetness drip. He presses his face gently between her breasts and returns the gesture, licking and biting his way to her neck. She smells so good, and the scent of her arousal is making him dizzy. Its been a long time since he’s gotten this hard this fast.

“Can we…can we just—“ she asks as she rocks her hips against his. He grabs her hips and guides himself in. “Hal,” she groans as she pusher her hair out of her face. She drapes her arms around his neck, touches his hair, his , face, his shoulders. “Hal fucking Jordan,” she sighs as she rocks her hips faster. She runs her fingertips all over his body, like she can’t believe he’s real. Sitting in his lap at this angle, every stroke is dragging against her clit, the subtle curve of his cock hitting every sensitive place, over and over.

Hal watches her work herself on his dick, grinning. He’s glad he can feel her pulsing already because Kilowog’s little gift has him ready to pop like a teenager. She’s so wet her pussy squelches every time their hips slap together and she’s leaving his lap a soaking mess. Hal runs his hands over her petite body, appreciating with his hands her tiny waist, thick thighs, her little heart shaped face, her full bottom lip gripped between her teeth as lovely mewls escape her throat. He softly grasp her swaying breasts, running his thumbs over her nipples. Her head falls back as she grabs his wrists, moaning his name. 

She’s clenching so tight, Hal looses it, cums inside her, filling her up. His back arches and he throws a hand back to steady himself. He can feel his whole body heat up, flushed with orgasm and embarrassment and somehow that’s even more arousing. 

Suddenly Jess stops, body clenching and shivering. “Wow,” she whispers and huffs out a laugh. 

“Yeah,” Hal says.

“Oh geez,” she cups her hands around her face so all she can see is Hal, “Um, Happy Birthday, I guess?”

“Hell yeah,” Hal grunts, fighting to sit up, “Let’s make this a new tradition.” He gives her another kiss on the lips and she strokes his face with her fingertips.

Jess’ body glows as she floats off of Hal, feet hovering just above the ground. “I can’t feel my legs.” 

“Been there,” Carol and Kyle say together and share a laugh.

“I think I need a second,” Hal says, throwing his arm over his eyes. He feels so warm, his whole body is tingling. 

“You sure about that?” John asks, glancing at Hal’s raging erection.

“Is this normal?” Hal asks Kilowog, a little alarmed. Wide-eyed, Kilowog tears his eyes away from Hal’s crotch and nods vigorously. “Shit,” Hal hisses. His pulse pounds in his ears. 

A big, warm hand slides up Hal’s leg. “How much you think you can handle?” Guy asks, licking his lips.

“Anything,” Hal answers, “Everything.”

“Let’s test that out,” Carol says, taking Hals hand.

“Hey,” Guy growls. He grips Hal’s thigh, making him moan.

“Now now,” Dinah says, patting Guy’s shoulder, “Ladies first.”

“Nice,” Ollie mutters, following Hal as he lets Carol lead him to the couches, still recording with his phone.

“Bullshit,” Guy grumbles.

“Easy padawan,” John says, “Let them ride him hard and we’ll put him away wet.” John nods slowly. Kyle grins and nods slowly too. Guy pouts. Kilowog takes a swig from the bottle he brought. 

Hal drops easily onto the couch. He lays on his back, legs spread wide as he strokes himself. 

“Look at you. You already know what you want, don’t you my little slut?”

“I do,” Hal nods. He pulls one of his knees up to his chest and pleads with his eyes. 

“Oh alright,” Carol says as her Star Sapphire uniform appears. Glowing pink bands appear around her hips and Hal starts to pant. “Since it’s your birthday I won’t make you beg for it.” She smiles indulgently, stroking his leg before she wraps it around her waist. She sinks her warm, fleshy construct into Hal’s body; a perfect fit, as always. 

Dinah sits next to Hal’s head and she runs her nails along his scalp, making him shiver and moan. “He loves being the center of attention doesn’t he?” she asks Carol.

“He certainly does,” Carol pants with her steady rhythm. She can feel Hal tighten up already, can feel his back starting to arch. Dinah puts her hands on Hal’s chest and spreads her knees on either side of his head.

“God, yes,” Hal sighs as he grabs her hips and pulls her cunt to his mouth. Dinah groans, licking a trail down Hal’s belly. She teases the tip of his cock with her tongue to feel him moan against her clit. 

“Fuck, he’s good at that,” she says, looking up at Carol and Carol nods in agreement. Dinah sprawls out on top of Hal, leaning forward to lap at Carol’s clit as she fucks into Hal, then back to teasing Hal’s cock again. 

“Don’t stop, please, please,” Hal pants, breath hot against Dinah’s body.

“Think you can hold it till we sing happy birthday?” Dinah asks.

“Oh, fuck,” is Hal’s answer.

“We need a candle,” Ollie says, setting his phone up on some kind of stand. 

“On it,” John says, conjuring one with his ring and holding it nearby.

Carol fucks him harder as they all start to sing. Time seems to slow as Hal grasps the base of his cock like he has any chance of holding out against Carol’s practiced assault and Dinah’s vicious tongue. She knows exactly how he likes it and his body wants so badly to fold. His friends voices are an incomprehensible blur. Countless hands begin to roam his body making him jump and quiver. “Please,” he begs, “It’s so good.”

“Happy Birthday,” they all drag out the last line, Dinah takes Hal fully into her mouth and sucks hard, “to you!” 

Hal shrieks as hot wax pours onto his chest from John’s candle. A galaxy bursts behind his eyes as his orgasm tears through his body. Dinah lifts herself up, sits back, and resumes petting Hal’s sweaty hair. 

“Fuck,” Hal eeps out a shuddering groan. He reaches up to grab John’s wrist, pulling the candle towards his face. He blows out the flame and everyone applauds. Carol pulls out and pats his thigh. Hal slides off of the couch onto his knees, grabbing for John’s fly. 

“I think I know what you wished for,” John says, grinning.

“Shh, if you say it, it won’t come true.”

“Well, that’s a waste. You’re getting fuckin drilled either way, buckeroo,” Guy crows as he throws his shirt one way and his pants the other. Kyle facepalms so hard it echos. 

With shaking hands, Hal finally get’s John’s cock out. He gives it a long, slow lick from base to tip. “Take this off,” Hal says, pushing John’s shirt up. John obliges, slowly disrobing as Hal watches his hard body appear inch by inch. 

John toes his shoes and socks off, casting them aside. Fully naked, he gets a solid grip in Hal’s hair, “Look at me,” he commands and Hal locks his eyes on John’s, “Good boy.” Hal’s moan turns into a gag as John relentlessly fucks his throat. 

Piles of clothes hit the floor. More hands roam Hal’s body. Someone grabs his cock, and fuck, he’s hard again. His mind is a haze of arousal. He feels like he could do this for days. His heart pounds and every touch is electric. He can hear groans, sighs, his own name. The smell of sweat and sex fills the air like a thick fog. His fingers thud along every dip in John’s abs. Someone’s hands pull at his hips, pull him up to his feet. Small fingers press at his hole as drool slides down his chin. Thick, rough hands grab his wrist, guiding him to grasp a cock and start pumping. 

“Like this?” he hears Jess ask.

“Yup, nice and slow,” Carol answers. “Feel that?”

“Oh, this?” Jess ask, gently curling her fingers as she explores Hal’s body. His knees threaten to give as she shyly prods his spot, a string of unpredictable little zings rushing up his spine. He wants to cry out, beg for more but all he can do is look up at John, gagging and drooling on himself. 

“May I?” Kyle asks, resting his hand on Hal’s hip. 

“Sure!” Jess pulls her fingers out and watches how Kyle kicks Hal’s legs apart so he can line himself up with the taller man better. He lays a hand on Hal’s spine and slides in, nice and slow. Hal gags loudly as he starts to fuck him, slow and deep. Jess watches how Kyle rolls his hips, how the back of his thighs and his ass clench with each stroke. “Oh,” she says, nodding, “I think I was doing it wrong.”

“All in the hips,” Kyle pants, sweat already starting to bead at the small of his back. “Takes practice,” he adds with a smile.

Hal’s eyes start to water and John pulls back. “Good?” he asks.

“Fuck yeah,” Hal gasps.

“Lemme get in there,” Guy rumbles, shouldering his way in front of John.

“Rude,” John says. 

Guy shoves his dick into Hal’s willing throat and Ollie takes his place. 

“You know what we forgot!” Dinah shouts, holding up Hal’s belt. “Birthday smacks!”

Hal moans around Guy’s cock.

“Five each, baby lantern goes twice,” Dinah declares as Jess shouts and hops up and down.

“Go ‘head,” Kyle nods towards Hal’s exposed ass as he pulls out.

“Yeah!” Jess cries. She takes the belt and gives Hal a soft smack that barely makes a sound, “That okay?”

Guy backs up so Hal can answer, “Harder.”

“Oh! Okay!” Hearing Hal groan on the next one, Jess lays three more decent smacks onto Hal’s ass. The group jostles each other, even playing rock paper scissors to determine the order. They each step up to the plate, listening to Hal’s delicious cries as they lay harder and harder hits into his flesh with the belt. By the time Guy goes for Hal’s thighs on his turn, John and Ollie are holding him up. Tears well in his eyes as he begs each person for “More,” and “Harder,”. 

Jess lays her last smacks with a triumphant cry of, “Fifty!” 

Hal sinks to his knees, turning to look at her with a weary smile, “Thank you, baby.”

Jess’ hands hover over the angry red stripes on his skin. She kisses his sweaty forehead, “You okay?”

“Never better,” Hal answers, still smiling. He turns towards Kilowog, points, and beckons him over, “You, c’mere.” Hal pats the floor.

Kilowog trots over, kneeling down next to Hal. His eyes are dilated and unfocused, skin flushed a much deeper red than usual. 

“Lay back, big guy,” Hal says in a flirty tone. He slowly climbs on top of the big alien as he lies back on the floor. “I want you to get that big cock out and tell me happy birthday.”

Kilowog complies immediately. He pushes the bottom of his Lantern uniform down, revealing nearly-human, if abnormally large, genitalia. Deep purple in color, and having a highly tapered shape, it was hard and curved and looked a bit like a silicon sex toy. It dripped heavily from the tip, soaked in its own shiny lubrication. 

Kyle starts rapidly smacking Guy in the arm, “Yo, yo.”

Guy sneers at the offending hand and looks back up at Kyle, “Yeah?”

“Remember you asked me what a bad dragon was?”

“I wish I hadn’t.”

Hal lines himself up on the thing without even looking. He works himself slowly up and down on the tip. He leans down over Kilowog’s chest, leaning his head back and exposing the column of his neck. 

Kilowog’s enormous hands flex as he resists the urge to grab Hal’s tiny body and slam him down. The human’s scent is incredible. Kilowog had lusted after the younger Lantern since the first time he’d caught a whiff of his exertion. The scent of his heightened arousal was intoxicating. 

Hal swipes the sweaty hair off of one side of his neck, tilting his head to the side in invitation. Kilowog leans forward, licking Hal’s skin with his long, rough tongue. Hal giggles, and Kilowog drags his teeth along the same path.

“Go ahead,” Hal whispers, eyes closed, trusting. Kilowog’s big hands envelop Hal’s body as he sinks his teeth into Hal’s neck. His hips start to rise, fucking his enormous cock gently into Hal’s body. Hal’s never had such an easy time relaxing and accepting Kilowog’s cock. He makes a mental not to drink together more often. 

Hal can feel Kilowog’s cock wriggle inside him, pushing deeper, spreading him open. He sits up, bracing himself on the big alien’s belly as he rocks his hips. Finally, it’s deep enough he can roll his hips. He’s always wanted to ride this monster. The sounds ripping out of Hal’s throat are obscene. The stretch stings but it feels so so good. His legs are shaking so hard, he tries to lift himself with his arms and collapses onto Kilowog’s chest. He nuzzles and bites the big Lantern symbol—happy Kilowog kept it on. He does so enjoy a lover in uniform. 

Hal lays his hands over Kilowog’s and utters a guttural phrase. The lantern rings translate the Bolovaxian words, “Fuck me, beautiful. Make me cum.” 

Kilowog’s ears wiggle and he complies, lifting Hal’s body up and down. Hal surrenders to the incredible sensations. “Yes,” he says over and over in English because it’s the only word he can think of. 

Hal’s whole body flushes red and he cums hard over Kilowog’s hands and chest. He feels his body pumped full of the big alien’s release. With the last of his strength he lifts himself off of Kilowog’s cock and rests on his chest. Hal strokes the big square face he loves so much. 

“So,” Guy barks, “Who won?”

“You know I love you all the same.”

“Aw! Boo!” Guy cries. Kyle gives a thumbs down and Kilowog snorts.

“Is that…” Kyle pauses, tilting his head and listening to the sound of someone abusing scratching privileges on the turntable, “Is that ‘Turn Down For What’?”

“Sorry, I left it on shuffle,” John shrugs.

“Where’s my cake?” Hal asks, grinning.

“Yeah that’s right, I made you a cake. I put this whole thing together,” Guy complains, stepping over bodies and stomping towards the kitchen, “And somehow, someway, I’m not the favorite. Fuck me, right!”

Guy returns with the cake, and a soft ice pack for Hal to sit on. Hal takes Guys hand and presses it to his lips as he takes the ice pack, “Thank you.”

“I think about you.”

“I know you do.”

Guy conjures up forks for everyone, but it only takes a few minutes of laughing and chatting before cake is being licked off of fingers and body parts. 

“Happy Birthday to me,” Hal sighs happily. 

[maizumis]

Hii! Another Haikyuu dad au! Can it be with the miya twins, Bokuto, Iwa, and Suna? They get into an argument with their pregnant wife so the wife tells them to leave her alone. The boys find a loophole so they talk to her baby bump about how sorry they are to their mama :)

— HAIKYUU BOYS ARGUING WITH YOU WHILE PREGNANT AND APOLOGIZING

ft. timeskip!miya atsumu, iwaizumi hajime, suna rintaro

note: female reader‼️ angst to fluff ‼️different format cos I wanted to write more 🥴 thanks anon! hope you like it 😽 I think I'm gonna do a part two cos this got longer than expected and I couldn't add all the characters! not edited, that's work for tomorrow!

# MIYA ATSUMU

atsumu came home after a rough day at practice, excited to spend some time with you and baby boy that was about to come in just a month

all happiness he had quickly erased when he saw that the home was on the same that when he went to practice, dishes without washing and clothes without fold

" ‘tsumu you're home! we missed you!" he walked past you, he didn't even give you a side look, going directly to the bathroom "‘tsumu all okay? I made your favor–" "could ya please shut up? a come home after working and entire day for ma family and the house is like this? what did ya do the whole day?"

you were stuck in your place with wide eyes and hands over your belly "I'm sorry ‘tsumu, my back hurts a lot today and—" "save it, don’ wanna hear yer excuses"

"go fuck yourself then, miya, sleep in the comfiness of the couch today and don't you dare talk to me until tomorrow" with that you were gone to the master bedroom, fighting the tears that were in your eyes

he thought nothing about it and went to the shower, thinking what was he gonna eat for dinner then go to sleep, tomorrow is a new day

-

freshly out of the shower with pajamas on, he went to the kitchen to eat something, mesmerized when he saw the little note on the oven glass

"enjoy your meal! we love you!<3"

not only that, but that you made his favorite, knowing he was gonna come home late and exhausted after practice

memories of the recent fight came to his mind, he didn't even let you talk your mind, his throat feeling heavy with the guilt that he was experiencing, maybe he should let you talk after all

contradictory to your words, he went runnint to the shared bedroom, ready to apologise for being an ass "baby, yer awake?"

"not for you" you told him trying to hide your sobs, the day was awful, your back didn't let you do anything, the meal you cooked was an hour of fighting the back pain, thinking your ‘tsunj would be happy if he found this

"okay then, good thing a have a baby I can talk to"

he knelt down in front of you, carefully placing his head on the baby bump, caressing it from time to time

"I was an ass, sorry, a bad person to yer mom today baby, a came home and told her bad things, she was hurting and a Didi care, can ya tell her sorry for me?" he felt a kick on his cheek and a smile on his face when he saw you laugh, even with the tear-stained cheeks you were beautiful

" ‘tsumu, not cool what you did today, I wasn't feeling okay and I missed you, we missed you" your voice still a little wiggly after that crying session you had with your maternity pillow

finally, first name privileges, he thought "a know, am sorry, am so sorry, ya deserve so much better angel, am sorry"

"‘s okay tsum, cuddle me as an apologize, yeah?"

he never got into bed at that speed, quickly cuddling you with hands on your tummy while giving little pecks to your neck

"ya don't have to tell me twice"

# IWAIZUMI HAJIME

before and during pregnancy you joined iwaizumi on his works out or runs from time to time, you knew he enjoyed his time doing it so, why don't join him?

today you were not feeling like it, morning sickness took over you and the bed seemed like the best place to stay all day, one day in bed wouldn't hurt, you thought

apparently it stroke a nerve on hajime "what are you doing in the bed? up! we need it go out! " '‘m sorry haji, not really feeling like it today, why don't you go and I make something when you return home?"

"what do you mean 'you don't feel like it' the only thing you do all day is laze around"

you took a deep breath before answering, knowing didn't meant what he say "well I'm sorry I'm pregnant iwaizumi, I can't help it. go on your run and we can eat something together when you return"

"fucking Clara wouldn't put this excuses on me" he murmured under his breath, hoping you didn't heard the mention of his ex partner

"repeat yourself iwaizumi hajime, I'm waiting"

"no baby— I'm sorry, I didn't mean it-"

"go out before I go out by myself iwaizumi, don't bother talk to me the rest of the day, I'm gonna make dinner and leave it on the fridge, I'm also gonna sleep in the guest room. fucking low of you iwaizumi, so fucking low"

he went out with a knot on his throat, he didn't need to bring that up— he knew you weren't feeling your best and then he still played that ex-girlfriend card. on the way back home he picked up flowers knowing you loved them, praying to anyone who was above him for your forgiveness

"I'm home"

"and I told you not to talk to me, iwaizumi"

being petty was right, the mention of his ex while carrying his first daughter because you didn't feel like going out today was bullshit, he didn't have an excuse

he looked down to the floor before closing the door and going to the living room to think about what he did, cheeks red of embarrassment because of his childish behavior

-

he waited for you to be asleep before going into the room, with the idea of carrying your to the king bed instead of this one, after all, he was the one that deserved the uncomfy room

before picking you he saw the pregnant belly, the shirt you were wearing rolled up so it was exposed to the cold air

" ‘m sorry baby, your mama doesn't deserve this, you have the right to be angry with me" tears were pricking his eyes, maybe he was thinking too ahead but would you leave him for this?

