#shes a new test muse so :p

[ontops]

closed for : @misfyre .

                   ❝      they      said      i'm      tainted     ,      now     .      that i      let      the      wrong      one      touch      me      ...      i      thought      you      said      we      were      supposed      to      be      together     .      why      would      you      lie      to      me  about something so serious     ?      ❞

[urhoneycombwitch]

imagine being loved by me

rockstar!Eddie Munson x Reader your love has stood the test of time, thus far, but a New Year's Eve party fit for a rockstar brings up some bitter emotions.

foreword: timeline is wobbly and may not align perfectly w canon bc I’m bad at math so shhhh suspend ur disbelief. based on this anon thank you v much anon <3

cw: drugs and alcohol consumption, mentions of weight gain (Eddie’s, in a positive manner), R has panic/anxiety attack, jealousy (talked about and resolved tho), softdom!Reader, softdom!Eddie, oral (E and R receiving), R has breasts + a V and referred to with she/her pronouns, P in V sex, cumming inside w/out protection

wc: 8k

___

It’s the coldest January Hawkins has seen in ages. Snow banks sit high on the roadsides, air thick with snowflakes, three-AM fog brought in courtesy of the bitter wind chill. 

Under the yellow floodlight of a nearby streetlamp, your boyfriend is sucking down the last of a joint while you stamp your feet against the gravel parking lot.

“C’mon, Eddie,” you whine, crossing the arms of your fleeced puffer jacket, bouncing on your heels to keep the blood flowing. “My toes are gonna get frostbite.”

“A touch dramatic,” Eddie replies, unbothered. The cherry of the joint between his lips burns orange, casting a warm glow over Eddie’s cheekbones, the twinkle of snowflakes caught in his bangs. “I told you to go in without me, princess. Warmer in there.”

“Without you? As if.” You pull the pity card, and it works, ‘cuz it always does- that boy has got to learn how to say no to you, one of these days. 

Not today, though, because Eddie is tamping out the ember on the sole of his boot and crunching up the snowy path to sling an arm around your neck.

“Grub time,” he says against your hair, pressing his cold lips to the side of your forehead as you both make your way into Benny’s Burgers.

The heated air is a welcome relief, and save for a couple of old-timers at a side table, you and Eddie are the only customers in the place. 

Benny greets you both from where he’s flipping patties on the kitchen grill, waving a spatula at the corner booth- “All yours, kiddos. Want the usual?”

You and Eddie call out affirmatives as you sink into opposing seats, unwrapping yourselves from all your winter gear as you go.

“God bless Benny Hammond for expanding his night hours,” you say, piling your green scarf on the tabletop. “This is a good tradition for us, y’know. Post-band practice smoking and coffee- very rock and roll.”

“I concur.” Eddie tosses his knit hat at you playfully. “You, my lady, have the most rock ‘n roll soul I ever did see.”

As Benny approaches with two mugs of steaming coffee, you muse aloud, “Not sure if the amount of sugar you’re about to dump in your coffee is very metal, per se...”

“Y’hear that, Benny?” Eddie grabs a fistful of sugar packets and shakes them indignantly. “My girl’s trying to keep me on the straight and narrow. How’s a rockstar s’posed to live in these conditions?”

“Lord knows,” Benny says, sardonic, setting the mugs down and turning back to the kitchen.

Eddie winces as his hands wrap around the heat of the mug, and you notice right away. “Your fingers splitting again? I have that salve that you used last time, but it’s back at the trailer.”

He puts his hand face-up onto the table, and you slip yours into his, the deep fingertip grooves from guitar strings rough against your soft palm.

“I’ll live. Plus, it’s kind of metal, right?” Eddie runs a calloused thumb across the back of your hand.

You squeeze back, give him a wink. “Very metal.”

Eddie’s been working himself to the bone lately. Trying to stay in school and not drop out is a feat in itself, but compounded with the band practices that have only ramped up in length recently, it’s a lot to balance.

He hasn’t complained at all, of course. It’s not really in his nature.

In the past few weeks, however, he’s been imbued with this near-manic energy, a renewed sense of purpose. In between your own fitful sleeps you often wake in the early hours of the morning to find Eddie hunched over his desk, pen flying across his notebook as he reworks an old song or outlines a new one. Not that you weren’t proud of him before, but seeing him apply this newfound passion to his music has been a huge source of joy for you. 

And, if you’re being really honest, also a major turn on. I mean, the boy’s got swagger like no other, and you’re so glad he’s finally utilizing it on stage. Even if that stage is in the middle of a piece of shit dive bar. Still counts, in your book.

Benny drops off baskets of hot fries, a burger for Eddie, and a BLT for you. Methodic and familiar, you offload half your fries to Eddie’s basket as he slides his burger towards you for the first bite. 

After a few minutes of peaceful eating, Eddie balls up a napkin in his fist and raps the table with his knuckles. “So, uh. Kind of have some news.”

You slot the ketchup bottle back into its metal holder and look up with raised brows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looks suddenly nervous, knee knocking into the underside of the table as he bounces his leg compulsively. “You remember Paige Warner? Graduated in ‘81, brother is a baseball jock?”

When you nod, Eddie blows out a breath- his unease is kind of setting you on edge. 

“What about Paige Warner?” you prompt.

“She moved out to L.A. for a job and she’s working this scouting gig for some bigshot record,” he continues, absently pulling the thin napkin in his hands into pieces, staring vacantly at the mess. “And she wants Corroded Coffin to record and send out a demo to the label.”

As the news sinks in, your jaw drops. “Holy shit. What?”

“Yeah.” Eddie’s fidgeting with the paper scraps now, still not making eye contact with you. “She wants us to start recording next week. I haven’t told anyone else, yet, I wanted to make sure you were the first-”

You interrupt him with an excited little squeal (drawing glares from the old guys across the diner) and shove up from your side of the table to throw your arms around Eddie.

“Holy shit,” you repeat, laughing as Eddie pulls you into his lap- “Eddie, that’s amazing!”

“You think so?” he asks, your enthusiasm allowing his own to creep in; He slides his hands to your denim-clad hips, his self-professed favorite stress toy (well, tied for favorite with your thighs). 

“How come you were so nervous to tell me?” You ask him, gently, tucking his dark hair behind his ears so you can see his face better. “Were you thinking I’d react differently?”

He looks up at you wide-eyed, shakes his head- “No, no, I wasn’t worried about you reacting a certain way. I just… I’m just worried about what this’ll mean. You know. For us.”

“Us?” You echo, encouraging him to continue. 

Eddie squeezes at your hips, presses the crown of his head against your collarbone like he’s mustering up the courage to speak. “Yeah, us. I know L.A. isn’t your dream- shit, I don’t even know if it’s mine- but you didn’t sign up to go on the road like this. You’ve got college to consider, and-”

“So I’ll take a gap year,” you interrupt, putting a hand to his cheek to make him look at you again, and when he starts to protest, you talk over him. “No, Eddie, I’m serious. I don’t know what the hell I wanna do with my life yet anyways. Following my hot rockstar boyfriend to a new town sounds like a pretty good deal to me.”

He shakes his head again, and you can feel his dimples spring to life under your hand as he teases, “Gonna be my little groupie?”

“And more,” you confirm, giving him a kiss (chaste, so as not to invoke any more ire from the grumpy other customers) and sliding off his lap to return to your own seat. “I’ll be your assistant extraordinaire, if you want. Or bodyguard. Make sure none of the other groupie chicks get too close.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, fondly. “You’re the only groupie I need, sweetheart.”

Settling back into your respective seats, you both work on the last basket of fries while chatting genially about the future. Eddie mentions getting an apartment in Los Angeles, so there’s less of a commute, which branches the conversation into the logistics of a cross-country move, and then on to more important topics such as the alleged coolness of west-coast parties. 

“Who’s your celebrity hall pass?” you ask, out of pure interest, dipping a fry into the well of ketchup. “Like, say you’re rubbing elbows at some famous muckety-muck’s party and someone catches your eye. Who’re you taking back to the motel for a slutty roll in the hay?”

Eddie snickers at your phrasing, then says, “I mean, preferably, my super hot girlfriend-”

You throw a fry at his head. “That’s such a cop-out answer. In this hypothetical, Joan Jett is in red leather petting up on you and you’re saying you wouldn’t take her up on a one-night stand?”

A laugh bursts out of Eddie, a real, proper one where he throws his head back. “Are you actively encouraging me to hook up with some bimbo at a random party? Without you? Unlikely scenario on all fronts, babe.”

This earns him another launched fry, and he squawks, trying to shake it out of its place caught in his hair as you reprimand him- “Joan Jett is not some bimbo, watch your mouth! And what I’m saying is, if you didn’t at least try to score us a threesome with her, I’d be pissed.”

“Okay, baby,” Eddie soothes you a tad derisively, likely a ploy to avoid more flying food- “if I meet Joan Jett I will do my level best to get her in our bed. Scout’s honor.”

He holds up two fingers and wiggles them obscenely, grinning when you laugh again. “All right, Nosey McGee. Who are you taking home from the party?”

You hum, eyes flicking up to the ceiling, contemplating the options. “I guess I could be talked into a night with Kirk Hammett.”

Eddie’s turn to launch a fry. “You slut,” he chuckles, “That was a way quicker answer than mine.”

“Okay, fine. If I meet Kirk Hammett, I promise to at least make a bid for threesome. Deal?” You extend your pinkie across the table.

Eddie loops his little finger into yours. “Deal.”

____

The memory of that cozy diner evening years ago fades as you shake yourself to the present.

You aren’t two highschool kids with lofty dreams, anymore- after Eddie’s recovery from all that Upside Down bullshit in ‘86, Corroded Coffin took off. Even though Paige didn’t end up coming through with any deals, Eddie and his bandmates fought like hell to get signed- and by the end of that year, a small record label in the heart of downtown Chicago had taken the bait.

Corroded Coffin turned out to be the best thing to ever happen to Arken Records; by the spring of ‘87, business was booming thanks to the help of Corroded’s debut album, The Banished Ones- their new single was a chart-topper for over 6 weeks. (Smash Hit magazine’s latest review was titled “Fresh Sound Rises from Dirt Nowhere.” You have the paper clipping saved in your ever-growing folder with “rockstar boyfriend!!!” handwritten in black ink.) 

And in a few weeks, the band will set off on their first real tour, starting in Chicago and ending with a bang in an already sold-out show in Hawkins- Dustin, Steve, and the rest of the gang with VIP front-row seats, of course. 

As much as you and Eddie have grown and matured in the past few years, the core of you both has remained the same. Eddie is still just as dorky, goofy, and caring as he always has been, while you’ve kept that tenacious spirit and quick wit that he fell in love with back in the early days of dating. Even now, with his popularity rising and his rockstar dreams on their way to coming true, Eddie constantly brings his focus back to you. 

Pillow talks in cushy hotel beds, late night ramblings over post-show whiskeys, holding hands in the back of yet another cab- when he could be talking about the thousands of exciting things happening in his own life, Eddie is asking about you.

Did you talk to Robin last night, sweetheart? How’s ‘ol Birdie doin? What do you wanna wear to that dinner thingy tomorrow… could go naked for all I care. In fact you probably should because of feminism and all that. Did you sleep okay last night? Let me look at ya. You thinkin’ any more about those applications you got?

You’d taken a gap year to support Eddie, which you were happy to do, but with ‘87 drawing to a close, he’s been more insistent lately that you take a look at all your college options. Honestly, you’ve been enjoying the adventures that come with touring way too much to consider going back to the rigidity of school. 

And plus, having the love of your life nearly bleed out in your arms in a parallel dimension has totally realigned your priorities. If folks thought you and Eddie were attached at the hip before… 

He’ll likely argue you into academia, eventually. He always rolls high on persuasion. Damn him.

For now, you’ve got a party to attend. 

Arken Records is playing host, on the last night of 1987- in celebration of Corroded Coffin’s success and to kick off the New Year’s festivities, they’ve rented out a house in east Chicago for the event. 

Well, house isn’t the right word. More like mansion. Vaulted ceilings tall as a church’s, huge windows overlooking the Chicago river, a grand chandelier with flickering candles in nearly every room. 

When you and Eddie had toured the place a few days previous, he’d made a joking complaint low in your ear about not having the time to fuck you on every surface. Your laugh had reverberated off the sweeping mahogany floorboards, mostly at the expense of Eddie’s poor publicist who’d happened to hear his comment. (Melanie had really been putting in overtime lately; you made a mental note to send her a very nice flower arrangement and vouchers for a spa trip.)

The party was in full swing by the time you and Eddie arrived, fashionably late, and he had been folded into the throng of other musicians and partygoers against his will pretty much immediately- which you’d expected. The last hour, he’s been throwing you piteous looks from his spot across the room, where he hasn’t had the chance to move an inch with the amount of people keeping the conversation going. You’ve slipped to his side a few times, refreshing his drink, letting him curl an arm around your waist as you perch on his knee, only half-focused on whatever story some producer is saying as Eddie’s hand trails up your thigh. 

You’re back on the nearest wall again, sipping champagne, taking it all in. There are probably over a hundred people crammed into this banquet room, bass thumping through the floorboards, tables shoved to the outer corners making space for a makeshift dance space. 

The air is hazy with smoke from various cigarettes and joints; as the night has progressed, the smell of freshly-applied cologne has been replaced with heady sweat as the dance floor calls more people to writhe and grind in groups and partners. Eddie is still stuck in the lone pod of living room chairs, surrounded by a rapt audience of people crammed in to hear him better over the blaring music.

He looks damn good tonight, in a cut-off black tee and his favorite ripped jeans, leather jacket hung on the chair behind him. Silver catches the light from every angle- on the chains at his hips, around his neck, glinting off his rings as he gestures animatedly mid-story. He’d asked you to do his eyeliner at the hotel earlier, and although it’s smudged and blurred at the edges now he’s still pulling it off. Tiny silver stars, hand-drawn with your eyeshadow brush, twinkle across his cheeks like freckles.

Eddie wanted to match with you, whined until you added a belt made of gold-plated stars to your outfit. You went simple, the gold to his silver- belt cinching your short black satin slip dress, delicate brass rings and bracelets around your fingers and bare forearms. The one piece of silver you are wearing is a chain around your neck, Eddie’s guitar pick nestled snug between your breasts. 

