#but you guys absolutely CRUSH these fics. I'm in awe.

[vecnuthy]

whatcha readin?

Tagged by @judasofsuburbia This is suchhh a cool idea! This list doesn't even scratch the surface, but basically all of these JUST updated, so I'm in Kermit on a typewriter mode. They're all smutty with I think one exception, so. That's your warning. And they're all Steddie. Mind the tags as always!

Money, Power, Glory by @strangerthings1975 just wrapped and I'm an emotional WRECK because this story is fucking insanely good. Mutual pining, angst with a happy ending, communication is king, sooo much fluff even with the heavy themes. The summary from ao3: Steve starts paying Eddie for sex once he discovers that Eddie doesn't just deal drugs and perform at the Hideout. Strap tf in, heed the tags, bask in its magnificence. This fic is always on my mind, no exaggeration.

is your light on? by @toburnup I love how Vio weaves nuance and simplicity and still manages to have it all land like a ton of bricks. The slowest of burns, have aloe on hand!! Happy ending is guaranteed too thank god because I want to shake the shit out of these two sometimes. This story steamrolls my soul and lives rent free in my brain, and I'm so excited to read the chapter that just posted. I'm screaming!!

Tell Me "Don't" So I Can Crawl Back In They are disasters! They are everything! Steve ditches the old friends and decides to get friendly with Eddie. Steve surprises tf out of Eddie (and me) in this one, and it's a lottt of fun to read.

I can't tune you out by @hairstevington famous musicians Steddie, fake dating/enemies to lovers, slow burn, and Buckingham? Absolutely. Read it.

Tentative by @eddywoww Sapphic Steddie with Stevie in a ln all-girls pop group with Eddie as their assistant. Y'aaallll. Shenanigans. Delicious, thirsty shenanigans. I'm literally signed up for anything that Lee does. I Made Loving You a Bloodsport, Uneducated Guesses, everythinggggg.

Blood and Water by @aidaronan sapphic witches Steddie that has me so hyped to see what all is going to happen. I live for the vibes/aesthetic, and it's already so dark and juicy!

as good a place to fall as any by @rewritingicarus photographer Eddie and amateur model Steve. Oh. My god. I fucking love this story. It's so steamy, and come ON. The title coming from Bedroom Hymns by Florence + the Machine? I jumped on it as soon as I saw the title and I haven't looked back since. I crave the updates!

What about you? No pressure, of course! @steddiealltheway @flowercrowngods @grimmfitzz @henderdads @hairmetal666 @stevebabey @emryses @wormdebut @asbealthgn @steves-strapcollection @onirislanding and anybody else who'd like to participate ✨️

[holycrimin]

In honor of me getting my first ever TMNT Comic,

here's Leo with a crush who gets overly excited when gifted something they're obsessed/hyperfixated with (cough definitely not me cough)

while I did buy the comic for myself (it was an Eastman and Laird's TMNT adventure special) I wanted to explore this more because my brain is way too active and i need an outlet lol

pls dont blame me if its a little ooc, im trying my best and this is impulsive T0T

note: Reader uses they/them, Leo is a massive dork, semi proofread

2012!Leo x Expressive!Reader

Saw something he thought you'd like while on patrol,

"Hey guys, you think they'll like this?" He looks throught the window.

They snicker and shit on him (lovingly in a sibling way)

Whether it was a poster or figurine or comic, he's getting that baby just for you

Obviously he'd get it by paying because stealing would be wrong.

And by paying he means snatching it in the middle of the night and leaving a twenty with an apology note

Because that's what heroes do

anyway

Hops up to your apartment,

(with his brothers watching from the shadows because they absolutely cannot resist a good show. yes, even Donnie; like a true hypocrite)

He makes sure that neither your parents are there with you and he knocks on the window

You, with your ultra smart brain, immediately knew it was him because it was either that or a murderer that climbed up to specifically your window to murder you

which was unlikely, but hey, so was being friends with a giant turtle

You open your window and are immediately greeted with a shiny (not-so-brand new) comic/poster/figurine of the thing you talked about nonstop for weeks. maybe months. actually now that you think about it it mightve been year—

"Hey."

"Wh-"

"No way. NO WAY." You take it out of his hands (gently) and look at it in awe, before looking up at him with a dazzled expression

(If you squinted you could see sparkles coming off of you)

"What- Where- Dude. Where'd you even find this?!" A wide grin on your face as you look at him.

"Oh y'know.. Patrol and fighting bad guys, awesome stuff. Uh, then, y'know.. I found some merch that I thought you'd like."

"Dude he's seriously blowing this." one of the guys (mikey) whisper. "Yeah, he's worse than Donnie." he says, earning a 'Hey!' from Donnie.

Leo glares at them for a second before turning his attention back to you.

You let out a giddy giggle, "ahh! dude!"

"Dude." You set it down gently and put both of your hands on his shoulders. "I. Love you. So much. You know that?"

He blushes a little, "Well, I mean, it's not really a big de-"

"Not a big deal?! DUDDEE I LOVE IT SO MUCH. Is this a marriage proposal?" You say, shaking him a little.

"Wh- um.. What?" Leo lets out a weak chuckle, he feels his face heating up. "Because I accept. Let's get married, I love you so much. Oh my god, you have no idea-"

Ohhh god.

Yeah, that does it.

Well, even more than it already has.

"Whahahaha... Okay, uh, You don't really mean that, do y-" Oh.

"..Oh, sorry, is that too far? I mean, I do it with my other friends, but I'm not sure- Leo?" Yeah, no this is going to kill him. Kinda pathetic, huh? That a kiss on the cheek could send him spiraling just like that.

"Ah.. hahahah! Okay cool, haha.. uh, bye! I'll ah.. see you tomorrow? yep. Yeah. Okay, bye!"

He runs off.

Aw crap.

Did you do something wrong? God, you hope not. Maybe you should tone it down next time.

"Smooth moves brother, really got them falling for you."

"Shut up."

------------------------

Total writing time: idk like 15-20 mins?

Any fellow fic writers feel free to take inspo or even write a direct sequel to this, I just really like this idea and would absolutely love to read more abt it lol

[webslingingslasher]

Crush

Genre: fluff

Word count: 6k

Summary: you like peter, he doesn't get it. until you confide in spider-man

i hope you guys like this, i've been really really busy at work but i'm working on my other fic i promise.

You didn’t know Peter Parker was Spider-Man. 

To be fair, no one really knew. Tony Stark knew because he knows everything, May knows because she walked in on him in the suit, so did Ned, and MJ found out on her own, because, well, she knows everything. So enter in you, a girl who moved into the city and got into a smart kid school. Almost immediately you befriended MJ, you sat next to her in English and noticed her head stuck in a book. You leaned over into her space, you saw her tense up and smiled at her eyes peeking at you through the corners.

“Hi, I’m Y/N. I’m new here and I want to die in a falling elevator, what about you?” 

MJ peered at you and smirked, she stuck out a hand to shake yours.

“Hi, I’m MJ. I’m old here and I’m still trying to decide.” 

You two have been friends since. 

“No, you’re not getting it Ned! I dare you to ask Betty, that is if she’ll still talk to you.” Peter grinned at his friend and laughed when Ned threw a spork at him. Ned and Betty were in their usual weekly dispute, usually something dumb but slightly significant. 

“Are you just mad I have a girlfriend that gets mad at me?” Ned teased back. He did feel like he had the upper hand, being honest he always thought Peter would have all his firsts, well, first. But Ned was collecting the firsts while Peter kept to himself. 

Peter scoffed at the assumption, “No way man, If I was a boyfriend I would never pick a fight. I’d be a good boy and listen.” He hummed and shot his eyes to yours, you were already looking at him. 

“Right, Y/N?” He shot a wink at you and you froze, was that real? Was he actually talking to you? 

Peter Parker is beautiful. You’re not sure when you liked him, actually you think you always have. The second you met him you felt pulled to him, you couldn’t stay away from him. Subconsciously you walked the longer loop around the school to peek at him at his locker, and you always laughed at his jokes, and you made constant eye contact when you weren’t staring at his mouth. 

His brown curls laid over his forehead, you remember last week he was talking about getting it cut, and you frowned at him and said ‘absolutely not, if anything you should grow it longer’, you can’t help but notice it hasn’t been cut yet, and he is looking more tempting by the day. Maybe two more weeks and you could have an excuse to run your hand through it, tell him you noticed it was in his eyes and you were just helping. 

Even MJ knew, you think Ned and Betty have an inkling. When the four of you were together they loved to talk about Peter, except they would only praise him. He has the ultimate wingmen even if he didn’t know it. And speaking of not knowing, he had no clue you were into him. It’s not like you’ve been straightforward but you also didn’t hide it. You always made flirty comments towards him, and he would usually smile shyly and brush it off. 

“How did you think you did on Mr. Tusks test? I think I did fine.” He once asked during a passing period, you made a show of looking him up and down, “Oh trust me, you’re fine.” Peter rolled his eyes and then asked if you had heard about Kayte and Brendon. 

“Can you do me a favor?” Peter asked while you and the rest of the group met at his house for a study session before PSATS, looking over at you from his shoulder at the kitchen table. You stepped closer and grabbed his bicep, “Trust me, I’d do anything for you, Peter.” MJ let out a quiet ‘oooh’ and Peter flushed, he cleared his throat and held up some crumpled paper. “Can you throw these away for me, please?” 

You wrapped your hand around the paper in his and let your fingers rest against his palm for a moment, you looked in his eyes and pouted. “Aw, that’s all?” He looked at MJ for help, she instead looked at you and smirked with a slight nod to her head. You met her with a similar smirk and walked away to the trash can. 

Then that time at the movies you hopped around Ned to steal the spot next to Peter, “Dibs! If anyone is gonna get cuddly with Peter it’s gonna be me.” You pushed Ned’s shoulder to prove your seriousness when his jaw dropped open, he sputtered but then slunk to the seat next to you. Peter joked to ease the tension, “There’s enough of me to go around,” you looked at him and smiled, “but most of you is mine, right?” Peter went to respond but the lights dropped and the trailers started. 

You almost thought he made a move, almost. 

During the movie he lent into your ear, his warm breath sent goosebumps down your spine. “Hey.” You turned your head and almost stopped breathing, his face was right against yours, if he lent up half an inch your lips would meet. You wondered if this was the moment, all the flirting was for something. “Yeah?” You whispered back, you looked between his eyes and mouth, he caught you looking at his lips and watched you lean in a tad closer. “Can I get a sip of your slushie?” 

His grin was highlighted in the blue light of the theater screen. You grumbled and thrust the plastic cup at his chest, “Not how I imagined swapping spit with you in a movie theater, but I guess it will do.” Peter nodded absentmindedly while his attention was on the screen, and you might have maybe, just for a second, thought about punching him in the ribs. 

And right now he was asking you if he would be a good boyfriend. 

“Are you kidding me Parker? You’re the definition of boyfriend material.” You matched the grin he gave you and he shot a HA! At Ned. 

“Told you! And when I finally find a girlfriend I’m gonna be the best boyfriend.” He made a cocky grin at Ned that let him know he won the fight. Your ears were ringing, did he just say? He couldn't have. No way he’s that dumb. 

You slap your palms on the table and narrow your eyes at him, “What do you mean find a girlfriend?” 

“Oh! You know, when I finally have a chick that’s into me.” He shrugged, so casual. Did he think you were just playing around? 