"I'm such and asshole, I hope you don't remember that lady's name" he told the fetus as if he was having an actual conversation face to face "behave for mom yeah? don't put more pressure on her than already did" with that he picked you up, without knowing you were fully awake the whole conversation

you let yourself be carried to the big bedroom, once you felt him place you on the bed, you tugged his shirt while looking at him with teary eyes "we need to talk tomorrow but please,stay hajime" you were still mad, but his company is what you were craving right now

"there's no way I'm not staying forever with you"

# SUNA RINTARO

rintaro was coming home late this past weeks but he finally had a free night! so you were excited to spend a bonding time with him and your unborn baby

finishing the little detail on the table such as the dry flowers and the candles, you hear the door being open "rinnie! you finally home! it felt like forever while waiting for you!" he gave you a sweet peck in your lips before going to his room to change his clothes

"oh~ I see you dressed fancy for the occasion! wait for me I think I have a dress that stills fits me!" "what do you mean? I'm going out with the inarizaki boys, kita is in town"

you stopped midway the hall that ended in your room, quickly walking towards your boyfriend again "what do you mean you're going out? what about what I made?"

"you made something?"

it was ridiculous to keep begging, maybe you should call it a day and watch some movies in the couch with a tube of ice cream, alone, again.

"okay then, have fun rin, don't drink to much and come home safe"

-

rin came home after a few hours out, he indeed had a good time with his old teammates but his mind was all the time one you, maybe he should have stay with you, eat some homemade food and cuddle all night while talking about nothing

he entered the house and saw you spread on the couch, huge blanket on with his highschool jersey on, long forgotten night snacks on the night table and Netflix on the tv

it wasn't only that what caught his eye but the table in the kitchen too, he walked towards it and saw it, the candles, the flower carefully placed on the middle of the table, the matching napkins and fancy plates, so that was what you were referring to earlier

guilt creeped all over his body, he didn't acknowledge your efforts to make a night for the both of you, was this negligence? he thought

going again to the couch, bending over so he would be at your height, he placed a hand on your belly before speaking

"you're allowed to be mad at me when you're born baby" he paused for a few seconds, thinking what was he gonna say next "papa is a fucking asshole— sorry, don't say that, papa is very clumsy from time to time"

"Rin?"

there you were! his hand came quickly behind your neck, pressing your forehead and noses together, lips brushing each other

"I'm sorry I'm so stupid— fuck, I really don't want to cry right now, I'm an horrible person"

you cupped his face with both your hands, eyes teary about to cry for a second time that day "you're not horrible Rin, it's just it feels lonely you know?" tears already going down your cheek, the sight made his heart ache, you were crying because of him

"I know you're out there trying to be the best for us but" your voice wiggly, you were really trying to hide the sobs you had inside "but sometimes it feels like you're not around anymore, I can't share the little moments I have because I wake up to an empty bed and go to sleep with the thought of you being out" full sobs were coming out of you at this point, days of pain finally reaching their point "and it hurts so bad not to have you around"

rintaro was crying along with you, you could feel his wet tears on your neck, where he was placing his head "and your absolutely right angel, I'm gonna be better for you– for the both of you, what about I take the day off tomorrow, yeah?" his quavering voice betraying him, even if you knew he was crying he wanted to be strong

"that sounds perfect rin... come cuddle me?"

carrying you bridal style to the bedroom, he lit your favorite candle and snuggled you under the cost sheets

"cuddle you, all day long baby"

[timid-orchid]

Problems:

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Reader

Warnings: Life problems, penis

Word Count: 1,172

Today…was one of those days.

The days where you felt so beat down, so…exhausted, that you couldn’t even get out of bed. You spent your time staring at the ceiling, watching—feeling—the time pass so agonizingly slow. Your chest felt so heavy from the pain all of your worries have put on your heart. Your shoulders ached from carrying the weight of the world.

A pressure behind your eye would throb, making the ache in your head worse.

Tears ran down your cheeks, but you didn’t feel them anymore. All you felt was the dryness, the soreness that those tears left in their wake. Your throat felt raw from the sobs that forcibly clawed their way out.

But between the pains and aches you felt…

Numb.

Everything was disconnected from you. Were you even here anymore? If you didn’t have the pain…how would you know you were still alive?

You felt stuck, like you were trying to walk through wet cement as it dried, not allowing you to take another step forward, another step closer to the way out, to the solution.

Was there even a solution?

Everything you’ve tried, every path you’ve taken to find a solution to your problem all crumbled to dust in your hands before you even got to fully grasp them.

Was there anything to grasp?

Your thoughts were interrupted by the vibrations of your phone on the nightstand, but you didn’t reach for it. You didn’t even know who was calling, you just wanted to remain still, remain in the softness of your bed.

What were you going to do?

What could you do?

“Y/N?”

The door to your room opened after a knock, but you didn’t turn to see who it was.

“I got worried about you, you haven’t been answering your phone.”

Leon walked around the side of the bed so that he could see your face.

“I’m sorry…” You whimpered.

Worry clouded his gaze, “Oh, sweetheart.” He pulled the blanket up and slipped underneath, pulling you into his chest as he covered you both with the blanket.

“I—it—s been hard…so hard, Leon.” You sobbed as he tucked you under his chin, hands rubbing up and down your back.

“E—everything’s been so hard. I—I don’t know what to do, I—” You choked.

He shushed you gently, “catch your breath and then tell me.”

You took a moment to breath in deeply, exhaling slowly before continuing.

“So much has gone so wrong all at once. A—and I don’t know what to do to fix it all…”

“It’s not one thing after another either,” you continued, “it all overlaps. And I can’t keep up…I’ve tried so hard to keep up…”

“I—it feels like a never ending cycle.”

"Once you get something fixed, you turn around to watch as something else breaks. Starting the cycle all over again." Leon finishes.

You looked up at him with big, teary eyes.

"What am I going to do, Leon?"

"I'd start with the most urgent thing first." Leon offered. "Then slowly make your way to the less urgent things."

"But once I get through fixing the last thing, the first thing would need to be fixed again." You whispered.

"That's the thing about life, isn't it?"

"Life is a cycle. Problems and solutions are a cycle too."

You sniffled. "But what if the problem never gets solved?"

"Then you take a moment and step back, then when you're ready, you step forward again and see that all problems can be solved."

"And if I can't take a step back?"

"Then see if you can find different options to solve your problems, and if you still can't, then maybe asking someone to look at the problems with you to help you find an option may help."

You reached up, trailing a finger down his cheek, feeling the stubble down to his chin.

"And what if the problem is internal?"

"Ask yourself what is causing the problem. If you don't know what it is then that's okay." He grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers with yours, then pulled your hand to his mouth and kissed each knuckle.

"Maybe writing down what is going on in your life could help you physically see what the problem could be. Talking to someone about things may help as well, though I know you don't like talking about your problems. You want to keep everything to yourself until you just can't carry it anymore. You would rather fall than to be a burden on anyone else."

"But, sweetheart. I want you to know that you are not a burden, nor will you ever be a burden. We all have our problems, our demons that we have to fight day in and day out. Sometimes those demons overpower us, and we need someone to help us carry that burden. There are people that will listen to you and want to help you."

He pushed his finger under your chin so that you could look up at him.

"You don't have to go through these things alone, my dearest."

Soft lips pressed against yours as Leon pulled you closer.

"Whether the problem is internal or external, please know that I am here to help you. I'll always listen to you; I'll always try to help you find the solution to your problem. And if we can't find a solution, then we're going to fucking create a solution."

You giggled, heart feeling lighter now that Leon was here. His voice always seemed to calm your racing thoughts.

"And if I can't be there in person, then my phone is always on, you know you can call me whenever and wherever. It doesn't matter if I'm dead asleep or on a mission, I will always answer your call. Then we can create a solution together."

Your lip trembled.

"What if the problem never stops?"

"Then we'll create an even bigger problem that will kick the original problem's ass."

You snorted.

"No, I'd just hand you a blowtorch and let you chase the problem down the threaten to set it on fire." He laughed.

"You'll never let me forget that, huh?"

"I just wanted you to remember you are bigger than your problems. You are the solution, you just gotta realize it. Envision it like this: you’re in a dick sizing contest with your problem, you’re sporting 10 incher while your problem has a 1 incher.”

“Leon—”

“Don’t be afraid to swing that 10 incher around, baby. Chase your problem with it, make it scared of you, follow it home and fuck its wife while it watches—”

“Leon!” You laughed, shaking your head. “I get it, I promise.”

“Damn right you do. You’re so much stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

“Thank you, Leon.”

“Your penis is so big, baby. Traumatize your problem—”

“Leon!”

“Make your penis the unyielding nightmare of your problem—”

“Leon, I understand—”

“Now that I think about it…” Leon hummed.

“Please don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Think.”

“Only if you come have breakfast with me.”

“I would love that.”

[helliontherapscallion]

Lost Time (The Ashes of Yourself Part 2)

Part 1     Part 3    Part 4

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: mentions of suicide attempts/ideation, swearing, daddy/abandonment issues

Word count: 3,879

You and Techno stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, both of you not knowing what to say to each other. So much was left unsaid between you two throughout your childhoods and the past four years that you didn’t know where to even start. You supposed a simple ‘how are you?’ would suffice, but that’d be too simple, far too simple for not talking to each other in literal years. But you couldn’t just say ‘hey, I’m incredibly jealous that you are Dad’s favorite and I totally didn’t send you my suicide note that you may or may not have seen’, that’d be way too much trauma dumping for your taste. You couldn’t think of anything else to say, so you chose to sheepishly grin at him and awkwardly wave. 

“Heh uh, how’re you…?” Smooth, (y/n). Real smooth.

You watched as he furrowed his brows slightly before he hesitantly gave you a small wave with his gargantuan pink hand. “...I’m doin alright. You?”

“I’ve seen better days.”

“Right…”

An awkward silence fell over you two as you glanced down at your bloodied hands. “Sorry bout the blood. It won’t really stop until I stop moving.”

He shrugged, “that’s fine. I’ve bled everywhere in this house. Nothing that won’t come out.”

“Alright then.”

You wanted to crawl into a pit and just let yourself die, you hated this awkward atmosphere you created. Your mind scrambled to find something to say to the man other than a stupid ‘alright then’. You haven’t even seen him in four years, surely you would be able to find something to talk about. You were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard him clear his throat.

“I uh got some clothes for you. They’re Tommy’s old clothes from when he stayed with me during his exile. I don’t know if they’ll fit, but I’m guessing that they’re better than the wet ones you’re wearing.”

When he saw you wince when you tried to stand up, he rushed to your side and helped you stand up. You could feel the backs of your knees start to drip blood. “Do you have any spare lava?”

His hands paused on your upper arms, “yes, but why would you need it?”

“It kinda heals me. I mean, just enough that my skin stops cracking open and bleeding everywhere.”

“Why don’t we just take you to a lava lake in the Nether?”

You glanced out the window at the flurry of snowflakes falling to the ground and being whisked off to other places by the harsh wind. You shuttered, remembering what it felt like to be fully engulfed in water. “Water hurts. I don’t want to get burnt out again.”

“Right, I’ll go get a few buckets full. Stay here,” with that, he ushered you to sit in front of the fire once again and draped the large blanket over your shoulders again. You could hear him move to another room and rustle around what you presumed was a chest before you heard his heavy footsteps walking behind the couch. You could hear the billowing of the wind when he opened the door before it was cut off by the door closing. 

You leaned forward and put your hands in the fire, relishing in the feeling of the flames melting away the charred skin slightly. The flames licked and caressed your dark skin slowly giving you more feeling back in the damaged tissue. As you were turning your hands over the flames, you thought about your voluntary near death experience just about an hour before. 

The thought of the ocean finally taking you and dragging your charcoaled corpse into its depths never to be seen again was alluring. After feeling the intense pain and the suffocation that came with chucking yourself into the ocean when you’re part blaze was definitely a deterrent, but you just had to push through the pain. This was something you’d dreamt of doing since you were fifteen and you’d be damned if you were going to let pain stop you. 

You know you felt sort of… grateful that Philza saved you when you were laying on that beach, but now that you had time to reflect on what happened, you felt resentful that he did. Of course he’d take away the only good thing you had going on in your life, he was full of audacity and impudence when you were a kid. He hasn’t changed at all much to your disappointment. You shouldn’t have expected him to change in the first place, that was just something that you knew in the back of your mind would never happen. A large part of you craved his approval and affection, but you knew that wouldn’t happen. 

Your thoughts were cut off by someone pulling you back gently from the fire. “I got the lava. Uh, I can set up an area for you downstairs with netherrack.”

“No, you don’t have to, I just have to put it on my joints for a few minutes.”

“Don’t you want to, uh, fully cover yourself?”

“I can hold off until the snowstorm dies down. It’s nothing too major.” You dipped your hands into the large bucket of lava and sighed in relief, “that’s much better, thank you Technoblade.”

“It’s no problem, but you literally just almost died. How is that something that’s ‘not major’?”

“I’m used to… well, this,” you took a hand out of the lava and gestured to your stone covered arm. “It’s just more than I’m used to. Kinda uncomfortable, but I’ll live.”

“What do you mean you’re used to it? You don’t live by water do you?”

“Yeah, I live by the ocean so I’m bound to get a little charred. No big deal,” you took your hands out of the bucket, shook the excess lava off, and stuck your elbows in. You looked at your now dully glowing hand and wiggled your fingers. There were more blackened scars etched into your skin on your joints, but you didn’t care.

“Heh? Why the hell would you live by an ocean?” 

You wove your hands nonchalantly in the air, “I always liked how the water looked when the sun set. The way that the pinks and yellows would reflect and bounce off the waves? Breathtaking.” You also lived by the ocean so that you had an easy way out of living, but you weren’t about to tell him that. Too much trauma dumping.

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” 

“Have you ever seen the sun setting over the ocean?” You rose a brow at the piglin hybrid sitting on the couch. 

“Well, no but-”

“Then you can’t knock it till you try it. I’ll take you to my old place after I can take a proper lava bath. You won’t regret it, promise.”

“Still, you’re literally made of fire. Look what happened to you… Er, speaking of, how’d this happen?” He looked you up and down inquisitively with his red eyes. 

You sighed as you took your elbows out of the lava and dipped your feet into the buckets. “...Do you still have your communicator?”

You watched as his floppy ear flicked and his eyebrow rose at you, “...Yes, but I only talk to Dad. Why, did you leave me a message?” Before he could stand up to grab his communicator, you stopped him with a hand on his shin. “No, I didn’t. I was just wondering.”

He didn’t look convinced, “...tell me what happened. Were you pushed?”

Your shoulders tensed up against your will before you forced them to relax. “I fell in, got too close to the edge.”

“You’re so lucky Dad was already at your house, you could’ve died. How could you be so careless?” 

You only responded with a blaze-like frustrated grunt that rumbled in the back of your throat and removed your feet from the buckets. Picking up one of the buckets, you took a swig of the lava. The viscous liquid crawled slowly down your throat and soothed your burned esophagus and stomach. Clearing your throat, you looked over to your estranged brother. He was looking at you with disgust, his snout scrunched up slightly and his mouth twisted into a grimace.

“What?” Your voice sounded less strained and scratchy. Overall, it felt better to speak.

“Your- your feet were just in there. That’s disgusting.”

You blew out a puff of smoke and watched as it drifted to the ceiling, “my feet were just in water, remember? They’re clean. And besides, I swallowed and inhaled a lot of water so I needed it. I mean, my lungs are still stone, but there’s nothing I can do about it except wait it out.”

“That’s still gross. Wait, can you not drink water?”

“No- well technically I can, but it hurts. Gimme one sec.”

He was quiet as he watched you take a deep breath and dunk your entire head into the lava bucket you weren’t drinking from. His youngest sibling was… strange, but he found that he enjoyed your company so far. The only company he’s had at his cabin recently was his brothers and dad, which burned him out slightly with their big personalities. You were as awkward as he was and that was refreshing. But he couldn’t help but feel guilty after hearing the majority of yours and Philza’s argument. Now that he thought back on his childhood, the majority of his memories were of him and Philza. He didn’t have many negative memories past his adoption, and that was because he spent all of his time adventuring with Philza. He did everything with his adoptive father and absolutely nothing with his siblings. He knew nothing about Wilbur, well Ghostbur now, or Tommy until they stayed with him during Tommy’s exile. He’s never talked to you or spent any time with you before, and he wanted to get to know who you were. He wanted to make up for lost time.

After you were under for a while, he started to worry that you drowned yourself. Just as he was about to pull your head out of the bucket with a hand close to your forehead, you slowly removed your head from the lava and held it over the bucket so that the excess would drip off from you. Panting slightly, you sat up fully and wiped your eyes clean of the lava. You could hear some rustling in front of you so you opened your eyes to see your brother holding out clothes to you. 

“Go change, I’ll make dinner. There’s a spare room upstairs, second door on the left. You can stay there for now.”

You hesitated before you took the clothes from him, “I… Thank you Techno.” You weren’t expecting him to be so kind to you, he was known as the blood god after all. He was ruthless when he battled, leaving thousands without families. You saw him a couple of times when you were younger coming home with Philza covered in blood with a malicious expression on his face. That always made you try to avoid him; not that you had any difficulty doing that, he was never home. 

He curtly nodded before he turned to walk into where you assumed was the kitchen. You trudged up the stairs and tiredly drug your feet down the hallway towards the second door on the left. When you opened the door, you were pleasantly surprised. You didn’t know what you were expecting to see, but it certainly wasn’t this. It was simplistic, yet it looked like a professional decorated it.

The bed looked incredibly comfortable and soft with a large white comforter draped over the top. At both sides of the headboard, twin chests sat underneath double hung windows with wooden frames that matched the spruce planks that made up the walls. You were sure that once the relentless snowstorm stopped you would be able to see a spruce forest in the distance. Lanterns hung at the far corners of the room opposite of where the bed sat. Glancing at the opposite wall, you saw a framed portrait of a nether fortress. You assumed that it was the nether fortress on the other side of his portal. If you squinted, you could see orange specks that you assumed were blazes. 

After you got dressed, you were pleasantly surprised to see that Tommy’s clothes fit you. Despite the slight bagginess of the pants and the sleeves of the jumper hanging halfway past your hands, they fit relatively well. Humming in satisfaction, you hung up your wet clothes to dry and made your way downstairs following the savory smell of cooking meat and potatoes. Your mouth watered at the smell, it’s been a while since you’ve eaten an actual meal. You’d just been surviving on an apple a day with the occasional potato when you had some leftover from making homemade vodka. 

You walked into the kitchen and looked at your brother standing at the stove, the stove looked miniscule compared to his seven and a half foot tall form. That man was a giant and you wouldn’t be lying if his height alone didn’t intimidate you slightly. If he wanted, he could grab your entire face with his hand. Various light pink scars decorated his muscular arms that poked out from the rolled up sleeves of his blouse. He wasn’t wearing his huge fluffy cloak, instead it was draped over the back of one of the chairs at the large wooden dining table. Every part of your body wanted to take it, wrap yourself up into a blaze hybrid burrito, and take the best nap you’ve ever had. His corseted form moved gracefully around the kitchen grabbing various spices and herbs. 

You saw his ears twitch before he moved his massive head  to look back at you, you could see the corners of his mouth quirk up ever so slightly. “They fit you, that’s good. Take a seat, dinner's almost ready.” With that, you took a seat at the table. You felt like a child again, the table was huge, the tabletop coming up to your lower chest. The table and chairs were made of what looked like dark oak wood. The wood was carved intricately with complex patterns etched into the frame and the back of the chairs. 