You still resolutely refuse to wear heels, even after Eddie’s stylist cajoled you into practicing on stilettos for a disastrous media training session last month- tonight you’re in a chic pair of Mary Janes with the slightest suggestion of a heel. Compromise. 

There’s a big laugh from the crowd in the corner again as Eddie knocks a hand into Gareth’s chest for emphasis, nearly knocking the younger boy off his seat. You stare unabashedly at Eddie’s forearms, biceps on full display; he’s filled out a bit since leaving home, his usually lean frame boasting a bit more weight and bulk now that he’s got consistent access to well-rounded meals. 

He’s looking healthy, down right glowy. You’re thinking about that smattered trail of dark hair that slides down the crest of his stomach, now with extra padding enough to sink your teeth into. As if he knows, Eddie catches your eye from across the room and winks, cheekily. 

You shiver and unconsciously press your thighs together, hiding your grin with another swallow of champagne.

The alcohol turns a bit sour going down, though, as a crimped-haired blonde girl worms her way to Eddie’s side, laughing a little too loudly at the joke he just told. When she places a manicured hand on one of his shoulders, the thin stem of your glass nearly snaps in your grip.

The thing about rockstars is they have crazy sex appeal. The thing about your rockstar is he’s only interested in you, something that has been proved many times over.

So why is tonight hitting you so hard? Why do you feel nauseous the longer Eddie lets some random woman’s hand stay on his bare skin when you know he’s going home with you, and only you?

Maybe it’s the alcohol, or the overcrowded room, or the memories of Benny’s diner still lingering like a bruise in your mind. Hard to pinpoint exactly. All you know is that jealousy is gnawing like a thing raw and seeking in the pit of your stomach, and if you don’t get out of this stuffy room soon you’re gonna do something tabloid-worthy, like cry in the middle of a New Year’s Eve party.

By the grace of some god you make it across the dance floor and into a side bathroom unscathed, the pulsing sound of the party blissfully dimming as you shut the door behind you. Your mind whirls as you grip the gilded sink for stability, blinking hard at the tears beginning to form. 

You love having a boyfriend who’s larger than life. You love that he’s taking up space and getting to use that charm that was nurtured on the DM throne back in Hawkins. You’re so proud of him, you really are. 

You’re just starting to hate the way other people’s surface-level love of him makes you feel.

Because that’s what it is, right? Just surface-level, you reason with yourself- the level of intimacy that you and Eddie have is unmatched, something that the newly-formed masses of admirers won’t ever get to experience.

Christ, can jealousy give you hives? You grab a handful of paper towels and soak them in cold tap water, then press the damp bundle to your chest, breath stuttering.

You’ve never been the jealous type, or the overbearing type- it’s a new feeling, and maybe that’s why it feels so scary. The more you try to tamp it down, the more it rears its ugly head, making you, in turn, feel embarrassed for having such a strong reaction in the first place.

It’s a vicious cycle that’s only seeming to gain speed as you realize you haven’t yet managed a full breath since coming to your hiding spot. Your lungs are pinched and burning as you drop the soggy paper into the sink, leaning into the lip of the porcelain to steady yourself.

There’s a knock on the door, and you choke out “Just a minute”, not sure if the person on the other side can even hear you over the music when Eddie’s voice leaks through.

“Baby? That you in there?”

Against your better judgment, you open the door, and he crams in the small space, locking it again behind himself.

“There you are, I saw you leave and thought you were getting a drink or something but then you didn’t come back and- are you okay?”

He interrupts his own stream of consciousness when he notices the state you’re in. You give him a trembly smile, waving a hand dismissively.

“Yeah, all good. I’ll come back with you, just needed to pee.”

Eddie is not so easily thrown off the scent. He murmurs your name, sliding his hand into yours, looking at you with a wounded puppy gaze- fuck, you can’t have a breakdown. Not here, not on New Year’s in some knockoff-Playboy’s bathroom.

And certainly not in front of Eddie, who’s asking you to tell him what’s wrong, what happened, with an increasingly pleading tone that’s really, really not helping your whole Don’t Cry agenda. 

Hoping your voice doesn’t break, you clear your throat and pull your hand from his grasp. “Nothing happened, okay? I just had too much to drink, feeling overly sentimental or something. I’m okay.”

You think your white lie was convincing enough when Eddie reaches back for the door handle, that maybe he’ll rejoin the party and leave you to have a good cry, but after poking his head out the doorway briefly he grabs onto your wrist, tugging you to his side and hissing “Quick!”

And then you’re both making a break for it down the mostly-empty hallway, Eddie pulling you smoothly past a wall of expensive-looking oil paintings before going through a set of double doors that lead to the outside.

It’s December in Chicago, which means a light layer of snow covers the terraced garden that Eddie is leading you through, stopping at a stone bench flanked by two scraggly bushes. 

“Made it,” he huffs with exertion, dropping your hand to shrug his leather jacket off in favor of draping it around your own shoulders.

“You’re gonna be cold,” you sniffle, partly from the tears, partly from the crisp night air.

“Yeah,” he agrees easily, wrapping you in a hug. You press your forehead to his chest. “Got my girl to keep me warm, though.”

You stay like this for a few moments, his arms solid around you, breaths coming easier as the familiar smell of his tangy skin and that spicy bar soap he uses fills your senses.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” he asks, gently, holding you at arm’s length to study your face.

When you shrug, unsure of where to start, he lets go of you and walks backwards, taking an unflinching seat on the snow-covered bench.

You gasp despite yourself, reaching to pull him up even as he twists out of your grasp- “Eddie, jesus, you’re literally gonna freeze your ass off. Get up!”

But he’s solid in his seat, widening his stance, boots planted on the ground- “I’m not moving until you tell me what’s going on in that head of yours, so you better start talking before my jeans freeze to the concrete.”

“It’s nothing,” you insist, but he’s giving you that look again, the one that cracks through the tough exterior every time, and you wrap your arms around yourself under the warmth of his jacket as you admit, “Okay, fine. It’s something. I’m just… having an overreaction.”

“To the shellfish?” he deadpans.

“No, asshole, to the blonde girl who was rubbing up on you earlier,” you snap.

Eddie blinks, genuine confusion in his voice- “There was a blonde girl… rubbing up on me?”

“She was petting your shoulder,” you continue, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the ground. “She was touching you, and I got- jealous, I guess.”

“Baby, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t remember her, at all,” Eddie emphasizes, spreading a palm flat against his chest in a gesture of sincerity, hair shifting across his shoulders as he cocks his head to the side.

His face is too familiar, too earnest for you to be able to say what you’re feeling without bursting into tears, so you turn on your heel, pacing a short loop in front of the bench, your breath hanging in misty clouds as you speak. 

“It’s not even about her, necessarily. It’s about me and my stupid emotions. I’m not usually like this- jealous, you know? Like, I’m so proud of you, and everything you’ve accomplished, and I don’t mind sharing you, really I don’t, it’s just…”

You pause in your pacing, let your head drop back to look at the inky black sky pinpricked with stars, and your next words fall out like a confession.

“I just feel like I’m in mourning.”

You can feel his eyes on you still, as you loose the feeling that’s been caught tight in your chest. “It sounds so dramatic, when I say it like that. But I think that’s what it is. I miss when it was just the two of us, in this little bubble where no one knew our names and we just had each other.”

As the words leave your mouth, you scramble to explain, to soften the blow, hands tightening around your upper arms as you turn back to face the boy on the bench. “And I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, or, like, a total jealous bitch, because I really love you and I hope you know I’m not- are you laughing?”

Eddie tries his best to stifle the laughter into his fist when he sees how indignant you look. He rises from the bench, still a bit mirthful, pulling you back into his space. “Sorry, honey, I’m not making fun of you, I promise.”

You’re glaring at him now, and he ducks to kiss at the lines between your brow before pulling back and saying, “I think what you’re feeling is normal, and I don’t think you’re overreacting at all. Remember that asshole at the Smith Center party who kept trying to get your number right in front of me?”

“Vaguely.”

“I wanted to punch his lights out. Make a real scene, kiss you sloppy in front of some cameras.” Eddie cups your face in his hands, soothing his thumb against the wetness of your lashline. “What I’m saying is, I get jealous, too. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

“But…” there’s a well of emotions that you’re drawing from, and it’s not empty yet, one nagging thought still surfacing. “But these girls that are coming on to you, they’re like… really hot. I don’t look anything like them.”

Eddie frowns. “Are you seriously trying to make a case for yourself on the grounds of not being really hot? That’s not gonna hold up in court, gorgeous. I mean… have you even looked in a mirror recently?”

He lightly taps his knuckle against your head, trying to get you to crack a smile, but you’re not ready to give in yet. 

“You don’t think you’ll get bored of me?” you whisper, dropping your eyes from his consuming gaze to the wyvern inked on the inside of his arm. 

“Sweetheart…” Eddie sounds genuinely pained. The ink in his skin stretches as he slips a hand to the back of your neck, cold rings against your skin making you shiver. “I couldn’t ever get bored of you. Not in a million years. We've been through too much together for you to think like that, hm?”

He strokes his thumb down the column of your neck, those doey brown eyes on you again. “Now I’m not saying you shouldn’t ever be jealous, ‘cuz god knows it makes me hot under the collar when you are. But I’m sayin’ I never wanna make you feel like you need to earn me, okay?”

His thumb tracks back up to the hollow of your jaw, taps twice questioningly, and you nod, letting out a shaky, “Okay.”

When he kisses you, it feels like every other time- comfortable, grounding, familiar. His tongue presses against the seam of your lips, and you let him lick into your mouth, gripping at his arms, flushing hot as you give it back to him in spades.

With a short groan, he pulls back, a wet click as your mouths separate- “As much as I wanna jump your bones in this wintry wonderland, I think the snow might’ve actually frozen my balls off.”

You giggle, spanning your hands around the meat of his waist, kissing up into his mouth again- “Poor baby. Want me to warm ‘em up in my mouth?”

He gives a solid smack to your ass for that, his palm smoothing over the stinging skin with condescension when you yelp- “All dish and no take, baby? Not exactly fair.”

____

Despite your weak protestations that you both should probably rejoin the party, at least until midnight, Eddie insists on taking you back to the hotel. 

“This party blows, anyways,” he says over his shoulder to you as he leads you back through the halls of the house. “If I hear one more Tears for Fears track I might throw myself into the river from one of the hundred balconies in this place.”

He manages to track down Melanie with some effort, winding his way through the throng of people to where she’d been chatting with a reporter, plucking at her elbow to get her away from the crowd and into the quieter hallway with you.  

“We gotta scoot, Mel,” he tells her, really hamming up the charm as the young publicist widens her eyes. “Think you can get us a ride outta here?”

“Mr. Munson, you can’t just leave,” Melanie insists, frazzled. “Someone from Rolling Stone has been waiting for the last hour to talk to you, if you could just-”

“No can do.” Eddie shakes his head, mock-apologetic. “There’s been an accident. Of a personal nature.”

You manage to choke down your laughter as Eddie turns around to show off the dark stains on the back of his jeans. They’re just wet from the snow that he sat in earlier, of course, but it looks convincing enough to make Melanie blanch and pinch the bridge of her nose.

“I’ll have a cab out front in ten for you both. Please keep a low profile until then.”

Eddie gives a sharp salute and you mouth an apology at her before she retreats to find a phone.

Okay, so maybe add a hefty bonus to that Nice Things for Melanie list of yours. 

____

One of the perks of having a rockstar for a boyfriend is the sweet digs- the label shelled out for Chicago’s finest penthouse suite; an entire luxurious upper floor with a private elevator, windows overlooking the far-below city lights, and a sunken bath big enough for two.

Also included? Soundproof walls.

A perk you’re very grateful for as Eddie walks you backwards into the room, sucking a mark with stinging teeth into your neck as you moan, then giggle breathily, admonishing- “Christ, Eddie, slow down. We have all night.”

Eddie pulls back just far enough to frown down at you, his hands slipping under the hem of your dress to squeeze at your ass. His rings are cold against your bare flesh, and he grins when you shiver. “Uh huh. Sure do have all night. You gonna take advantage of that?”

He wiggles his eyebrows, cheekily, but that smirk drops from his face in record time the second you shove him to the bed. As his knees give out in favor of sitting on the mattress, you steady your hands against his broad shoulders to swing yourself into his lap.

Eddie’s looking up at you, cinnamon eyes darkened with lust- it makes your stomach flip something awful. Your skin feels alight with heat as Eddie’s hands drip like water down your sides, then to your parted thighs.

You sigh into his mouth as his fingers trace the front of your underwear, the silk sticky with your arousal.

“Oh, baby,” Eddie says, equal parts admonishment and pitying as you squirm into his touch. “What’s got you this worked up, hm?”

He’s asking like he doesn’t know- like he didn’t tease you with filthy whispers and wandering hands in the back of the car the whole way here. 

“Whaddya think,” you scoff, not quite ready to give in yet, enjoying the thrill of being cagey as Eddie hooks a finger to tuck your panties to the side.

He grins, simmering, enjoying the chase just as much as you. His middle finger swipes through your folds and you shudder in his arms, hands tightening into the meat of his shoulders as he brings the wetness up to your clit.

Eddie rubs quick, steady circles until you’re mewling, bucking hips grinding down to seek more friction. You can feel the wetness seeping out of your core, dampening his jeans as he licks back into your mouth, capturing the soft noises you’re making as he winds you up.

“Can’t believe a pretty thing like you has anything to be jealous of.” Eddie noses at the spot under your jaw, and when you let your head fall back on a hinge to grant him access, he sucks another mark into the column of your throat. “‘M all yours, sweetheart. You gonna take what’s yours?”

Truth be told, your mind went fuzzy the second Eddie got his hands on your clit, the consistent build of pleasure sparking between your legs rather distracting. You’d almost forgotten how the night had started, but you let the jealousy and possessiveness creep back in as you push at Eddie’s chest.

He goes down easily, toeing his boots off and lying flat on the mattress; big hands settle on your waist as you rest your weight into him, warm cunt pressing against the bulge of his clothed cock.

At a light drag of your nails against his bare chest and across his nipple, Eddie groans low, squeezing your hips and rucking into you.

“You’re all mine, Eddie, right?” 

His pupils nearly eclipsing their soft brown irises, Eddie stares up at you like you hang the moon and stars every night just for him. “Yeah, sweetheart. ‘M all yours. Lemme show you.”