“When you have a chick, into you.” You repeated the words slower and watched him nod his head and take a sip of chocolate milk. 

MJ hid her snort under a cough, you turned to look at her, silently saying ‘is he for real right now?’ and MJ gave a look back that said ‘oh i think he is.’ 

You kissed your teeth, “and tell me Peter, how the fuck would you know when a girl is into you?” 

His eyes widened for a second, “Uh, I dunno. I think if she likes me she’ll make it known.” 

You laughed dryly, “Or she can make it known and you’re just totally oblivious.” 

Peter thought for a moment and hummed, “No, I think I’d know.” 

You looked at MJ with a wide mouth.

“Okay. Fuck this, I’m out.” You grabbed your backpack off the table and stomped out the cafetera doors. 

“Did I say something to make her mad?” Peter missed the look MJ and Ned shared. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Peter couldn’t help but feel guilty, he didn’t know what he did but he’s almost sure he made you upset. And he would normally never interfere with Spider-Man but he’s the one that saw you tossing pebbles and crushed cans at a brick wall down an alleyway. So he had to make sure you were okay, just doing his civilian duties. 

“Fucking stupid, oblivious, what does he want me to do? Fucking show up at his house naked?” You mumbled to yourself and kicked a cardboard box, sending it into the side of a dumpster. 

You heard something drop behind you, spinning to the sound you were met with the masked vigilante seen across the city. You had never seen him in person, not even a glimpse when you were walking around. You were starting to believe he was a figment of people's imagination.   

You narrowed your eyes, you didn’t know or care why he was there. 

“Fuck off, Spider-Man.” You turned to throw another rock at the wall and watch it bounce off, just like all your attempts with Peter. That frustrating prick. 

“Bad day?” 

He didn’t leave and he just brought a shit storm apun himself. 

You spun to face him again, “You have no idea.” 

“Tell me about it.” Maybe you would slip why you were pissed at lunch. 

You looked him up and down and tapped a finger on your chin, “Do you take hits?” 

“Like punches? I mean I try-” 

You cut him off, “No. I mean if I tell you to beat someone up would you do it?” 

Peter’s eyes widened in the mask, but then collected himself. 

“Maybe, it depends why you want them beaten up.” 

“Because he deserves pain.” You threw another rock. 

“Who’s he?” Peter had a feeling it was himself. 

You groaned and rubbed at your eyes, you paused to think of the story and decided to tell the whole thing to make sense. 

“Are you like a therapist or something?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Like patient doctor confidentiality. I can tell you anything and no one knows?”

Peter thought to himself, he had never viewed himself that way but he sees how some may think of him like that. Just a random guy to dump their shit unto. 

“Sure, yeah. I won’t go screaming from the rooftops about your bad day with ‘he’.” He used air quotes around the ‘he’ and smiled when he made you laugh. 

“Alright, cool.” You nodded and paused after rubbing the bridge of your nose, then finally looking into the white masked eyes of Spider-Man.

“You brought this on yourself. Okay look, I’m new here right? Moved here from Manhattan, and got into this, like, super smart kid school.” You watched the masked face nod. 

“And I met this girl on my first day and she’s super cool and she tells me she’s gonna introduce me to her friends, and I was super excited to make friends, right?” You watched him to make sure he was listening, “And sorry for the next part, if you’re like a thirty year old guy just understand I am a horny teenager and you were once me, okay? Okay.” 

“So I met her friends, Ned and Peter. And let me tell you, Peter? Wow! Look, I’ll level with you. I’ve liked dudes before, maybe even kissed a few, who’s to know?” Peter froze for a moment, did you just hint at what he thinks? 

“But, Peter? I have literally never wanted to hump someone's face until I saw him.” 

Peter coughed then cleared his throat, his cheeks felt on fire. 

He knows you’ve always said things to him, he knows it was flirty but he didn’t realize you were being serious, cause he was him, and you were you. Peter never had that aha moment where he realized you were in fact flirting and did like him like that. He now wants to curl in shame because of the way he’s blown you off for so long, he doesn’t know why he thought you were always playing around with him, especially now. Because you only ever told Peter, you wanted Peter. 

Peter feels really dumb right now watching a girl he never thought he could pull, in distress because he is in fact, not pulling her. 

“I don’t know how to explain it but I felt so pulled to him, I hadn’t known him for twelve seconds and I wanted to know everything about him, you know? And I’ve tried everything, man. I don’t know how much more clear I can get, I mean I flirt with him all the time. Like, all the time. I literally told him I wanted to make out with him at the movies and he was just like… But can I get some of that slushie? I wanted to kill him and then myself.” 

You noticed the wide eyes on the mask but held up a hand to continue. 

“And today! My god I really thought he got it, get this, the fucker,” You exclaimed the fucker. “This fucker looks at me, dead in the eye and says ‘I’d be a good boyfriend right?’ and I was like ‘Oh my god, yes. You are literally perfection, look at you. So handsome, such baby, I will die if I don’t kiss you.’ And he goes, and I cannot make this shit up, ‘when I finally find a girlfriend I’ll be the best boyfriend.’” You mocked his voice, well not Peter’s, but a general man's voice. 

“Oh.” The first response you’ve heard from him yet. 

You laughed bitterly. “Oh, I’m not even at the part that made me fly off the wall.” 

Peter knows what you’re talking about. 

“At this point I just thought he was his normal little dumb self but when he said that? Game over. So I said, ‘how the fuck would you know when a girl is into you?’ just like that too, and he goes,” You paused to laugh again and shake your head, “‘I think if she likes me she’ll make it known.’ How fucking disconnected is he from reality? I wonder what it would be like to be in his head, really. Just a fuckton of open space huh? Anyways, I just told him that maybe she is making it known and he’s just not paying attention and he goes, ‘hmm, nope. I’d think I know.’ I couldn’t take it and just walked out.” 

You finished up your rant, “So, in conclusion. Fuck Peter Parker, but also, I want to fuck Peter Parker. It’s hard being 17.” 

For the first time Spider-Man was speechless. He didn’t know how to navigate this because he wanted to take your side but also didn’t want to throw Peter under the bus. When he noticed you were waiting for a response he let out a ‘Wow.’ 

“Well, wow.” He was still trying to find words. 

“I know right? I told you, you brought this on yourself.” You sat against the brick wall and pulled a quarter from your pocket running it across your knuckles. Spider-Man moved to sit next to you. 

“I know you say you’ve been forward but maybe he thinks you’re joking, or maybe he didn’t see it like that because he thought you wouldn’t like him like that.” 

“Babes, you have no idea how much I like him like that.” 

“Right. I mean, maybe give it another shot, you never know.” He shrugged his shoulders, who knows? Peter may even ask for a date next time you talk. 

“Oh, you think I’m giving up?” You raised an eyebrow at him. “No way, if anything this makes him even more attractive. Who doesn’t like a good chase? I will tell you my next method was just popping up at his place like, you, me, lets fuck, right here, right now.” 

“Chasing is only fun if you catch them in the end. And I doubt this Peter kid would ever give into that method, you’d scare the shit out of him.” You sighed and thought about it. “You’re right, he would respect me too much. It’s gross how much I love that.” You watched the quarter roll across your middle knuckle and held it tightly. 

You leaned a cheek against the hero’s shoulder. 

“Don’t beat up Peter Parker. He’s a sweet boy, just a little unaware.” 

“Although, if he doesn’t wake up to smell the bacon next time we talk I’m sending you a smoke signal and his address and I won’t let you leave until I see blood.” 

Peter let out a big laugh, “Deal.” 

You stood up and brushed off your butt then reached a hand out to help Spider-Man up. 

“Thanks for talking me off the ledge. Here’s a tip.” You tossed the quarter in your hand towards the red glove. 

Peter nodded and gave a two finger salute, “Just doing my job ma'am, I am the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man after all. I’ll look around for you, I hope I get a Peter update soon.” 

You smiled at the hero once more. 

“Me too.”

You watched as he took off and started to walk home, not even twenty minutes later a text came through. 

hey, sorry if i made you upset at lunch today. 

It's fine, I'm sure you’ll make it up to me. 

yeah, i’ll show you how sorry i can be.

And hell if your breath didn’t hitch. Did he just flirt with you? There is no way in God’s green earth did he just send a text like that not knowing how you’d take it. Did he finally wake up and smell the roses? Did the behavior at lunch kick in a thinking cell? 

Either way, you couldn’t wait for school tomorrow.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Walking in the doors you rubbed the palm of your hand over your cold nose, the temperature was slowly reminding you summer was over and the nips of frost and changing leaf colors proved it. You were excited for fall and winter, you would have friends to go to a halloween party with, maybe even get to wear a couples costume with Peter if it worked out for you. You would trickle into thanksgiving and then have a whole season for cookies, movies and snow fights. A part of you couldn’t help but think about Peter's eyes sparkling in the christmas lights. 

Peter’s head darted up at you the second you walked through the door, his teeth nibbling his bottom lip. He wasn’t sure what to say, or if he should say anything. Does he wait for you to say something? Does he walk up and ask you on a date?

Either way you were about to walk past him, you looked preoccupied, in your own world. You were nibbling on your thumb nail, lost in your thoughts about Peter, and the weather, and Peter, and snow, and carving pumpkins with Peter, and the way leaves would crunch under your feet, and then floated to central park and walking hand in hand with Peter, and kissing Peter under a tree, or maybe he’d take you to rockefeller plaza and ask you to be his girlfriend there, and you just know in your heart Peter would always give you extra whipped cream on your hot chocolate. 

You were so lost in thinking about Peter you didn’t see Peter. 

Not until he jumped in front of you. 

“Hey!” He smiled and it made your eyes go hazy. 

“Peter.” You let out dreamily, still stuck in daydreams where he was yours.

“Whatcha thinking about?” His grin gave away he knew, but you know he didn’t.

“Would you give me extra whipped cream on hot chocolate?” 

“Oh yeah. I’d even throw in some mini marshmallows and a cinnamon stick. Or do you like peppermint more?” 

You fawned at his response, he was so gentle it warmed you. 

“Would you carve pumpkins with me?” You looked at his locker. 

“Why not? Seems fun.” He tapped his fist against your shoulder.

“I would need your help, cause I’m good at getting the guts out but the actual carving part hurts my hand because I have to use so much force. So I could draw a design and you could cut it for me, cause you're way stronger than me.” 

“Why are you good at getting the guts out?” He poked a finger at your elbow to get your attention back on his face. 

You bit your bottom lip and changed topics. 

“Have you ever walked through central park?” 

I mean, if Peter thinks about it he’s spent a fair amount of time there, but he’s not roaming around. He’s swinging around or stopping crime or running after someone, so he guesses not. He’s never walked through the park and enjoyed it, he thinks he did it a few times as a kid but he can’t remember the last time he went. 

“As a kid, I haven’t been in a while.” 

“I think it would be really pretty to walk through it when the leaves all change.” 

“I love the feeling of the leaves crunching under my feet.” 

“Me too! As a kid I used to build leaf forts and just roll around for hours.” You smiled brightly at the shared feeling. 

“We could go sometime, just say when. We could even get the group together.” He winked playfully but dropped the grin when he saw the disappointment flash in your eyes when he added the friends part. You didn’t want a group trip, you wanted a Peter trip. 

“Or it could be just a you and me thing, I think I could use some one on one time with you.” Peter retracted his earlier statement. Your eyes lit up at his suggestion, “really? You do?” 

“Yeah, of course. I love talking to you.” He smiled and watched you bite your bottom lip as you stared at his. 