You eyed the cape draped over the chair next to you. It was a deep royal red with black speckled white fur lining the border of the fabric. If you looked closely, you could see that the pendant that connected the two ends was made of gold and had a diamond encrusted center. It looked incredibly soft, it would be so easy to just reach out with a finger to pet it. Your brother wouldn’t notice if you did it quick enough so that you could touch it before he turned around. When you gathered the courage to touch the cloak, you reached out with a slightly shaking hand to pet the fur, watching Technoblade the entire time. 

Everytime he would move to grab a spice, you would quickly retract your hand and try to act as innocent as possible only to try again after he didn’t turn around again. Just as you finally touched the fabric, you were in awe with how soft it was. It was like petting a newborn puppy but better. You truly couldn’t put into words how soft it was. 

You were snapped out of your trance by a small chuckle, “soft isn’t it?” You jumped, quickly retracting your hand and smacking your head against the back of your chair in the process. You could feel your cheeks heat up more than they usually did, you could see the glow of orange intensify at the bottom of your vision. Your brother was staring at you with amusement, his mouth quirked up in a small smile. He was carrying two plates full of steak and potatoes, putting one in front of you before walking to sit opposite of you. 

“Uh, yeah. It- it’s really soft.” 

“I got it from a nation thousands of blocks from here, it wasn’t easy to get. Those guards were not happy to see me stealing from their king.” He chuckled before he started to eat his food. 

“Is that where you got the crown too?”

“No, Dad got it for me as a going away present when I moved out… You’ve grown up so much since I’ve last seen you. I remember when you barely reached my waist and now you’re only about a foot and a half shorter than me.” 

“You’ve gotten taller also, more scars too.”

“You as well. Are all those from water?” 

“Yeah, it only scars when I crack the stone on my skin though.”

“Ouch. So like you get scars whenever you move?”

You shrugged, “basically.” Turning to your plate, you struggled with not wolfing down the entire thing in one go. You didn’t want to have your brother get the impression you had bad table manners. Wilbur raised you better than that. When you took a bite of the stake, you moaned slightly at the taste. Quickly swallowing your mouthful, you looked at your brother with wide eyes. “Ender Tech, where’d you learn to cook? It’s delicious.”

He gave you a small bashful smile and shrugged, “when you’ve been living alone for this long you pick up on a few things.”

“I’ve been living alone for about a year now and I still can’t cook.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, “well what do you eat then?”

“Just an apple a day, maybe a potato too if I have any to spare.”

He narrowed his eyes, “how the hell are you still alive? That’s hardly enough.”

You blankly stared at your plate, “I’ve been asking myself that everyday, things aren’t… amazing living alone. Uh, let’s talk about happier things. I wanna get to know you.”

He stared at you for a while before he sighed, “fine, but we’re talking about this later. How do you wanna go about getting to know each other?”

“It’s gonna be hard cuz we have like seventeen years to catch up on, but I think we can do it. Let’s… let’s play the favorites game. We take turns naming a category and we both say what our favorite thing in that is. I’ll start, what’s your favorite type of mythology? Like Greek, Egyptian, Norse…”

His eyes lit up at the mention of mythology, “I like Greek mythology. I can talk for hours about it.”

“Nice! I personally like Norse mythology better, we have to exchange myths sometime.”

“My turn, what’s your favorite myth?”

You matched his excitement, “I really like the Ragnarok myth. The fact that the gods know of their impending doom and destruction and are actively working towards it is- is just really intriguing. What’s yours?”

You both abandoned your meals as your conversation diverged into telling each other various myths from your respective favorite mythologies. Your favorite ones he told you were the tales of Orpheus and Eurydice, Persephone and Hades, and Psyche and Eros. You were a sucker for romance even if the thought of you being in a relationship was something you were uncomfortable thinking about. Romance stories just made you happy to see people finding comfort and fulfillment in each other. You told him more about Ragnarok, the creation of Mjolnir, and the murder of Baldur. 

Before you two knew it, hours passed by. Your untouched dinners grew cold and the clock struck midnight startling both of you out of your story telling. You both looked at the grandfather clock then back at each other in shock, “we’ve been talking for four hours Tech.”

“Yeah, we did. It- it was nice talking about mythology. Usually people get bored when I talk about it.”

You rolled your eyes, “Ender, I know. Why don’t they find it as interesting as we do? It’s been a while since I’ve had someone to talk to, it’s nice.”

“We better go to bed, we can just eat a bigger breakfast tomorrow before we take you to the Nether and your house. You probably want to sleep in your own bed.”

You laughed nervously, “yeah about that… I don’t really have a bed anymore. Or an actual house for that matter.”

“The fuck happened?”

“I may have burnt it down accidentally.”

He was silent for a bit before he looked at you suspiciously. “Are you gonna burn my house down?” And there’s the thing you hated most when you told people of your lineage and abilities. They always believe that you’re a being of destruction and inferno. They always grow to not trust you around them or their possessions fearing you would burn them to a crisp. You cursed your biological parents daily for giving you these genes.

You shrunk in on yourself slightly, “no, I’d never do that to you. I’m in control as long as I keep my emotions in check. Can’t get too excited, scared, or happy. I just can’t do anything extreme and my temperature stays low.” 

He grunted, nodding in satisfaction. “We probably should get to sleep soon if we wanna get stuff done before the family reunion.”

“I forgot about that… Have you met the kid Phil’s gonna adopt?”

He drew in a long breath into his nose and huffed it out of his mouth. “Yeah, his name’s Ranboo. And he’s actually only about half a year younger than you are. I don’t know how to feel about him yet, but he seems like he has good intentions.”

You drug a hand through the flames idly flickering on your head, “is Phil seriously gonna adopt another kid? I don’t think it’s a good idea for him.”

“That’s what I thought, I don’t need any more orphans running around here. You, Tommy, and Wilbur are more than enough. We can talk more about this in the morning.”

With that, you picked up your plates and took them to the kitchen. Before you could turn on the water faucet, a hand on your shoulder stopped you. “I’ll get it. You can’t be around this stuff.”

“A little water won’t hurt me. It’s the least I could do, you made dinner.” 

“A little water will hurt you. Go to bed, I’ll handle this. It’s only two dishes.”

You opened your mouth to argue with him, but it snapped shut as soon as he gave you a warning look. “Go to bed (y/n).”

“...Aright, thank you for doing that. I’ll see ya in the morning.”

He grunted as you walked out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and into the guest room. You walked straight to the bed and plopped down onto the surface. You felt sort of bad that you were rubbing soot off onto the white comforter from your still charcoaled skin, but it was nothing that you couldn’t clean in the morning. The bed was extremely comfortable, a stark contrast to your old one. Your old one had lumps and some exposed bedsprings sticking out of the fabric. With the weight of the heavy comforter and the plush mattress, you were out like a light.

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[goingoutto]

Lost in the sight, I try to reach out

They tried sleeping pills. Steve didn't want to, but agreed in the end. He started to do those long stares, watching Billy’s face closely, looking for some kind of answer Billy knew wasn't there. They had a schedule now. No more TV after 8, no more beer or weed during weekdays, no more coffee after 3, goddamn.

It's hot. Their room’s fan was on practically all the time now, making a low humming sound. Steve took the pills and went to brush his teeth, while Billy’s occupied himself with throwing the blankets on the floor. He hated the fucking things. He understood that Hawking's winter wasn't something to joke about, but it was summer, for Christ’s sake. He also knew that those heavy blankets really helped Steve feel more grounded after a bad nightmare, so the blankets were going to stay exactly where they were.

He turned the bedside lamp off and watched Steve close the bathroom door softly, the lava lamp in the corner making weird shadows on his face.

‘Man, I can't believe it's hot as balls.’ He complained as he laid on the bed, and Billy agreed, feeling the sheets stuck on his back. He got up, opened the window, and groaned when the warm breeze blew on his face. The crickets and cicadas were screaming. Steve laughed and kicked the last sheet off the bed.

He turned on his belly, bringing a leg up, and put his right hand underneath his pillow. He was wearing ruby red boxer briefs and Billy's old band shirt that has a hole near the neck, his hair was still wet from the shower earlier. Billy licked his lips and looked at him in the way that usually made him blush from head to toe. Both of them knew that if things were better, they would have fucked tonight, but Steve has been so tired those last few days that he could barely get it up.

‘Comfortable, princess?’

‘Fuck off.’ He snorted and pushed Billy a little.

Steve did the stare thing again, and Billy could see him getting anxious. His eyes were wide, raw, and he was chewing on his lips.

‘Everything okay, babe?’

Steve nodded and slid his hand under Billy’s pillow.

‘I'm just. Billy, what if it doesn't work?`

‘Then we can try something else. The doctor gave us plenty of options, you know.’

‘Yeah, okay.’

Billy took his hand from under the pillow and intertwined their fingers, kissing it. God, when he became such a fucking sap. Steve watched him for a few seconds and finally closed his eyes, relaxing.

In any other scenario, Billy would have been a stellar asshole, and he would make fun of Steve, and push him away because none of that was his problem. The thing was, Billy was fucking in love with Steve, and he cared for him so much sometimes he thought he was losing his mind.

Billy stroked his brow and let his finger slide a few times on his eyebrow, trying to erase the permanent frown. Touched his cheek, his nose, his cupid bow, the two little moles on his other cheek.

The house was so quiet, their room almost completely dark other than the orange lava lamp. Billy knew the moment the pills started to work. Steve frowned a little and blinked a few times, dazed, his lips parting. His boyish features relaxed in a way that Billy had not seen for months.

They slept. Billy didn't sleep that much, more than his usual 7 hours for sure, but he woke up several times to check on how Steve was going.

Steve was dead to the world. He had moved a little, turned on his back, still facing Billy, his eyes moving behind dark eyelids, his pillow wet with drool.

Billy kissed his cheek and got up to make some breakfast. He was starving and happy. The pills were making Steve fucking sleep. Fucking finally. He exhaled all the last month’ stress and made some strong black coffee, the way Steve liked. He made eggs, bacon and toast, ate like a hungry man, put a plate for Steve and washed the dishes.

Around eleven, he started to get worried. He kept checking the big old clock on top of the fridge and the stairs, waiting for any sign of Steve. What if they did the wrong dosage? What if Steve had some kind of bad reaction while he was sleeping? What if. Billy shook his head and grabbed the doctor's note, angry, and checked the dosage again. Everything was alright, so why the fuck Steve was not up yet?

He went up to their room, ready to shake Steve, so he would wake the goddamn up. He stood near their bed and watched the other boy. Steve’s face was still relaxed, his hand curled up on Billy’s pillow, the fan moving his hair a little. He still looked tired and pale.

‘Steve.’ He waited for a few seconds and after getting no response at all, sat on their bed, grabbed Steve's ankle and squeezed. ‘Come on, it's almost noon, Steve.'

Steve turned his face, his entire body, in Billy’s direction and gave a deep sigh. He blinked a few times, adjusting his eyes to the room’s clarity, despite the closed curtains. He groaned as he slowly sat against the headboard. Head tilted back, exposing his long neck. He stared at Billy through his lashes for a few moments, searching for something, and boy, Billy was starting to really fucking hate this stare thing.

‘I. I slept.’ He slurred the words and smacked his mouth a few times, as if his tongue was suddenly too big and glued to the roof of his mouth. ‘I slept.’ He repeated and closed his eyes again.

Something was fucking wrong.

Billy massaged his ankle, giving him a few moments to properly wake up. Yeah, okay, Steve had slept, but Billy wasn’t liking this almost drugged vibe Steve was giving. He watched Steve's face carefully, still massaging his ankle, and saw his mouth go slack, lips parting. He actually considered letting Steve go back to sleep, however he knew that it would screw up the sleep schedule that it took them so long to build.

Billy hated all of it. He hated how tired and grumpy Steve was. He hated how exhausted he looked all the time. He hated how Steve kept blaming himself for this, even thought both of them knew it was fucking stupid. He hated how he felt his heart break when he found Steve napping while he was still doing the dishes. Yeah, standing up, elbows deep in the bubbly water and everything. Fucking hell.

Billy dragged a finger against Steve's sole, and Steve kicked him in the leg.

‘Fucker.’ He complained and sighed, burying both feet in Billy’s tight.

‘Oh, it's on, you bitch.’ Billy yelped at the cold toes and grabbed his ankles again, pulling him towards the end of the bed. Steve laughed and tried to roll away, but Billy was already straddling him and tickling him at his sides, near the rib cage.

‘Okay! Okay, I’m up. Jesus.’ Steve's hair was a mess, he was breathless, and his cheeks finally had some colour again. He seemed to be more alert. Maybe they started the pills' thing with the wrong foot?

‘How you feeling, pretty boy?’ Billy put a hair strand behind Steve’s ear and saw him roll his eyes. Yeah, definitely more awake right now.

‘I dunno. Okay, I guess. Have a bit of a headache, though.’

‘There is a plate waiting for you downstairs, your majesty.’

‘Ugh, shut up.’ Steve pushed him until he was almost falling off the bed. ‘You are so annoying, man. I still don't know why I put up with you.’

‘Because I’m the only fun thing in this bumfuck shithole town, and you know it.’

Billy gets a face full of dirty socks (that he kept leaving all over the house) as an answer.

> Lost in the sight, I try to reach out pt. 2

[fruitcoops]

hi eve! i was wondering if you would be interested in writing a coops shower fic, nothing smutty, just really soft and sensual and maybe comforting. i’m going through a tough time right now and your writing always cheers me up. thanks <3

Yes! This was combined with an ask for Coops' first day/ night living together--I hope you enjoy! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove

TW for showering together (nothing smutty, just fluff)

They tumbled through the front door in a mess of laughter and rainwater—Remus’ soaked sneakers slipped on the floor and he skidded into Sirius, who was still blinded by the damp hair hanging in his eyes. “Shit!” Remus spluttered around his breathless grin as they struggled to keep their balance. “Baby, baby, grab the door—”

The front door slammed shut and steadied them just as another bolt of lightning cracked overhead; they stood in the entrance, panting and drenched, before Sirius’ chest began to shake beneath Remus’ cheek once more. “Mon dieu,” he snickered, leaning his head back against the heavy wood. “Which god did we piss off?”

“I’m taking this as a good sign.” Remus shivered as he shook his raincoat out on the welcome mat. “A fresh start, and all that symbolism.”

“Okay, college boy.”

He peeled one wet sock off and snapped it at Sirius’ hip, but the extra water weight made him miss by a mile and Sirius just shot him a teasing grin while he wriggled out of his tshirt. “I told you to bring a jacket,” Remus said wryly as his head got stuck. “But oh no, sweetheart, it’s totally not going to rain today. The weatherman is always wrong, it’s been sunny all week—”

“Alright, alright,” Sirius grumbled from the depths of wet fabric, waving one hand in his general direction. “You’re very smart.”

“Do you want first shower?”

Sirius’ cheeks were pink when he finally freed himself, both from his efforts and their mad five-block dash home. His brows furrowed in confusion. “Aren’t we showering together?”

Remus shrugged. “Hey, it’s your house.”

“Our house,” he corrected, taking the hem of Remus’ shirt and helping him pull it over his head.

A little flurry of joy ran through Remus’ gut at his words; goosebumps broke out over his freezing skin, and he could feel a dopey smile spread over his face. Ours. Most of his stuff had been living at Sirius’ for a couple days, but he had only brought the last of it over and dropped his key off with his landlord that morning. The last six hours had been filled with delirious happiness every time he remembered. “Then lead the way, captain.”

Sirius kissed his chilly nose and took him by the hand—both their palms were clammy and half-numb from the rain, and Remus didn’t care one bit. Stripping down was significantly more difficult when every article of clothing seemed dead-set on becoming a second skin, but after a handful of minor mishaps and more than one muffled curse, they were finally standing under warm water.

Remus closed his eyes with a sigh, letting the steam wrap around every inch of him. His apartment may have been comfortable, but it was severely lacking in water pressure and heat compared to Sirius’ house.

Our house.

He hummed to himself and stepped back until his shoulder blades were pressed to Sirius’ chest; there was a low laugh, then callused fingers running through his hair. “What are you thinking about?”

“Our house,” he answered, turning to stand on his toes and place a kiss to Sirius’ lips. It was chaste and unhurried; there was no time constraint on how long they could spend there. Remus didn’t have to worry about getting home too late, or whether he had brought enough stuff to stay the night. Everything he wanted was within reach.

Sirius smiled against his lips and draped his arms over Remus’ shoulders, tugging playfully on the wet curls at the base of his neck. “Good thoughts?”

“Always,” he said immediately. “This is…it’s so good, Sirius. So good. I am so happy.”

Their next kiss was deeper, but there was no real heat behind it, even as Remus curled his hands around the sharp peaks of Sirius’ hips. “I love you,” Sirius murmured when they pulled back for air. He bumped their noses together. “And I can’t wait to have you here all the time.”

“You don’t have to wait at all.”

His grin widened and he kissed Remus again. “I know.”

Remus nuzzled into the side of his neck and relaxed into the soapy slide of Sirius’ hand down his spine. He hadn’t realized how cold he was until the hot water started pouring over him, and sudden sleepiness trickled into the edges of his thoughts like rain through a gutter. The steam turned minty fresh as Sirius washed the expanse of his shoulders, then his neck, then all the way down each arm; he dropped a teasing pinch to Remus’ ass, but moved right back up to rub his thumb in the crook of one elbow.

“Do you want me to wash your hair?” he asked quietly against Remus’ temple.

“Mmm, please,” was all Remus could muster in response.

He had never really understood the hype about physical affection before he met Sirius. Sure, hugs from his parents and Jules were amazing, and fist bumps from the guys always made him feel included, but the gravitational pull Sirius had was like nothing he had ever felt. It was impossible to be uncomfortable if Remus was within five feet of him—impossible to feel unsafe when he fit so neatly in the dip of one shoulder.

“Love you,” he said around a slow exhale as Sirius began combing the conditioner through his hair. It was almost long enough to flop into his eyes, something that seemed to delight Sirius any time he saw it.

Warm lips brushed the shell of his ear for a moment. “You smell like la lavande.”

“Lavender?” Sirius hummed his approval and Remus raised his head just enough to kiss the water off his collarbone. “Do you like it?”

“Love it.” Sirius glanced down at him with a sideways smile, making one dimple pop. “Love you. Where did you get this?”

“Walgreens.”

That startled a laugh from him, which set Remus off as well. “Walgreens? Really?”

“I ran out one day at, like, midnight and it was the closest place. It smelled nice, so I just kept on buying it.”

Sirius shook his head with the same awed look on his face. “The secret to illegally soft hair is Walgreens conditioner. Amazing. My hair would riot.”

Remus frowned. “Your hair looks incredible even after you swim in salt water all day.”

“And then it tangles, and frizzes, and—” He paused. “Comment dit-on une colère? Like a toddler?”

“A tantrum?”

“Ouais.” Remus tilted his chin back obediently to let him wash the conditioner out. “It throws a tantrum. See, this is why I need you around all the time.”

“I have never seen your hair throw a tantrum before.” Sirius’ cheeks flushed and he bit his lip around a smile; Remus poked him lightly in the chest. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s an awfully big smile for nothing.”