Eddie pulls at the backs of your legs, helping you shuffle up his body until your knees are dipping into the mattress at either side of his head. Your core hovers just above Eddie’s mouth- you can feel his breath speed up on the inside of your thigh at this new position. 

“Oh, fuck, Eddie- jesus… christ,” the last word ending in a moan as Eddie’s tongue licks a wet stripe through your folds. 

He pulls you closer with an arm over each thigh until you’re sitting on his face, his nose hitting your clit with each tilt of his head. You’ve got no idea how he’s able to breathe down there but you’re hardly able to hold onto that thought when his tongue has started plunging in and out of you.

Automatically, your hands shoot out to stabilize yourself- one hand goes to the headboard and the other ends up in his hair, gripping the roots hard. Eddie groans, sending vibrations that make your cunt clench around his lithe tongue.

“Like the taste of my pussy, baby?” you coo down at him, regaining some of your breath to give him attitude. 

Reaching a hand back to palm at his cock, you say “No one else can have you like this, hm?”

Eddie catches your eyes as he mouths wetly at your clit, then sucks it into his mouth. Your thighs shake around his ears, your orgasm unfurling in clenching ripples.

“Oh, yeah, Eddie, fuck, I’m coming- just like that, fuck fuck fuck…”

He doesn’t stop suckling at you until you’re gushing around his mouth, then pulling him off by his hair to make him stop.

Eddie heaves in a breath, kissing at the inside of your thigh, his lips and chin shiny with your release. “God, baby. Such pretty noises for me.”

“Mhm.” You shuffle down until your hips are aligned over his, then lean in to lick his mouth clean. “Gonna make some pretty ones for me, now?”

After helping pull his shirt off, Eddie whines softly as you press kisses down his bare chest, and by the time your mouth is pressing over that dark trail of hair that leads into his denim, Eddie’s begging.

“Please, angel, please- need your mouth. Do anything for it, baby, please…”

You rub your cheek against his bulge before pulling back to pop the button on his jeans, then help him shift them down and off his body. Once his black briefs join the growing pile of floor clothes, Eddie’s completely bare and at your mercy.

He gets on his elbows to watch as you mouth at the inside of his thigh, dark hair splayed around his shoulders, chest heaving when you ignore his leaking cock in favor of grazing your teeth against a sensitive spot. “Fuckin’- christ, sweetheart. Come on. Please?”

“Sound pretty when you beg,” you say, mildly, kissing across his heavy sack, hiding a smile when the contact makes him jolt. “Gonna do it some more?”

You keep eye contact as you take one of his balls into your mouth, watching his own eyes roll back so far you can see the whites of them as you use your tongue on him. 

“-yeah, baby, yeah- just like that- fucking, fuck, you’re killin’ me…”

Eddie sounds wrecked already, and a hot flush of pride courses through your body at the knowledge that he could come from just this and it’d be you getting him there. 

You mouth over to the other side of his sack, rolling the skin wiry with coarse hair against your tongue as Eddie moans above you. When your hand wraps around the base of his cock, starting to move in tandem with the pull of your mouth, Eddie makes a noise like he’s been punched.

A line of drool breaks and hits wet against your chin as you straighten up, settling yourself into the V of his legs and using his thighs as handholds while you begin to kiss up the line of his leaking cock.

He’s got a gorgeous dick, truly. Thick and long, curving slightly to the right, a pretty blue vein snaking up the underside that you lathe your tongue against, seeking out the salty brine at the ruddy head.

Eddie moans, brokenly, white-knuckled hands twisting into the sheets. When your mouth closes around the tip, his elbows give out, leaving him flat against the mattress as you work his length further in.

“Oh my god. Oh, fuck, baby. Please don’t stop. Please. Y’feel so good…”

You hum around the stretch of him in your mouth, relaxing your throat to draw him in a bit more. The spiky jealousy from earlier really is your biggest motivator here; covetous, you’re thinking back to all those first times with Eddie- trembling hands under your bedsheets back in Hawkins, stilted voices and giggles to cover up the awkwardness of trying to learn the other person’s body.

No one will ever know him like you do. No one will ever have all that shared history, those fumbling nights that slowly turned to lovesick days; memories of him on his knees for you, learning all the little things that make you tick, memorizing the song of your body.

The boy is all yours. 

Your throat automatically constricts at the intrusion of Eddie’s cock slipping past your soft palate- his hips cant up, which you can hardly fault him for, patient as he’s been with your retrospective and teasing.

Before he can apologize you’re sitting up, wiping at the excess drool with the back of your hand and shucking your dress over your head, letting it and your belt fall to the floor with a soft clunk.

Eddie reaches for you again as you slide your panties down and off, and you let him help you up his body, your knees coming to rest alongside the lightly raised scar tissue at his sides. You stroke a hand down his chest, giving in to a moment of softness before seating yourself fully in Eddie’s lap.

His hands snap to your hips, a near-brutal squeeze as you sink onto his cock. The stretch is always an adjustment, but you’re so wet right now that he slides in easily, a breathy moan from the both of you as the walls of your cunt fit snug around his sizeable length.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” The crown of Eddie’s head is pressed back into the bed, veins in his taut neck on full display as your hips start to swivel, blunt nails scraping into the soft flesh of your waist. “Just like that, sweetheart. Fuck me.”

With your knees planted on either side of his body, you begin to bounce in steady, rhythmic earnest, going for gold, the desire to bring your boy to the babbling edge overtaking every other thought.

“Feel so good, Eds, so big… can barely fit…” There’s a wet squelch accompanying each bounce now, slick dripping down to the base of his cock, your vice of a cunt flexing with every movement.

“S’all you, baby,” Eddie rasps out, toes curling in the efforts to keep his orgasm at bay for awhile longer. “Got a perfect pussy. Takin’ me so well.”

He’s almost in delirium territory, with you chasing after that bright unwinding pleasure at both of your cores; your hips stutter, hands flat on Eddie’s chest to center yourself, a hunger that you can’t seem to satiate gnawing at the edges.

Eddie notices immediately, feels the falter in your motion and brings his hands to your forearms, rubbing a path up them soothingly- “What’s wrong, angel, hm?”

You’re not sure how to put it into words, wishing (not for the first time) that you could just rest your forehead against his and transmit all the complexities of your emotions through touch alone. 

Instead, you sigh out the name that you use when you’re done with taking, a name that lights Eddie up from head to toe as you say it- “Teddy.”

In one swift movement, Eddie slips an arm behind your back and flips you to the mattress, his hair a curtain around both your faces as he leans in to whisper against your mouth- “Teddy’s got you. Arms around me.”

You’re quick to obey, looping your arms around Eddie’s wide shoulders. He slides one hand up the back of your leg, pushing a knee up until it’s at your chest, mouth dropping open briefly when the new angle allows the head of his cock to kiss against that gummy upper wall of your cunt.

“Bored of you,” he huffs, recalling your words from earlier with disdain. “You’re talkin’ to the guy who memorized the first six chapters of The Hobbit just to recite for your bedtime.”

A quick thrust of his pelvis into yours has your stomach clenching in anticipation, brows on a tilt and knitting together as Eddie grins down at you. “Got a wicked attention span, baby. Lemme show you.”

He starts slow, agonizingly so, every inch of his thick cock dragging in and out, wetness pooling down your ass and probably the sheets, too; errant thoughts of housekeeping are rapidly erased as Eddie begins snapping his hips into yours in faster tempo.

He’s working to find that spot, the one that turns your brain to mush and is guaranteed to cause full-body muscle fatigue from the force of your orgasm. Your back arches off the bed, breasts pushing into Eddie’s chest, one arm still supporting your lower back as he laughs hoarsely, half-amazement and half-pride.

“That’s the spot, huh, sweetheart? Atta girl. M’all yours. Take it. Good girl…”

With each thrust, the wiry patch of hair dusted across Eddie’s pubic bone grinds slick and filthy against your clit. You’re so close to the edge now, a wave of pleasure cresting as you look up at Eddie.

There are two thin tracks of black makeup trailing down his face from where tears have made a mess of his eyeliner; rosy spots of flushed color in his cheeks, eyes like twin pools of chocolate, locked with yours as he rocks into you. 

He’s learned the song of your body so well, knows every chord to strike- his hand leaves your leg to grasp at your breast, calloused palm against pebbled nipple sending more shockwaves through your body, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you sing for him.

���All yours,” you gasp out, and it feels like victory when his hips stutter and the cresting wave crashes around you both at the same time.

The pleasure roils through your gut, clit throbbing and cunt spasming around Eddie’s cock as he spills into you. 

A wrecked, broken string of moans leaves you as you ride out the highs together. Eddie presses his forehead to your collarbone as he chants your name, twitching out the last of his spend, warmth blooming inside. 

The quiet that follows is filled with shaking breaths, soft kisses, murmurs of “good job, sweetheart” as you both float back down to earth.

Eddie stays in you for longer than usual, his draped weight a grounding comfort as you trail gentle fingertips up and down his skin, lovingly against the scars that interrupt the smooth flesh of his back. Through the closed windows, you can hear the distant sounds of car horns and the deep boom of fireworks. 

Sometime in the last foggy hour of lovemaking, 1987 has given way to a new year. 

Eddie pulls his heavy head up from your chest to press kisses to your collarbone. “Happy new year, lover.”

You tuck his hair behind his ears, hands squishing lightly at his cheeks to bring his face close enough for a kiss. “Happy new year to you. Hell of a way to kick it off.”

Eventually, Eddie extricates himself from the intoxicating heat of your body (with minimal whining) and brings a warm washcloth to tenderly wipe away the mess between your thighs. Once you’re both cleaned up, he stretches out against the sheets, pulling the covers up as you hook a leg around his waist and snuggle in. 

“So I was thinking,” he starts, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “I wanna take a trip back to Hawkins. Before the tour.”

Your hand stills in its rhythmic circles against Eddie’s chest; heart in your throat, you tilt your chin up so you can gauge Eddie’s reaction. “...yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eddie picks up your hand on his chest, twining his fingers with your as his other hand settles on your bare hip beneath the sheets. “Could visit Wayne for a few days, fool around in that twin bed like we’re teens again.”

He grins at your giggle, taps playfully at your hip- “Gonna parade you around all our old haunts. You’ve gotten even hotter since we left, babe. Gotta really rub it in the faces of those Hawkins Tigers burnouts whose best dates are their own left hands.”

You snort, and Eddie looks pleased again, but then sobers a bit before saying- “I mean, I’ve got my piece of home with me. But I think it could be good, to visit. Just the two of us.”

You’re quiet for a moment, a longing for home that you’ve managed to ignore these past few years resurfacing. “Can we get high and go to that diner? I mean, Nell’s isn’t as good as Benny’s was, but I’ve been craving a Hawkins milkshake.”

“Christ.” Eddie hides his smile in the crook of your neck, dimples springing to life. “You could ask for the Mona Lisa and I’d find a way to get it to you. Fries and a milkshake, that all I need to keep my girl happy?”

“Yeah,” you reply, a contented noise as Eddie settles against your chest again. “That’s all I need.”

___

thank u thank u for reading if you made it this far have a little kiss from me to you <3 xx lulu

[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.

[lemoncrushh]

The Entertainer II - Track 05 - That Harry Styles Quality

Summary: What if it wasn’t the end? What if Sky did actually see Harry at the Forum in the early 80s, and he saw her too? What if fate took hold of them both, and they realized their journey was not over? Set in 1981, Harry and Sky’s story continues with more music, more romance, and a few more twists and turns.

STORY PAGE

Track 05 Word Count: 5.2k+

Read The Entertainer

“I have tried calling you for days!” moaned Halo, dragging out the last word.

“It couldn’t have been days,” I argued, “you were at your mom’s until Sunday. This is only Wednesday.”

“Yeah huh!” she spat back. “I called twice Monday, and the line was busy. Then again Tuesday and it just rang and rang. And then now. That’s three days!”

I had to laugh as I kicked my feet up on the sofa and laid back. “Well, I’m here now, so let’s talk. How was Thanksgiving?”

“No no no. You’re not getting off that easily. Something’s up with you. What happened?”

“How do you know something happened?”

“Sky, I have been your best friend since forever. If your line is busy twice in one night, and it’s not ‘cause you’re talking to me, that means you’re on the phone with a guy.”

I giggled. “Okay. You got me there.”

“Who is it? Tell me!”

“Well…it’s someone you know…but haven’t seen in a long time.”

“Oh God, not Alan!”

“No,” I sighed. “Not Alan.” Why did everyone think I’d get back with my ex?

“Who?” Halo gasped. “Is it that photographer?”

“What photographer?”

“The one we met that night at the gallery who said you had great legs.”

“Eww, no!” I cringed. “He was gross!”

“I thought he was kinda cute.”

I rolled my eyes. Halo always had a soft spot for men who gave compliments and bought drinks.

“Let’s steer away from that…further back…like five years ago.”

“Okay, okay,” said Halo. “Five years ago…oh my God, Harry?”

“Bingo.”

“Sky, are you serious? You saw Harry? Holy shit, tell me everything! Or, wait…should I come over? Does this have a sad ending?”

“It…doesn’t have an ending. Yet.”

I spent the next hour filling Halo in on my encounter with Harry, our evening out, followed by a brief synopsis of our weekend together. I finished with a simple description of the previous evening and his confession.

“Oh, Sky! He loves you! He’s loved you all along!”

“I don’t know about that.”

“But that’s what he said, pretty much.”

“Well, there’s more to it than that.”

“Okay, but he has feelings for you. He’s never let that go. And it sounds like he wants to try to make it right.”

“Yeah,” I sighed.

“How do you feel?” my best friend asked.

“I’m a little scared, Halo. I mean…I never stopped loving him. But…you saw me. You were here to pick up the pieces.”

“God, was I ever,” Halo mumbled.

“Please don’t let me go through that again.”

“I won’t. We’ll make sure he’s in it for real, okay? But…just from what you told me…it sounds like he is.”

“He even wants me with him if he tours again.”

“Okay…” said Halo. “There’s a good way to test him. Is he leaving soon?”

“He hasn’t said. The band broke up, but he and Mitch are working on a solo thing. He said he’s just staying in LA for a while.”

“Ah, Mitch,” mused Halo. “I miss that doofus.”

I chuckled. “Want me to see if we can double date?”

“No thanks, not my type.”

“Halo!” I guffawed. “You slept with him!”

“Yeah, five years ago! My tastes have since upgraded. No offense.”

“None taken. I think.”