“Anything fun happen yesterday? I didn’t see you after lunch.” Was he possibly hinting at you talking about him to him? Yes. 

“Uh,” You trailed and thought about telling him, scared if you said too much he’d ask details. 

“You know, I started to believe Spider-Man was a mass hallucination, turns out he’s a real guy. Kinda cool.” 

Peter raised his eyebrows, “You suddenly came to that belief yesterday?” 

“Well I mean, you know. He was like, there. And was like, hey.” You gave a general response and shrugged your shoulders. 

“He was just there and said hey?” He slowly repeated the words back. 

“Hey! He promised he wouldn’t talk about what we discussed and I will promise the same. We had a nice conversation about someone close to me and he gave me a little pep talk.” You defended your stance. 

“Like patient doctor confidentiality?” He was having a little fun here. 

“Exactly! It was true alleyway therapy. I even gave him a quarter for his troubles.” You crossed your arms and grinned, it was funny how good you felt after talking to him yesterday. Maybe exploding emotions on a third party stranger was good. 

“Sounds like you have a crush on Spidey.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him, “If he was here right now, and heard that coming from your mouth? He would have a fucking field day, I promise you that.” 

Peter raised his eyebrows in coyness. 

“From me? Sounds like he knows something, was I maybe the close person you had a conversation about?” 

Your cheeks felt warm, you were on the spot. You always hinted at your crush on Peter but you were kind of pussy to outright say it so you hoped he would catch on and ask you out. But now you didn’t know how to react, you had said too much and backed yourself into a corner. 

You opened your mouth to play off a response when the bell for first period rang out, you let out a breath of relief and smiled at Peter. 

“Saved by the bell.” 

--------------------------------------------------------------------

You were begging Spider-Man was out, looking around where he had dropped down yesterday. 

Things have progressed with Peter and you promised him an update, it was just about keeping him in the loop. It had nothing to do with getting to fantasize and romanticize you and Peter’s interactions. 

Jumping in excitement you saw him standing on the corner of the same building you were hiding behind yesterday, hands on his hips with his head turned the opposite way. 

“Spider-Man!” You whisper shouted. 

“Hey! Spidey!” You raised your tone some. 

“Yo! Spider-boy!” You picked up a pebble and threw it up the building. 

Getting his attention the hero looked behind him then pointed at himself with a thumb, “me?” You rolled your eyes, “yes, you. C’mere.” Watching him jump down and land in a squatted pose you couldn’t help but think about how fucked up your ankles would’ve been if you tried it. 

“Peter update, bitch. I don’t have another quarter on me, so this will have to be on the house.” 

“I kept it.” He handed it back to you and you thought about how if Peter did that you would be putty in your shoes. 

“I think he was flirting with me. I think. I don’t know, he’s so coy. I love him.” You sighed and held a hand to your heart. 

“And I am so sadistic, I’m using him as a pawn in my sick games. I’m asking him questions that I’ve already answered in my head about him and when he gives me a response it’s better than I imagined.” 

“Maybe he was flirting, or trying. Something tells me you make him nervous.” 

“Am I intimidating? I don’t want him scared of me, I want to mash my parts with his.” You pouted and thought if you were making him uncomfortable. 

“First, gross.” (Not really, he also wants to mash parts.) 

“Second, I don’t think you’re intimidating. I just think you are much more forward than him.” 

“Oh no. Is that a problem? Do I keep doing what I am, or should I let him do this? Am I over stepping? I’ve never had a boyfriend, is he supposed to pursue me? Have I done everything backwards? Oh god.” You covered your face with your hands and missed Peter's eyes growing wide and his panicked arm movements. 

“No, no, no, no. You’re fine, you’re good. It’s good. You can make the first move, totally okay. I just meant you’re expecting him to ask you out any second and I think you need to make it more noticeable rather than joking.” 

“Ew! Gross! I will not walk up to that man and tell him I wanna smooch.” 

“Oh, C’mon! You basically already have!” 

“Nope. Not happening. You’ve helped me make up my mind, I will wait for Peter Parker to make the next move.” You tossed the quarter back to him, “Don’t worry. You’ll see me again.” 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Woah, wait.” MJ stopped in her tracks and spoke her next words carefully. 

“You told Spider-Man about your crush on Peter?” Her voice was smooth and quick, MJ almost felt panicked for you, because you didn’t know what you just did. 

“Yeah?” You didn’t get the big deal, not like Spider-Man knew who Peter was anyways. 

“What did he say?” MJ was pulling at the thread.

“That I should be more clear, or less intimidating, or something.” 

“He said you were intimidating?” MJ narrowed her eyes. 

“Well kind of, when I said that he kind of back tracked but-” 

MJ cut you off when he locked eyes with Peter coming down the hall towards you, he tilted his head in question, he knew that look and he wasn’t sure why he deserved it. She grabbed Peter’s forearm and tugged him next to her, your eyes went wide. You didn’t need to understand why MJ decided to bring Peter into this conversation, you just needed to end it. 

“Peter, do you think Y/N is intimidating?”  

His eyes saw your subtle head shake at her, an unvocal way of telling her to shut the fuck up. 

“Uh, no. Not at all. Why?” 

MJ waited for you to talk but you stayed silent, you would definitely spill if you tried to navigate the conversation. 

“Because, the Queens nightly hero thinks she is.” Her tone was bitter, who knew MJ was this defensive over you. 

“He said I was too forward, MJ. Drop it.” You pleaded to get out of this alive. 

“Too forward, imagine that, Peter. Imagine confiding in someone about a crush and they say you’re too forward.” 

You felt your knees hit your ankles, Peter would connect the dots. You told him you had a conversation and MJ just admitted it was about a crush. 

You started to dryly laugh, not allowing Peter a chance to answer that. 

“Not a crush! Nope! Don’t know where you got that theory.” You darted your eyes around looking for an escape. 

“No?” Peter questioned you. 

“You know MJ, she lives in her own world. Never said anything about having a crush on someone, definitely not you.” 

Peter had to play into this, your turn to squirm. 

“Who said I thought you had a crush on me?” 

Your heart couldn’t beat any louder than it was at the moment. 

“No one did.” You flashed a nervous smile. 

“No, I think you just did.” 

You breathed heavily out your nose and looked harshly at MJ like ‘wtf? Why did you do this?’ 

“I just didn’t want you to think I have a crush on you.” 

Peter pouted, “Why not? I think it would be cute.” 

It was your turn to sputter. 

“Cute? It would be cute? Cute how? Cute, that's adorable or cute, let's date?” 

You didn’t miss MJ’s look of ‘wow. Subtle much?’ 

“Depends. Do you have a crush on me?” 

“Do you think I have a crush on you?” 

Peter hummed and pretended to think. 

“Sometimes.” He shrugged his shoulders. 

“Only sometimes?” 

“I’m confused. Do you want me to think you have a crush on me or not?” 

MJ raised her hands and slowly started to back away. 

“Depends. How would you react?” You cautioned. 

“Probably how you want me to react.” 

“And how do I want you to react?” 

Peter smiled and leaned in close, you held your breath for a moment. Was he about to kiss you? Is that how you want him to react? Yes. 

“You tell me.” 

Then he straightened himself and winked as he walked away. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Peter just had to wait for an opening, not that you would take long to give him one. You couldn’t keep it in, it was second nature at this point.

If there was any way he could ask you out casually then you needed to make it a bit clear, as much as you said you wanted it he couldn’t imagine the flip of “he doesn’t notice anything” to “hey, wanna go out?” 

 Peter was trying to set himself up for one of your comments and you tried your best to keep a poker face but when he said that? Game over. 

“I think I have a shot, she totally likes me.” 

Was he talking about you? He better be, because if you were walking into his house for the regular Friday movie night and he was talking about another girl you would actually lose it. You had just got there, still waiting for MJ and Ned to show up when he greeted you with his words. 

“Who likes you?” 

“Kendra! During math she was holding up her highlighters trying to match one to my shirt. It’s pretty obvious right?” 

“No.” 

“No?” 

“No. You can’t be serious.” 

“I am! I told you if someone liked me they would make it obvious, and I’m pretty sure she did.” 

“Oh fuck you Peter! You’re the actual worst, I sit here all fucking day saying things to you, about literally wanting to be all over you and a girl with a fucking highlighter collection is booted to top of the list?” 

“I mean, what am I? Chopped liver? I have been pining after you for months, and all it took was a highlighter? Do you know I wear that green sweater all the time because you said you liked it once, or that I follow you around like a puppy? How about when I flirt with you, or do you even know I’m flirting with you?” 

Peter had a shit eating grin that made you even more upset. 

“Why are you so happy right now, you’re really pissing me off.” 

Peter stalked towards you until you were backed up into the wall, with nowhere to go you felt his chest brush yours, his arms caging you against the wall, your head between both of his hands. 

Save for the position, you were excited. This was going to be a new daydream scenario, he had you pinned to the wall. The only way out was through him. 

He leant in close, if you just pushed yourself up you could have his lips on yours. 

“Because, you finally admitted it.” 

You narrowed your gaze at him. 

“What is that supp-” 

He cut you off. 

With his mouth. 

On yours. 

No matter how many times you dreamed about this exact moment nothing could match the real thing. His lips were soft, his hand cupped your jaw to bring you closer to him. His body leaned in so he was flush against yours, you felt every curve and divot of him blend into yours. You grabbed at the waist of his shirt, begging for him not to leave his position of being on your mouth. 

Instead he opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, the feather touch of his tongue on your lower lip sent your head into a spiral, the boy you had been obsessing and pining over the past few months was moving with your movements, you gasped into his mouth and he squeezed a hip with his hand and you in turn pressed your hips into his. 

He pulled away and placed a kiss to your jaw, then neck. 

“Was that the reaction you wanted?” 

Your eyes stayed closed but you nodded, scared if you opened them the illusion would disappear. 

“I kissed you with my heart and soul baby girl, can’t a guy get a response?” 

You whimpered at the pet name. 

Then a knock at the door, the curtain dropped. The other friends were here and it would go back to pretend this didn’t happen for a few hours. The front door was being opened from the outside, you had your head turned to the right to watch it open. Peter still had you pressed into the wall, he placed an arm out to hold the door shut. 

“I’m not done yet.” 

He leant in for another one, and another. 

And another. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I was beginning to think you forgot about me.” 

You did promise Spider-Man an update, but it’s been a busy few months. Christmas was just around the corner and Peter and you have been busy. Between dates and seasonal activities you haven’t had a moment to track down the hero and catch him up to date. 

First it was Halloween and you did get your couples costume. (and he helped you carve your pumpkin.)

 Then it was Thanksgiving. (and he walked through central park with you.)

And recently you’ve both been busy with present shopping and baking. (and he gives you hot chocolate with extra, extra whipped cream.)

 “I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been too busy being a girlfriend.” 

“Girlfriend?” 

You squealed. “Yes! He totally set me up and I was all like, ‘How do you not know I like you?’ and BAM! He just started kissing me, I was seeing fucking stars.” 

“Peter Parker finally smelled the bacon, huh?” 

“Yeah. He’s really awesome. I know we were friends before but it’s gotten so much better now he’s my boyfriend, I don’t even know how to describe it. I think it’s because everything I feel for him is reciprocated times ten by him.” 

“I think it’s because you love him.” 

“Or because we’re mashing parts.” 

You laughed at his reaction. 

“Gross.” (Not gross. He fucking loves mashing parts.)