His silver eyes shone as he placed yet another gentle kiss to Remus’ lips through the water running down both their faces. “You get to see it all the time now. No more going back to your apartment after we go places.”

“You’ll be subjected to my bedhead every morning,” Remus teased, resting their foreheads together as he reached for the soap.

“I love your bedhead.”

“I’m counting on it.” He took the bar of soap and ran it along the planes of Sirius’ chest, then around his back to trace every muscle. He could feel Sirius’ gaze on him with each movement and warmed from the inside out at the attention. Every bit of rainy cold that had snuck under his skin vanished in the minutes of comfortable quiet.

Thunder rolled through the sky when they finally turned the shower off and wrapped up in Sirius’ fluffiest towels—Remus’ own were significantly less fancy, but they remained in the linen closet on equal standing. It was silent things like that that made him love Sirius just a little bit more.

“Wait, wait, hang on,” he said as Sirius started pulling his sweatpants on.

“Hey!” Sirius protested when Remus took both the pants and his soft tshirt right out of his hands, winding the towel back around his waist with an awkward hop. “I’m going to get cold!”

“Five minutes!” Remus called over his shoulder as he hurried down the stairs with their clothes. “I promise it’s worth it!”

It would be a drizzly night; grand plans of takeout and a movie ran through his head and he did a small happy dance in the laundry room as he tossed their clothes in the dryer. His dryer. Their dryer. “Mine,” he murmured, running a hand over the top of the machine. It was a wild thought, and one he would have to get used to. He still instinctively checked the clock from time to time before remembering that he would be staying for—

Forever.

The thought came before Remus could really process it and he leaned against the dryer with an unsteady breath. It was only his first real day in the house, and already he was thinking about…that. About staying forever. It wasn’t as scary as he had imagined.

“Mon loup?” Sirius peeked around the doorjamb in confusion, still fiddling with the tucked side of his towel. “What are you doing?”

“It’s a trick that I learned from my mom,” Remus said rather than getting into the specific train of thought that probably left him looking like he had been whacked with a frying pan. “Do you want to do takeout for dinner?”

“I…kind of wanted to get dressed.”

Remus patted his hip as he passed. “Five minutes, baby. Where should we eat?”

“You pick.”

--

Forty minutes later, Remus found himself tucked under the blanket his mother had given him when he went away for college with his boyfriend and a box of takeout Thai food. Their clothes were still warm from the dryer—he would never forget the pure bliss on Sirius’ face when he got dressed and was instantly cocooned in heat—and Sirius’ hair was still half-damp from their shower, curling in little wings over his ears. It felt like worlds colliding. Somehow, Remus was just fine with that.

“Hey,” he said quietly as the exposition continued on screen. Sirius glanced over with his fork halfway to his mouth. “This is perfect.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looked around the living room—their living room—that had seemed so empty the first time he saw it. They could put pictures on the wall by the back door, and one box of his books still laid unopened by the shelves. He could bring out his grandmother’s quilt in the winter. A month from then, two months, ten months. “I’m happy here.”

Sirius’ breath caught for a moment before a hoodie-clad arm slid between Remus’ back and the couch and guided him over to rest his head on Sirius’ chest. His lips were slightly spicy from the curry when he kissed him. “I’m happy when you’re here,” Sirius said, hardly above a whisper. “I miss you when you’re not.”

Remus breathed in the smell of his—their—laundry detergent and felt his heart give a hard thump. “You don’t have to miss me anymore.”

“C’mere.” There was a shuffle as Sirius set both their food boxes on the coffee table and paused the movie, then shifted around so Remus was laying on his chest. He pulled the blanket all the way up to their shoulders and slipped one warm hand up Remus’ shirt to rest on the small of his back; his eyes were bright in the semi-darkness. “Stay with me.”

Remus didn’t hesitate. “Always.”

[the-iceni-bitch]

I’m the One to Blame

Pairing: Paul Diskant x DA fem!Reader, mentions of Andy Barber x DA fem!Reader (part 2 of Queen Bitch series)

Words: ~2.2k

Summary: Fucking you only made him hate you more.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, hate sex, rough sex, slight choking, cream pie, degradation, semi-public sex), cheating, everyone is an asshole except poor Andy, heavy misogyny, SMUT!!! 18+ ONLY!!!

A/N: I’m just a bad person I guess? I’m just gonna give a blanket apology for my infidelity kink, this kinda got away from me and it’s just gonna get worse.

I am no longer doing taglists so if you want to stay up to date on all the latest filth, follow my sideblog @the-iceni-library and turn on notifications!!

As soon as you heard the not guilty verdict you should’ve known what was coming. The growls and rumbling coming from the crowd of cops seated behind you was your cue to get out of there, not wanting to wait around for the inevitable blame game where those dumbasses decided that the scumbag got off because you were a meddling bitch and not because none actually wanted to put in the work to make a case.

It had been almost two months of this shit. You hadn’t even wanted to press this case; the evidence was circumstantial and you were 75 percent sure Ludlow had intimidated at least two of the defense witnesses out of testifying. But then the assholes had gone over your head and your boss basically told you to try the case they gave you and not listening when you told him the jury wasn’t going to swallow it.

Of course they didn’t swallow it. And of course it was your fault. God forbid those lazy bastards do their fucking jobs. You could feel all their ire focusing on you as you started to move towards the door, your eyes meeting Diskant’s as he glared at you while Ludlow ranted at him. Sometimes you wondered if he was as big of a piece of shit as his partner, or if he was just a fucking idiot.

Paul felt his blood starting to boil as he watched you storm out of the courtroom, his jaw clenched so tight he was worried he might snap something. The way your gaze just slid over him like he was nothing made him even angrier, and the way your hips swayed in that tight little dress just served to remind him how goddamn frustrated he was. He couldn’t believe Andy actually let you go to court dressed like that.

He hated that every time he saw you all he could think about was that night at the Bell. He still couldn’t believe his fiancée had bought that the marks you left on him were from a struggle with a perp. Thoughts of how warm and wet you were around him had started bleeding into his mind at inopportune times, and the memory only made him angrier.

Ludlow was still ranting about you when Paul rose from the bench and followed after you, the last thing he heard being his partner talk about how he should give that cunt a piece of his mind. He spotted you heading towards the bathroom and strode after you, growling under his breath about how you kept fucking up his life.

You jumped a little when the bathroom door slammed open, rolling your eyes when you saw Diskant fuming at you through the mirror.

“You draw the short straw, Diskant?” You could see his teeth grinding and it made you smirk. “Go on, lay it on me.”

“You threw it, didn’t you?” He ran his hand over his face as he watched you bend over the sink, telling himself to keep his eyes off your ass as you washed your hands. “You got all pissy your boss made you do your job, and you tanked the case just to be a cunt?”

“Fuck you, Diskant.” You felt your hackles go up when he moved closer. “I do my fucking job. I’m sick of taking all the shit for when you assholes fuck up these cases, grow up.”

“I’m so sick of your fucking mouth.” He stepped forward and pressed his chest to your back, bracing his hands on either side of your body as he growled into your hair. “Every time you open it I just want to shove something in there to shut you the fuck up.”

“No, get off.” You gasped when when he ran a hand up your arm until he could curl it around your throat, tilting your head back so he could scrape his teeth over your jaw. “Paul, we’re not doing this again.”

“You telling me you don’t want it?” He snarled against your neck as he pushed you even closer to the sink, the marble edge cutting into your hips painfully while he other hand trailed down your hip to drag up your skirt.

You wanted it so bad it was making you sick. Every day you were filled with self loathing from the moment Andy kissed you awake until you sank into your bed in a tangle of limbs after he made soft, reverent love to you. But he never fucked you like Paul had the night of your stupid mistake, and when your core still ached as you laid awake against Andy’s chest while he slept deeply, all you could think about was Paul’s thick cock splitting you apart until you almost screamed. And you hated him for it.

“Nothing to say, princess?” Your lip curled at him in a low growl when he sneered at you through the mirror, hissing when he finally wrenched your skirt up around your waist and teased his fingers under the edge of your lace panties. “Tell you what, if you’re not already soaked like a fucking whore, I’ll stop.”

“Ow, bastard!” You tried to turn around and slap him when he literally ripped your panties off you, the breaking elastic snapping against your skin with a sting, but then he was dipping two fingers into your center and stroking your walls slowly so all you could do was whine.

“Knew it.” You heard the clink of his belt under his low chuckle, arching your back when you felt his freed cock slap against the curve of your ass and spreading your legs as slick leaked from around his fingers and coated the inside of your thighs. “Just love to play the stuck up bitch, but this pussy fucking weeps for me. Sick of your fucking teasing, you goddamn slut.”

“Shut up and just fuck me.” You braced your hand against the mirror and moaned when he finally slid inside you, screwing your eyes closed and swallowing thickly when he started slamming his hips into you.

“Fucking bitch.” He slapped your ass hard when you turned and snarled at him, groaning when you clenched tight around him in response and digging his fingers into your hip as he spread your cheeks apart to watch his shiny cock plunge into you.

He was rabid, barely any rhythm to his thrusts as he grunted with each push of his hips. The slap of his hips against your ass and the lewd, wet sloshes of your pussy sucking him back in filled the empty bathroom with your grunts and moans. One of his hands snaked up to yank the front of your dress open and pull out your tits, pinching and pulling at your nipples until you were mewling for him.

You slammed your palm against the mirror when he curled over you and started biting at your neck, not even able to care that he was leaving marks all over you since you were so lost in your pleasure. The hand that was digging into your hip slid between your legs and you had to bite your cheek to keep from screaming, rolling your ass to meet his vicious thrusts while he started circling your clit harshly with the tips of his fingers.

“That’s right, come all over my cock like the fucking whore you are.” His breath was hot on your neck as he kept fucking you like an animal, and you avoided looking in the mirror as if not seeing his face would mean this wasn’t happening. “God, you’re so fucking tight. He ever make you come like this?”

“Shut up.” Your body vibrated around him when he bent his knees and slammed his cock over your g-spot, your legs almost giving out as pleasure roared through your veins and you fought the urge to scream at him. The last thing you wanted was for him to bring up Andy right now.

“He doesn’t, does he? Because he doesn’t treat you like the filthy fucking bitch you are.” He pulled you upright so he could sneer at you in the mirror, your wild eyes meeting his and widening as you took in your completely wrecked state, your makeup smeared and bruises all over your neck while you arched your bare breast into his hand. “But I know, and if I have to fuck you like a dirty slut to get you to quit being a fucking cunt, I’m gonna do it.”

“God, fuck you, Diskant.” You reached back and dug your nails into his neck, grinning wickedly when he hissed at you raising sharp red welts in his skin. “So fucking worried about me, when you’re the one who’s trailing after me like a kicked dog. That sweet little fiancée not keeping you satisfied?”

“Shut the fuck up.” He shoved three fingers in your mouth when you laughed at him, groaning into your hair when he felt you flutter around him again.

Drool started leaking down your chin as Paul pressed your tongue down and slid his fingers towards the back of your mouth, making you gag. You could feel his rhythm starting to grow frantic, the force of his thrusts crashing your hips into the edge of the sink until you were sure you were going to have bruises. He gripped your knee with his free hand and pushed it up until it was resting against the cool marble of the sink, opening you up so he could hit you even deeper and forcing you to brace both hands against the mirror to maintain your balance.

A thin whine escaped around his fingers when he ground into you at the perfect angle, your toes curling in your pumps as you spasmed violently and your release gushed out around him and soaked his thighs. Paul’s hips finally stopped moving when he shot his thick cum inside you, shoving himself as deep as possible as his cock twitched in his release and he buried his face in your neck to muffle his roar.

He surprised you by grabbing your hair at the roots and turning your head so he could smash his lips against yours, tangling his tongue with yours until you couldn’t breathe then growling when you shoved him off you.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You hissed when he pulled your skirt down over your hips unceremoniously, turning to snarl at him as you shoved your tits back into your bra and started to do your dress back up. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“Jesus Christ, fuck off.” He tucked himself back into his slacks and redid his fly as he watched you try to straighten yourself out, a massive undertaking with how fucked out you looked. “Next time I’m gonna fuck that bitch mouth so I don’t have to listen to that fucking voice.”

“There’s no next time.” You turned back around and grabbed some paper towels to clean the mess you two had made between your thighs. “There shouldn’t have been a this time, fuck.” You splashed some water on your face and wiped off your smeared makeup before grabbing a scarf and winding it around your neck to cover the marks he’d left on you. “I’m not doing this again.”

“You’re a fucking liar.” He wrapped his hand around your arm and pulled you into his chest, ignoring your growl as he scraped his teeth over the curve of your cheek. “You want this, you fucking need it. Otherwise you would’ve locked the door when you saw me coming.”

Your full armed slap caught him off guard, sending him staggering across the floor as you gave a satisfied sneer. He stared daggers at you when you strode past him to collect your purse, grumbling wordlessly as you prowled towards the door without sparing a glance for him.

“Wait five minutes before following me, bastard.”

“I’ll see you next time you fucking bitch.” He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before leaning against the wall and waiting for some time to pass so he wouldn’t arouse suspicion. “Hope you have a good time at lunch with Barber while my cum’s leaking down your thighs.”

You glared at him over your shoulder before heading back out to the hall, trying to hold back tears when you saw Andy waiting for you outside of his courtroom. Somehow you managed to return the smile he was giving you, hating yourself when you let him press his lips to your forehead softly before he was guiding you out of the courthouse and asking where you wanted to go for lunch. You pointedly ignored Paul walking out of the bathroom, his icy stare following after you as he rubbed his hand over the scratches you’d left on his neck.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Shit, Ludlow must have waited for him. “You look like you got in a fight with a wildcat.”

“Nothing happened, I’m just sick of that fucking cunt.” He relaxed when the man just snorted in agreement, tuning out his ranting as he thought about what it would be like to fuck your throat until you couldn’t talk anymore.

[foodieforthoughts]

Hello love! I have this scenario stuck in my head:

Walter hurts his right shoulder quite badly when solving a case (or slipping on ice 🤔)which leaves him imobile to his dominant arm. Being the stubborn man he is, he releases himself from the hospital and back at home has to release that he alone struggles with the simplest tasks. Due to the time of night or a snowstorm outside the only one left to ask for help is that new annoying neighbour (there's the trope I guess)... might lead to a number of embaressing (and hot?) situations...

Wherever that came from... never mind my weird brain 🙈... does that maybe, possibly strike your muse?

Omg. 🤭 Thank you for the request @omgkatinka I tried to make it fluffy and funny, but I'm in a Walter mood lately and it did end up with a hint of smut, so here it goes.

Warnings: slight description of shoulder injury, a little bit of angst, fluff, description of male masturbation

*divider by @firefly-graphics

Title: Helping hand

Walter groaned when he turned on his side, half asleep and in a lot of pain. His shoulder throbbed like a thousand needles pricked him at the same time, shooting a blinding pain up to his fingers.

"Fuck!" He cursed at himself, rolling onto his back and trying to breathe through his agony. He clutched his sore shoulder with his hand, gently soothing the bandages and blinking through the tears that had sprung at the corners of his eyes.

Walter had hurt his shoulder while on a mission to catch hold of a guy involved in human trafficking. They had chased the culprit through the abandoned factory, barely losing him through the maze of metal staircases when Walter had lunged at the man, tackling him to the floor. But the rusty old work bridge had crumbled under the force, bringing both men crashing down to the ground with metal pieces and debris. Luckily for them they weren't harmed in a life threatening manner, but Walter's shoulder had dislocated, resulting in a torn labrum requiring surgery.

"Fuck this shit." Walter had told himself while lying in his hospital bed on the third day post surgery, pressing the call button for the nurse. He had gruffly told the pale, scared woman that he wanted to go home and he was feeling fine. After arguing with the doctor about his health, Walter had self discharged himself against medical advice.

He thought he had made a wise choice coming home, but he knew he was stupid to think he could make it on his own.

Sitting up on the bed and grabbing the strap of the arm sling, Walter groaned. With his dominant hand rendered useless for the time being, Walter had a lot of trouble with his daily activities. Faye and Angie were in California visiting her parents, leaving him no one to call for help for the past weeks.

He made his way to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water when he saw the heavy blanket of snow outside. Checking his watch, he gathered it was only four pm and yet it was almost dark with snow still falling steadily. Walter had taken his pain meds and a sleeping pill when he had awoken in the middle of the night, and had effectively knocked himself out for a good twelve hour sleep. With that realization, his stomach growled indicating his missed meals for the day.

Looking around at the kitchen, Walter groaned when he saw the empty takeout boxes and the overflowing trash can. Injury had left him disorganised, making him live like a junkie. He couldn't even remember the last time he had taken a decent shower, sniffing the air as he could smell his own body odour. He was about to grab a trash bag from the counter and try to clean, when his doorbell rang.

Walter groaned, again. He had an inkling it was her. His chirpy neighbor who was the only one who showed up to help him every other day. She was annoying in the beginning, trying to start up conversations when all he wanted to do was sulk. But he had warmed up to her, still keeping her at an arm's length, but allowing her to assist him from time to time. When he opened the front door, there she was, looking adorable covered in cozy woollen attire from head to toe, a cute beanie over her hair, carrying a big lunch box in her gloved hands. She smiled at him, shivering with the cold winds until he moved to the side to let her in.

You could never believe how intimidating Walter had seemed to you only a couple of weeks ago. He would always throw a curt nod at you when you would greet him from your door if you ever happened to cross paths, never smiling or staying for a chat. You had gathered from the other neighbors that he was a cop, Detective Walter Marshall, kind of a loner and always grumpy. There was no denying your attraction to him, his scruffy beard and thick curls always left your fingers itching to touch them, with his accent being a major plus point. But he would never give you a chance to strike up a decent conversation.

It was all fun and games, you liked the chase, even if you were the one doing all the chasing. Seemed like a conquest for you but when his car was missing from his parking spot for days on end, you began worrying about him. Then one fine day, you spotted him out in the curb, trying to open the trash bin with one hand while the other was hanging in a sling. You had walked up to him, out of concern when Walter had turned around to go back inside slipping on the ice, only for you to grab a hold of him trying to break his fall but instead tumbling to the cold ground with him on top of you. He had apologized profusely, wincing in pain as he moved and letting you help him stand up.

From that day onwards, you always made it a point to stop by his house atleast once. It helped that Walter never complained.

"I had made lasagna. Did you have lunch?" You asked, taking off your beanie to hang on the hook and leaving your boots by the door. You felt Walter's looming figure follow you as you made your way to the kitchen. Taking in the surrounding, you nodded to yourself, your question answered without Walter having to utter a word. "Very well, why don't you sit at the table and I'll serve you the food?"

You tried to grab clean plates and spoons, frowning at the dirty dishes from last night, but you didn't blame him. It was only so much he could do with one hand.

"Did you have a good night's sleep?" You asked, trying to strike up a conversation with the Detective.

"No. I took sleeping pills."

Placing the plate of food in front of him, you narrowed your eyes at him. "Don't get too attached to those meds though." You handed him the spoon and fork, before getting to clean his kitchen.

"You don't have to do that." Walter protested from his place at the table, almost about to stand up. "I was about to clean around the house."