“Oh, you know. Harry’s different. He’s already an upgrade.”

“I will accept that.”

Time had changed Halo a lot more than it had changed me. While she still enjoyed rock music and going to concerts, she was no longer interested in following bands around and being a groupie. She had been working for an art gallery the past couple years, and her new hobby was schmoozing, as she called it. She said she enjoyed meeting more interesting and intellectual men, but I took that to mean she liked men with a lot of dough who enjoyed spending it on pretty women.

We finished the call by catching up on each other’s Thanksgivings and making loose plans to get together before Christmas to do some shopping.

“Is Harry planning to be here for the holidays?” Halo asked.

“Um…I guess?” I stumbled. “We haven’t really discussed it.”

“Oh, well I’m sure he will. Start thinking about what you’ll get him.”

I groaned, not looking forward to having to pick out a gift.

Halo laughed. “Relax, you have time. Keep me posted okay?”

I didn’t see Harry again that week, though he called me every night and we’d talk for at least a couple hours, sometimes until I was nearly asleep.

“I feel like my efforts to stay away are in vain,” Harry chuckled low through the receiver as I laid on my pillow.

“What do you mean?” I yawned.

“I’m still keeping you up,” he said. “I would much prefer to be doing it in bed.”

“Harry…” I grinned.

“Yeah, babe?”

I shook my head, pulling my sheet over my shoulder. “I need sleep.”

“I know, baby. But first…let me ask you out for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“An old mate of mine is in town. His band is playing. I’d like to take you, if you’re free.”

“If I’m free?” I quipped. “Who else am I talking to until one a.m.?”

“So you’ll go?” Harry asked with a smile in his voice.

“Of course, I’d love to.”

“Great. I’ll pick you up, alright? Eight o’clock?”

“I’ll be here,” I yawned again.

“Goodnight, angel. Sweet dreams.”

I barely got a goodnight in before I drifted off quickly into a sea of green eyes and soft kisses.

“Close your eyes

I want to ride the skies in my sweet dreams

Close your eyes

I want to feel you tonight in my sweet dreams…”

Sweet dreams, indeed.

“Those crazy nights

I do remember in my youth…”

I lightly brushed my cheeks with blush as I sang along to Steve Perry. I was excited for my date with Harry - our first evening out since the restaurant the week before. And we were going to see a band play, so I decided to put my Journey record on the turntable to get the night started.

Dancing in the bathroom, I dropped the blush into my makeup bag and chose a lipstick.

“Those summer nights are calling…”

I’d just circled my lips with crimson when I heard a knock at the door. Giving one pucker to the mirror, I dropped the lipstick and dashed to answer.

“Sounds like the concert’s already started in here,” Harry beamed at me when I opened the door.

“Come in, I’m almost ready,” I smiled, still swaying my hips to the song.

Crossing the threshold, Harry pulled me to him.

“‘In the heat with a blue jean girl’,” he sang along as he slid his hands into the back pockets of my jeans. His eyes sparkled as they gazed into mine, and I felt weak in the knees.

“Too bad I’m not going to hear you sing tonight,” I said after he kissed me.

“Aw, I can’t compete with Steve Perry,” he joked.

I playfully pinched him and shut the door. “You know what I mean.”

Turning for the bedroom, I told him I’d just be a minute.

“What’s your friend’s name?” I called as I pulled a jacket from my closet.

“Who?” I heard Harry ask from the hall.

“Your friend we’re going to see.”

When I didn’t get a reply, I wondered if he heard me. “Harry, can you turn down the stereo?”

“I just did,” he said, surprising me in the doorway.

“Oh! You scared me.”

“Sorry,” Harry stepped toward me. “What were you saying?”

“I asked who we’re going to see. Do I know this band?”

Helping me into my jacket, Harry stood behind me, then wrapped his arms around me.

“Yeah, uh…Stargazer. Hunter Howe.”

“Oh. Why does that sound familiar?”

“The band went on tour with us. Last tour.”

“Oh! Oh, damn, I should have known that. Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Harry rested his cheek against the top of my head as we swayed to the next Journey song.

“I didn’t see you on that tour. Or any tour. I feel bad.”

“Don’t.” I waited for him to add something else to his word, but instead, he turned me to face him. “Let’s not feel bad about the past. Let’s just…look forward to the future. Alright?”

I smiled and nodded as he brushed the back of his hand against my cheek.

“You look absolutely beautiful.”

“Thanks,” I beamed at him.

Stepping back, I let him get a good look at my outfit. I had to admit I felt cute. On top of my favorite pair of jeans, I wore a red and white striped blouse, a red belt and red shoes. My black jacket and a white hair comb on one side of my head finished the look.

“God, you’re so sexy,” Harry added.

Even if he hadn’t said it, the way he looked at me was enough to make me feel like the most gorgeous woman in the world.

“Are you ready to go?” I asked softly.

Licking his lips, he stood up straight and cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

I turned off the stereo on the way out and followed him to his car where he opened the door for me. Before I slid into the passenger seat, he lifted my chin and placed a soft kiss on my lips.

The stereo blasted a guitar solo as soon as he turned the key, making us both jump.

“Sorry,” he cringed, lowering the volume. “I forgot I had it up that loud.”

“No, turn it up,” I argued. “I love Van Halen.”

“Yeah?” Harry grinned as he backed out of the parking spot. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

I turned in my seat and glared at him. “Have you forgotten who I am?”

Harry chuckled, grabbing my hand. “I just thought maybe you’d turned a bit soft.”

I gasped. “I am…offended, Harry Styles.”

“Sorry.”

“I am still and will forever be a rock and roll fan.”

“Okay, okay,” Harry snickered, turning up the tune just as David Lee Roth muttered “Have you seen Junior’s grades?”

We jammed out to several rock songs on the way to the club, including one by Stargazer that I loved immediately.

“What?” I eyed Harry when I caught him looking at me at a red light.

“I just love your love for music,” he commented with a grin. “I know I said it before, but I never met anyone like you.”

“I’m just me,” I smiled, sitting back and squeezing his hand.

“I know, and it’s wonderful,” he squeezed back.

The club was surprisingly crowded when we arrived, considering it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet. A long line formed at the entrance, a bouncer checking IDs and such. Grabbing my hand, Harry pulled me to the front of the line, much to the dismay of a cluster of girls who gave me the evil eye.

“Hey man, good to see ya!” exclaimed the large man with a clipboard.

“How’s it goin’, mate,” nodded Harry as he slipped him something I could only assume was cash, just as I heard someone behind me yell, “Oh my God, is that Harry Styles?”

“Have a nice evening,” said the man as he lifted the velvet rope.

Harry pulled me inside, the echo of his name being called getting further and further away. It was quickly replaced with the deafening sound of a bass drum that kicked into Nazareth’s “Hair of the Dog.”

The air was thick with smoke as Harry continued to pull me through the crowd, stopping only when we reached the bar.

“Are you okay?” he finally leaned over to ask me.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “As long as you didn’t pull my arm out of its socket.”

“Sorry, babe,” he grinned. “Just didn’t wanna lose you in the crowd. It can get pretty wild in these places.”

“Harry, I have been to a club before.”

His smile widened, and I caught a slight pink on his cheeks just as a hand slapped his shoulder.

“Hey man, I thought it was you!”

Harry turned to face another guy, just about Harry’s build and height. He looked like he could be a musician, but I couldn’t place him. I watched as they exchanged handshakes and small talk, then the guy nodded at me and walked away.

“Who was that?” I asked.

Harry shrugged. “Dunno. A fan.”

“Oh,” I giggled. “I thought he knew you.”

“They all act like they do. It makes it easier to approach me.”

“And the bouncer at the front…?”

“Never seen him before in my life.”

“But he obviously knew who you were.”

“Sure. It’s just an unspoken understanding we have, you know?”

“Doesn’t hurt that you have a wad of cash,” I interjected.

Harry side eyed me before turning to the bar. “That, too. D’you want a drink?”

“Vodka soda.”

I watched Harry as he ordered our drinks and handed the bartender money with exquisite finesse. Before I knew it, the bar itself had filled to the rim with patrons, whether they were ordering drinks or not. A couple of the girls from outside had made it in and crowded against me just to get a closer look at Harry. I realized then that even though to me he was still the Harry Styles I’d known years ago, in here, he was Harry Styles, rockstar.

“Let’s go over there,” I heard Harry instruct in my ear. “The band should be on soon.”

Instead of grabbing my hand like before, he gently placed his hand on the small of my back and led me to a table closer to the stage.

As soon as I removed my jacket, a waitress arrived like magic, asking if we needed anything. I shook my head, having barely made a dent in my cocktail, but Harry gestured for her to bring me another one as well as whatever he was drinking. As soon as she left, Harry slid closer to me, pushing my hair off my shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” he mouthed, his voice barely audible over the loud music.

“Me too,” I smiled at him.

His fingers traveled down my back and found my back pocket, wedging themselves inside again. I blushed as he leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine.

“Styles, you son of a bitch!”

The words made me leap off my chair, nearly knocking over my drinks.

“Hey Charlie, what’s happening?” Harry greeted, wiping my red lipstick off his lips with one hand and reaching out his other to the strange man.

“Good to see you man, it’s been a while,” said Charlie who quickly looked at me and gave me the once over. As if I hadn’t just been embarrassed enough, his gaze gave me the heebie jeebies.

“Charlie, this is Sky. Sky, Charlie Groten. He’s Stargazer’s road manager.”

“How do you do?” I nodded politely.

“I do very well, sweetheart,” Charlie wiggled his brows. I wanted to puke.

As Charlie slid into the booth and started small talk with Harry, I excused myself to the ladies’ room. The escape wasn’t much better, however, because if any girl inside wasn’t snorting cocaine, she was discussing her sexual conquests with her friend. Now I remembered what I hated about being single.

After washing my hands and fluffing up my hair, I noticed the girl at the sink next to me staring at me in the mirror.

“You’re so lucky,” she declared when our eyes met.

“Sorry?”

“I’ve been trying to land Harry Styles for years. He’s such a hard catch. And I hear a fucking righteous lay.”

Clearing my throat, I reached for a paper towel. “Yeah, well…”

“Just make sure he wears a rubber ‘cause…” the girl made a face, “that last bitch he dated was nasty.”

Dumbfounded, I watched her walk around me and leave the bathroom. Drying my hands, I dropped the paper towel in the trash and left as well.

Fortunately, Charlie Grotesque was gone from our table when I returned. I was pleasantly surprised to find Harry sitting alone, a dimpled grin on his face as he watched me slide in next to him.

“What’s that smile for?” I asked.

“I just missed you. Glad to see you back.”

“I was gone two seconds.”

“Two seconds too long,” he murmured, leaning in for a kiss.

As if on cue, the music stopped and the stage lights began to flash. A tall, long-haired guy stepped onto the stage and sat behind the drums, the crowd erupting into a crushing cheer. As the rest of the band members took their places, Harry lifted his arms and yelled, then gave a loud wolf whistle.

I smiled as Harry sat back in the booth, his left arm around my shoulders. It was fun to see him be part of the audience rather than the center of attention as the front man. I sat back too, sipping on my second vodka soda, and I watched this new singer give it his all. I had to admit, he was really good. He was tall and lean like Harry, with strawberry blonde hair that cascaded down his shoulders. Halfway through the first song, I caught him smiling at a woman near the stage, and I suddenly felt a twinge in my stomach. Though I knew it wasn’t jealousy, I couldn’t quite pinpoint it.

“What d’ya think?” Harry asked in my ear when the song was over.

“They’re fantastic,” I replied. “Hunter’s a great front man.”

“I taught him everything he knows,” Harry smirked, then gave me a wink.

Though he was joking, I could see some truth in it. Hunter Howe had that Harry Styles quality. And that’s when it hit me. As the band started their next song, I watched Hunter cross the stage and wave at another girl before singing his first line. Through the whole first verse, he continued to stare at her.

The feeling I’d gotten - that little twinge - was the same feeling I’d gotten every time I’d watched Harry on stage. Though I knew he wasn’t singing to me, it had always felt like he was. Like we’d had a connection. It was a great feeling. I hoped the girl Hunter was singing to felt just as lucky.

The waitress kept the drinks coming, and by the middle of the band’s set, I was feeling tipsy. I excused myself to the ladies again, fortunately with no strange remarks from strange girls, but on my way back, I almost lost my footing and crashed into a guy.

“I’m so sorry,” I muttered.

“Hey, it was my fault, baby. Let me buy you a drink.”

“No thanks, I’ve had plenty.”

“Then come sit in my lap, pretty thing,” he insisted.

“Oh. Uh, no thanks,” I blinked, trying my best to see through the smoke and the dark club.

I was able to get around him, but he still managed to grab my arm before I could get away.

“Why not?” he asked.

“I uh…don’t think my boyfriend would like that too much,” I replied, thinking on my feet.

“Boyfriend, huh?” the guy snorted, looking around. “I don’t see any boyfriend.”

“I’m right here,” announced Harry as he stepped up behind me.

I sighed with relief, turned around and slammed into his chest. He pulled me into a bear hug and guided me back to our table. I didn’t dare look back to see if the guy was watching.

“I’m so sorry,” I cried as Harry and I slid into our booth.

“Whatever for?”

“He was coming onto me.”

“I see that,” said Harry. “But that’s not your fault.”

He lifted my chin to look at him, and I saw the sincerity in his face. Lowering his mouth to mine, he kissed me ever so gently. Then I smiled and laid my head against his chest.

Harry was sweet and made sure the waitress only brought water for the next round. I was able to relax and sober up a bit before the band made a special announcement.

“Some of you might remember last year when we went on tour with a little-known band called Wildfire,” Hunter said into his microphone.

The crowd cheered and I sat up, looking at Harry.

“We really have a lot to thank those guys for,” Hunter continued, “and one of them just happens to be here tonight.”

The audience cheered louder.

“C’mon, Styles, you knew this was comin’. Get your ass up here.”

I glared at Harry who stared back at me. Then he grinned, shrugged and stood up. As he made his way to the stage, I suddenly felt nervous and excited all at once. I hadn’t seen him perform face to face in five years.

I clapped and bounced in my seat as he took the microphone and whispered something to Hunter. Then the band started the intro to a song I immediately recognized - one of Wildfire’s hits, “Only Angel.”