“But yeah, I think it’s mostly because we love each other.” 

“I’m happy for you, I’m glad I can stop looking for smoke signals now.” 

You grinned at the hero and had to fight back the urge for a hug. 

“Thanks, if it makes you feel better if I knew who you were under the mask I’d buy you dinner.” 

Sirens blaring broke the reunion. 

“It’s alright. I have a feeling you’ll know soon.” 

“Hm, sure. Have a goodnight, Spidey. I’ll see you around.” 

“You too, Y/N.” 

Then he swung off, it left a grin on your face. 

Until. 

‘How did he know my name?’ 

[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.

[obsessivestar]

bestfriend! ted thoughts??

Ok I wanna take this as the opportunity to try the whole list of hc things that other fic accounts use, hope you don't mind <3

Purple: You. Red: Schlatt. Green: Ted.

Ted as your Best Friend:

- Based on how close you are, people would've guessed you met in high school or college

- But no, you actually met him after he graduated through mutual friends.

- Y'all get along like you've known each other for YEARS tho. Joined at the fuckin' HIP.

- If you're talking or playing video games online, you continuously talk over each other.

- "Yeah but didn't you say--" "--Yeah I did say that but it's not what I--" "--You weren't supposed to hand that in, right? Didn't he--" "--He said he was gonna fail me--" "--said he was gonna fail you, yeah.."

- You've been a guest on Chuckle Sandwhich a few times, you're lowkey trynna take Tuckers job

- Schlatt is dead set on assuming y'all are secretly dating, but y'all deny it everytime.

- Maybe one of y'all have a small crush on the either??? Maybe??

- But everything you two do is purely platonic. Probably. You're very close.

- You'll use ironic matching icons on Discord

- Like Lord Farquad and Fiona after a shitty game of Shrek Super Party

- If you play anything competitive, it's constant trash talk and playful threatening.

- "If you get one more fuckin' point on me, I'm driving over there." "Your old ass car won't make that trip, Ted." "I'll fuckin--oooh, I'm gonna fucking destroy you." "Promises, promises."

- "Hey can you guys get a fuckin' room??" "No." "No."

- On the off chance everyone gets together in person, you're always sitting or standing next to each other, no exceptions.

- Out to dinner? Taking up that whole side of the booth together.. On a couch? Sitting together. Standing around outside? He's standing beside you. Ted's driving his Tacoma? You're in the passenger seat.

- Schlatt tries to take that passenger seat? "That's their seat." "No, that seat doesn't belong to them." "It absolutely belongs to them."

- You've both gone to certain fast food joints so often, you know each other's orders.

- The hangouts are usually at Ted's place, much to Schlatt's dismay.

- At least Ted got rid of that god awful couch.

- The whole 'talking over each other's thing is worse in person, but you both just love swapping stories and crazy scenarios.

- Constantly taking pictures together. Too many bro.

- Sleepovers! Even if Schlatt and Tucker aren't in town, you drive up on your own for sleepovers!

- You plan to sleep in separate rooms ofc...

-...but often times you both pass out on the new good couch.

- Maybe sometimes u wake up leaning on him iunno

- "You gave me your gross cooties." "You smell bad" "Shut the fuck up, you're not getting breakfast now." "Yes I am." "....alright, you are. Lemme get up."

- You might be the better cook, but he absolutely cooks every sleepover.

- And it's always SO GOOD.

- Honestly every day with Ted is a good day, both in person and online.

- He tells you things you're not even sure he's told Schlatt or Tucker, who he's known much longer.

- Confides in you about a lot of personal stuff, you do the same with him.

- Platonic Soulmates till the very end.

[hearts4thetr1pl3ts]

𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙗𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨. | 𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙤𝙡𝙤

"𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒃𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔…"✎

pairing: matt sturniolo x reader

genre: fluff

synopsis: you and matt are best friends, but could there be something more between you two?

warnings: use of y/n, cursing, kissing, lmk if I forgot anything!

note: this is my first fic so I'm sorry if its garbage <3 also I would recommend playing the song a few times because this is a little long!

you and matt have been best friends for what seems like a lifetime. over the course of the last few years you developed a crush on him. does he feel the same? you don't know. right now you're sitting in your room. just scrolling on tiktok, when you get a text from matt.

you get up from your bed to change into a better outfit and put on some makeup. once you're ready, you sit on your couch and wait for matt. after a few minutes, someone knocks on your door. It's matt.

"hey matt" you say, greeting him with a hug, slightly blushing...

he looked absolutely fucking amazing. well, as usual.

"hey y/nnn, c'mon we're going to my house" he says as he returns the hug with a faint blush on his face.

you and him walk out to his car and drive to his house. once you arrive, both of you walk inside and are greeted by nick and chris.

"hey y/nn" "hiii y/nnnn!" "hey guys" you say as you and matt walk off into his room

"so why did you wanna hang out?" you question matt once you guys get in his room.

"i was bored and wanted the company of my best friendd" he says with a shrug.

"oh okay, wanna watch a movie?" you ask him as you sit on his bed.

"sure" he says, sitting next to you, cuddling up to you as you play a movie.

you and matt cuddle all the time as friends, but it feels different now. it’s like you're cuddling more as a couple than as friends. his hand placement gives you constant butterflies.

once the movie ends matt asks you a..rather off topic question.

"y/n what's your favorite flower?" he asks you.

"tulips, especially the white ones. why?" you respond with a questioning tone.

"no reason"

"um okay..?" you say, slightly confused. why is he asking you this?

the rest of the night passes by as you both hang out, laugh, and have fun. eventually, it gets late, and matt drives you home for the night.

"bye y/n! love you!" he shouted out his car window before leaving after dropping you off home.

"love you toooo!!" you shouted back.

again, you and matt say it as friends. but its felt different. butterflies swirl around your stomach again.

you go inside and get changed into some pajamas and just go to bed.

the next morning you wake up to a rather unusual text from matt..?

you get up, still tired as hell and walk over to your front door.

nobody's there? until you look down. you see the most beautiful bouquet of white tulips on the ground. attached is a letter..?

you cover your mouth in awe, pick up the flowers and letter, and go inside. you set the flowers on the table and open the letter. there are barely any words on it, but the words written mean absolutely everything to you.

"I wanna be yours. M.S."

you know exactly who "M.S." is so you immediately text him.

as he said he would, he came straight to your house.

you see him pull up and getting out of his car so you run outside as fast as you can and pull him into a long, tight hug.

"you like me?" you question.

"not like. love. i'm in love with you y/n. i’m so damn in love with you it hurts." he says, slightly pulling away from the hug and using his hand to tilt your head up to look at him by your chin.

"i'm so in love with you too." you say, blushing and smiling like a little kid, not breaking eye contact at all..

he smiles and begins to speak again.

"can i kiss you..?" he questions, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

you nod you head immediately and he leans slightly down, connecting his lips with yours in a romantic, passionate kiss.

after a few seconds he pulls away.

"i love you y/n."

"i love you too matt."

"so...wanna watch a movie..?" he says smiling.

you nod your head and you both go inside to watch a movie. this time, the cuddling isn't in a friend way. its in a couple way.

noteee: omg this took me foreverrrrr but it was so fun to write, I hope you guys liked it :))

[answer2jeff]

when it rolls in like thunder: teaser.

dad!carmy x hispanic mom!reader series teaser!

warnings : dad!carmy x mom!reader, reader is implied female and hispanic, tooth-rotting fluff, mentions of childbirth. obviously.

authors note : guys i know i'm late to the dad!carmy train.. but give me a chance!!! i tried so hard to not absolutely love the idea of carmen being a dad and i failed miserably. take this as an apology. and shout out to my hispanic girlies bc we deserve some fics made specifically for us !

"Levántate, princessa mia," you gently raised her chubby arms and sat Valeria up in her barred crib, the golden finish complimenting her collection of hand-me-down stuffed animals from your childhood.

You reached for her soft beige pants that rested on her little dresser next to her crib. She'd only recently grown into it, going up a size or two now that she finally turned 8 months old. You and Carmen saw them at a thrift shop in Chicago during your, although beautiful, excruciatingly long pregnancy.

He knew he had to see his little girl in them, rocking them beautifully just like her stylish and tasteful mother.

—

"What do y'think, honey? I like 'em. I think she'll look so cute. Cheap for the quality, too. Damn."

Carmen felt the thickness of the fabric with his finger tips, rubbing them together through the cloth. He nodded his head in approval. He raised them up to let you get a closer look as he beamed with a grin.

"Oh, these are adorable! They're gonna take a little while for her to grow into 'em, though, no? Parasen un poco grande, amor."

You raised an eyebrow, unsure if an article of clothing that you weren't even sure would fit would be worth 8 precious dollars in your joint bank account.

"Well, we don't know how big she's gonna be. She'll grow into 'em."

Carmen was pretty convincing. His voice soft and persuasive and his pure excitement for fatherhood was enough to reel you in to every proposal he made. How could you say no when he was just so enthusiastic?

"What about you, sweet girl? Huh? What do y'think?"

Carmen set the pants back down on the clothing rack, kneeling down just to slightest bit as he raised a hand to your belly. You peered down at him in awe, the sight of him already bursting with love for your child making you go weak.

And as if you couldn't be more angelic, Carmen thought you were more beautiful than ever carrying his child. He moved the palm of his hand into a slow and gentle circle.

The kick of your soon to be newborn daughter against his hand was reassuring. The two of you nearly gasped, laughing in unison at her comedic timing.

—

Valeria let out squeals and babbles of impatience as you rolled her little lace socks over her small feet. The hassle of getting dressed in the morning, even after she got the leverage to make an absolute mess of her onesie while she ate breakfast in her high-chair.

Even bibs couldn't catch the sloppy mush of crushed strawberries before she'd wash it down with the liquid gold that was your breast milk. Valeria had a tendency to try and bite down during feeding when her mouth was all gums. But now that her teeth were nearly done coming in, it was an even more frequent offense. It startled you every time.

You tried switching to bottles: the ones with realistically covered and textured silicone nipples with a stopper to avoid the possible spills of milk, but they never sufficed. Valeria had to have the 'real thing,' or she was hardly ever satisfied. Carmen wondered how you did it. Well, he knew how, logistically, but he knew that it had to be emotionally and physically exhausting.

"Yes, yes, I know. I'm tryin' to hurry. Geez, you've been spoiled since birth, mija," you sighed dramatically, nodding your head and placing a kiss on Valeria's forehead, her hair tickling your philtrum.

Suddenly, you could hear the sound of the front door opening and closing. Valeria immediately squirmed vigorously and smiled ear to ear as you scooped her into your tired arms. It was like she could smell him, the way she knew immediately that it was her dad.

"Who's that? Is that Daddy?" you turned to Valeria and bounced her up and down, her little hands already flaying around as giggle after giggle escaped her mouth. Your beloved husband called out for you once or twice, quickly realizing you'd been in the nursery when he heard the sound of his girls.

"Hi, hone—Oh my goodness!" Carmen gasped, peeking his head into the heaven-like bedroom. It seemed like he was immediately drawn to Valeria like a magnet. His white t-shirt stuck to his skin from the summer heat, his baseball cap casting a shadow on his face. He almost looked a little out of breath.

He walked in while gushing at the sight of Valeria all dressed in her mothers arms. The off-white, soft lettuce-cut top paired perfectly with her socks. The white ribbon in her hair literally tying the look together.