"With one hand? Come on, Detective Walter, you know better than that. And I don't mind, I was holed up at my house since morning anyway, this atleast gives me a chance to do something." You winked at him, grabbing the empty bottles of water and shoving them in the trash bag. By the time Walter had finished his meal, you had cleaned the kitchen with only the dishes to spare.

"Let me get those." Walter tried to reach for the soap but you were fast enough to grab it first.

"Go rest, I can handle this." You nudged him playfully with your hip. You could not believe your eyes when you saw Walter smile. "Wow! Look at that! I am being graced with a smile."

Rolling his eyes at you, Walter stayed put at his place, handing you the plates one by one. You insisted for him to rest, but he denied each of your requests. You were just about done loading up the dishes in the dishwasher when your phone rang from it's place in the purse that was hanging on the hook.

"I'll put them in the rack, go." Walter assured you with another smile. You nodded at him, handing the gloves and walking out the kitchen. You were texting back your mom, when you heard the Detective cuss loudly, followed by falling and breaking of plates. You hurried inside to find Walter drenched with soapy water and the broken pieces of ceramic and glass on the floor.

"I'm done with this!" He shouted, trying to pry open the velcro of his sling in anger. The edge of his shirt dripped water on the floor with a stream travelling down from the front of his pants.

"Hey, hey." You rushed to him, carefully maneuvering away from the plates, and caught hold of his hands. "It's okay. It happens. Why don't you go change and I'll clean here." You didn't back down when he stared at you, not moving and not giving up. But a silent moment passed and he left for his bedroom without a word.

You walked towards Walter’s bedroom, the silence of the house only disturbed by the whistling winds of the oncoming storm outside. It was late in the night when you had gotten the chance to pay the ailing Detective a visit. With freshly baked cookies in a box, you had knocked at his door only to be left standing out in the cold. He had handed you a spare key for emergencies as the storm warning approached which you never used until today.

When you reached the door to his bedroom, you stopped in your tracks hearing muffled grunts from the other side. The door was slightly cracked open, faint light seeping out to the the hallway. You peered through the gap only to gape at the sight.

The other day when Walter had spilled water over his front and gone to change, you had followed him after hearing him cursing at himself. He had a hard time taking off the wet clothes, making him angrier by the minute. You had helped him then, only to be left mesmerized by his body as your nimble fingers had brushed over his skin.

Walter had his eyes closed, his arm in the sling and resting on his naked chest and pillows with a sheet covering his lower half. His other hand was under the cover, moving up and down as he pleasured himself. You felt your cheeks warm, spreading down to your chest and the tip of your ears as you watched him in his private moment, wanting to turn and run away but failing to do so.

You weren't going to ask him, but you could swear a long moment of sparks had passed between the two of you. Your dreams now featured vivid fantasies with Walter, leaving you in a daze for the rest of the day.

As much as you wanted to stare at his heaving chest, listen to his melodious moans and trace his sweat sheened face with your gaze; this felt like a rude invasion of privacy. You were about to turn on your heels when you heard the whisper of your name rolling out of his lips. Whipping your head to see if you had been caught red handed, you were left baffled to find Walter's eyes closed, unaware of your presence and repeating your name like a mantra while he pumped his length.

You had no idea what got into you, but the urge to be with the man you had been lusting over was so strong, you pushed the door open with heated cheeks and a trembling core. Walter's eyes shot open, widening as he took in your presence, scrambling to hide himself underneath the sheets.

"Wh-what are you-?" He stammered, a rosy pink tint appearing on his flushed skin.

You did not answer him, choosing to close the distance between the two of you instead. You crouched down next to his side of the bed, placing your hand on his scruffy cheek. His pupils were blown wide, lips parted as he struggled to regain his breath and rendered speechless at the debacle. You waited for him to object to your advances, watching as he wet his lips with his tongue before leaning to kiss him. Walter remained frozen for a long second, until he moved his lips along with yours.

Breaking away from the kiss, you smiled at him, a hand creeping to his member that twitched in response. "Do you need a hand?" You asked, smirking as Walter could only nod before you pulled the sheet away from his body.

[shorkbrian]

i’m sorry but i luv your writing/thot process so i have to share this: imagine superstar trainer kiri marrying ur mom. he’s only a few years older (and you had a crush on him first) so you avoid him bc you’re shy/uncomfortable with it. your plans are foiled when mom’s away and y’all are stuck at home during a snow storm, power out, no heat/gas, and no matter how many layers u use nothing beats body heat. kiri is so sweet and just wants to get close and keep you warm/see whats under ur sweats

I’m literally melting rn 

Like imagine Kiri shuffling closer to you on the couch, scooting underneath the blankets you have piled around your body.

He keeps getting closer and closer and closer until he’s pressed up against you, and he feels like a heater, warm and cozy and comfortable. You don’t mind burrowing down into his side a bit, only blushing a little when the big man chuckles at your behavior.

There’s a movie playing on the TV, but you’re kind of sleepy, and your stepdad feels so sturdy and safe against your side, and you’re finally warming to a comfortable temperature, and before you know it, you’re fast asleep.

When you wake up, you’re laying down on a solid surface, heat wrapped around your body and trapped beneath the blankets. The surface rumbles and shifts, and only then do you realize that Kirishima must have moved you.

The room is dark, TV off, lights out. The wind is still howling and moaning outside like a mourner at a grave, beating against the windows and crying to the sky.

Lifting your head means you get a view of Kiri’s face, of his handsome, relaxed self as he gazes down at you, a pleased, soft smile on his features.

You go to apologize for falling asleep on him and for inconveniencing him, but Kirishima doesn’t let you. “It’s warmer this way, plus, I like holding something while I sleep.”

He has his arms wrapped around you, thick biceps pressing heavy against your shoulders, keeping you flush to his muscular chest. You blush a little at the position, shifting your legs and trying not to do anything weird.

But in moving your legs around, you find yourself straddling his thigh, the stocky limb flexing underneath your weight, Kirishima twitching.

“Sorry-” You blush again, intending on moving, but your stepdad drops a hand to your hip, steadying you.

“No, don’t apologize, I get it.” He winks at you, before jiggling his thigh a bit, settling you down further onto it. “I remember doing stuff like this back in high school, I know it feels good.”

A long moment of silence stretched between you two as you processed his words, feeling increasingly awkward.

“Um, okay...” Was all you could come up with.

Kirishima laughed a bit. “You’ve never cuddled with anyone before? It’s nice, isn’t it? ‘Specially with the heat out like this. Power went out while you were sleeping.”

You felt a little silly now, ducking your head and dropping your gaze. That would explain why the lights were off. You had just assumed the movie had finished playing and your stepdad had turned it off, but apparently that wasn’t the case. 

“Temp’s gonna drop fast, we’re probably going to have to use good ‘ole body heat while we sleep. You wanna move to the bed? Or just sleep here?”

A shrug, and Kirishima smiled. “Okie-doke, bed it is. Thank goodness, my back would kill me if I tried to sleep on the couch. Gettin’ old s’no fun.”

The man sat up, and you quickly disentangled yourself from him, ignoring the way his thigh rubbed in between your legs as he moved about. As soon as you felt the chill of the room, you shivered, clacking your teeth together and snatching the blanket tight around yourself.

“Oh, that’s so cold, fuck.”

“Hey, watch your language-” Kirishima chided, rising to his feet as he gathered the rest of the blankets up into his arms. “No potty mouths in this house, yeah? Keep it clean.”

He’d been married to your mom for almost a year now, and Kirishima had easily fallen into the “father figure” role, despite the fact that it wasn’t necessarily needed.

But you indulged him by laughing at his corny dad jokes, complimenting the various meats he grilled for meals, keeping your judgements about his questionable fashion choices to yourself instead of blurting them out to his face.

Kirishima led the way to the master bedroom, the room he shared with your mom, stating that the bed was bigger, it’d be more comfortable. Did you really expect him to fit into your bed?

He was a big man, strong and solid. He was able to throw you over one shoulder, your mom over the other, and run around the house whooping while the two of you laughed and pounded on his back.

“Alright-” Kirishima tossed his armful of blankets onto the bed he shared with your mom, immediately fluffing them up and pulling at the edges until he was satisfied.

The man pulled back the edge, holding it ups as he turned to you. “Head on inside!”

It was cold at first, the sheets and blankets chilly. You snuggled up to Kirishima as soon as the big man laid down, making him laugh a bit as your teeth chattered together.

“S-sorry it’s just so-so c-cold.” You explained.

“Your nose is all red, you look so cute.” His smile is warm, his hands even warmer as they begin to rub up and down your sides.

You don’t know how to respond, let yourself relax into the comforting touch, his fingertips dancing over your sweater.

“So.....” Kiri starts “You’ve never had a boyfriend then? You got so quiet when I asked if you’ve cuddled with someone before.”

A blush rose to your cheeks, and you shook your head. “No, I have. I broke up with him a little bit before you and mom started dating.”

The redhead’s quiet for a moment, then tucks his chin over your head, drawing you closer into his chest. “I’m sorry. Relationships can be hard, I know.”

“It was for the best, I think.” You continue, letting your stepdad rub your back as you talked. “We just didn’t really jive well together I guess. Wish we’d figured that out sooner though.”

The man pressed against you is so sturdy, solid and radiating heat like a furnace. It’s easy to relax in his easy-going presence.

“Well, if you ever miss cuddling, don’t hesitate to come find me, yeah? It’s one of my favorites.”

Kirishima was a touchy man, and it was obvious that his love language was touch, so it made sense. He always had his thick arms wrapped around your mom, was holding her hand, holding yours, placing kisses on your cheeks, kissing your mom every chance he got.

Sometimes he asked you to brush out his hair for him, when you weren’t busy or anything. He’d relax into jelly as you ran the hairbrush through his red locks, contented little sighs falling from his lips.

“Okay, I’ll do that.” You chuckle, thinking to yourself how the world had a funny sense of humor.

Truthfully, when you’d first been introduced to the man your mom had recently started dating, you’d developed a hopeless crush. He was attractive, kind, funny; if your mom wasn't dating him, you would’ve asked for his number.

A small part of you was irritated that the man was young enough for you to date him, your mother unbothered by the sugar stereotype she’d developed.

But ah well, what’s done is done.

“You know, I didn’t know what I'd be like having a daughter.” Kirishima soft voice breaks you out of your thoughts. “You’re almost more like.... I dunno, a friend? If that makes sense. I feel like we’re buddies.”

“Yeah, I feel like that too.” You confess, breathing into his neck, able to smell the cologne he uses, something heady and strong and manly.

A comfortable silence settles around you both, nothing but soft breaths and Kirishima’s warm hands rubbing gently over your body, against your sides, up and down your back, massaging your shoulders.

They traveled too close to your tummy, and you choked out a laugh, flinching away from Kirishima.

“Don’t, ‘m ticklish.” Came your breathless, giggly warning.

“Yeah? Yeah?” The redhead grinned, a glint in his eye, barely noticeable before he pounced, rolling over until you were smothered beneath his hefty weight, unable to move.

Horrible, terrible fingers descended, dug into your ribs and you shrieked, wide smile breaking across your features as your stepdad tickled you.

This is what happiness was made of.

Warm and fuzzy, the smell of rain, the sound of it pattering against the roof. Strong arms around you, a laugh on your lips.

Kirishima’s thigh slipped in between yours, pressed upwards, and you choked on a breath, hands immediately clutching at the man’s biceps.

“You’re so sensitive, it’s so cute.”

No time to say his name, ask any questions. He was situating you on your side, legs tangled with his, a big, beefy thigh still flush against your clothed sex.

“Mm, you ever do this with your boyfriend?” The redhead was moving, hands gripping your waist now, dragging you along his thigh, and you kept bumping up against his chest, his toned stomach.

“Yes-yeah.” Was your breathless reply, head whirling, eyes wide. This isn’t really what you were expecting, not from your stepdad.

But it wasn’t entirely unwelcome.

That’s why you weren’t screaming your head off, recoiling in disgust, scrambling for the phone to call your mom, the police.

No, you were still, pliant against Kirishima as he moved your body, his lazy red eyes fixed on your face. “Hm? Feels nice, doesn’t it? You like it?”

A shaky nod is all you can muster, feeling yourself beginning to drip against your stepdad’s thigh, slick all over your folds, the skin tingling, making your hips jump as your clit pulsed at the stimulation.

God, it felt good.

“You make me so happy, y’know? Such a pretty, smart girl.” He praised, and now you could feel it - feel the cock filling out against your tummy, hot and wet, leaking.

“I really hit the jackpot. A beautiful wife, a gorgeous daughter... I love you so, so much.” Kirishima was breathing heavier, his fingers digging into your hipbones as he dragged you back and forth against him. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Just wanna take care of you, yeah?  Make you cum lots, whatever you want.”

Almost feverish now, his hips twitching forward, pushing against your tummy again and again, rubbing his cock against your soft flesh, groaning in your ear, breath stuttering-

And then a long moan, a burst of warmth soaking through your pajama shirt, right where the tip of Kiri’s cock rested.

“Oh shit-” He gasped, sucking in air, muscles flexing as he drew back his legs, hands shakily pushing you onto your back.

“That - Jesus, you really got me goin’.” Kiri panted, beginning to kiss at your neck, one of his hands diving into your pajama pants, straight down to strum over your clit.

Already keyed up from the dry humping, veins pumping with excitement, arousal, the thrill of being touched and fondled by your-your stepdad.

A finger teased at your hole, then inched inside, and you bucked your hips, crying out a bit.

“Hey, hey-” He was still a little breathless, a little lightheaded from his orgasm, but the man was determined. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay. I got you. I’m always gonna take care of my girl.”

[thatbritishactor]

Adventures in Success (part 7)

Adventures in Success (part 7)

Pairing : Ben Barnes x Reader

Warnings : None, this chapter’s FLUFFY AF.

Summary: Ben’s agent is retiring and the firm wants you to represent him. It’s going to be hard for you not to mix work with feelings.

Words: 3,000

Type: Slow Burn, Fluff

Part 1   Part 2     Part 3     Part 4    Part 5   Part 6   Part 8

gif by bnbrns

My masterlist

3 months later

Ben’s been back in LA for a few days when he receives a text from you. Ever since your text exchange while you were drunk, the two of you resumed on your usual banter, leaving the unfamiliar politeness behind, much to his relief. It feels like the emotional wall you’ve put up between you and him progressively came crawling down with every text exchange. You are scheduled to meet for dinner tonight, and he can’t wait to see you.

He’s surprised you haven’t contacted him as he received the best news he’s ever gotten in his entire career. He’s been nominated for the Volpi Cup, the award for best actor in the Venice Film Festival, for the Bong Joon Ho movie. When he got the news from the film crew, he almost cried tears of joy. He was incredibly proud, but most importantly, he knew you’d have to drop his contract, as you had agreed. He wondered how you felt about his nomination, and why you hadn’t contacted him right away. Had you found someone else? If so, was it serious? His heart jumped in his chest when he saw your name illuminating his screen. He opened your message eagerly.

You: Hi Ben, I know we were supposed to meet today for dinner, but I got the flu and i’ve been stuck home for the last two days. I’m still feverish and I can’t make it out I’m so sorry… :(

So, that was why you hadn’t contacted him. Selfishly, he preferred to know that you were stuck home with the flu than in the arms of another guy. He writes back to you:

Ben: I can come over and bring some soup, herbal tea and flu medicine :)

You: absolutely not Ben, I’d never forgive myself if you got the flu because of me.

He raises his eyebrows as he reads your message. He won’t let you get away with this.

Ben: I’m immune to the flu :) plus I have some verrry important news and I NEED to see you.

You: I cant let you see me this way :( I haven’t showered in two days and I look like shit.

Ben: I don’t care. I’m coming.

You: Fine, you’re the f***** worst.

Ben: see you in an hour :)

Ben can’t stop smiling as he gets in his car to go to the grocery store, he’s so gleeful he could break into a song and start dancing in the street.

* * * * * * * * *

He knocks on your door, familiar with your place as he’s already been here a few times, for movie nights mostly. He’s even slept on your convertible couch after some nights where the two of you drank too much. You open slightly the door and he catches a glimpse of your face.

“Ugh, I can’t believe you came” you sigh as you turn over and leave the door open. He laughs loudly.

“That’s no way to greet me after a six months separation” he protests.

He smiles widely when he notices that you’re wearing a blanket around your shoulders, sweat pants and fuzzy socks. You’re walking awkwardly around your living room, looking exhausted. Your hair his wet so you’ve definitely taken a shower before he arrived. You look pale, your nose is red, you have dark circles under your eyes. You definitely look sick, but still cute, he thinks to himself. He sets the grocery bag on the table while you sit on your couch, staring at nothing.

“So, I took some chicken soup” he announces “some herbal tea, honey for your throat, your favorite ice cream and some ibuprofen”. He looks back at you, you’re wiping your nose with a tissue. You look so precious, he wants to hold you close and kiss you. He resists the urge and sets the items on your living room table, before making a trip to your kitchen to set the ice cream in the freezer.

“Thank you, Ben, that’s so kind of you” you reply weakly when he enters the living room. “I think my temperature’s rising again, I don’t feel too good” you add in a weak voice. He comes to sit next to you on the couch and presses a hand to your forehead. It’s clammy and hot, you’re burning up.

“Yep, feels like you’re having a fever” he states “I’ll get you some ibuprofen” he says, getting back up and heading to your kitchen to get a glass of water. He comes back a few seconds later and you’re lying on your side, your legs pressed to your chest, softly whining.

“It’s okay, I’m here” he says in a smooth voice. He crouches next to you and hands you the pill and the glass of water. You stare at him with glassy eyes.

“I can’t believe you came” you say, repeating the first words you’ve uttered to him when he got here.

“I told you, I have some important news to tell you” he says, smiling.

“But you’re seeing me like this” you whine, gesturing towards yourself. “I look like a monster” you say, closing your eyes.

“That’s not true, you look sick” he protests “You still look pretty and cute, don’t worry”, he adds with a grin. You hide your face in a cushion, not replying.

“Come on, take the pill” he says patiently. You open your eyes again and slowly sit.

“Thank you” you whisper, your hands trembling a bit.

“Do you want to eat something?” he asks, concerned.

You nod to say no “I’m not hungry” you say, wincing.

“When’s the last time you ate?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You look away, thinking, scrunching your nose a bit. God you’re cute, he thinks, having to resist the urge to kiss you again.

“I don’t really remember” you reply “The fever’s making the last few days blurry” you add, scrubbing your eyes.

“I’m gonna get you some soup” he says, and he goes to the kitchen to get you a spoon.  He puts the kettle on to make you some tea as well, because he wouldn’t be a true British person of he didn’t.

“It’s still warm” he says, coming back in the living room. You nod as you patiently wait for him to bring you the soup, and sigh when he gives you the warm bowl.

“So, what’s the big news?” you ask.

“It can wait.” Ben answers, rubbing your arm to warm you up, seeing you shivering.

“But you came for that” you protest, drinking your soup.

“I came to see you” he replies, smiling softly.

You nod your head, closing your eyes “This is so good” you say.

“I’m glad you like it” he replies, getting comfortable on the couch. “Do you want to watch something?” he asks, gesturing towards your TV. “A comforting movie, perhaps?”