The crowd lost their minds. I could only imagine I was getting a taste of what it was like at a more recent Wildfire concert. My eyes were locked on Harry the entire time, although Hunter took the lead for the second verse. While he sang, I caught Harry looking my way, and he gave me one of those smiles that made me melt, just like in the early days. Then he pointed at me and placed his hand over his heart during the line “my only angel.”

When the song ended, I stood up and screamed louder than anyone. Harry waved to the audience with his dimpled grin that we’d all come to adore. My blood rushed to my toes, and I felt like I was that young girl at the Troubadour all over again.

“Alright, let’s do one more!” yelled Hunter, and the drummer did a count-off, leading them into “Honky Tonk Women”.

“Holy shit,” I muttered to myself, covering my face.

Deja vu was not the word for it. I watched in awe with wide eyes as Harry and Hunter took turns with the verses and harmonized with each other. It was the best thing I’d ever witnessed in my entire life. I danced through the entire song, feeling nostalgia and joy.

Harry took a bow and blew kisses at the crowd before giving Hunter a hug and stepping off stage. I clapped for him until he returned, his gorgeous face grinning from ear to ear.

“That was so amazing!” I screeched as I threw my arms around him.

“Thanks, baby,” he said, hugging me back.

We slipped back into the booth, and I could feel his heart beating fast in his chest. He grabbed a glass of water and guzzled it down. Then he looked back at me and chuckled.

“I loved watching you while I was up there,” he said. “You’re so fucking cute.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you!” Harry looked at me with wide eyes. “I’ve missed how into it you are. It turns me on.”

I sat up proud. “Oh! Well…that’s good to know.”

With another chuckle, Harry pulled me to him and planted a fantastic kiss on my lips. And he didn’t stop. Slipping his tongue between my teeth, he pulled me even closer, one hand behind my neck, the other on my thigh.

My entire body lit up like a Christmas tree, suddenly needing to feel his touch. It didn’t matter that there was a crowd of people around us. They might as well have been invisible. Harry was the only other person in that room.

The band continued to play, but I had no idea what song they were singing. Harry’s tongue was doing more to my senses than any music could. I felt his hand slide up higher on my thigh, reaching the tightest part of my jeans. I gasped against his mouth, suddenly needing air.

“Fuck,” Harry cursed. “Let’s get outta here.”

I grabbed my jacket faster than humanly possible and pushed my body out of the booth, my knees still shaking. Harry took my hand and pulled me through the crowd like before, though it had grown much bigger than when we’d arrived. I heard a few people tell him he was great, and he gave a few thank yous, but we managed to make it to the exit in record time.

Though there was a chill in the night air, Harry’s car seemed to be just as hot as the club, and I quickly took off my jacket.

“Jesus, Sky,” I heard him mutter low.

“What?”

I barely had the word out before his mouth crashed into mine again. I smiled against his lips and gently pushed his chest with my palms.

“Harry. I want you, too,” I moaned through heavy breaths. “But maybe we should drive home first.”

“Right. Yeah. Let’s go.”

I sucked in my lips as he revved up the engine, letting the stereo blare again. He took my hand after he turned down the street humming along to Foreigner.

“Your desire is insane

You can’t stop until you do it again…”

I was definitely as turned on as Harry, and I thought this song was particularly sexy. I took his hand and placed it on my leg, letting him slide it as high as he wanted. Harry growled as he squeezed my thigh, turning his head just enough to give me the sexiest “fuck me” look.

I was relieved when the car turned onto Harry’s street, as we hadn’t discussed who’s “home” we were driving to. He pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine, swiftly making his way around to my side of the car before I had time to slip back into my jacket.

The cool evening air chilled my arms as I followed Harry up the path to his front door. I could barely hear the click of the lock and switches of lights over my own desire pounding in my ears. Before I could adjust my eyes to the lights, Harry had me pressed against the door, a moan rising from his chest. His mouth found my neck, sucking hard underneath my ear as though he were a vampire. His hands cupped my breasts before fumbling with the top buttons. His wet mouth traveled down my neck to my chest while his hands slid around my waist and traveled down my butt cheeks, lifting me up. I wound my legs around him tight as he carried me through the den and up the stairs.

“Urgent, just wait and see

How urgent my love can be…”

Laying me down on his bed, Harry finished unbuttoning my blouse and continued to kiss the tops of my breasts. The room was dark except for the sliver of moonlight shining through his curtains. I heard him kick off his boots with a thud as he breathed heavily over me. I tried to reach for him, but he sat up and tugged off his shirt, throwing it on the ground. Then he rose from the bed and I watched his silhouette relieve itself of his jeans.

When I felt the mattress move, I reached for my own jeans, but Harry stopped me.

“No,” he whispered. “Let me.”

With great precision, Harry unbuckled my belt and unzipped my pants. I raised my hips to help him pull them down, but he stopped at my knees. His mouth nipped at my hips, his teeth tugged at my panties. I could feel myself get wet all over again, and I wondered how much more I could stand.

“Harry…” I moaned.

I thought I heard him chuckle low, though I wasn’t sure as he ripped my jeans off my legs like a Band-Aid. Then he slithered back up my body, resting himself between my thighs. I gasped as I felt his erection pressed against me.

His fingers teased me next, playfully tracing the lace on my bra before he finally pulled it away, revealing my tender flesh. My breaths quickened as he took my breast into his mouth and let his tongue play. Throwing my head back, I raked my fingers through his long hair.

“God, you’re driving me crazy,” I cried.

“Mmm, good.”

Harry looked up at me. Though it was dark, I could still tell his eyes were wild with sexual desire. Peeling off my bra, he dropped it beside us, then did the same with my panties.

“Sky,” he said, his face finally above mine. “Baby. I’m gonna fuck you so good.”

I felt the cold metal of his rings touch my thighs as he lifted them up, entering me quickly but with ease. My entire body was on fire, and I could feel every bit of him. We rocked gently at first, then he picked up speed. My toes began to curl as he thrusted harder, and I whimpered with pleasure.

“Fuck, you’re so sexy when you do that, babe,” Harry groaned in my ear.

“When…when I do what?”

“When you cry like that. And say my name.”

“Oh.”

“I fucking love it. You’re so hot.”

I giggled nervously, nearly out of breath. “So are you.”

“Yeah? Tell me what you like.”

“What d’you mean?”

“What things you like. What gets you off.”

I stared at him, biting my lip. He’d slowed his thrusts, but I could still feel him moving inside me.

“Do you like dirty talk, or no?”

“I…suppose so,” I whispered. “I like when you tell me what you like.”

“Yeah? Did you like when I said I’m gonna fuck you good?”

“Mmmhmm,” I nodded.

“That’s my girl,” he growled, shifting his hips and thrusting hard again.

I let out an expletive as Harry moved faster, pinning my hands above my head. My ankles wrapped around him, I surrendered to the high and cried out in orgasm. Harry soon followed, his hot body trembling above mine.

“Baby…” he breathed in my ear.

We laid in silence for a moment or two before I whispered, “I like that.”

“What, babe?”

“You calling me baby.”

“Mmm,” Harry sounded as he rolled off of me and faced me. “I’m glad.”

I pushed away the hair stuck to his face as he looked at me in the moonlight, his beautiful eyelashes fluttering. I could see his face better now, a gorgeous expression on it as he stared at me. Then with a sexy little smirk twitching his lips, he ran his hand down my shoulder.

“You called me your boyfriend tonight,” he declared.

“Oh,” I blushed. “That creep was hitting on me. I wanted him to think I was taken.”

“Ohh. So I’m…not your boyfriend?”

“Well…” I bit my lip and shrugged. “I dunno. Are you?”

“Am I?” Harry mocked, leaning towards me, eyes wide and a goofy grin.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Do you want to be?”

I felt Harry’s chest shake as he chuckled low. Then he pulled me closer and kissed me.

“Yes, baby. Sky. Mary Lou Jones. You sexy, stubborn woman. I wanna be your bloody boyfriend, alright?”

He rolled me on top of him, kissing me with determination, like ending the sentence with an exclamation point.

“Well…” I sighed, when I came up for air. “At least that’s settled.”

Songs mentioned:

Air Supply - Sweet Dreams

Journey - Stone In Love

Van Halen - And the Cradle Will Rock

Nazareth - Hair of the Dog

Harry Styles - Only Angel

The Rolling Stones - Honky Tonk Women

Foreigner - Urgent

Taglist: @fkinavocado, @daphnesutton, @freedomfireflies

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

[phading]

Hi, it's me!

Okay, so there’s probably a lot you don’t know about me. So just in case you’re in the least bit interested:

I try very, very hard never to read incomplete fics. Purely selfish, and the result of reading far too many heart-grabbing stories that never got finished. If you need kudos or encouragement or anything else to continue, I’m here and over the moon excited to read anything you’d like to throw at me. Just let me know what you want in return - comments, critique, suggestions, hugs, encouragement, emojis, whatever ...

I posted one fic a chapter at a time, and I doubt I’ll ever do it again.

Characterization is everything.

If you’ve noticed an absence of Brains, Grandma, Lady P, Havoc, etc… in my fics it’s because I don’t give a twit. Perhaps one day I will evolve beyond this simplistic state.

I suck at prompts, challenges and deadlines. My muse is never in the right headspace at the right time.

I have a ridiculous need to keep it believable when really, the stuff that goes on in the show – no matter how much I adore it – is often somewhat miraculous.

It’s the future, people, I’m allowed to invent things.

In real life, I write kids’ books.

To the best of my knowledge, I’m the oldest member of the Thunderfam. Challenge me if you think you can claim the title.

The first thing of importance I ever wrote was a full length Star Trek Next Gen novel which I submitted to a few select New York publishers (oh, the innocence of youth) . Surprise, surprise, many of them actually read it and sent back comments written on famous restaurant napkins.

So, in light of all of the above, I’m once again doing my own thing. Inspired by the recent “10 opening lines from 10 recent fics” post I’m changing it up to “10 opening lines from 10 WIPs”.  I mean, seriously, I’m a newbie here and have far more WIPs than I do finished fics. So here’s what’s – pray to the anti-depression, anti-chronic pain gods  – coming up …

A WHOLE LOT OF SUPERFICIAL The uniform discarded in a heap on the floor outside the showers was expected – the purple neoprene wasn’t. (Virgil, Scott, shaping up to be humour)

THE LAST ZOO ON EARTH “Say again, John. I thought you said we have a situation at a zoo.” (All brothers, major rescue, major whump, pissed off Gordon)

THERE ARE NO CANNIBALS ANYMORE “Sir! I need you to calm down!” (Hurt Virgil, this one could go graphic in a hurry)

IT DOESN’T HURT Virgil glanced up from the piano keys, searching for inspiration but instead witnessing his fish brother's spectacular dive off the board – a dive that would leave his re-built back in shambles. (Fishtank, chronic pain)

TIGHT ROPE “I’m sorry, John, but if she’s dumb enough to try and pull off this ridiculous stunt, I see no reason why we should save her from her own stupidity.” (rescue gone sideways)

STARSTUCK Alan Tracy had been looking forward to this moment for a very long time. (Hurt Virgil, guilty Alan, Thunderbird 3 whump)

STELLAR “Hey, John, what’s this?” “It’s personal, that’s what it is!” (Guilty John, comatose Gordon, poetry, John has a secret)

CASPIAN John Tracy blinked open his eyes, breath catching when he discovered the most beautiful thing in his universe mere centimetres from his face. (John, OC-John’s lover, angst, Marks and Wings, John is not only a telepathic Ave but he’s bi!)

PSYCHOTIC MEDIUMS The probe entered Earth’s solar system broadcasting a symphony of alien sound that instantaneously drove the half-a-million or so humans who were listening insane. (Virgil centric, angst, sci-fi)

THE JOHN-CODE “Hey, Eos, you wanna help me test this new game?” (Alan, John, Eos, virtual games gone wrong.)

[toffeechad]

▂▃▄▅▆▇█▓▒░ My new pinned!░▒▓█▇▆▅▄▃▂

【Fictive indicators!!】

ꕥ = Major kin!

ᰔᩚ = Semi-major kin!

✬ = Partial kin!

My system's fictionkins/fictives:

Puffball (BFDI) ꕥ (my main fictive!)

Fries (BFDI) ꕥ

Eraser (BFDI) ✬

Pen (BFDI) ꕥ

Golf Ball (BFDI)

Tennis Ball (BFDI) ꕥ

TV (BFDI) ✬

Leafy (BFDI) ꕥ

Firey (BFDI) ꕥ

Winner (BFDI) ꕥ

Flower (BFDI) ꕥ

Dora (BFDI) ᰔᩚ

Four (XFOHV/BFDI) ꕥ

X (XFOHV/BFDI) ꕥ

Hatsune Miku (VOCALOID) ꕥ

Stella (Angry Birds) ᰔᩚ

Bloody Bunny (Bloody Bunny) ✬

Mumu (Bloody Bunny) ✬

Dark Rabbit (Bloody Bunny) ✬

Rainbow Dash (MLP) ꕥ

Pyro (TF2) ✬

Dave (DFAC/FNF) ꕥ

Bambi (FNF) ᰔᩚ

Tristan (DFAC2/FNF) ✬

DATA_EXPUNGED (FNF)

Bandu (FNF) ᰔᩚ

Bendu (FNF) ✬

Ringi (FNF) ᰔᩚ

Bambom (FNF) ✬

Marjia (Muse Dash) ✬

Buro (Muse Dash) ᰔᩚ

Sorbet Shark Cookie (Cookie Run) ꕥ

Timekeeper Cookie (Cookie Run) ᰔᩚ

Lychee Dragon Cookie (Cookie Run) ✬

Fettuccine Cookie (Cookie Run) ✬

Peni Parker (Spiderverse) ꕥ

Crimson (Total Drama: The Ridonculous Race) ✬

Gardevoir (Pokémon) ✬

Lightbulb (Inanimate Insanity) ꕥ

Test Tube (Inanimate Insanity) ᰔᩚ

Paintbrush (Inanimate Insanity) ᰔᩚ

Bot (Inanimate Insanity) ꕥ (3rd major fictive!)

Shadow the Hedgehog (Sonic) ᰔᩚ

Boboiboy (Boboiboy) ᰔᩚ

Yaya (Boboiboy) ᰔᩚ

Gebura (Lobotomy Corporation) ✬

Strawberry Cream Cookie (Cookie Run) ✬

Kotoko Utsugi (Danganronpa) ꕥ

Babs (Chicken Run) ✬

Shaun (Shaun The Sheep) ꕥ

Speakerwoman (Skibidi Toilet) ᰔᩚ

Mr Strong (The Mr Men Show) ᰔᩚ (2nd major fictive!)