"Dada!" Valeria pointed her little finger to him, trying to escape your embrace and jump into Carmen's arms if she truly could. She'd become especially talkative lately. But she hadn't quite figured out to greet you with a sickly sweet 'mama' whenever you came around to pepper smooches on her head and smooth, chubby cheeks. You rolled your eyes playfully as you stood beside him, planting a kiss on his cheek.

"Did mommy get you all dressed up this morning? Hm?" Carmen smiled sweetly at his daughter and scrunched up his nose, just to hear her laugh at his expressions. He held her close against him with his right arm so that Valeria could rest her little head against his shoulder.

"Yep, I sure did," you chuckled, letting Carmen wrap his arm around your waist and draw you in for a quick kiss. Your hand lied on top of Carmen's. Every vein and knuckle was caressed by the pad of your thumb.

"Sorry I took a while. Jus' wanted to pick up some groceries down the street,'" Carmen mumbled into your hair before planting a kiss on the top of your head. "Thank you for bein' with 'er, baby."

You only nodded your head, leaning into his touch as your eyes fluttered shut. Last night was quite a riot. But Carmy, being the gracious hero he often was, arose the moment he heard sweet Valeria crying out for touch and attention from her crib. That baby monitor was the only thing that could help Carmen's anxieties calm and let him sleep at night, but was also the only thing waking him up nowadays.

"We got a real princess on our hands, huh?" you smiled at Valeria, her head rested on Carmen's chest and her hand pressed against his peck. She looked just as content. Her curly hair was thick and full of life. Those Italian genes ran strong. With the face of her mothers, friends and family raved about your resemblance everywhere you went with her. But those bright blue eyes and small smile of hers? All Carmy.

"Two princesses on our hands," Carmen corrected you.

With the angelic face of her mothers and fierce, yet tender eyes of her father, she'd be unstoppable.

"My princesses. My girls."

She already was, actually.

[kaminocasey]

Oh my, your post about Tech's soft voice got me swooning! (It's true though, he has a lovely voice) So, if it's alright with you, I'd like to make a request for a fluffy Tech x Reader fic. Maybe it's one of your first times sleeping in the same bed as Tech, and in the morning, he really doesn't want to let you go. He so rarely gets this kind of affection, so he's just holding you, whispering sweet nothings trying to get you to stay. Thank you so much, you deserve all the love and praise!

Hi! I'M SO SO SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG! (Literally 9 months, I'm the worst lol, please forgive me!) I'm gonna try to get back to a point where I can open my requests again!

I got hit with massive writer's block for Tech and then After that finale, it got harder and harder to write for him lol. Hopefully this makes up for it? I got a sort of idea for a series... so Lemme know if you think it's something you guys would want??

Soft Mornings

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI; smut-ish? suggestive themes

Taglist Form

You feel Tech’s warm body against yours before you open your eyes, snuggling against his chest more, your bottom brushing up against his length. 

“Good morning, darling.” He chuckles, softly, kissing your neck. 

Your previous night had been so perfect. Better than anything you could’ve ever imagined. Parts of it start to flood your memory, making your face go warm. 

“Good morning.” You bring his hand to your lips and he snuggles his nose into the crook of your neck. “How did you sleep?” 

You’d been slightly afraid that Tech wouldn’t be able to sleep well since he’s never slept next to another person before and you know how much he enjoys his space. But when you’d offered to go back to your bunk, he’d only pulled you close to him, bringing the covers up over the both of you and asked you to stay.

“I think I slept better than I’ve ever slept before.” He admits and then starts to smile. “I’m afraid I will not be able to sleep alone now.”  

“Oh no. How awful. Guess I better take up permanent residence here.” You laugh. 

He chuckles again and you roll over to face him. 

“Hi.” You smile up at him.

“Hello.” He smiles back, his voice still soft and raspy in a sleepy way, making you melt like putty. 

His hair is sticking up in different directions and you imagine yours is too, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Kissing him softly, you run your hands up to cup his face, which is starting to feel slightly stubbly from not having shaved in a few days. You take note of how good the five o’clock shadow looks on him.

“I’ve got work soon.” You sigh against his lips.

His sigh matches yours. “Don’t go.” 

You laugh, softly. “I have to.” He wraps his arms around your lower back, pulling you up against him. “I’m sure I could persuade you to stay.” 

“Try.” You whisper. 

He pushes you onto your back and hovers above you, smiling so softly down at you. “All I’ve wanted since meeting you is to wake up next to you. It’s a new feeling for me… But getting to wake up next to you, and seeing how absolutely endearing you are with ‘bedhead’ and your sleepy voice, makes me want nothing more than to do this every morning.”

You look up at him, wide eyed at his confession. Tech’s not been one for being forthright with his emotions, so this is new. And it melts your heart. You’d love to hear him tell you these sweet nothings every day. 

As if he can read your thoughts, he kisses you again. “I know I don’t speak about how I feel a lot… but I feel safe here… with you.” 

Your chest tightens and you pull him toward you, crushing your lips to his. He groans softly, his hand sliding down to grip your hip, anchoring you to him and the bed.

“Let me convince you to stay.” He murmurs, kissing your neck.

“I don’t need any more convincing.” You smile with a hum. “I’ll call in and we can stay in bed all day.” 

“Sounds lovely.” He nuzzles his nose against your jaw as he presses his growing length up against your already eager warmth, making you gasp softly.

“Maybe you could use… other incentives to make me stay.” You tease him and he chuckles, darkly, catching on immediately.

“Say no more, darling.” He nods as he shows you just how much he loves waking up next to you. 

You really could get used to this… perhaps one day, he’d leave the war and battles behind to be safe here in this bed with you… where nothing bad could happen to him, and you wouldn’t have to worry so much every time he leaves. 

Perhaps, he’ll choose these soft mornings with you, too.

TAGS:

EVERYTHING @twistedstitcher27 @rebel-finn @rexandechosandwich @madameminor @dumfanting @rain-on-kamino @corona-one @tecker @ladykatakuri @brynhildrmimi @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @zoeykallus @maulslittlemeowmeow @littlemousedroid @arctrooper69 @rexxdjarin @padawancat97 @hated-by-me @sleepingsun501 @idledreams @redheadgirl @themcuwriter @ashotofspotchka @sunshinesdaydream @crosshairsimp73 @ariadnes-red-thread @rosmariner @heyitsaloy @starstofillmydream @high-ct5555 @echos-girlfriend @sleepywych @nekotaetae @justanothersadperson93 @aconstructofamind @book-of-baba-fett @chopper-base @palliateclaw @501st-rexster @dead-poolz @nahoney22 @where-is-my-mind-tho @jediknightjana @erishimoon @witching3 @queen-of-many-fandoms @wizardofrozz  @burningfieldof-clover @rebelsriley

[concert-bflat]

I need to rant about Ivan guys guys I neeed to rant about Ivan (<--- keeps trying to write fics of him but Never finishes him) like God this man is so gay and so in love it genuinely hurts it Hurts and I am Injured by it and the imagrey is Sooo Good (and Yes this is probably me just parroting stuff Everyone has already said before but shut up it's my turn now!! (aka please I've been holding in these thoughts for Months now I must let them out of their cage before one of them Dies)) [Edit I am Not fucking proofreading this I spent 2 hours on it if there is a mistake you Imagined it </3]

Just like,

You can see it in the way he sees the stars in Till. His own hopes for freedom and the only real light in this world that he lost sight of in Till. He is the hope and wish for freedom that he has shut away and repressed and it makes him fall So Hard

Or how you only really see that red in his eyes (after. Almost Dying) when he's with or singing/thinking about how Till has Inspired him, like a fire has been lit inside him. A fire lit in the darkness. . hmm...

even at the end of the song, where he knows full well that he absolutely Crushed his opponent and also knows full well that Till is his next one. I'm sick. I'm so sick.

Or like. When he frees Till and everything is just Engulfed in that red now. How Till has that same fire in his eyes, he and Ivan are on the same page now. They see that same hope for freedom and they both share it. They're running towards the light (like the sky's lighter there, more on that in a sec), hell, the corners of the right side of the screen are literally tinted in LIGHT GREEN. Till's color. God dammit the whole scene is tinted in red and green. They are literally Complementary Colors. I'mmm soooooooo (God these scenes are soo pretty too I was genuinely Stunned when I first saw this)

DID YOU EVEN NOTICE I ONLY NOTICED NOW the Stars are fucking green. You can see it better in some of the Later Images but they are Literally Green because Ivan sees the stars in Till and uuuughsdfbshb

OR LIKE WHEN TILL TURNS BACK?? AND. And that red is no longer in his eyes and before The Realization hits Ivan his eyes are just Glowing with red. Because he was just Filled with that hope. Freedom was, potentially, Right There

Did you guys even notice in that like. 5 frames in the half-second animation of Till turning away he's totally engulfed in his shade of green. Like of Course. That's such a Till thing to do because of Course he's running back he never actually liked Ivan that way in the first place.

And also the lighting of the sky Flips. Because the light has always been with Till. And Ivan's left in the darkness. In the. Haha. Ha. Black Sorrow. Aha *sits down cries*

And Again with this mf's stupid eyes how they revert to just black because that hope's been stripped away again, how it's even reflected in his present self singing as he reminisces on it. Fucking. Ivan's Expression when Till runs away.T here's so fucking much like the irony. Like did he even see Till hesitate or did he just see him turn and run away.

Like the irony that the guy who's always breaking the rules and fighting and defying and clearly hating living in a world like this won't run away with him, who has always been passive and obeying the rules and just accepting captivity and has been repressing his desire for freedom is so Bitter and Awful but also he always Knew this would happen what the Hell was he thinking this was such a stupid idea like

this man gets No Breaks No Breaks Ever oh yeah btw they're facing off against each other in a literal Death Match. That they might've had a Chance of avoiding if they ran away. Ahah. Hh *sob*

Also this art brings me so much Joy as much as it hurts me on a visceral level like. Ivan Always has his eyes on Till but it goes from a fond smile. Like So Fond flat out lovestruck affectionate gaze because he loves this man and loves spending time with him to a grimace once they're on stage. How Till never really changes or really Has Changed, and that's why Ivan loves him as much as he is resentful towards him. How that's what brought them here, to the stage. How Ivan changed for Till and Because of Till but still Till is like a god damn immovable object with how he stubbornly sticks to his ways. There's such resentment but isn't he himself also stubborn for always sticking to Till anyways? Hell, he's singing all about him in Round 3 and loses control over his own emotions and expressions during it I'mmm Guhhh

Also the first image is titled Observation while the second one is titled Decision(? I think). Like mf What are you deciding. What happened Last Time you decided to do something I'm going to punt you into the next planet

Speaking of observing,

Just. How Ivan's Always Observing. I saw one person point out he's like a background character and it's like he sees himself as one too. He is a passive observer in his Own Life. How he watches all the other children in Anakt garden play. How his childhood leading him to Anakt Garden just kind of. Happens around him while he watches indifferently.

How he's always trailing behind Till. Or how he tends to just. Observe quietly and is portrayed as such.

Not to mention how he doesn't appear in the memories of Anyone else's rounds, not even Till's, even when he literally (temporarily) freed him from the city. He doesn't even appear At All in Luka's round even though we get a clear shot of Till getting his hopes and dreams shattered (though it Does parallel another shot of him from Round 2)

And then the One Times he tries to take action. Or start something. It gets rejected and he's resigned to just. Trailing behind again. Because of Course he'll always follow after Till. And of Course he's fucking bitter about it and bitter about himself because he Knew this would happen and Till is Always looking at someone else and that Never Changes but. He just thought for a moment that he could change something. Man.