You look at him, smiling softly “Yeah, I could watch something” you say “I’ve spent the last two days in bed” you add.

“What do you want to watch?” he asks, looking intently at you. Even when you’re sick, you still have the same effect on him. His chest feels a bit tight and he desperately wants to touch you. You think for a few seconds before smiling slowly, your eyes looking heavy. You look so tired and weak, it breaks his heart “Princess Bride” you reply, looking content.

He laughs “Princess Bride it is!” he replies as he turns the TV on. He goes back to the kitchen to fetch you your tea, adding a generous amount of honey to soothe your throat. He comes back in the room and you’re standing next to the sofa.

“Could you unfold the couch?” you ask weakly, looking up at him. “I want to fall asleep in front of the film” you add.

He has the resist the urge to cup your face with both of his hands and kiss you. “Of course” he replies, happy to feel useful to you. He expertly unfolds the sofa, and you climb on it right away, still wrapped in your blanket. He lies down next to you and launches the movie. He feels genuinely content in this moment, thinking that there’s no place where he’d rather be, because he’s with you. He thinks to himself that he simply needs your company to feel whole and happy, and he realizes, for the hundredth time, how serious his feelings are for you. He glances at you and sees that you’re shivering.

“Are you alright?” he asks, concerned.

“I’m so cold” you reply, hugging yourself.

“I’ll get another blanket” he replies, and you reach for his arm before he gets up.

“Can you hold me?” you ask, looking at him. His heart explodes with joy in his chest and he tries to control his facial expression.

“Of course” he replies softly with an even voice, and he’s impressed with himself. He slides closer to you on the sofa and opens his arms, and you snuggle against him, sighing, seeming satisfied.

“You smell so good” you say after a few seconds.

He laughs. Why do you need to be in an altered state to say these things to him? Drunk or feverish? What stops you from saying how you feel? Why do you have to control yourself this much? he thinks bitterly.

“Thank you” he replies, his heart beating fast in his chest.

“Why do you have to be so perfect?” you ask, your eyes closed. You seem like you’re slowly falling asleep.

“What do you mean?” he asks, still half laughing.

“You’re smart, kind, funny, unbearably handsome.” you reply, yawning, before snuggling your face against his chest.

“You’re not so bad yourself” he replies softly, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head.

“I’m not good enough for you” you reply, and your eyes are closed, your expression relaxed.

“What? That’s nonsense” he replies, frowning and aghast.

“Hmmmm...” you reply, your head falling a bit, and he understands that you’ve fallen asleep now. He looks back at the TV, distracted. Is that why you won’t date him? Using the excuse of being his agent? Because you’re insecure? He frowns as he ponders on this, still holding you against him. Your breathing is even and your face relaxed, and he feels happy and privileged to see you this way, unguarded and natural. He falls asleep before the movie ends, sill suffering from jet lag.

* * * * * * * * * *

You open your eyes, waking from the fever dream you were just having. You feel sweaty and cold, coming down from your fever. You look around you and find Ben lying next to you, asleep. You stare at his beautiful face for a few seconds, lit by the glowing screen of the TV. You usually can’t stare at him as much as you want to, so you indulge fully. You look at his eyes, his long lashes, the beauty spot you love so much. His nose, his mouth, his beard. His cheekbones, the soft curve of his lips. You heart aches in your chest, you find him so beautiful it almost makes you want to weep.

You close your eyes and sigh deeply, and decide to get up and take a shower to clean the sweat off yourself. You get up slowly, in order not to wake him up, and head to your bedroom. You set out a clean set of pajamas (the good fancy ones, because Ben’s here after all, and you’ll definitely look better in them than in your old sweat pants) and hop in the shower, happy to feel the warmth of the water on your skin. You close your eyes and try to focus to analyze the situation. It’s hard because you’re still feverish, and you feel groggy.

He’s here, you think to yourself, in awe. He came, only to take care of you. You shake your head as you realize how much he must care about you to have come all the way here. He could be anywhere, with anyone, and yet he decided to come to you. You nod your head as you take in the realization and try to calm your nerves. Once you’re done cleaning yourself, you step out of the shower, fold yourself into a towel and go brush your teeth, wanting to feel clean and fresh. You stare at your own reflection, unimpressed. What does he see in you? You simply don’t understand. He could have any woman, any beautiful actress in the industry, any gorgeous model, why does he waste his time with you? You shake your head, unable to comprehend what he sees in you. You step into your bedroom, put on a clean set of underwear before putting on your Pjs.

You tip toe in the living room again and turn off the TV screen. Ben shuffles in his sleep, sighing, and you lie down next to him. You could go back to your bed, but you can’t resist being so close to him. You’ve missed him so much these last few months, and your feelings for him are so strong. You reach for his hand and grab it softly, wanting to have a physical contact with him. He wakes up at the contact and your heart drops in your chest. He opens lazily his eyes, and they seem completely black in the dark.

“Hey” he whispers, smiling softly. “Feeling better?”

“A bit” you sigh back, your chest feeling horribly tight. You could kiss him, right here, right now. Nothing can stop you, except yourself.

“C’me here” he says, and he opens his arms. You don’t hesitate for a second, turning your back on him and snuggling close to him. He spoons you, holding you close, his arms around you. You close your eyes, thinking you’ve never been this happy before, and quickly fall asleep.

* * * * * * * * * *

You wake up to the smell of pancakes and sigh happily. You stretch on the couch and slowly open your eyes, trying to assess how you feel. You’re still a bit sore and your throat hurts, but you don’t feel feverish anymore. You look around you and Ben’s woken up, probably in the kitchen judging by the sounds coming from it. You quickly get up, panicked, and run to your bathroom. You assess the mess as you stare at yourself in the mirror, and decide to brush your teeth first. You brush your hair, put fresh water on your face and breathe evenly to calm yourself. You’re not thrilled by the way you look, but at least you look a little more human. You tip toe to the kitchen and you hear Ben singing, bringing a bright smile to your face.

You enter and he’s cooking pancakes, and you think to yourself that the man has no mercy for you. First, coming to take care of you while you’re sick, secondly, making you pancakes in the morning. How is he even real? You ask yourself. He spots you and stops singing:

“Morning sunshine, how are you feeling?” he asks, grinning.

“A little better, thank you”, you reply as you take a sit on the counter.

“Ahhh, finally some good news”, he says, grinning. How does he look so good? You ask yourself. The man’s slept in his clothes, hasn’t taken a shower yet and he looks like the most beautiful person in the world. You grind your teeth, annoyed by him.

“Did you sleep well?” you ask, blushing.

“Never better” he winks, and you blush even more.

“So, what about these big news you wanted to tell me?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. He slides a plate with pancakes and a cup of tea towards you, and you grab it eagerly.

“Well, I guess you haven’t heard since you were stuck in here with a fever” he starts, and he looks intently at you. “I’ve been nominated for best actor at the Venice Film Festival” he announces.

You choke on your tea and slide off the counter “Oh my God, Ben!!” you yell, and you jump at his neck to hug him, screaming with joy. He laughs as he catches you, and the two of you stand here for a while, hugging. Your breathing slows a bit and you step back “Congratulations” you say, looking up at his face, and the expression on his face makes you weak in the knees. There is tenderness, and a hunger, a want that makes you quiver.

“Thank you” he replies “I’d never had gotten there without you” he says as he puts a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You blush and turn over to grab your tea, before facing him again.

“I have something to ask you” he says, “a favor”.

“Anything, Ben” you say, smiling.

“By my guest at the film festival” he asks. “Come with me, please.”

You stop smiling and you feel sudden dread.

“Ben, I could neve-”

“I don’t want anyone else but you” he cuts you off “by my side, on this day. Please” he begs, and you get lost in his charcoal eyes, unable to resist him.

“Fine”, you sigh, and he grins widely.

“Thank you” he replies “I’ll send you the details” he winks, quoting back to you one of your favorite expressions. You blush again, feeling self conscious.

“I have to go” he says, “I’ll talk to you soon?” he adds, seeming hopeful.

“All right” you reply, still feeling weak in the knees. He steps closer to you, and he gently cups your face with both hands, before placing a light kiss on your forehead. He releases you and grabs his jacket. “Have a nice day” he says, winking, before leaving the kitchen.

You stare into the void as you hear your front door slamming, unable to process what just happened.

Part 8

Tag List 

@theshadowkingsqueen

@awesome-eccia

@lincerad

@aleksanderwh0r3

@really-dont-forget-it

@thetallassgirl

@beautiful-thinking

@marimorena06

@ramadiiiisme

@pansysgirlfriend

@rosilyjj​

@acciorudolphx

@hagarsays

@ladyblablabla

@ravenclawlover94

@deviantsendbyreallife

@kaybeeboop

@karamelcoveredolicity

@adriennebarnes

@tanyaherondale

@thecatempire

@supernaturalcat7

intothesacredforest

thelightinmyshadows

[sunlight-moonrise]

Patience is a Virtue (Ralvez x Reader Imagine)

Summary: It’s all fun and games until Luke shows up, and he doesn’t like when his lovers mess around without him. 

A/N: Hey heyyyy. We have here a PolyAm Ralvez x Reader fic. This is my first time writing a threesome and it was a lot harder than I thought. Once again, a big thank you to @imagining-in-the-margins​ for making this story nice and neat for everyone. This is my NSFW story dedicated to the lovely @httpnxtt​ Enjoy!

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: M/F/M Threesome, Oral Sex (Male & Female Receiving), Fingering, Penetrative Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex, Edging/Orgasm Denial, Spitting/Spit Swallowing, Degradation/Praise, Slight Marking

Word Count: 3.2K

Masterlist

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I stared at the grandfather clock by the wall, watching the larger hand tick as each second passed by at a slow and tortuous pace. I absolutely hated waiting. I wouldn’t consider myself to be an impatient person, I just didn’t appreciate my time being wasted. There are a bunch of things that I could be doing right now, such as making out with my boyfriend, but I had to wait. Why? 

“Please stop tapping your foot,” Spencer said, “you’re making me nervous.”

Because our boyfriend said so. 

Luke was back at Quantico, doing god knows what, while Spencer and I were instructed to wait for his return. This was not unusual, Luke regularly asked us to wait for him. He didn’t want to miss out on the fun. His excuse was that Spencer and I spent more than enough time without him already, since the both of us were in a relationship before he met us. However, it has been hours already, and I was terribly, utterly horny. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

I groaned loudly as I shifted my body towards my boyfriend. He glanced at me shortly before returning his attention back to whatever was on TV. 

“Spencerrrr,” I whined, my hands making their way towards his legs. He gently caught them with one of his, placing them back on me. 

“No, you know what would happen if we try anything.” 

A shiver went down my spine as a flash of a memory resurfaced. Luke had us both on our knees, making us take turns sucking him off. His pleasure was the only priority for that evening. Of course, he made it up to us the following morning with breakfast in bed and an orgasm each. 

That was a fun time, but the memory only made me crave Spencer even more right now. 

“Please baby, I want you so badly. I promise I’ll make it worthwhile.” My hands slowly glided back to his pants and this time he didn’t push them away. 

“We shoul-” a groan cut him off as I slightly squeezed his growing erection. 

“How would he find out?” I moved my body closer to his, pressing my chest against his arm. “I’m so wet for you Spencer, please.”

“I-I don’t know. Luke would be really upset if he finds out.”

“Just one kiss. Or two. That’s all, I promise.” 

I moved to sit on his lap, making sure his hard erection was against my clothed center. I pressed my lips against his throat, enjoying the sound of the small gasp he released from his mouth. 

“I won’t tell him if you don’t.”

I continued to press small kisses against the column of his throat as I slowly grinded my hips against his. Spencer placed his hands on my waist, his grip still shy and hesitant. I had him almost where I wanted him, I just needed to push a little bit more. 

“And what do we have here,” a low voice stated from behind me. I felt Spencer tense underneath me as we both locked our eyes on our boyfriend. Luke was leaning his weight against the wall, his face void of any emotions. But Spencer and I knew better. 

“Hey there babe, we were just uhhhh warming up for you. Right, Spence?” I turned my attention back to Spencer, hoping he will help soothe the predicament we caught ourselves in. However, he stayed silent, his head facing downward in a state of guilt. 

“I could’ve sworn I said no touching until I got back. Or was I mistaken?” 

“Well, you see, what had happened wa—” My attempt to swindle our way out of any punishment was cut off. 

“I don’t want to hear it. The both of you go to the bedroom. Now.” 

Spencer stood up, with me practically having to jump off him to avoid falling on the floor. If I had to bet, I’d say he was more excited than scared. He would never admit it, but we all know he loved Luke’s punishments. I was just the more vocal one between the two of us. 

I followed after Spencer, going through the usual protocol. Luke likes us to be stripped down to our underwear. We sat on the bed, a good amount of distance between us so that Luke wouldn’t try to add another penalty to whatever he was going to give us. 

We waited a few minutes before the door opened with a creak. Thank the mighty above that he decided not to make us wait for many more hours. 

I kept my eyes downwards, waiting for further instruction. I heard Luke make his way towards Spencer before a sharp gasp was heard. The lewd sounds of sucking and moaning almost made me turn my head. Luke knows I love watching them together, but I can’t lift my head without permission. I did my best to keep my eyes on my lap as I heard them make out with one another. 

I don’t know how long I waited, it could have been a few minutes or a few hours, before I heard them finally pull apart. Between the deep intakes of breath from the both of them, I assume it was a lengthy amount of time. 

“I am proud of you for at least following this one rule cariña,” Luke panted, his words coming out a bit husky as he still tried to catch his breath, “Look at me.”

With greedy eyes, I looked at his face and took him all in. His lips were red and puffy, the leftover saliva keeping them moist. His hair was wild, as if a certain genius ran his hands through it. His chest moved up and down, eventually dwindling to an even pace. 

He came closer to me, tucking two of his thick fingers under my chin to lift my head up so that I can focus solely on his lustful dark brown eyes. “Spencer,” he called, eyes still on mine, “come here.” 

Within milliseconds, Spencer stood up next to Luke, awaiting further instruction. He was always more of a doer than a talker when in this role. Luke grabbed his hands as they took a few steps away from me. “Let’s give our darling girl a little show. Take my clothes off me.” 

With greedy and excited hands, Spencer removed Luke’s button-down and undershirt. His fingers traced the soft skin of Luke’s chest as he made his way toward the pants.  He took his time taking off Luke’s jeans and socks, enjoying the few moments at being on his knees in front of our man. 

Lucky son of a bitch. 

When Luke was finally in his boxers, he told Spencer to take a seat on the bed again before coming back to me. He grabbed my waist, forcing me to stand and pulling me against his body. He was so cool, which help to calm my overheated skin. 

“What should I do with you, cariña, hmmm?” 

I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t want to give him any ideas. He rubbed small circles on my hips as he contemplated what to do with me. He hummed a small tune while his eyes displayed a playful mischief.  

“Ahhh, I have an idea. Babe, lie down on your back for me. You deserve a treat,” he told Spencer while he removed my underwear. 

As soon as he released me, I went straight to Spencer. I knew what Luke wanted us to do without him outright saying it. I straddled Spencer’s waist and shimmied up to his face until my core was level to his mouth. 

“The other way,” Luke called out, “I want to see you.” I hastily switched position, almost falling to my side. If it wasn’t for Spencer’s hands on my thighs, I would have had a face full of blankets right now.

“Go on.”

And with that, Spencer started using his mouth on me. I gasped as he slowly left soft kisses before moving his tongue from slit to clit in a tantalizing motion. I was already wet from earlier, but I was practically a puddle now. If there was one thing that Spencer was amazing at, it was eating a girl out. Or well, giving oral in general. He is a giver and knows how to work that amazing mouth in multiple ways. 

I cried out when he closed his mouth over my clit and started to gently suck. He groaned when I pressed my hands down on his chest, the vibration causing my body to shudder. His hands on my thighs kept my trembling body as steady as possible. This is going to be over quickly if he continued on like this. I picked my head up to look at Luke, watching as he took in the scene in front of him.

“Give her a little more Spencer.” 

A thick, long digit slowly replaced the tongue that was inside me. Similar to his mouth, Spencer was talented with his hands. Those dexterous fingers were a gift, and I was a happy recipient. His mouth returned to my clit, his tongue flicking against it as he curled his finger in a come hither motion. I let out a whispered curse as my eyes closed. 

“Put another finger in her, Spencer.” 

Spencer did as he was told, sliding a second digit inside of me. My high pitch moans were in harmony with the boys’ heavy breathing. I tried to stay still, but couldn’t help but grind slowly against Spencer’s face. I focused my attention back at Luke, only to see him softly fisting himself behind his boxers. Damn, I want nothing more than to have a closer look at him.

As if he read my mind, Luke came closer, his fist still pumping his thick cock. My mouth salivated in an instant, craving the feel of salty skin gliding against my tongue. I stuck my tongue out, hoping he would be nice and give me what I wanted. 

For a moment, I thought he would do just that as he released his dick, removed his boxers, and climbed on the bed, straddling Spencer’s lower waist. Instead, he grabbed my hair harshly, forcing me to look up at him. With my mouth still opened wide for him, Luke looked directly into my eyes as he spit in my mouth. Without prompt, I swallowed greedily, showcasing my tongue for him again.

“You’re such a dirty little bitch, cariña,” Luke laughed. The sweet pet name combined with the degrading title had me whimpering for more attention. I wanted more. I needed more. I moved my head, just enough to capture Luke’s lips with my own. Luke quickly pulled away to glare at me while I wore a coy smile on my face. 

“You greedy little girl,” was all he said as he delved back down. His lips were always soft, which contrasted with the way he would roughly kiss me. His stubble rubbed harshly against my face, his tongue sliding greedily against my own. His hands still fisted in my hair held me in place as he controlled our intense kiss. 

The feeling of two tongues inside of me had me rising closer and closer to my climax. My legs started to shake as a shiver went through my spine. I focused on the pleasure they were giving me. I moaned loudly into Luke’s mouth while Spencer continued the even pace of his fingers and tongue. I was so close to my release and just when I was about to let go, Luke pulled away from me and said the worst two words a person could hear at a moment like this. 

“Spencer, stop.” 

Spencer instantly paused his movements, my orgasm waning along with it. I glared at Luke, telepathically telling him how much I hated him at that moment. 

You fucking smug haughty beautiful bastard. 

“Fix that face before I change my mind about potentially rewarding you,” Luke stressed out.

I immediately pouted at his words, casting my eyes down so that he didn’t see the anger that still lingered within them. 

“Cariña, move down. Spencer, stay just like that,” he said, his voice carrying a softer tone as he moved down a bit to make room for me. 

Just like before, I shimmied my body down until I was at Spencer’s waist. With Luke’s help, Spencer’s boxers were tossed somewhere across the room and I was hovering over his length. Spencer and I both gasped once he entered me. I slowly moved my hips down until he was bottomed out inside of me. Luke placed his hands on my waist as he moved me up and down, controlling the pace. 

Spencer’s fists were clutching the sheets beneath him as he tried his best not to buck his hips. We were both trying to be good to avoid further punishment. It was bad enough that we’d barely seen each other’s faces this whole time. Luke knew I was a sucker for Spencer’s orgasm face. 