Tweak (Octonauts) ᰔᩚ (4th major fictive!)

Ami (Hi Hi Puffy AmiYumi) ᰔᩚ

Bubble (BFDI) ᰔᩚ

Mr Nervous (The Mr Men Show) ᰔᩚ (5th major fictive!)

Little Miss Daredevil (The Mr Men Show) ꕥ

Little Miss Sunshine (The Mr Men Show) ᰔᩚ

This is my ref sheet!

Main alias: Toffee

Other alias: Lana (my actual name)

She/Her

I'm Aromantic, so uh I'm not interested to be in a romantic relationship

Autistic

16

Aries

My f/o's Mr Tickle from the Mr Men and Little Miss franchise! (Specifically, he's my childhood crush.)

ꕤ MY FREE DRAWING REQUESTS ARE ONLY AVAILABLE AT THE WEEKENDS IN THE MALAYSIAN TIMEZONE! ꕤ

Erm yeah I have spidersonas as well

The Object Spiders of Earth-2763 OLD REF SHEET >>

>> NEW REFS FOR THE OBJECT-SPIDERS OF EARTH-2763

Spider-Fowl

Clymene Moth

Honeycomb Spider

Avicularia

Green Lynx Spider

MORE INFO ABOUT MY EARTH-2763 SPIDERSONAS!!

(REDESIGNS OF THE OBJECT-SPIDERS WILL BE DRAWN SOON.)

I also made a few BFB AUs too!

BFB MDM AU

BFB MDM AU CHARACTER SUMMARY PT 1

BONUS CHARACTERS FOR THE BFB MDM AU

ASK BLOG FOR THE BFB MDM AU!!

EARTH-2763

BFB HUNGER GAMES AU

PROTAGONIST MARKER AU

BATTLE IN LOBCORP: THE TRUMPET OF TWO

CONCEPT OF THE "CONTESTANTS" IN THIS AU

FULL BILC: TTOT INFO LIST

CURRENT UPCOMING AU I'M MAKING:

FLOWERET: A MR MEN AND LITTLE MISS INFECTION AU

If you're wondering what does my persona look like, feel free to click here!

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ List of my awesome besties!! ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

◍ Cooki_Alt

◍ Exsio Picore

◍ NovaAzurite

◍ Moonsprout-sys

◍ MochaBlogger

◍ Trashbins_Stuff

◍ artismeyou-12

◍ vaap0r_wave

◍ B0nb0n

◍ wowwzaaxei

◍ heartsfortwotpot

◍ Branimator

◍ slimebottlesilly

◍ the-random-creechur

DNI if you're hella problematic especially for: NSFW, Proship, Israel supporters, UNTITLED BLOGS, fetish, MAP, Sigmas, L*licons, Ableists, P*dos, etc!

Interests: Mr. Men & Little Miss, BFDI, II, Bloody Bunny, MLP, Cookie Run, FNF, Octonauts, Muse Dash, TF2, Sonic The Hedgehog, Mobile Legends, Super Mario, Pokemon, Roblox, Angry Birds, Spiderverse, Vocaloid, Total Drama, The Amazing Digital Circus, South Park, Chicken Run, Mobile Legends, Lobotomy Corporation, Skibidi Toilet and Hi Hi Puffy AmiYumi.

[cephydeluxe]

Ohhh I got some asks for the v/mc/rika polycule!! 🤓

1. Do you have any songs/music you like to associate with them? A playlist maybe? 👀 Or just a couple of songs or something, I'm a music nerd, hehe

2. How would you describe their affection towards one another? Are they rough with each other? Gentle? Or do they differ in how they give their affection to each other? I guess case and point is: who's the one coming out covered in bite marks, pfft

3. Are there any feelings of jealousy involved between them? It'll probably be easy to imagine v getting the short end of the stick, but, uh.... he's kind of canonically a freak. So it's highly debatable if he would even get hurt or upset by anything, really. Man's a weird one, and we love him for it. But what about Rika or MC? Do either of them have to deal with feelings of envy or insecurity? Rika's a highly anxious and insecure individual, while MC will have to deal with V's and Rika's mutual obsession with one another. It's an interesting dynamic! I wanna read up on how you see it for them, for better and for worse <3

OMGOMGOMG ‼️‼️‼️ tytyty for asking, I love their dynamic sm,,,, this will be very, extremely, audaciously long lol (u have opened the autism pandora box) it’s all under the read more

TW: unhealthy relationship dynamics, mentions of trauma and mental illness, physical, emotional, and mental abuse (the unholy triforce 😭), also sexual themes too (you know a ships good when you gotta bring out the long ass list of triggers JHASGJDS)

1. MUSIC

I have like a hundred playlists for these freaks and they’re all have a thousand songs in them that VAGUELY remind me of them, so, I’ll give you my top 5 :)

1.

This song is THE QUINTESSENTIAL Rika song, 100%, no doubt. Rika’s jealousy and envy of V’s “light” compared to her “darkness” is at the heart of what killed their relationship and plays a huge role in the creation of the mint eye. V certainly isn’t nowhere near as vain as Julius Caesar, but Rika couldn’t fit the role of Brutus here any better than she already does🥺🥺🥺.

“That the people would see me too as a poet, and not just the muse” is such a good line for rika’s thoughts and feelings on their relationship augh, she sees v’s ability to love her, to “save” her, and constantly compares it to her hatred of everyone in her past who mistreated and abused her, and wonders “why can’t I have the ability to love others? why am I in agony even now in this relationship? why can’t I be the savior and not just v’s muse?”

Totally encapsulates Rika’s slow mental decline as V keeps enabling her, it stoked her “devil” and it starts to create a vicious cycle of “heap on the love, get jealous of v’s light, become resentful and aggressive as an unhealthy coping mechanism, “test v’s love” (hurt him), remorse, hate herself, resolve to be “cured” by the light, repeat”. She has no idea what romantic love actually looks like, so she gets it confused with obsessive hatred.

^^^this is totally the scene where she stabs him LMAOSDHSJJHD

“I don’t want what you have, I want to be you” it’s such a good line, it’s Rika 100%,,,,, augh 🥺🥺🥺

2.

This song makes me froth at the mouth soooo bad thinking about V/MC affair hijinks (I’m delusional), but I think the general vibe fits with Rika feeling scorned and cheated at the end of V route. Like instead of fabricating a woman up, she lured MC to mint eye which set up the events that led V and MC to fall in love (kinda), smh she set herself up 😒

3.

Casual/Deep story V vibes at their finest,,,,, imagining V wandering alone through his old, and frighteningly chilly, house, the one he built with Rika to be the foundation for their new happy life,,,, trying to remember her face after finally losing his vision completely and having spent so long apart from her,,, while questioning the nature of their relationship for it to end like this,,,, calling out her name in hope she’ll come back and the past 2 years will have been a dream,,,,, hell yeagh (hooked up 2 life support)

4.

All of kikuo’s songs remind me of mint eye, but hole dwelling is Rika/MC vibes 100%.(could also be ray tbh BUT THIS AINT ABOUT HIM ‼️) Rika tries to convince MC to stay with her by appealing to the hurt, scared, and confused childlike side of her similar to the way the song does. “The outside world just wants to hurt people like us anyway, but don’t worry, I’m always here for you, I understand you. There’s no need to change, it’s uncomfortable and scary, just stay in this place I built for you and me.” MC fuckin HATES this shit, but being in a place like mint eye wears down on you, so mc will occasionally (and very begrudgingly) lean on Rika for support. It’s very sweet (delusional).

5.

Ok this oldie sticks out jahshj (I’m a fnv freakazoid) but it’s totally MC singing about V 🥹💕. I wouldn’t say it was “love at first sight”,,,,, but it was totally “attraction at first sight” lmao (big difference). Their attraction was really quick to spark, they had a lot of things in common and similar views (not so much in other things LOL) like their love for art in all forms, their introverted nature, their mutual appreciation for all things romantic (aka, their both in love with falling in love), and their similar martyr complex lolololol. MC singing this while spending a sleepless night tending to a sickly drugged V, while lamenting her newfound budding feelings for him,,,(cephy stop obsessing over romance as a tragedy challenge: impossible)

Some honorable mentions

(^^^ V would never describe his relationship with Rika so cruelly, EVER,,,,, but the vibe of love performed as art for others instead of something to build with someone you care about,,, it’s immaculate)

11. AFFECTION

Their dynamic can be confusing, but don’t worry, you can’t possibly be more confused than they are, and they’re IN IT lol. Generally their dynamic is, the “ring leader” (Rika) and her two adoring affectionate “lovers” (V and MC) (more like playthings tbh). They have a whole web of dynamics though, ray made a chart to keep track of it all so when inevitably Rika has a meltdown over a perceived slight and needs him to vent to, he can keep track of what’s what (kinda)(poor guy).

Rika/MC affection: USUALLY MC does NOT want anything to do with Rika,,, but V can be super suffocating,,,, and Rika is extremely persistent with getting MC’s attention, and the line between hate and love can be extremely thin (especially in their case). MC tends to relent when rika’s upset though, she doesn’t like seeing her cry (she tries to convince herself lol) and will comfort Rika when she does. MC generally follows Rika’s led in moments like this (overstepping her bounds, even accidentally, is a recipe for disaster). Rika knows this, and will take full advantage, cue 7 hour cuddling session that takes up MC’s whole day, even if she had something planned with V 🤭🤭🤭 Rika is also wayyyy more happily (and sexually) affectionate with MC than with V lol (cause she’s closeted lesbian- wHO SAID THAT) Mutual biting, but the one biting is usually Rika.

V/MC affection: my sweet lovers,,,,, they are much too sweet to each other considering the circumstances,,, V (despite his relationship with Rika) has never felt so genuinely attracted to another person before, it’s always been a conscious choice he’s made for the sake of his art, his love, his obsession, his guilt, his light. So when his feelings for MC spring up outta nowhere, he has a kinda catholic reaction to them ahdghshgd. “Good heavens, what is this feeling??? For a woman I met a week ago, no less….. What a sad excuse for a man I am, how could I love anyone else besides Rika….i should stop…(proceeds to call MC for the 50th time that day just to hear her voice)” and MC,,,, MC has never had a more embarrassing crush on a guy, ever HEHEHE she doesn’t know how to cope with his flustering when she reaches for his hand, his old timey romantic gestures (getting her flowers and walking with her on the side farthest from the road)(throwing his coat on a puddle for her to walk on HSHSDJ). He can be a lil too much at times, (which sometimes frustrates her, she feels smothered at times, and it’s her first relationship (good lord) and she’s not a well adjusted person either) but they both have this really cute, almost innocent, puppy love thing going on, it’s cute 🥰, it’s also the only kind of real affection v gets lol (poor guy). MC has a bad case of “cute-aggression” that gets exasperated by V’s smothering, so it’s usually her giving out the bites hjajhd V takes anything she gives him, he’s so touch starved. Rika usually butts in on their time together, but more on that later.

V/Rika affection(or lack thereof) : these two,,,, the apocalyptic disaster couple themselves,,,,, well for starters Rika keeps him at a looooong distance, in most cases. The reason (at least she believes) they broke up in the first place is because rika’s devil was being burned by V’s love, BUT she admits herself that she “needs” v’s light to fuel her darkness. V also feels an obligation to shine his light on her, the initial obsession and intrigue long dead by now, but he still genuinely cares about Rika’s wellbeing, very much so. They “love” and “need” each other like a sick person needs their meds, but the sick person doesn’t feel affectionate towards their medication, right? No real heart-warming connection towards their pill bottle, it’s just something they need to live. In fact, wouldn’t they feel resentful of their medicine?? Having to constantly depend on it for survival, all the while dealing with side effects when they would rather do anything else?? Yeah that’s their relationship lol,,,,,(somebody get a therapist on speed dial) There’s Biting here too, but it’s all Rika, and not at all playful as her bites with MC, and her bites are nowhere near as passionate like the ones MC gives him.

111. JEALOUSY AND INSECURITY

Oooh lord 😭😭😭 Rika’s practically made of it, V unfortunately enables it, and MC cannot stomach it (except when she gets jealous too). Most of their fights (that practically rival ancient Chinese civil wars in casualties) stem from someone (usually Rika, never V) feeling jealous or insecure. It’s a miracle this poly trio even happened. It’s a complete scientific mystery as to how the poly trio is still going.

Rika’s jealousy and insecurity: I could write a detailed analysis on rika’s insecurity that would rival the Lord of the Rings in length and it still wouldn’t convey just how bad she’s got it, so I’ll try and give the cliff notes instead. She feels she “needs” to be loved in order to be validated as a living being, worthy of living happily. So when she feels “left out” (not the center of attention for 2 seconds) she spirals, thinking she’s being left alone just like so many times before in childhood, just like a defective doll her adopted parents didn’t want, and that maybe they were right, she couldn’t possibly deserve love. Panicking, she usually interrupts whatever V and MC have going on, and insists on reassurance of their love for her, and if she feels she’s being slighted, she’ll fly into a rage, handing out punishments and tests of love, but you can tell she’s biased cause MC’s “punishment” is being confined to Rika’s comfy bedroom for a week and V’s punishment is being locked in the dungeon for 3 weeks 😭😭😭😒😒😒 Usually best case scenario is

V/MC enjoying a moment together alone cuddling

Rika immediately being alerted via her sixth sense

Rika barging in like “make room bitches”

Rika settling smack dab between them lol

MC’s jealous and insecurity: She HATES Rika’s jealous fits so fuckin much lmaoooo 🤭. She convinces herself she would never get jealous ever…… which is an outright LIE it just manifests differently and less often. She hates V’s tendency to distance himself from her to appease Rika, it makes her insecurity flare badly, cue her starting a spat with Rika, and hoping V will take her side. It’s stupid, petty, and downright goofy behavior honestly, but it’s her first relationship (good lord) and she’s got the worst fucking partners ever 🫠🫠🫠 how else is a sheltered neurodivergent girl in her early 20s to cope.