Oh I forgot to talk about the competitions themselves huh? Wellll, (and I'll Attempt to keep it brief because I've been writing this post for Much too long but)

Till spends his first round singing completely devotedly to Mizi. Hell, his song wasn't even in the program, it's likely- no, almost definitely something he wrote entirely for her, and Ivan has no part in it, just watches bitterly as he passes out after his, er, stunt at the end

And continues to be passed out for almost the entirety of Ivan's song

Oh but he woke up for the emotional/musical climax at least, going over Ivan's most important memory of them together, that's cool at least right?! Surely Till felt something from that

Maybe they can talk something out, or at least acknowledge their relationship in Some way. Maybe Ivan could at least be seen by Till-

Aaand Till's Actual love interest Supposedly gets shot and now he probably thinks she's dead. His attention is turned to her once again, like it's always been from the start. He never really changes huh?

Better luck next time Ivan--

Just. This mf Never Wins and it makes me Laugh as much as it makes me So Sad

Gets hopes and dreams and future crushed by aliens (standard stuff). Sold off in an auction. Put in prestigious singing school and up to that point he hasn't really cared about Anything and has simply been going through the motions.

Meets boy that basically embodies the freedom and hope he used to have. Falls badly in love. Boy loves someone else. Tries to free him and give him the thing he'd surely want most. Rejected. Back to school you go loser.

Oh btw this school is to train you for a competition to the death. Btw you're facing off against that boy you love in the semi-finals of said death competition. And you might kill him or he'll kill you. Because you didn't run away when you had the chance.

Also he didn't sing or think about you at all during his round. In fact I'm pretty sure he wrote a whole ass song that wasn't even registered in the Alien Queue or whatever for someone else. Also he probably has hardly looked at you. Also he was unconscious for almost the entirety of your song. Except for the part where you lost control of your emotions.

Oh but that doesn't matter now because now he thinks the person He likes was just killed. So he's kiiinda gonna be distracted by that. And that might fuck up your round with him. Sorry man

This was Originally a rant about how much I love Black Sorrow's imagery and the portrayal of Ivan's love because this man clearly has Complex Emotions and then Kinda derailed into me just ranting about how many L's he's being handed before getting the executioner's blade. Uhhhhh oops. Congrats on sticking to the end though?

I just love Ivan very much. He is So Bitter and so Horribly In Love and looks up to and is inspired by Till So Much and I wish people explored him on a deeper level/more personally.

I wish I saw more deep looks at Ivan/Till, there's clearly Complicated Things going on there. Hell, we don't even know what Till's pov on the whole thing is aside from that One scene of him hesitating before running away from Ivan. As much as I love fluffy interpretations of them, I (did I mention that I'm an angst addict btw. Could You Tell) wish all their Complexities could be acknowledged. Like how Ivan Clearly puts Till on such a spotlight and it is Such a downfall for him through and through and he Kinda knows it but also What Else does he Have and he really looks up to him Sooo Much (just. Look at them in that official art of them in Anakt Garden !!!) and deep down just wants to run away from this horrible place and wants to run with Till, the Light of his life the fire in the darkness the fucking stars the universe his black sorrow just. Oh My God I need to end this post already I was supposed to be studying but spent those 2 hours Writing instead

But anyways yeah uuhhh long story short? This guy is a gay loser. He tries to look sooo cool and smooth but he is suuuch a gay lovestruck loser and his rose tinted glasses are so thick he can't see shit (I'm pretty sure I quoted that from something (but also no genuinely when I first got into alnst after just watching the first 3 rounds videos and saw Ivan in official art I was So Surprised like "Oh he's actually That kind of mf that tries to look Cool and Hot but is actually just Pathetic and Sad and Gay I thought he was Just Sad and Gay")) he's probably also touchstarved as hell idk and his love is doomed by the narrative (unless Hyuna saves his and Till's asses. Buuut we'll see </333)

Love ya Ivan keep taking L's <3333 mwah

[felixsslutwife]

be mine - fluffy vday felix x reader

GUYS FEM SUCCUBUS READER X VAMPLIX IS COMING I SWEAR.

but in celebration of vday, heres a small felix vday fic to feed yall while i work on the vamplix fic xoxo

summary: ur lonely on vday n ur abt to ask ur friends to hang out when felix calls you (fluff, felix x reader, proofread)

warnings: none this is super fluffy so idt theres anything i should warn yall abt but lmk if there is

!!!!!! reminder that if u have any requests for me to write absolutely ANYTHING related to kpop, anime or videogames, feel free to leave it in the requests box, ill try to write as many requests as i possibly can dont u worry !! !!!!!

< 3 < 3 < 3 < 3 < 3 < 3 < 3 < 3 < 3 < 3 < 3 < 3 < 3 < 3 < 3 < 3 < 3 < 3 < 3

you were scrolling through social media, seeing everyone celebrating valentines day, whether they were with their romantic partners, family, or just friends. you felt a bit lonely :(

you were about to shoot some of your friends a text saying "hey wanna hang out for vday ??" when you got a call.

it was your best friend, Felix. you answered immediately.

"Hey, Y/N...happy valentines day...um...so...um..." Felix began, stammering nervously.

you greeted him happy valentines day back, and asked what he wanted to talk to you about, wondering why the usually talkative Felix was so nervous.

you heard a sharp inhale from the other side of the phone call.

"Ihaveacrushonyouandivebeensofuckingscaredtotellyouaboutitbutitsvalentinesdayandireallywantyoutobemine....please..."

"Oh, and I love you by the way," he added, seeming to have forgotten to say that. "So much."

"Awww~" you cooed. you thought it was honestly so adorable how your best friend, the sweet, adorable angel Felix had a crush on you.

"I love you too, Bboki~" you answered. So many people had crushes on Felix, so you felt really honored that he chose you out of anyone else.

"Really...?" Felix answered, sniffling slightly, and you swore you could almost hear him crying a bit. "T-Thank you so, so much, Y/N..."

"By the way....I'm outside," he added, wiping away the tears of joy from his adorable freckled face.

"Wait, what?!"

you ran over to the door of where you lived and opened it. Felix was standing there, and you could see that his face was a little red from crying. he was holding a box of brownies for you and a bouquet of roses.

you covered your mouth, jaw dropping in awe at the gifts he had prepared for you. "You're lucky I didn't reject you, otherwise I don't know what you would've done with all these gifts..." you teased, and then thanked him multiple times, over and over again. you felt as if your verbal thanks wasn't enough, so you gave him a small kiss on his cheek, right on his adorable heart shaped freckle.

"Oh...it's nothing..." he said, his face turning a deep shade of pink. he wondered if this was real or just a dream.

but you kept thanking him anyway and telling him how much you loved him. you felt like nothing could ever express all your love. but you tried to express most of how thankful you were.

with another kiss. on his lips this time.

the kiss lasted a couple minutes. it was soft and warm, like cuddling in blankets by a bonfire in winter. he tasted like cherry-topped strawberry shortcake sundaes at the ice-cream parlor on a hot summer day (A/N: hot aussie summer day for all my fellow aussie bffs reading). he was such a sweet angel. and now he was your sweet angel.

"Happy valentines day, Felix~!" you said, giggling at the sight of his blushing red face. "I love you~"

Felix opened his mouth to speak, but he struggled a bit, still trying to process the kiss you just gave him. finally, he managed to croak out a response.

"I-I-I love you too, Y/N..."

"so...my new boyfriend...wanna play Animal Crossing?"

"Fuck yeah."

-lixie xoxo

[gotham--fc]

Always - A Ruesha Littlejohn Imagine

Hello I'm back! It's sure been a while, missed yall

This fic came to me in a dream after the Canada-Ireland game so I hope it's good and that yall like it

Tagging @grapefruit-personified because she's been waiting for this for a while and honestly she was my motivation to finish this anyway enjoy!

“Hey Rue, what’s shakin’ bacon?” Y/N laughs to herself at her joke. She loves to make Ruesha laugh, so whenever she answers a call from her teammate, she’ll make a stupid joke or a pun that makes Ruesha laugh. She doesn’t laugh this time, and Y/N furrows her brow. “Rue?”

“Can I come over?” Ruesha asks.

“Yeah, of course, you’re always welcome,” Y/N says, “Is everything alright?”

“No.”

Ruesha hangs up before Y/N can say anything. Y/N starts tidying up, just to give herself something to do while she waits so she doesn’t make herself crazy wondering what’s wrong. It doesn’t take Ruesha that long to arrive and Y/N barely restrains herself from running to the door when she hears the knock.

“What’s going on?” Y/N asks.

Ruesha has clearly been crying and Y/N ushers her inside and sits her in the kitchen while she makes a cup of tea for both of them.

“Me and Katie broke up,” Ruesha says. Y/N sets the mugs down and gives Ruesha her full attention.

“I’m so sorry,” Y/N says, “That’s awful. What can I do?”

“I just need a friend right now,” Ruesha says. Y/N reaches across the table and lays her hand on Ruesha’s. She offers her what she hopes is a reassuring smile.

“Whatever you need from me right now,” Y’N says, “You got me. Always, I promise.”

***

“I can’t believe I have to spend two months with her!” Ruesha groans. Y/N shoves Ruesha’s feet off the couch so she could sit. “I should drop out.”

“You should absolutely not drop out, it’s the World Cup,” Y/N says, “I know it sucks but you don’t have to spend any time with her outside practices and games. And I’ll be there,” Y/N waggles her eyebrows.

“Yeah, on a completely different team,” Ruesha rolls her eyes and plops her feet in Y/N’s lap.

“We’re in the same group, at least.”

“It still sucks.”

“I know,” Y/N rubs Ruesha’s shin to comfort her, “But it’s gonna be okay. I know it’s hard and it sucks having to be around your ex, but fuck her, honestly. It’s the World Cup! You’re gonna have a blast and it’s gonna be so great and you’re going to play in the World Cup, this is gonna be amazing for you.”

“We haven’t seen each other, really, since we broke up. She wasn’t home when I got my stuff. The first time we’re seeing each other since we broke up is at the World Cup. Talk about the worst fucking timing.”

“Yeah, it really is. I can’t make it better. But you guys are going to have to learn to be civil. You’re both going to play on the same national team for the rest of your careers. I know it sucks that it’s the World Cup, but the next time you guys have to play together will be so much better because you’ve already done it in the most stressful environment you could get. This is just character growth,” Y/N says.

“I hate that you’re so smart,” Ruesha grumbles.

“That’s what you get when you pick a best friend like me,” Y/N says.

“Yeah,” Ruesha glances away, an unreadable look in her eyes, “I guess you’re right.”

“Hey,” Y/N waits until Ruesha’s looking back at her, “You got me. Always. Okay?” Ruesha smiles.

***

The leadup to the World Cup is intense, it always is. It’s days full of training, or working out, or days when they’re told to rest and coaches and trainers stalking the hotel to ask why they’re out of their rooms. It’s stressful, but it’s rewarding, because Y/N knows at the end of this they’ll be playing in the World Cup.

Despite how intense and stressful and time consuming every day is, Y/N still finds time to talk with Ruesha. They’re not in the same hotel, not even in the same city, but Y/N makes sure her phone is nearby for whenever they have time to talk. Y/N ignores her teammates teasing. Like, yeah, okay, sure, she has a tiny crush on Ruesha, but Ruesha’s going through a breakup and also doesn’t feel the same. And that’s fine. Y/N’s fine. Ruesha needs a friend, and Y/N is so okay with being that friend.