Luke pressed a kiss on my forehead and dipped his head to leave bites and kisses on my throat. I could feel my body heat up the more his plush lips pressed against me. He released my waist, silently telling me to go on as he continued his descent, nibbling and marking the skin on my chest and stomach. 

I nearly screamed once I felt his lips and tongue on my sensitive clit. From the way Spencer’s hips staggered and moans increased in volume, it is safe to assume that Luke was avidly lapping the both of us. The sound of deep whines, heavy moans, and high squeals occupied the bedroom. The coil in my belly was getting tighter and tighter, a telltale sign that I was once again rising close to the edge. I just needed a few more thrusts, a bit more pressure. 

I barely noticed when Luke pulled away, but I did register the deep timbre of his voice saying, “Stop.”

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, not again. Spencer’s hips stuttered, but didn’t fully stop until Luke smacked and harshly gripped his thigh. 

“Luke, please,” Spencer begged, as if he was a wounded animal. I also shared my displeasure at being stopped for the second time in a matter of minutes. All Luke did was chuckle at us, amused by our antics.

“Good things come to those who wait,” was all he said as he stood up. 

He instructed Spencer to sit up and lean his back against the headboard while I go on all fours facing him. We quickly followed suit, hoping to finally get some kind of release. 

“Good, now cariña, I want you to be nice and let Spencer use your mouth.” 

He didn’t have to say more. I happily open my mouth to allow him entry. The mixed taste of the both of us further invigorated me to take him deeper in my mouth. 

“You can touch.” I heard Luke say to which Spencer eagerly accepted. He held strands of my hair in his large hands, but did nothing else. I glance up to see his face scrunched up in pleasure, mouth open while his head leaned back on the headboards. I loved looking at him like that, it was arousing and encouraging. I moved my head up, leaving just the tip in my mouth. I swirled my tongue around him and sucked a bit harder, relishing the way he tightened his grip on my hair. 

I felt the bed dip as Luke got on it again. I knew he was behind me, feeling the heat he emitted on my skin. He rubbed two fingers against my already slippery folds, spreading the slick everywhere. I heard him sigh before once again placing his hands on my hips, the blunt head of his cock thumped against my clit. I raised my hips higher, presenting myself as an offering for his pleasure. 

Luke entered me slowly, lazily, taking his time so that I could feel every inch of him inside me. I moaned and gurgled around the cock still in my mouth. Spencer’s hands yanked me off him as he took deep breaths. His eyes kept darting between Luke and me, pleading for someone to allow him to do something. 

“Go ahead babe, you’ve been so good for me,” Luke praised. 

Spencer looked at my face, silently asking permission. I nodded my head, opening my mouth again for him. Still being the soft sweet boy for the night, he gently entered my mouth, lightly moving my head up and down. 

Luke started quickening his pace, smacking his hips against mine. His balls would slap my clit the harder he thrust in me. The contrast between the rough and hard from behind with the soft and gentle from the front had my mind spiraling. 

“You like this don’t you,” Luke growled out, hunching his form so that his chest was pressed against my back, his words being hissed at my ear. “You like being filled up at both ends.”

All I could do was moan as they both used me. I maneuvered one hand to massage Spencer’s balls, sucking harder with every up stroke. The extra stimulation was just enough for him to cry out and release himself. He came like a freight train, heavy and fast and all too much all at once. I couldn’t hold it all in my mouth and Spencer slipped out of me with the leftover fluid landing on his lower stomach. 

“It’s your turn now cariña,” Luke moaned. He hitched one of my legs up and the new angle had me seeing stars. I couldn’t hold in the cries and shrieks no matter how much I wanted to. I was wailing as I finally, finally, was given release. My arms were too weak to hold me up so I had my face pressed down on the sheets beneath me. 

Luke continued to pound harder and faster inside of me, chasing after his own release. His grip on my hips got harder, his nails digging into my skin, as his pace stuttered to an uneven pace. A few more thrusts and he had my hips pressed against his as I felt him spasm inside of me while I continued to contract around him. 

We stayed like that for a few minutes before he pulled out and went to the bathroom. I was still trying to catch my breath while Spencer was in a nearly comatose state. Luke returned with wipes in his hand as he cleaned the both of us from the sticky mess we made. He led me to the bathroom to relieve myself while giving Spencer some water. He also helped us put our pajamas on. Soon we were all cuddled up in bed, holding on to each other with happy, sleepy smiles gracing our faces. 

“I love you guys,” I said, snuggling impossibly closer to them. Spencer giggled at my antics, his long limps wrapped around the both of us before drowsily mumbling he loves us too. We waited, peeking one eye open to see if Luke would say it back.

“I love you guys too, even if you’re both a couple of brats.” 

We laughed with him, because we all know that he loved our bratty sides the most. I drifted to sleep, in the comfortable embrace of the men I love most in the world.

[tooweirdforyou]

When The OP Boys Are Sick

A/N : idk enjoy. And honestly all of them would be very needy for attention :p

Includes : Kid, Law, Luffy, CAVENDISH 🤍 and Bartolomeo.

Summary : how these five boys react when they’re sick in bed.

-

Luffy

Luffy is a child so he wants attention, but he’ll be the wailing, sobbing type. If he isn’t, then he’s the drunk type.

“[NAAAAMEEEE]! I WANT MEAT!..”

The poor rubber boy suddenly became weak and falls back into bed with a thud, his face exploding in the burning fever he was having.

“Luffy..” you sigh in exasperation, rushing over and checking his temperature before tucking him back in. “Sanji’s making you some soup, with small bites of chicken, you can’t have big cooked meat yet.”

Luffy cries out in agony dramatically, wailing at the thought of no meat and groans. “I WANT MEATTTT! Get me meat nowww!”

Your head began to ring with Luffy’s cries, his tears staining his cheeks and pillow, while his snot began to fill up and drip down his nose. His sniffles were heard and you can tell Nami was slowly fuming outside the room from Luffy’s childish cries.

You just smile softly and go over to your Captain, placing your hand in his and leaned close, pressing your forehead to his.

The action made Luffy stop as he quieted down and stares at you with teary eyes and small sniffles.

“Luffy, your fever is slowly but surely going down. If you relax, rest and eat Sanji’s delicious soup then you’ll be better by tomorrow afternoon. I’ll spend some beli’s to get you meat, okay?”

Luffy’s teary eyes slowly went away and a hopefully and starry glint shined in them. “..really?”

“Yes, now relax and get some rest, alright? When Sanji’s done with your soup, I’ll bring it to you.”

Luffy then plasters a wide grin and and chuckles eagerly. “Shishishi~ okay!~” he sang out, gripping the blanket and shutting his eyes.

You shake your head playfully at how easily he listened and just smiled at him, letting him rest.

“Good night, Luffy.”

-

Law

Law is the strong silent type, so he won’t say anything, he’s just all shy and embarrassed easily when he’s sick~

“It’s amazing that even you can get sick.”

Your lips curve up in amusement as you sat in the chair beside Law’s bed, said male currently resting upon it with shallow breathing and shut eyes.

Your legs were crossed and in your hand was a good book you were reading. The appearance was similar to Law’s whenever you were sick and honestly, it made you feel prideful and great to have the roles reversed.

“Shut up..” Law turns away onto his side to hide his face which was surely pink, but not due to the fever.

You giggle at him and set your book to the side and lean closer to him. “Don’t be embarrassed, Law, everyone gets sick once in a while. Even doctors.” You tease, making the poor boy flush further as he clicks his tongue.

“Stop talking. Leave, I’m sleeping now.”

You just giggle further and stand up. “Fine, I’ll be back with some soup for you. You want bread with it?”

Law pales and he gives a sharp look to you with the tilt of his head. “I swear if you try that, I’ll-“

“Yeah, yeah. See you in a bit.” You roll your eyes playfully and went to walk away when Law grabs your hand.

“What is it-“

With force, Law pulls you back to the bed and into it beside him, and he turns to wrap his arms around your torso.

Your back is facing him so you can’t see his face but his tight grip on your waist and legs around yours let’s you know you aren’t going anywhere.

“Stay.”

“You literally just said to-“

“I know what I said! Now I want you to stay!”

He buries his face into the neck and hair and inhaled your scent a bit, relaxing his grip and just held your closer.

“Just stay with me..”

-

Kid

Kid is literally a giant ass toddler who wants nothing but attention, but his stubborn ass will act all strong and tough.

“Fuck off! Leave me alone! Come in here and I’ll rip you to shreds and blow you to guts!”

Kid’s loud yells and scowl made the poor lackey outside the door jump in fear and scurry off with his life flashing.

You gave a sympathetic expression to him and exhale, mentally cursing Killer for insisting the Captain to let him take care of those Pirates yesterday, only for Kid to be stubborn and take care of it himself.

It lasted longer than intended since various sea kings appeared and the snow appearing just made it much worse, and now, Kid was sick.

Knocking on the door twice, you wait for a response before letting yourself in.

“OI! DID YOU NOT HEAR ME?! I SAID!-“

“Alright, stop yelling already.” Your voice interrupts, slamming the door shut behind you and tossing a cool towel in Kid’s face.

The red head scowls when the towel drops onto his lap when he sat up and scoffs when he sees you. “Get out. Your face irritates me.”

“Thanks.” You lazily smile at him and walk closer towards the bed, setting down a fresh glass of water and some meds for him. “Here, take these.”

Kid eyes the items you set down and turns away. “No way. That shit is disgusting.” The visible sweat forming on his face makes you sigh as you grab a cloth and wipe it gently, much to Kid’s dismay.

“This shit is what will let you get out of bed, Captain dumbass, now take it.” You say, pulling away and Kid narrows his eyes. “What’d you say?!”

“I said-!”

Kid’s rough pull when he grasps your wrist is enough to yank you into his lap and he’s quick to pin you down to the bed.

He smirks down at you before dropping his weight onto yours, successfully crushing you and eliciting a painful grunt from you.

“Agh, get off me, Kid, I have to go help Killer-!”

“Too bad, I have to rest in order to get better, so that’s what I’m doing. You’re stuck here until then.” Kid says, adjusting a bit so both him and you were comfortable as he continues to lay sprawled on top of you.

You hiss and curse into his ear but Kid pays no mind and quite easily falls asleep, making you groan in annoyance and just lay there, exhaling heavily until Killer came in.

“...you’re so fucking heavy..”

-

Cavendish

Oi.. clingy baby omg- Cavendish is precious and so adorable because he’ll want nothing more than to just sleep but with you in his arms. Just pray Hakuba doesn’t show up.

“Come, [Name]! Lay down with yours truly and provide me your body warmth!”

“No.”

Cavendish is visibly shocked when you refuse him and he springs up rather quickly, causing dizziness to form in his aching head. “Ack-“

You heave a sigh and push the tall blonde down on his back and switch the wet rag on his forehead for a fresh one.

“If I lay down with you, I’ll get sick. Who will watch after you then?”

Cavendish merely puffs his cheeks out in defeat and exhales heavily, feeling his forehead burning up despite the chills his body was receiving.

“I’m tired and cold and hot and hungry at the same time!” Cavendish cries out in pure frustration, making you smile at his pain, you patting his chest gently.

“I know, Caven.” You hush out in a soft voice, rubbing soothing circles on the back of his hand while the others played with his hair.

You pulled the covers up to his shoulders and let him rant on exhaustedly before slowly drowsing off with your delicate touches.

Just as he was about to completely pass and sleep, he mumbles out a few words at the end of his rant.

“...thank you.. [Name]..”

-

Bartolomeo

Bartolomeo is constantly passing out because someone like you is seriously taking care of him. He won’t ever recover, just staying sick for days.

“The one and only [Name] in the flesh!! Taking care of me!?” Tears began welling up in his eyes as Bartolomeo bit his upper lip to prevent making noise.

“What have I done to deserve such a blessing?”

He continued to sob tears of joy, his tears successfully soaking and wetting his cheeks and pillowcase, a bit of his blanket as well.

Suddenly there was a knock on his door.

Startled, Barto quickly pulled up the covers to hide his teary, flushed face and felt his heart beating a million miles a minute.

“Barto, are you awake? I made you some soup.” Your angelic voice calls out and Barto’s heart nearly stops. He was too tongue-tied to speak, only stammering out incoherent noises under the covers.

Assuming he was in pain, you set the bowl down and rip off the covers in a panic, just to see Bartolomeo teary with wide eyes staring up at you.

His face was flushed more than usual and you frown, placing a hand on his forehead. The action alone nearly made him pass out.

“You still have such a high fever... should I take you to Luffy’s doctor?” You ask softly, worry evident in your eyes.

At the mention of seeing the Straw hats, Bartolomeo’s eyes widens and he literally lets out a loud gasp before nearly fainting.

“S-S-S-Straw Hat Luffy?—!”

-

A/N : I wanna write something. I really do. I wanna WRITE, but my hands and head doesn’t want to. Ugh, I feel so unmotivated! >:))) but I’ll push through. I have something I want to do.

Also, I love Cavendish sm but I can’t write for him 😭 whyyyy?

[rebeccccccaaa]

𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝑒, 𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓉

________________________________

𝐵𝓊𝒸𝓀𝓎 𝐵𝒶𝓇𝓃𝑒𝓈 𝓍 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉𝑒𝒹: imagine-all-the-fandoms said:

Hey you 💕 I’m so in love with your imagines, you’re a great writer! I hope it’s okay to send smth in as well ☺️ a Bucky one for where you’re crushing each other and head to a mission together in the snowy mountains where you get trapped by a storm in a cute cabin. First he’s all shy around you but in the end it’s all cute as he makes a little fire and shares his clothes to keep you warm which also leads to cuddling and finally sharing a kiss and even some loving smut when you finally admit your feelings ?

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Smut, 18+, Fluff, friends to lovers, shy Bucky, fluff, did I mention fluff? Plant stuff? you’re kinda like that bitch from sky high lol

𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇’𝓈 𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒: this is too cute and I had so much writing this, i feel it radiates like huge cottage core energy but in the snow XD anyways hope you like it bug and thanks for the request!!

____________________________________________

You were walking from the greenhouse/garden room holding a small plant when you bumped into a much larger figure, accidentally dropping said plant.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” the voice said.

“It’s ok. I’m sorr-” you stopped.

The person was Bucky and under his big black boot was your little baby plant that you were taking to your room to nurse. You stared at him with a shocked and upset look on your face and Bucky stepped back to see the poor plant squished on the floor. 

Wanda was a bystander and rushed over to help clean up. She used her powers and mended the plant pot back together but the poor bud was still wilted. 

“Are you guys ok?” Wanda asked, handing you the pot with the wilted plant. 

“You squished my plant,” you said monotonously.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, panicked.

You playfully shook your head in disappointment trying your hardest to burst into giggles. It was ok because it’s what you do. You did… plant stuff. You weren’t exactly sure what your abilities were but you did know that you worked with plants very well.

You looked down at the bud and softly blew. Sage green magic circled the plant and life went back into the little sprout. Bucky’s panicked expression softened as he watched you use your magic. The way you smiled when the plant came back to life. That proud smile you had on made him smile too.

“There. All better,” you looked back Bucky. 

“All better,” he repeated with a smile.

“Hey, Y/n. Bucky,” Steve called you from down the hall.

“What’s up?”

“Fury needs you two in the conference room, says he’s got a mission for you two,” Steve walked away after he informed you both.

“Lead the way darling,” Bucky gestured his hand forward.

“Ah, you’re here. Why do you have a plant in your hand?”

“Bucky squished my flower under his boot,” you said.

“It was an accident,” Bucky mumbled.

“Moving on. I have a mission for you both in the alps. Some thugs are trading alien plant life so I need you,” he pointed to you, “to collect some samples for Tony and Bruce and Bucky will be there to protect you. If any plants die or get frozen you know what to do.”

You were plenty capable to handle yourself but you’ve never had to do so in the snow. You generally stuck to warmer and sunnier places when it came to missions. Bucky was pretty used to the snow so he knows to survive better in case you get stuck; but that won’t happen obviously.

“Wheels up in 30.”

You got to hide out and you were sort of struggling considering you had maybe seven layers of clothes on. You felt like a big puffy marshmallow waddling your way to the crime scene. The mission was somewhat successful, Bucky had really done all the work fighting and you just ran around tying up bad guys with vines and holding little seedlings in your pockets.

All was going until it didn’t. The wind picked up quickly and snow started thrashing around you and the others. You were fighting on the side of a hill, well Bucky was. You were still running around trying not to get shot. There was rumbling and the ground shook under you. You looked at Bucky who had taken down someone and his face held fear and concern. 

“Run!” he yelled.

“Where!” you started running anyhow.

“Follow me, doll!” 

You tried your best to run through heavy snow and with many many layers of clothes on you but it was becoming a struggle. Especially running against the wind made it a challenge on its own. Bucky was far ahead of you but thankfully turned back to grab your hand effectively dragging you alongside him running from the tumbling snow chasing after you. 

“Think you get us above ground? Maybe a tree? Rock platforms?” Bucky shouted, still running with his arm up to prevent snow and ice from getting in his eyes.

“The snow’s too thick and the wind is too strong,” you shouted back.

“I’m sorry,” you shouted shakily.

Before Bucky could respond the snowfall did a hiccup before finally settling within feet of you and Bucky. You two were exhausted and if you had to run any further, you’d probably be consumed by snow because you barely had any energy left in you to keep running.  

The wind was still harsh and the snow fell rapidly making it almost impossible to see even 5 feet in front of you. 

“We should find shelter,” Bucky said close to your face. Your nose was nearly numb from the cold and the warmth from Bucky’s proximity made it almost feel like it was burning. 

“I’m just following you,” you said with tired eyes.

After what felt like hours of walking you were practically dragging your feet and legs across the thick snow. The blankets of snow  glistened beautiful and sparkled under the sun. despite the sun now being out the weather was still almost unbearably cold. Your body still shook from the chill.

“You know, I’ve never liked winter. It was always so plain and boring with all the snow. And it’s so fucking cold; I’d rather be laying in the sun in a meadow. But this,” you circled your arms and twirled, “This is beautiful.”

“You what’s even more beautiful?” Bucky held your hand.

“What?” you said shyly.

“That cabin up ahead,” he smirked, and you smacked his chest.

“Well then, come on. I’m still freezing my butt off, and surely the seedlings in my pocket are frozen too,” you started treading the snow, grunting every step.

You got inside after a few tugs because the lock was practically frozen shut. The cabin was seemingly abandoned, else the hosts would certainly be surprised. Nonetheless, Bucky searched the house for anything to give you warmth. You stood in the living room area of the cabin awaiting instructions from Bucky since he seemed to know what he was doing. 

“Hey, doll. It looks like this place’s got two fireplaces. One here and in the master bedroom. Take your pick.”

“How long will be here?” you asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve hardly got any signal to send an alert.”

“That means we’ll probably spend the night. We should use the bedroom.”

“You can use the bedroom. I set a fire in the fireplace there, and then I’ll set one up out here for me when you’re taken care of,” he said.

“I thought we were sharing the room,” you mumbled, feeling embarrassed. See you had this little, itty, bitty, tiny crush on the fellow. But how could you not? He was perfect! You certainly weren’t going to waste the opportunity to share a bed with the guy if you ‘had to’. 