V’s (non existent) jealousy and insecurity: As you have correctly guessed,,,,,, V is definitely not a jealous man HJDDSJSJSF 😂😂😂😂 He is weirdly secure in the relationship, due to Rika’s dependence on his “light” and though his relationship with MC is very new, he feels the tight bond (trauma bond lol) they have and doesn’t worry about whether or not she’ll leave him, also due in part to the fact he doesn’t worry about them not returning his affections, he’s more worried about whether or not he deserves to love or be loved in the first place. If he found out one of them saw someone else outside the trio, he wouldn’t be upset besides somehow twisting the event into somehow being his fault like “if my light was strong enough they wouldn’t have had to go somewhere else for it, was I neglecting them??? 😢😢😢”(poor guy) This trait of his tends to set the other two off, as they mistake his laidback “I’m cool with everything” security as aloofness, and spiral into their insecurity 😑😑😑 it also has the hilarious (debatable) effect of usually ending spats between Rika and MC.

*Rika and MC arguing over something* “V!! What do you think?? Whose side are you on!?”

V:*deep breath* I think you’re both right. 😇😇😇

“Are you fucking kidding me-“ “SEE I TOLD YOU, isn’t he infuriating????” “V just pick a side!!!” “THATS WHAT IM SAYING!!” “Ugh you’re so right-“

(queue lesbianism, hilarity ensues)

They’re a complete disaster together, but you’d have to have the strength of fucking Zeus to separate them, it’s ludicrous.

[paoofthestars]

Finally... finished updating and now I'm confident enough to share my girl again. So here she be!

Viviana P. Addison

Yeah, my artstyle and outfits are kinda inconsistent but for the most part this is accurate and up to date.

More character info below if interested! ⬇

Likes

Bunnies

Her close friends

Satisfied customers

Openness

Strawberry flavored sweets

Dislikes

Duplicity

Pettiness

Late stage capitalism

Fast fashion/false body image

Abandonment

General Character

Vivi is the type of Addison that prioritizes more on customer satisfaction over anything else. She is super nice towards everyone and a people pleaser, but do not mistake her kindness as a weakness.

Vivi will know whether you're being genuine or not. She'll playfully poke fun at, and brush off those who try to put her down until they get fed up and leave. (If bigotry is involved) she might secretly blackmail you if you're harassing her or her friends too much.

Vivi's also not just a pretty face either, she'll defend her friends and loved ones whenever it gets feisty and is not afraid to lose some feathers from it. She's also the mediator of the Addisons' friend group whenever they get into a heated argument. It's rare to see her genuinely furious. But it gets scary when she does.

Vivi gained her "Mama" nickname because she has a similar mom-like demeanor and discipline towards the Addisons at times, and how maternal she can be with younger people.

Vivi sells soaps, lotions, fragrances, and candles. There's another section of her store that's slightly hidden that sells more intimate products such as adult toys and apparels.

Relationships

Orlando S. Addison (Orange): A therapist friend and voice of reason when Vivi is under the weather. Super helpful buddy for his info-gathering and feedback. Asks Vivi to make her his muse for his seamstress projects from time to time. Nickname: Orly.

Sunny V. Addison (Yellow): HUGE prankster and energetic with no filter. A ball of sunshine that pulls the heartiest of laugh out of her. Makes impressive graphic animations and voices one of Vivi's advertisements. Nickname: Sunshine.

Jaylene B. Addison (Blue): Closest friends with Vivi (besties). Very flamboyant and admires Vivi's femininity and strength. Takes her for photoshoots for both of their banner advertisements. Nickname: Bluey.

Pierre C. Addison (Pink): Cocky and a (friendly) bully for healthy competitiveness. Develops feelings for Vivi over time. Helps each other out with how to gain more traction on their websites (sometimes, clickbait is involved). Does tea and culinary sweets and Vivi is the first test subject. Nickname: Pinky.

Samson E. Addison (White. Now known as Spamton G. Spamton): first close friend and first relationship partner with Vivi. Fairly shy but enthusiastic and passionate about his interest and his future potential. Not so lucky with his advertising job, but Vivi helped him from time to time and give him financial aid when it's dire. Nickname: Sammy, Spammy.

Swatch: pleasant butler administrator who understands the value of customer satisfaction. Vivi became his current valued customer after Spamton ran away from being evicted, disappeared from the Mansion, and knew how Spam treated her. Enjoys having a chat with her and gives work, general, and personal advice. Vivi promotes his Color Café on social media. Nickname: Swatchy ( when he's off work).

"Divorce" Ark and Current Year

When Spamton became a Big Shot, it was perfect through the year 1997. But then he started to neglect his relationship with Vivi, alongside with the other Addisons for the sake of pursuing more on his new advertisement carrier. Spam became more blunt towards the Addisons on competitiveness. But with Vivi, he was more avoidant about his antics and making up excuses in fear of hurting her.

But the more he became busy, the more neglectful he became with the relationship. It came to a point that she had enough and separated. From there, they've never seen each other again. Since Spamton escaped from being evicted and disappeared.

That's not to say she didn't suffer emotionally and didn't miss him. It took years for her to open up and heal. she's still willing to give second chances but this time it's platonic. She'll be more enforced and vigilant of Spamton's antics.

She's currently starting a relationship with Pierre (Pink).

[wrenlywofau]

What You Shall Do

Foeslayer/Hope & Marrow (OC) Read on AO3

Hope is old, and she doesn’t want to rule the new Kingdom of Night forever.

Luckily, she’s devised a plan. All she has to do is get it across.

     Hope sighed through her nose, staring out through one of her chamber’s vast windows at what had been her kingdom, centuries ago. A trio of dragonets, no more than two years old, tackle and tumble over each other not far from the palace walls. Within the courtyard, a pale green NightWing (Radiance, to go by her large stature and how her hair was braided) passed an IceWing hybrid (Frozenlight, from their slicked-back white hair and abundance of freckles over their darker markings). One of Radiance’s wings twitched, only perceptible because Hope had long learned what she was looking for. She, like her citizens, had been weary of the hybrid in their midst at first, but they’d put in more than enough work to demonstrate that they were nothing like Hope’s own dragonets.

     Put that thought away. That was then; this is now.

     The sound of talons rapping on her door drew her from her musings. The one she’d called upon moved a bit slower these days, and yet here she was, punctual as ever. This is when her work begins.

     “Enter,” she called, not turning. The door was drawn open, making no sound but unsettling the room’s air, and then closed with a subtle click. The action was accompanied by the tapping of light talons, assuring her that this was the dragon she had called for.

     “You wanted to see me, Queen Hope?” the newcomer asked, her voice retaining a slight graveling quality like much of her modern tribe. Hope could count on one hand the number of NightWings she’d met since her release with voices that didn’t bear a permanent growl, all of whom had been raised away from the volcanic island of their “kingdom.”

     “Sit down, Princess Marrow,” the Queen instructed, testing the title and how it rolled off her tongue.

     She could tell when Marrow didn’t move, instead responding, “Princess–?”

     So, this was how it was going to be. Fine – if Queen Clairvoyance had sprung such a thing on her, her reaction would’ve been similar – but Queen Clairvoyance died with Foeslayer.

     “I don’t intend to rule forever. Moons know, I’ve lived long enough,” she cut in, “but this kingdom needs someone to get it off the ground if we ever want to return to our former glory.”

     As soon as she said it, her mind flitted to the young RainWing she’d met with multiple times, barely going on fifteen years old and yet already leading a tribe and a half alongside a former assassin. Hope had lived through much political turmoil among the old NightWings, and had received a first-hand crash course into the realm of IceWing royals, but Queen Glory was a beast all her own, and an impressive one at that. “No pun intended,” Hope muttered.

     Finally, the queen turned, facing Marrow– Princess Marrow. The NightWing was thin, her body never having properly recovered from life on the volcanic island she’d been told her tribe had inhabited since her son’s temporary defeat. Her scales were nearly black with a tint of red, and she was crowned by a striking white tuft of hair and long, waving horns.

     “Here is what you shall do. I will name you my heir tomorrow at midnight. You are not going to be considered my daughter, but you will be my successor, and your partners your consorts.”

     Princess Marrow haphazardly schooled her expression from surprise back to a feigned neutrality, a rare slip-up, though one of many recently, while no other part of her body even flinched. “P-partners?” she stuttered. “I don’t know what you mean, Your Majesty.”

     Hope smirked in amusement, as however good her heir typically was at lying, she couldn’t stop the blood from rushing to her ears. Wishing to calm her, the queen let on, “Radiance is subtle about your relationship with Frozenlight, and she knows how to evade rumors. You, not so much.”

     When her heir gave a tight nod, she continued, “Your subjects will learn to respect them, because if we are to survive, we need to start moving past the other tribes’ biases. Frozenlight is half NightWing, and they have proven their loyalty to our tribe time and time again. Therefore, they are one of us.

     “Once the kingdom is stable, and we have reason to believe that it will continue to be stable, you will challenge me. You will do so publicly.”

     Hope’s eyes seemed to bore into the smaller NightWing’s very soul, but she continued regardless. “We will fake my death. I will leave this kingdom, and I will find my own peace. But you will always be able to find me, and I will be able to advise you, ensuring our kingdom’s downfall will not be a result of either of us.”

     The following pause was long and painful. She let Princess Marrow search for a response, waited patiently as she started and stopped a few different sentences, and nearly sighed in relief when she finally got something out, rather than making Hope wait up all day.

     “I don’t understand, My Queen. Why me? Why not one of your descendants? Surely they’re here somewhere.”

     To say she had doubted they’d end up here would be a lie, but she had wanted to believe that she would be able to get through to her heir easier. After all, Hope thought her a smart one, more so than many of her peers. “I don’t care for blood, Princess Marrow,” she replied, “and drop the title. I’m not a queen, I’m only your regent.

     “Then, once you feel you’ve run your course as queen, you will peacefully pass down your throne to your dragonet—”

     “I’m not—” Princess Marrow tried to cut in, but Hope only chuckled.

     “Dear, I can tell when a NightWing is egg-bound. You’re paranoid and overly vigilant, and avoid speaking to those outside of your circle like they’re—”

     Her heir was staring at her, the slighted glint of threatening malice in her gaze. They both knew where Hope had been leading, but that stare made her words tangle in her throat. Another reason why she’d elected Marrow for this position over the rest of her once-son’s followers.

     “You understand what I mean.”

     Princess Marrow’s nod was a curt one, Hope’s slip not to be easily forgotten.

     “When you wish to retire, you will pass the throne down to your dragonet without combat. I don’t care if it is a daughter or son or something else entirely, you will not fight. You will give them the throne, you will advise them as I will you, only you will be public about it.

     “Or,” and she had to force the memories of Darkstalker, of receiving the news of the Royal SeaWing Massacre, of all those centuries of bloody IceWing politics from her mind, “if you do not deem them fit to rule, you will give the throne to someone else entirely. Regardless, you will ensure our tribe has a monarch fit for the role. Do you understand, Princess Marrow?”

     This pause too was tense, but in a different way. A much more calculating way, as Princess Marrow seemed to hunt her expression for any sign of a facade, only to find none. Every cryptic, she countered with a challenge of her own, though this one brought a smile to Hope’s face.

     “What made you decide to put this much trust in me? I could kill you in the arena. I could make it real. What makes you believe that I won’t?”

     “Because you would regret it. You would become like every other queen, wishing at some point or another that your predecessor would return no matter your feelings about her. And I know that you will recognize that, and that you will make the rest of the continent recognize that.

     “So, I ask again: do you understand, Princess Marrow, Heir to the MoonWing Throne, Successor of Queen Hope, Partner of Princess Consorts Radiance and Frozenlight?”

     A rare and infectious smirk crossed the smaller NightWing’s face. “I understand, Queen Hope.”

     “Then let our work begin.”

[elephant-in-the-pride-parade]

Tag Game: First 10 Lines Challenge

Thanks for tagging me, @curator-on-ao3 😘

The game is to share the first lines of the last 10 stories you wrote. So here goes!

1. “Set temporal coordinates.”

- Euridice - Rated E, Voyager fic, Year of Hell Unaltered Timeline (J/C, C/P, B/7, some J/P undercurrents too)

2. “So… you’ll take anything I offered, would you?” The Terran Captain’s voice was sultry, almost purring as she ran her tail up the inside of his leg.

- Lost in a Hall of Mirrors - Rated T, Prodigy fic, Threshold AU moment from Cracked Mirror (J/C)

3. Captains Log, Star Date 52160: We’re docked at the Berudian Orbital Shipyard today for much needed repairs after our experiment with slipstream technology. 

- Lost and Found - Rated T, Voyager fic for Maliciousalice Birthday, a Threshold AU story set in Season 5. (background J/C)

4. Captain Janeway held her breath as she ordered Kim to lock onto the single life sign in Val Jean ’s cockpit.

- Five Catches and a Fall - Rated T, Voyager Fic, five J/C oneshots spanning the series run.

5. The arrival home had been stressful on them all, but none more so than Kathryn  who had to submit to a barrage of tests from medical as part of their debriefing.

- Brumating in a Winter Wonderland - Rated T - Voyager fic - Threshold AU of the arrival home. (J/C)

6. Janeway looked longingly at her replicator as she got dressed for the day. - All the Little Things

- Rated G - Voyager fic - a J/C oneshot set early in the series.

7. How quickly things could change, Kathryn mused as she cradled her infant son Liam to her breast.

- For Just one Day Let's Only Think About Love - Rated T, Voyager Books fic - Threshold AU take on the ending of To Lose the Earth (J/C, background P/T)

8. “Ah Captain,” Jellico welcomed Tuvok into his office, gesturing for him to sit in the open chair, beside Commander Tysses. “Thank you for coming.”

  - The Timepast - Rated T - Prodigy fic - a Shakespeare-inspired farce AU of J/C's reunion and Chakotay's rescue. (J/C, D/G, Adreek/Tysses)

9. The roast was burnt, as usual, but that didn't bother him. In fact it was the very reason they now found themselves in this delightful situation...

- No Captain Here; No Commander Either - Rated E - Voyager fic - J/C smut.

10. It was a bad day to be Q. - Universe to Mend

- Rated M - Prodigy/Voyager Books fic - a novel set after To Lose the Earth, featuring Q, Pocket Full of Lies' Denzit Janeway, and Prodigy's Hologram Janeway on a new adventure. (J/Q and J/C)

Analysis: I tend to open with dialogue, with a characters thought or log, or with some kind of very quick statement about the setting. just throwing you right into the action usually. I'm kinda okay with that!