“Hey, you played well today,” Y/N says.

“Like you even watched it,” Ruesha says.

“I did! Who do you take me for?” Y/N asks with faux offense, “I was studying my opponents.”

“Sure you were.”

“I know you watched my game. You texted me about that tackle I made.”

“It was a good tackle, pretty decent.”

“Piss off!” Y/N laughs, “I will hang up on you.”

“No you won’t,” Ruesha says, “You love me too much.”

“Yeah, yeah I do.”

They’re silent for a moment. Y/N swallows.

“I saw,” Y/N says, “What happened. What everyone’s saying about it.”

“Everyone’s a bunch of shits,” Ruesha says, “They can shut the fuck up.”

“That may be true, but, Rue… What happened?”

“You said you saw what happened,” Ruesha grumbles.

“Rue.”

“What do you want me to say?” Ruesha huffs, “I don’t have to shake her fucking hand if I don’t want to. You know what’s going on with them. I don’t have to play nice with Katie’s new girlfriend.”

“No, but you can’t start fights with the whole world watching,” Y/N says.

“Not that many people watched the game.”

“Not my point.”

“I get your point,” Ruesha says, “I’m saying I’m fine and that I’m not going to hide what I’m feeling just because I’m on TV. If Katie doesn’t like how I treat her new girlfriend then that’s her problem, not mine.”

“I just want to make sure you’re okay,” Y/N says, “I want to make sure you’re not going to do anything you regret.”

Ruesha can be so stubborn sometimes and normally Y/N doesn’t mind. She likes Ruesha for who she is, stubbornness and all, but it’s times like these that Y/N can get frustrated. She knows how ruthless fans and the media can be and she just wants to keep Ruesha from facing anything negative. She’s already seen what some people are saying and she wants to climb through her phone screen and grab the people making comments and shake them, scream at them that they don’t know what they’re talking about, they don’t know Ruesha like she does. But she can’t do that, so instead she has to settle for fighting through Ruesha’s stubbornness to try and convince her to think before she acts.

“I can handle myself. I’m a big girl,” Ruesha says.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” Y/N admits quietly.

Ruesha doesn’t respond immediately and Y/N lets the silence sit. It’s heavy and weighted and the longer it goes on the more Y/N thinks Ruesha’s hung up. It wouldn’t be the first time Ruesha’s hung up when Y/N said something she doesn’t want to hear. Y/N is about to hang up herself, when Ruesha speaks.

“Thanks for always looking out for me,” Ruesha says quietly.

“Of course. Always.”

***

As soon as the celebration and team talks are over, Y/N heads over to the Irish players. She shakes hands, gives hugs, but her mind is focused on one thing.

“Hey,” Y/N gets the attention of Louise Quinn.

“Congrats on the win,” Louise says.

“Thanks,” Y/N gives her a quick hug, “Do you know, by any chance–”

“She went back to the locker room,” Louise says before Y/N can finish. Y/N smiles in thanks.

Y/N goes back through the tunnel and heads in the direction of the Irish locker room. She finds Ruesha leaning up against the wall beside the door, staring at her feet.

“If you’re mad at me, you should’ve done a better job of hiding.”

Ruesha huffs.

“Not mad at you. You’re not that special.”

“But you are mad,” Y/N leans on the wall beside her.

“Of course I’m mad! We’re done! We’re out! We went through all the work, all the training, all the games, all the bullshit, for nothing. It meant nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” Y/N says.

“It sure feels like it,” Ruesha huffs again, “I thought it was all gonna be worth it. I thought sticking it out and putting up with her and everything would be worth it in the end. Now I just wish we’d never qualified at all.”

“You don’t really think that.”

“No,” Ruesha sighs, “I don’t. I’m just pissed.”

“I know how hard this all was for you,” Y/N says, nudging Ruesha’s shoulder in a comforting gesture, “With Katie and everything. And I want to help make this better for you, however I can. You’re my best friend Rue.”

Ruesha makes a sound almost like a growl as she springs from the wall and moves in front of Y/N, her hands braced flat on the wall on either side of Y/N’s head, bracketing her in. Y/N blinks owlishly as Ruesha stares hard at her. There’s a myriad of emotions swirling in Ruesha’s eyes, anger, disappointment, frustration, and something Y/N forced herself to ignore every other time she’s seen it: longing.

“Stop talking.”

Then Ruesha’s kissing her and Y/N’s brain shuts down for a moment. Then she kisses Ruesha back with a fervour. This is what she’s been dreaming of for months, what she’s tried to forget she wants, what she’s repressed and buried for the sake of their friendship. It’s not the way Y/N imagined it, both sweaty and in a hallway in Australia, where Y/N’s just knocked Ruesha out of the World Cup. It’s not what Y/N pictured, but it’s perfect anyway because it’s exactly like them.

When Ruesha pulls away, Y/N knows she has a lovestruck smile on her face and the smirk Ruesha gives her in return just makes Y/N smile deeper. Ruesha’s hand grips the hem of Y/N’s top and tugs. Y/N’s eyes widen.

“Ruesha! What are you doing?” Y/N looks frantically down the hallway to see if anyone is nearby.

“What?” Ruesha says, “Isn’t it tradition to swap jerseys after a game?” Y/N shakes her head.

“You’re impossible.”

Ruesha tugs her own jersey over her head and looks at Y/N expectantly. Y/N only gets distracted by Ruesha’s bare stomach for a moment before she tugs her own jersey off. Ruesha grins after Y/N pulls her Ireland jersey on. Ruesha smooths her hands down the sleeves of her jersey.

“You look good in green.”

“And you look good in red,” Y/N says.

“Come on,” Ruesha grabs Y/N’s hand and pulls her down the hallway back towards the field. “Let’s get some photos taken. Immortalize the moment. Show the haters you’re mine.”

“Yeah,” Y/N says, “Yours. Always.”

[princeoftheeternalbog]

Masterlist

Hello this is my blog(?) I'm mostly writing because I hate trying to find specific scenarios and I really enjoy creative writing but yk fanfic is less pressure cos you already have the world and the characters it's great.

This is not a safe place for terfs or proshippers or any other type of bigotry!

I will try to update this as I go! Currently I have only written for one piece and a tiny bit for dungeon meshi but some other things I like include fairytail, jjk, lotr/the hobbit, skyrim, doctor who, castlevania and the shadow and bone universe. I also know an awful lot about dragonball so. I might write for these if people are interested, feel free to request.

I absolutely won't write anything with: cheating, abuse, non-con(including cnc), inc*st, b*astiality, underage nsfw or romance.

For now I won't be writing for: Doflamingo, Ceaser Clown, Kaido, Big Mom, Arlong, Germa 66.

Some things I may allude to like abuse if you are requesting a comfort fic for a specific thing but I would generally prefer to avoid these topics.

Not safe for work

One piece

General headcannons

Nicknames/petnames - ✧ - What it says on the tin🫶 petnames they call you and sorta what they like to be called with: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Nami, Robin, Usopp, Franky, Brook and Jinbei

Nicknames/petnames p2 - ✧ - Part two after like 5000 years with: Ace, Marco, Thatch, Izou, Law and Kidd :)

ONE PIECE GOES BOWLING - ✧ - tbh guys this isn't even x reader but it's a rly funny prompt that my friend sent me so i had to do it with our strawhats

Kiss and run - ✧ - reactions to you kissing them and then running away. Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Nami, Robin, Usopp, Ace, Marco, Izou, Sabo

Kiss and run p2 - ✧ - same as above but with these characters: Shanks, Benn, Buggy, Crocodile, Mihawk, Rayleigh and Jinbei

Sleeping with you/sleeping habits - ✧ - how different characters sleep with you SFW: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Usopp, Nami, Robin, Brook, Franky, Jinbei, Law, Kidd, Killer, Marco, Izou, Ace

The hiccups - ✧ - exactly what it says, headcannons of op characters reacting to you having the hiccups. Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Usopp, Robin, Nami, Brook, Franky, Law, Kid, Killer, Ace, Marco, Izou, Sabo

X marks the spot - ✧ - where they like to kiss you :) Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Usopp, Robin, Nami, Law, Kid, Killer

Clingy drunk - ✧ - how they react to you being clingy/handsy when drunk. Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Nami, Usopp, Robin, Brook, Franky, Jinbei, Sabo, Ace

Would op boys catch you if you fell? - ✧ - btw the answer is yes mostly. Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Usopp, Franky, Brook, Jinbei, Law, Kidd, Killer

How strawhats react to you being embarrassed - ✧ - very nicely of course. Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Usopp, Franky, Brook, Jinbei, Nami, Robin

-

Individual fics

-

Usopp x reader

Need a hand? - ✧ - Mini fic Usopp x reader, this has explicit themes (MDNI)

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Trafalgar Law x reader

Let me help you - ✧ - Kinda short but its a sort of hurt/comfort type deal :) This was requested

-

Marco x reader

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First beginnings - ✧ - You and Marco get together with a little helping hand.

-

Izou x reader

He totally fancies you - ✧ - Izou has a big fat crush on you, you kiss at the end.

Ace x reader

Warmth - ✧ - Small drabble about how Ace touches you.

Dungeon Meshi/Delicious in Dungeon

Kiss it better - ✧ - Mini fic, Laois Touden x reader :)

[rhaegang]

So, this is going anonymous because I'm a pussy. But I have a very huge size difference kink, I don't know, I love it, and Cattonquick makes it even worse, but something I haven't seen much in fics is exploring Oliver with a size kink. AUHGGG IT'S JUST, Félix is a giant, Oliver looks so tiny next to him, just his hands are huge, now imagine the size of his cock. Idk, it bothers me to think about that and not see people doing something with it

Sorry, I'm cringe

I do think this features in most cattonquick stories. Their size difference is such a main aspect of the pairing!

But as far as it being like, THE central focus of a fic or a scene in one, I don’t know of many. So…

It’s fun to imagine what Oliver is daydreaming about all those times he’s staring at Felix. Longing for Felix. Thinking of Felix (forever thinking of Felix).

So let’s imagine, Oliver is staring at Felix. He’s inching up every last inch of Felix with his eyes. And there are so many. His arms and legs go for miles. His chest and back are broad, even if he’s a bit bony and slim. His neck is long. His fingers are too. His hands — on the fretboard of the guitar, or holding a plastic cup and a beer bottle together in just one hand, or resting on Oliver’s knee and completely covering it — damn. Felix has such big hands.

Oliver absolutely would think about Felix’s hands and consider, okay. Proportionately, that means his cock has to be…

He takes the bus to Reading, which has the closest adult shop outside of Oxford. He has, folded in his pocket, an outline he made of Felix’s hand on a piece of notebook paper by tracing it while Felix slept.

He becomes someone new when he goes into the shop, someone who has no shame, someone who does shit like this all the time. Oliver becomes this someone because that’s the only way he’s going to get what he wants.

He asks one of the shop clerks, “what have you got that’s big enough this hand would barely fit around it?”

The clerk doesn’t give a fuck that it’s a strange question. She’s heard far stranger. And since this guy looks harmless (he’s barely bigger than herself, which, aw) she plays along.

“Did you want something that takes batteries, darling?”