“Let’s get you taken care of,” he smiled softly.

You walked to the back room where the master bedroom was and it was beautiful. The bed was disassembled, the mattress was leaning to the side on the wall and the bed frame was taken apart. Bucky moved the bedframe to the side and flopped the mattress down to the floor. 

“Let me check for any blankets in this place,” Bucky ran off. 

You looked around and walked into the connected bathroom. To your absolute surprise there were small plants, unfortunately dead, and pots filled with dried out and chalky dirt. You could work with that. 

You picked them up and took them to the bed. You sat on the mattress and placed the pots in front of you on the floor at your feet. You pulled out the frozen seedlings and plants and placed each one in their own pot. 

That same sage green magic circled your hands and traveled to the pots where the dirt grew damp and the seedlings grew into buds. You smiled to yourself before looking up, eyes meeting Bucky’s who watched you with a grin on his face.

“It’s amazing what you do,” he said holding a bunch of blankets.

“It’s nothing.”

“No-” he was interrupted from the branches of the trees right outside the room baniging against the window hard. 

“Oh no. storm’s picking up again,” Bucky mumbled.

“Are we gonna be ok?” you asked.

“”We’ll be fine. Now are you hurt?”

“Just cold,” you whispered.

“Ok if you feel uncomfortable let me know and I’ll leave you ok?” you nodded.

“I need you to take your layers off until you reach your thermal.”

You zipped down your snow jacket that was incredibly wet from all the snow from outside. Next was a layer of your snow pants after you took your snow boots off, which were also wet; both the pants and boots.

Bucky helped you with the rest of your layers under you simply wore a thermal and your undergarments underneath. Your body was shaking still and the fire still wasn’t on yet. 

“Here are all the blankets I could find. Warm yourself up while I turn on the fireplace,” Bucky walked outside to gather some stumps of wood that were conveniently stacked next to the front door. He came back with a rock and banged it against his metal hand to create sparks which thankfully successfully lit the fire. 

“Are you feeling ok?” he asked shyly.

“Sort of, but the fire’s going so I think I’ll feel better very soon,” you responded.

Bucky was about to leave you and make his own fire in the living room when you stopped him.

“Buck, you don’t have to leave,” you said.

“Thought I’d give you some privacy,” he responded.

“I don’t need privacy, besides the fire’s already made. Just stay here,” you scooted on the bed for him to sit.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Come sit,” you smiled and patted the spot next to you.

He sat with you very closely and you feel his body heat radiating off his body like a heater. He asked if it was ok if he got rid of wet clothes too and you let him. When he took his last layer off he accidentally lifted his thermal shirt with it exposing his lower stomach. The muscle of his abdominals surprised you and you couldn’t help but oogle.

Bucky’s cheeks grew red and not from the cold. You two sat in silence. Your body was still trembling slightly and bucky wanted to help you. He just didn’t know if you;d be comfortable with the particular survival tactic. 

“I don’t want to upset you or make you uncomfortable but body heat and skin to skin contact is the most effective way to warm the body.

“Bucky, are you making a move on me?” you giggled.

“Uh no- sorry I, uh I-”

“I’m just teasing,” you smiled.

“I want to help you,” he whispered.

“Ok.”

Bucky moved away slightly and reached for the bottom of your shirt hesitantly looking to you for permission of which you granted. Your arms came up and the thermal slowly peeled off of your cold body. You were simply left in a bra and your arms covered yourself in coldness and also slight insecurity. 

Bucky also took his thermal off and tossed it to the side. Your eyes trained on his torso littered with little scars and bruises that made you want to reach out and hold him. He leaned back on the mattress and lifted his hips to remove his thermal pants and then looked back to you to make sure you were still ok.

You stood up and quickly discarded your pants as well as seeing Bucky turn his away from seeing you undress; which made your heart warm at his manners. When you were done you sat back down much closer to Bucky this time.

His arms wrapped around you and both your legs hitched over his thighs as you curled into him. His body was so hot, figuratively and literally. Your body instantly warmed up against his hardened muscles. You stayed this way while the fire burned and Bucky told you stories about him and Steve back in the 40s before everything happened. 

There was a moment of silence that settled between you and you looked into Bucky’s eyes. His hand came up and softly brushed the air from your face. You leaned into hand and smiled faintly to him and he smiled back. 

Bukcy leaned his forehead down to press against your and you could feel the tip of his equally cold nose on yours. You looked at each other waiting for the other to say something, anything.

“Are you going to kiss me?” you whispered.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” he whispered back.

“Please.”

Bucky lips attached to yours ever so gently. Your body practically melted against him, chills raising on your skin but not from the cold. His hands caressed the skin of your stomach and ribs and you moved straddled his thighs.

You felt growing wet from the way he held you tenderly against him. You started grinding yourself against his crotch feeling his dick getting hard pressing up against your core. Small moans and breathy sighs emitted from you and Bucky and his hands roamed to your ass. 

Bucky’s lips went to neck and you threw your head back for him and threaded your fingers through his hair. Bucky nipped and bit down on the skin before soothing it over with his tongue and dragged it down to your collarbone. 

You reached around and unclipped your bra and Bucky tossed over to the pile of clothes you had discarded beforehand. Bucky looked down at your chest for a second but averted his eyes to prevent you from being uncomfortable. 

His hands however kneaded the flesh of your breasts; insanely warm against your skin. 

“You’re so pretty, darling,” Bucky whispered in your ear making you shudder.

He flipped you over; the blanket fell to the side making your nipples harden from the chilly air. He stood up to remove his boxers and ran his hands up your legs sensually playing with the hem of your panties you still had on. 

He looked at you with gentle eyes before you nodded eagerly for him to take them off. After he did he crawled up body before settling between your hips. His cock was settled against your pussy and it practically throbbed, aching for more. 

He pumped his cock with his hand a few times leaning down to capture your lips with his. When he slid inside, you moaned loudly taking a hold of his shoulders with your hands. Bucky was huge! Nothing like any of your past lovers, not that you really many. 

“Hold on, hold on. I just need a second,” you told Bucky. 

He leaned down and pressed kisses all over your face; your hands cupping his face and jaw giggling. You looked into eyes once again and nodded letting him know that it was alright to move again. 

Bucky was in absolute heaven right now.

Your walls felt so soft and velvety as he easily thrusted in and out of you. A thin layer of sweat formed on his forehead. His hand reached down your arm and he intertwined his fingers with yours resting by your head. 

Bucky had been dreaming of this moment longer than he’d like to admit. He never considered himself to be a shy person; and definitely not jealous either. But when he met you, he always stuttered and stumbled over his feet and words barely getting a working sentence out of his mouth. 

Whenever Steve or Sam spoke to you, and generally flirted a lot of the time, he envied them for being so relaxed around you. He’d wanted to ask you on a proper date and take you home to worship you like you deserve; wake up next to you and make love all over again. But he couldn’t say hi without turning bright red.

But here you were, a dream come true, squirming, whining and moaning beautifully under him. 

“You are so gorgeous, baby. God, I can’t believe you're here,” Bucky kissed you. 

“Oh, Bucky you feel so good,” you moaned.

“Fuck, baby you’re taking me so well,” he praised.

You both moaned feeling your orgasm approaching rapidly. Your legs wrapped around Bucky’s torso driving him deeper in making you practically scream in pleasure. Bucky’s hips snapped in and out of you wildly desperate for that release he knows is going to be the best he’s ever had. 

When the coil in the pit of your stomach burst your back arched into Bucky and his face buried into your neck as he practically growled in pleasure. 

“Fuck that was amazing,” he kissed your neck and chuckled.

“Why are you always so shy around me? We probably could’ve done this way sooner,” you patted his back. 

“I, uh-”

“There you go stuttering again,” you giggled.

“I’m sorry. Y/n, I really like you and I have since I’ve met you. I don’t know why I feel so brain dead whenever I’m around you. I used to have no problem asking a pretty dame on a date, but when I met you, I couldn’t even say hi let alone ‘Hey wanna go on a date because I think you’re the most beautiful angel I’ve ever met in my goddamn life?’ It felt impossible,” Bucky sat up and sat you on his legs still wrapped in the blanket. 

“Bucky, I- oh,” you gasped.

“What?” you pointed to the wooden floor of the cabin. There were small buds and patches of grass coming through the cracks of the floorboards. There were also vines and branches covering the walls coming from the floor as well.

“Oh! Did I do that?” you looked back at him and he nodded.

“Oopsies,” you giggled.

“What if we had sex in the garden?” Bucky asked.

“Oh my gosh, Bucky!” you laughed.

“What?” a smile grew on his face watching you laugh in pure delight.

“You’re so silly,” you shook your head before yawning.

“Come on, doll. Let’s go sleep and we’ll see what’s gonna happen after the storm passes,” Bucky kissed you goodnight and you fell asleep comfortably in his arms.

___________________________________________

@mathletemadison 

ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ:

ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ᴀᴅᴅᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ᴘᴇʀᴍᴀɴᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ ᴍᴇssᴀɢᴇ ᴍᴇ! ;)

[after-witch]

White Picket Fence [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: White Picket Fence [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve been with Kai Chisaki for three years. Your life is quiet and cozy and soothing. But what do you do when you realize you want more?

For request: Anonymous said: i love the way you write overhaul!! may i request more of him, please? what would he do if reader develops stockholm syndrome and wants to do the things which normal couples do, even wants to marry him or have kids? thank you!

Word count: 2200-ish

notes: yandere, stockholm syndrome

You should really ask Kai to get a new sofa for his office. His current one, the leather one which used to be shiny and pristine and rather intimidating for someone used to sitting on ratty chairs pilfered from curbs, has definitely seen better days. 

The seats are lumpier, now that you've spent years--3 years, one month, 3 days, but who's counting--in his life, sprawling on the sofa. Reading, napping, doing endless hobbies. Snuggling, when he was in the mood. An endless parade of legs and limbs, pillows and books, growing tiny scratches etched with your fingernails that you sit on to cover them up.

His entire office has your touches, now. The blanket you asked for last Christmas, a big fluffy bright purple affair, is draped over the back of the couch. He keeps your framed embroidered pieces on his desk, because--you assume, but he won't confirm, because he thinks it will hurt your feelings (it won't!)--he can easily stow them away when he has meetings to hold. You don't embroider much, anymore, but it was fun to take on a new hobby.

Kai is kind like that, to give you new hobbies to do. He doesn’t even mind when you get bored of them and move on to something else.

Your books are not as easy to stow away in case of guests, you think. They're scattered here, there, everywhere. In stacks, on shelves. You know there's one stuck under the sofa but you didn't really like the first book in the series and you've decided it should stay put as a result.

Bookmarks, some handmade, others handed over by Kai as a gift for this or that, sticking out of the well-worn pages. Once, you snuck on YouTube during your highly limited, highly precious tablet time (earned, as it were, over the past 2 years) and stumbled on a DIY for making resin bookmarks stuffed with trinkets, glitter, flowers, ink. You’ve yet to broach the subject with Kai, because one, it would mean admitting you snuck on YouTube but two, you don’t think he’ll let you work with resin. But, still. The seed has been planted and when it sprouts, you’ll get the nerve to ask him.

Your sleeping bag is in the laundry, wherever the laundry happens to be, but on colder days you like to spread it on the floor and have reading or hobby marathons while he works. It's childish, but he humors you. He always (mm, no--usually--he did shoot down requests for the dog, the cat, the fish, the rabbit, and the lizard) humors you. You appreciate that about him.

And you appreciate this moment, right now. You're curled up on the sofa, half of the soft blanket in your lap to keep you warm. A book is in your hand, something new from the best-seller list that Kai brought home in a tidy store bag. He brings lots of gifts, and you appreciate every one of them. Although Kai does make you declutter every month. If you didn’t, your room would be simply stuffed with gifts. You don’t begrudge him this, since he lets you keep anything that’s especially precious to you. It’s a fair trade--you’re precious to him and he keeps you, after all.

He's typing away on his laptop, the sound so familiar that it's practically white noise, and you sit on the couch and read. It's quiet. It's comforting. It's... domestic, really.

And it makes you sad.

Lately, sitting in Kai’s office--these quiet moments, these nice moments, just make you sad. You don't know why. Things are good right now, but you just feel weighted down, heavy. Lost and bored and aimless.

But it shouldn’t make you sad that you’re enjoying a new book. Maybe you’re sad about something else. You can’t remember having a bad dream. The outfit Kai picked out for you this morning was cute enough. You didn’t stub your toe getting into the tub. Kai didn’t tug on your hair when brushing out the knots. So… what’s wrong?

You turn your attention back to your book, trying to shake the feeling, shake the obtrusive thoughts that sometimes find their way to the surface now and then. But the words don't want to leap off the page, weaving a story in your mind that takes you into someone else's life and narrative and world for a few precious hours.

And here, again--you don’t know what’s wrong. It’s an interesting enough book, as books go. It's a domestic novel about domestic squabbles, a husband and wife who are 15 years and 3 children into their marriage; living in the pristine suburbs, tired of working and parenting and painted fences and tired of each other.

Maybe the book isn't clicking because you can't really relate. You would never get tired of such things, you think. To have a fence! Oh, to have a yard. Or maybe even have little children, with lives to manage and nurture. Wouldn’t that be nice?

You don't have those things. No--you can't have those things, can you? Your world has been shrunk down to a few rooms. Your bedroom. The bathroom. Kai's office. The clinic. You've made those rooms cozy and comforting. With things and time. But how could you have a toddler, a fence, a dog that barks too much in these limited walls, in this limited life?

And… how could you have any children running around when Kai has never expressed an interest in that sort of life with you. Oh, you've kissed. A few times. The memory of them makes your cheeks hot and you squirm, just a little, on the couch. You like to take those kisses with you at night, under the covers. But it's never been more than kisses, than light touches, than holding hands or feather-light strokes of your neck.

He's never gone further, never so much as asked. You also take this realization with you at night, though by morning the thoughts are gone. Now, in the daylight, they hit you hard and you can’t sleep to make them go fuzzy and grey.

Does he not want you in that way? You're not a virgin, and you don't know if he is, or isn't. But you thought you were attractive enough to... want. You kissed, he did kiss you, he does still kiss you now and then, but why not something more?

Maybe you were ugly. Maybe he felt pity for you. Maybe the kisses were just to keep you from going stir-crazy inside these walls and this life that never went anywhere. He was never going to want anything more than occasional touches, was he? And this was going to be your life, embroidering and reading and fussing about sleeping bags until you were old and grey and useless. A life wasted, a life slipped through the cracks. Your chest hurts and you wish you could fall asleep to make yourself stop thinking.

"(Y/N)? What's wrong?" Kai asks, keyboard silent, laptop humming.

Oh. You've been staring ahead this entire time. You feel cool tears wet on your cheeks. You do this sometimes, drift and stare and cry, and never seem to realize it. So you wipe your cheeks, and you smile. You don't want to worry him. He has so many things to worry about, things he won't tell you, because he knows best--you couldn't hope to understand his work. You are too naïve and kind, and he's got what your 90s-era self help books (you had a phase for reading them last January) call "street smarts."

When he doesn't resume his work, you try again. "It's nothing," you say, light and airy. "I was just thinking about a book."

Instead of typing, he shuts the laptop and your stomach immediately feels like it's going to float away. No, no, no, you've distracted him. He said he had a lot to do today, he said that! Why couldn't you just read your book and be good. Now he'll be upset and distracted and worried and it's all your fault.

You instinctively move over to make room as he sits down on the couch. You don't want to look at him, but you don’t want to not look at him. So you force yourself to smile, force yourself to look--not too happy, but, pleasant, and keep your eyes focused on his shoulders. He rests his hand on top of yours. You look up at his face--it’s only polite, it’s only kind--and the instance your gazes meet you immediately crumble. You cry. Ugly cry, the kind of crying you really hate to do. His look of surprised concern makes your heart twist. You really are bothering him.

But you have to know.

"Why don't you want to marry me?" Your voice is soft and hoarse and aching. Through your tears you see his look of genuine confusion, surprise--and even something sadder, something akin to hurt.

You want to explain. You want to explain how you've just realized that you'll never have kids and a nice big yard and he'll never come home from work to a good meal and kids running on hardwood floors to greet him. You'll never have a wedding with a fancy dress and tasteful invitations. You'll never argue with neighbors about your dog getting into their yard. 

You'll never learn to cook anything more than the shitty microwave meals you ate before you met him, because you've never even seen a kitchen in this place despite being here for years. You’ll never have any of it, except what you read about it books. How do you explain that you’re jealous of a bitter, old married couple because at least they had a life together?

The hand resting on top of yours squeezes and you finally feel the blustery courage to let it all spill out. The words come tumbling fast and thick and laced with a froggy hoarseness.

"Why can't we have a normal... a normal life? I can't have," you swallow, and take a shuddering breath. You're open, you've learned so many lessons to be open with Kai, but expressing these thoughts makes you feel queasy. What if he gets mad? 

“I can't have kids and a big yard and a dog that the neighbors don't like, because I'm here, in these little--these little walls and little rooms, and how can we have kids if we're not married, and how can we be married if you've only kissed me a few times? Why don't you want to be with me? What's wrong with me?"

You're hyperventilating now, and there's an old tingle that you've suppressed, the fear and rage and helplessness that once made you scream and throw and punch walls. You think about the book under the sofa and hate it so much for being there. You think about your embroidery sitting prettily on Kai’s desk and you want to rip out every single thread.

You think you really break open, about to grab something and just destroy it, when suddenly Kai’s gloved hands are on your cheeks and his mask is gone and oh, his lips are on yours and is that tongue you feel--it is, it definitely is--and he’s never kissed you like this, deep and warm and soft and wet.

He pulls away and you’re dumbfounded and you must look dumb, too, because Kai wipes away a stubborn line of drool on your bottom lip and chuckles, low and light. He leaves the ugly, thick tears that have stained your cheeks.

“Do you really think I don’t want to be with you?” His thumb strokes your lips and the seam of the glove tickles and sends a hot thrill shooting down your stomach. “Do you think I haven’t imagined our… future?”

His touch is soft and his words are soft and his gaze is familiar and comfortable; the look that makes your stomach do fumbles, the look he gives you when he’s letting you know that you’re being silly again.

“I… I don’t know,” you say, your shaky breath ghosting over his thumb. “It’s just--”

He presses his thumb on your lips and you quiet down, and you listen.

“I’m waiting until you’re ready. You know that I know what’s best for us, what’s best for you, don’t you?”

You nod.

“Then you know that we will have all those things--” you ignore the voice inside you, so small and silly now, that’s insisting you-won’t-you-won’t-you-won’t--- “but only when you’re ready.”

He smiles, and you smile, because you know that he’s right. You wipe away your own tears and grin, sheepish and feeling so ridiculous for having a fit right in the middle of the day like this.

You let yourself be tucked in, let Kai drape the soft blanket over your legs. He presses a kiss to your forehead and your lips tingle with envy. You watch as he goes back to his desk and sits down, as he replaces his gloves and his mask. All is well, all is back to normal.

Kai starts typing, and you let the white noise soothe you as you pick up your book and flip open to your bookmark. Maybe tomorrow you’ll ask about the resin.