She opens boxes for Oliver so he can feel each one. The weight, the length, the almost anxiety-inducing girth of some of them. The one he chooses is as realistic looking as the come. In fact, it’s apparently molded from a real man’s cock; the little racy blurb on the back of the box has a few sentences about him, including his height and how much he bench presses.

The front of the box doesn’t have sentences. It’s just one word: goliath.

It costs a fortune, wiping out Oliver’s pocket money so he’s actually as broke as he’s been pretending to be, at least for the next two weeks.

Oliver is half hard in his trousers the entire bus ride back to Oxford, clutching his backpack with its passenger on his lap to hide it.

The curtains get closed, the door locked; and fuck it, Oliver sticks his chair under the doorknob for good measure, too. He can’t take any chances. He needs to focus.

There’s a few less than sexy steps between barricading the door and when Oliver finally hovers over the massive silicone cock he’s got stuck to the centuries-old hardwood floor, but they’re done and now he’s here.

He’s here, and he’s going to fit this massive thing inside him (and imagine that it’s bloodwarm, imagine that it’s pulsing, imagine that it’s Felix that he’s straddling because if they did missionary, Felix might crush him—) even if it fucking kills him.

It winds up taking Oliver a lot more work to take the whole thing than he expected. It’s hours later, and he’s sore and swollen and overstimulated, but he gets there in the end. His thighs burn from all the careful squatting and shifting, and when he finally can get down near the base of it, his legs give. It drops him a bit harder down onto Felix, rams Felix’s dick up into his guts in a way that makes him hiccup.

“So big.” It’s a whimper. “God, Felix.”

His hole feels so stretched he worries it’ll never go back to normal. But then, for Felix, Oliver doesn’t care if he has to be broken. He doesn’t care if he’ll feel loose to anyone else, anyone smaller. Oliver knows anyone less than Felix would never satisfy him in any way, so, no. He doesn’t care if he becomes a sloppy, fucked out, loose-holed little slut from how much Felix uses him.

Curious, Oliver presses his fingers against his belly until he thinks he can feel the head. There. He looks down. He flails an arm for his backpack, drags it closer with desperate fingers because he can’t shuffle closer to it to grab the strap properly. He’s fucking impaled where he sits, Felix filling him up and nailing him down.

He uncaps a permanent marker and draws a line on his stomach where the head must be. Permanent marker isn’t permanent enough though. It’ll wash eventually. Maybe he’ll have it tattooed, he thinks.

Yeah. He’ll get a line branded in ink on his skin, a straight line with a few hashmarks, sort of like on a ruler. But more like an F.

He wants to see it every time he looks down at himself. He wants to look at it and think, look how far inside me Felix goes. Look how much of me he fills up.

Felix fills all of Oliver, really. All of his thoughts. All of his dreams. All of his heart. It’s only fitting that he’d be big enough to fill Oliver’s body beyond reason, beyond comfort, the same way he fills up the rest of him.

And when the day comes that Oliver can do this for real, can get Felix’s fucking massive hands holding him down while he fills him up, Oliver will be ready. He won’t have to pant and struggle and bleed and curse, because his body will have already made room for every fucking inch of the man, will have reformed to hold him perfectly, cling to him like a fitted glove.

For now, Oliver can barely rock himself on Felix, just a little careful rolling of his hips, but even that pulverizes his prostate and leaves his cock dribbling precum in semi-clear, stretchy drips. He folds over, bracing himself on his elbows, and works his hips until he’s close to bouncing, until he punches his own orgasm out of himself with Felix buried as far as he can go.

Oliver passes out like that, his puffy hole twitching around Felix like it would pull him in deeper, were there more of him to take.

Which — Oliver hasn’t actually seen Felix’s dick while it’s hard.

What if this goliath isn’t big enough, after all?

[kazoosandfannypacks]

Sparks Fly (Sabezra drabble)

by kazoosandfannypacks

Ezra had never understood the big deal with fireworks— until he spent the fourth of July with Sabine.

Her eyes were fixed excitedly on the spectacular firework display above them, but he couldn't keep his eyes off her. He'd rarely seen her smile until now, and it was something worth waiting for, her joy mixed with wonder and awe at every beautifully crafted explosion.

She glanced back at him, and he glanced away, hoping she wouldn't notice how much he noticed her tonight. He'd had a crush on her for a while, but now?

He was absolutely captivated by her.

(a/n and tags under the cut)

a/n: I was listening to music and thinking of sabezra, as is my custom now, and couldn't stop thinking about the "i'm captivated by you, baby, like a firework show" line from Sparks Fly. I also absolutely adore watching fireworks, so this fic came naturally to me. I hope you guys enjoy it!

taglist: @laughingphoenixleader @accidental-spice @kanerallels @piraterefrigerator @jedi-nurse @dootchster @lucasbridger @redroverrider @light-umbra @commander-tech {if you’d like to be added to or removed from my Sabezra taglist, let me know!}

Send me a song and one of the tagged ships and I’ll write a drabble!

[ofallthingsnasty]

good night ❣️ I saw on your last reblog that you like chubby reader so I was wondering if you could write Kaiser with a chubby fem! reader. Not to be too vague, it could be a concept like: Kaiser always gave obvious signs that he was interested in you, but reader never noticed because she wasn't used to being desired (He was very handsome yes, but handsome guys take more effort, so you always ended up dating normal guys, which pissed off the kaiser because how could you prefer people below his level?), in the end the story ends up going in the direction of noncon (more from the surprise and shock of learning that the kaiser likes you than feelings of revulsion, he just didn't give you time to react)

Tbh, you can disregard every idea I sent (I conceptualized it sleepy so you may not be good), would love any X chubby Reader you made of bllk anyway. i was impressed when u wrote foreign reader with oliver and michael (Kaiser gave me so much anguish...although i think i could handle being a trophy gf for himkk)

I'm so happy you enjoyed the foreigner!reader and Oliver/Kaiser thoughts!! I've said it before, but foreigner!reader is just too much fun haha - and sorry this isn’t a full-blown fic, I wracked my brain but I couldn’t do much more than a thirst - feel free to request more, request are open haha ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

tags: chubby (and insecure about it) reader, yandere, fat-shaming (in retaliation), yandere, dubcon mention, minors dni word count: 0.7k

I think he is the type to get downright nasty. The first few times you reject him (unintentionally, of course - because how in the hell would a soccer star like him truly go for someone like you?) he takes it in stride. Maybe you're just a little dense or he wasn't quite as clear as he thought he had been with his intentions - no matter, there is always another chance. But the moment you start flaunting your absolutely average and dreadfully boring dates, he gets so offended. You rejecting him and picking some loser over him could be a pivotal point in your relationship - where he was just crushing on you before, thought you were cute, he is in such disbelief at this awful display that he gets so mad that you turn into a new trophy to acquire. And my, he is such a pursuer - he’ll double-down on his efforts to get you to date him but most importantly: He’ll threaten your current partner. Not out in the open, not directly, of course - but he knows how to be subtle and yet still obvious enough that even the drooling idiot you picked over him will get it. And what could they ever do to protect themselves from him? Absolutely nothing - Kaiser has the money and influence to match his threats and he isn’t afraid to stay true to his word. Your new fling suddenly ditching you and blocking you on every social media platform will have you questioning your abilities as a romantic partner - and as hurt and confused as you probably are, this is the perfect time for Kaiser to swoop in and make it even worse. Now, he isn’t out to punish you. While he is definitely still mad at you for denying him, he’s not going to take that anger out on you. He does, however, make little comments here and there, points out your looks, your weight, the way you carry yourself - all this to lower your self-esteem. He is going to make you keenly self-aware of your body, of the way the fat of your belly pinches when you sit, how different you look from him. How generous, how selfless, how loving of him it is, then, that he ignores all that, just wants you the way you are. He knows how to weasel himself into the deepest, darkest, ugliest little insecurities of yours - got a double chin? Catch him staring at it, sometimes pinching it with his fingers in a mock-sweet gesture while he crinkles his eyes at you. Insecure of your eating? Oh, now is just the right time to discuss his new meal and workout plans - and ask you for yours. Whatever it is, he’ll sniff it out with glee and amplify it by a million. He’ll make you feel small and undesirable after every interaction you have with him. Your confidence will get destroyed bit by bit - he wears you down with utmost patience and precision, taking his sweet time. Kaiser needs you small and meek - so small that you won’t protest when he finally makes his move, that he’s sure you won’t ever leave him because you think he is way out of your league. Being pursued by him is a dizzying mix of constant flirting and snide remarks - every compliment comes with a caveat, every aspect of your appearance and behavior is analyzed and criticized yet there is always a hand on your thigh, on the small of your back. He’ll confuse you so thoroughly you’ll think you’re dreaming when he finally makes a move on you. But even then - he has it all figured it out, uses that to his advantage. You’ll be blindsided by a sudden kiss one night, after he has worked you open with just enough alcohol to lower your inhibitions - and drunk as you are you let yourself fall into it. You don’t know what you’re getting into, think this is just a one time thing and as desperate as you are for some attention after feeling so undesirable for so long you let him fuck you, blissfully unaware of the fact that everything is about to become ten times worse.

[ckret2]

*sits up ramrod straight. Except I was lying down on my belly so my back is rn doing the curvy bit of the hyperbole* SINCE BILL AND RONNIE WERE AN ON AND OFF THING FOR EONS DOES MABEL COME BACK TO THE SHACK AFTER A BREAKUP AND WHILE HER FAMILY SCRAMBLES TO COMFORT HER BILL JUST SAUNTERS WITH A "let the professionals handle this" ATTITUDE AND A PINT OF MABEL JUICE FLAVOR ICE CREAM??

I'm currently leaning away from the idea that Bill & Pyronica were a thing now that I've settled on an eye bat as the Henchmaniac that Bill had a thing with—but I stand by my claim that he's got a long line of weird alien exes and had awful breakups with all of them.

SO LIKE if Mabel comes home after a heartbreak, yes, absolutely, Bill would be like "Step aside, everybody. I'm the expert here. I've been dumped by more people than any of you will ever even MEET."

Although his solution is less "give her ice cream" and more "give her a pipe bomb." ("What am I supposed to do with this?" "Whatever feels right. Maybe you want to vent your feelings by blowing up a police car. Maybe you want to symbolically erase the relationship by erasing the restaurant where you had your first date. Maybe you want to get revenge against your ex. It's not for me to decide. Follow your heart.")

Violence aside, I think Bill's philosophical approach to romance is very similar to Mabel's: relationships are like gum, when one loses its flavor just cram a new one in! And when you get sick of chewing up the one you have, spit it on the sidewalk without warning and walk away without looking back, never thinking about it again. The sickly-sweet taste of a fresh one will always fill your mouth, but you'll never commit to swallowing, to letting it see the vulnerabilities and secrets inside of you. You'll chew and chew and never be fed. There is no nutrition to be found in the meals you choose. You always swallow your sweet saliva and hunger for emotional nourishment you don't have the courage to seek. ... So just cram a new one in!

Right now I don't have any plans for Mabel to have a crush/heartbreak (she's decided to focus on matchmaking other people this summer). If I do add one, because this IS a Bill-centric fic I'm working on here, it'll be to highlight how Bill reacts to the situation. And in that case the most likely scenarios I'd be writing are:

Bill straight up murders the guy who breaks Mabel's heart, because this is his idea of being a good friend

or

Whoever Mabel crushes on ends up being Evil And Nefarious, so that Bill can help rescue her, as part of a "look holy shit Bill HAS grown as a person and IS willing to inconvenience himself to help somebody he cares about" plot.