I'm gonna tag (and im sorry if i forget anyone) @trekflower @pc-corner @jellybeansarecool @emilie786 @divinemissem13 @theredheadedcaptain @nonadhesiveness @coffee-in-that-nebula @cnrothtrek if yall would like to play and anyone else who wants too, feel free to do your own!

[kamreadsandrecs]

Title: Singer Distance

Author: Ethan Chatagnier

Genre/s: literary fiction, historical, science fiction

Content/Trigger Warning/s: parental abandonment

Summary (from author's website): The odds of the planet next door hosting intelligent life are―that’s not luck. That’s a miracle. It means something.

In December 1960, Crystal Singer, her boyfriend Rick, and three other MIT grad students take a cross-country road trip from Boston to Arizona to paint a message in the desert. Mars has been silent for thirty years, since the last time Earth solved one of the mathematical proofs the Martian civilization carved onto its surface. The latest proof, which seems to assert contradictory truths about distance, has resisted human understanding for decades. Crystal thinks she’s solved it, and Rick is intent on putting her answer to the test―if he can keep her from cracking under the pressure on the way. But Crystal’s disappearance after the experiment will set him on a different path than he expected, forever changing the distance between them.

Filled with mystery and wonder, Ethan Chatagnier’s Singer Distance is a novel about ambition, loneliness, friendship, exploration, and love―about how far we’re willing to go to communicate with a distant civilization, and the great lengths we’ll travel to connect with each other here on Earth.

Buy Here: https://bookshop.org/p/books/singer-distance-ethan-chatagnier/18754404

Spoiler-Free Review: Gosh but I wish this book had been able to live up to what it was trying to do. I can see it, can almost smell it, tbh, but DAMN does it not follow through.

Pros: the language is really genuinely lovely. The narrator’s voice isn’t DISTINCT, but it’s quite lovely regardless. The author certainly knows how to paint images, and string them together in a way that makes for lovely reading. I got to hand that to them.

I’ve also got to hand to them the concept behind this novel. While the idea of communicating with aliens isn’t a new one, I kind of liked the spin presented in this book: pre-radio, using Earth’s surface like a giant signboard to talk to the aliens living on another planet who happen to communicate in a similar way. It actually makes a certain kind of sense, though the environmental damage is staggering (and is briefly touched upon in the novel).

What I DIDN’T entirely like about this novel was it felt so navel-gazey in an almost self-indulgent way. I liked the attempt to explore the concepts of distance - not just between planets, but between people, and between the self and memory. It also attempts to tackle the concepts of wonder and awe and curiosity, All interesting, of course, but there’s a meandering feel to the plot that feels like the long road trips that are described in the first and latter third: like blank spaces between origin and destination. The plot, such as it is, consists of all these musings and ideas but they aren’t held together by, you know, ACTUAL PLOT.

Another thing that’s unfortunate about this novel is how the female characters get lost in all that navel-gazing. At a certain point I found myself wishing that this story was being narrated by one of the female characters instead; maybe then there’d be a bit more dimension and depth to this book than the narrator was providing.

And then there’s the ending. Gosh, but that ending landed about as well as an untrained person trying to imitate Simone Biles and just. Failing utterly. I can see where it’s trying to go, I can see what it’s trying to do given everything that came before it, but it plopped right into the middle of a cliche and I was reading that last line going: “That’s it? THAT’S IT?!” Honestly disappointing.

Overall, this is a novel that has Ambitions, I guess, and tries to get there with truly lovely language that’s quite pleasant to read, but damn does it get lost on the way - and, worse, that ending does NOT stick the landing. YMMV I guess, but I’m largely disappointed by this.

Rating: two equations

[dogtccth]

👠 What was my muse’s last serious relationship like? (for roman)

👠 What was my muse’s last serious relationship like?

OH CIRCE ... the one woman that captivated him. It was a train wreck. Circe was a face model and Roman worked at his parents makeup company so she basically seduced him for the advantages and he fell for it (p sure she had some sort of ability to hypnotize ppl or something like that in the comics?). He told his parents about her and they didn't approve because she wasn't /of money/ so that's when he started to decide to do his own thing against their will because they were angry when he was obviously interested in men and when he found a women she was still not good enough for them. But that's when he started tanking the company with his wild idea and pushing a new make up that wasn't tested well and ended up melting women's faces after using it ... and he was kicked out of the company and Circe left him after finding out. So he had her found and used a less concentrated version of that make up on her which melted her face w.o killing her, just deformed her (because she was a face model so he had to take that away from her for betraying him). And then offered her the choices of joining him or him using the concentrated version of the make up on her (which would kill her) ... so she stuck around for a bit till she ran away.

[abesprescott]

welcome to aurora bay , abelyn prescott ! i couldn’t help but notice you look an awful lot like savannah lee smith . you must be the twenty four year old bartender / nursing student . word is you’re affable but can also be a bit idealistic and your favorite song is normal girl by sza . i also heard you’ll be staying in ocean crest . i’m sure you’ll love it ! @aurorabayaesthetic

hiiii ! i'm isa , im 23 & from the pst timezone . im sososo excited to join you all and bring you this leo princess . she is a new muse i'm testing out so i apologize in advance for the horrible intro heh . ♡

tw : mentions of neglect & alcoholism .

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐬 :

FULL NAME : abelyn grace prescott . NICKNAME(S) : abe/abes . ( connections feel free to come up w nicknames for her , she LOVES them . ) AGE : twenty - four . DATE OF BIRTH : august 14 , 2000 . PLACE OF BIRTH : aurora bay , ca . GENDER : cis female . PRONOUNS : she / her . SEXUAL ORIENTATION : bisexual . OCCUPATION : part time bartender at tejas cantina & full time nursing student purrr .

TATTOOS : none but she's been itching to get her first tattoo !! PIERCINGS : both ears are pierced & she has a tiny nose stud . CLOTHING STYLE : ugh i need to mkae a pinterest board for her but she dresses v cutesy ! shes into the whole pink pilates princess / lulu aesthetic . SIGNATURE SCENT : libre by ysl , she can't leave the house w/o it . gets her soooo many compliments .

𝐛𝐢𝐨 :

abelyn grace prescott was born in aurora bay on a hot august night , the youngest of three and the only girl . she was the result of a one - night stand and her mom , already overwhelmed and not interested in raising another child , handed abelyn off to her grandmother choosing to keep and care for her two older brothers instead . rumors whispered in town hinted that her mother and siblings had later moved to LA , but abelyn would never know for sure .

her early childhood and life with her grandmother wasn't great . her grandma had a drinking problem , often leaving abe with neighbors or to fend for herself some nights . by the time abelyn was five , she ended up in foster care , bouncing from home to home , each move taking a little more out of her . everything changed when abelyn was nine , and she was placed with ann thompson . ann was everything abelyn needed — a steady , kind , and loving presence .

for the first time , abelyn felt like she belonged and with ann’s support , she really came into her own . she did p great in school , her grades were perfect , she was part of so many school clubs and was varsity cheerleader her last two years of high school ! she goes to nursing school and hopes to one day become a pediatric nurse . you can also find her at Tejas Cantina most nights working as a bartender so if you ever need a late night drink , she's your girl .

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜 :

she stress bakes and brownies are her weakness ! shes the type to show up to your front step with warm brownies and ice cream if she hears you're having a bad day

she has two fur babies who she ADORES, a golden retriever named beau and an orange tabby named peach.

when shes not working or doing school work you can find her bed rotting while playing the sims lmaoo

the biggest hopeless romantic you'll ever meet she's never been in a real relationship but you didn't hear that from me

lives and breathes for makeup, her vanity is stocked w the best of the best

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 :

highschool friends

past situationships

co workers

i know she would also love to keep in contact w/ her foster siblings so ann's foster children hit her up !!!

literally love her and b her friend

idk what else to add ahhhhh

[d4djobesemuses]

Common sense was a thing that Maho had given up once she encroached on the 700 pound territory, so, if she was to overeat, she'd simply vomit as many times as she needed to be of help to her generous host.

With genuine difficulty, due to her chronic breathlessness, Maho closed her lips around the hose, and like clockwork she began to drink the stew like she was thirsting in the desert.

"Gllph... ghllp... glugph... gllp..."

Maho looked relieved, her usual anxious disposition relaxing as her eyes glazed over, food was her everything and she was at her most comfortable eating, it was only between bouts of gluttony that common sense and shame were a concern.

As for the taste, Maho hated to admit, but she wasn't actually qualified to taste test, since anything that wasn't nauseously bad she found so incredibly tasty, like a nectar of sustenance to her broken psyche, poison flavored to perfection.

As she mused about the taste and her begrudging love for food, her attention was brought back by two uncomfortable sensations simultaneously.

The constant stream of pleasurable stew stopped, and the hose which she drank from sucked in air, she hadn't realized how diligent she was chugging, but with 25 new gallons of stew in her stomach, Maho felt weirdly unfazed by the added contents.

"Hff... ghff... hahh..." She let the hose drop out of her mouth and onto her flabby chins. "M-more... Mari-san... p-please..." She begged, feeling a gnawing impulse upon realizing how "little" a mere 25 gallons were, even to her own surprise.

Mari produced a thick hose from between the pots on the cart as she winked towards Maho, oblivious to the girl's internal turmoil of indulging to a dangerous degree and common sense. Seemingly, anyway. "Normally your's truly can stomach about... Mmm... twelve gallons? I almost passed twenty once~! Yoshiko can handle this amount without much of a problem so when I saw you and your... unique... frame...~" She hummed playfully as some fingers tickled at her bloated toes before returning to Maho's side.

"Something told me you could handle it~" One end was dropped into the first pot until it glunked on the bottom. "This should make it easier than trying to plop twenty five gallons of stew on-top of you, yes~? Just drink the stew and whatever solids are left I'll be sure to feed to you! A perfect system~"

And so the hose dangled by the DJ's lips. "Come now, Mahorin... 'Aaaaah'...~"

[jedi-luca]

Avenger Lane Chapter Two

Summary: You and your wife Quinn move your family outside of New York City to Avenger Lane; a small private suburbia. There you face your toughest obstacle of your marriage. Will your marriage with Quinn be strong enough when a certain redheaded beauty captures your attention? 

Parings: Quinn Fabray x G!P Reader / eventual Natasha x G!P Reader

Warnings: Smut in this chapter!

A/N: Let me know what you think 😅

Avenger Lane

Chapter Two: Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin'

Not my gifs

“How about I help you unpack and you put things where you want them? That way it’ll be done by the time Quinn comes back.”

“If you really wanna spend your time unpacking then fine.” You laughed.

“I’m not spending time unpacking, I'm spending time getting to know my new neighbor.” She winked.

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“You’ve done a lot so far!” Natasha smiled looking around at the work you and your wife have done.

“Yeah, but to be far a lot of this is brand new. The furniture delivered bright and early.”

“You two have excellent taste in decor.”

“Thank you, but it’s really Quinn’s taste.”

“Does it matter which box or which room?” Natasha asked, gesturing towards the boxes.

“Let’s go to Quinn's office first. I have a surprise for her that I wanna get out of the way before she goes in there again.” You chuckled running over to the kitchen sink taking a black bag out. Before gesturing for the redhead to follow you upstairs.

“What’s the surprise?” She found herself asking.

“I may or may not have made her customized bobbleheads of us.” You snickered placing the back on the new desk that came in that morning. 

Natasha chuckled watching you carefully place the bobble heads below her monitor. “Your daughter's bobbleheads are adorable.” She pointed.

“Right?” You chuckled.

Natasha lifted a box on to the desk cutting through the packing tape,

You connected your phone to the speaker system you had set up earlier. You quickly settled on an 80s playlist before opening up a box as well.

“Wow, you have a first edition of The Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe?” 

“I got it for Quinn for one of our anniversaries. It's her favorite book. She loves reading. That’s actually sort of her job. She works at a publishing house.” You smiled proudly. She worked her ass off to climb her way to the very top. You take the stack of books she finishes admiring, placing them on the shelf as she makes another stack. 

“That sounds pretty amazing. Being able to read things before they come out?!”

“Big reader?” You grinned as you lifted a hammer to place a nail in the wall Quinn had asked you to build her a shelf. Needless to say a few days before you built her a shelf. Now it’s time to connect it to the wall.

“Of course!”

“What’s your favorite book?” You ask as you hang the shelf. 

“That's a really hard and broad question.” She muttered pausing her movements to see you hammering the shelf in before starting the next one.

“Okay favorite classic?”

“Catcher and the Rye.” She muses. “You?”

“To Kill a Mockingbird.”

“Truthfully I love noir and spy novels. I like to think I would have made an excellent spy.”

“I’m more of a fantasy sci fi type of reader.”

“What house are you in?” She grinned gesturing towards the photo of you Quinn and Beth at Harry Potter World. 

“Gryffindor.” You blushed. “I tested it 3 times, got Gryffindor 2 times and Slytherin once. Quinn is Ravenclaw.” You say setting her framed degree on the shelf.  

“Makes sense since I see she graduated from Yale.” Natasha smirked pointing at the degree you set down.

“What house are you in?”

“Guess.” She smirked.

“Red hair? And a hand me down robe? You must be a Weasley!” You say using your best Draco impression. “Gryffindor?”

She laughed as she set the sorted books on the shelf. “Nope.”

“I’m… wrong?” You gasped. “Let me think.” You bite your lip really looking at Natasha. “Slytherin!” You yelled as if you were the hat.

She chordled covering her mouth before going back to unpacking while you put things away. Conversing as you both worked. You learned her favorite color is forest green, but it’s actually your favorite color Blue. She isn't as into music as you are, but she’s a huge film buff. She says she never tried acting, but that she did model for Victoria's Secret and a few other luxury brands before she was married. (You’re definitely googling her later.) She has a younger sister named Yelena who is currently going to college with Clint's daughter Kate. You learn Clint actually lives just across the street from Natasha. He and his wife and kids are currently visiting his parents back in Iowa. She tells you that Clint and his wife are her best friends besides Wanda. 

“How does one even knock down a bell in a tower?” You chuckled while putting away books. Apparently Yelena and Kate are thick as thieves, and quite the troublemakers.

“I honestly still don’t understand how, but they found a way.” She laughed.

“How did they not get expelled?”

“Truthfully? Clint and I had to buy a new bell for the tower.” She huffed.

“That sucks! I don't know what I would do if Beth did something like that.” You chuckled knocking on wood. “I'm not really looking forward to her teenage years. Lord knows I was a menace to society.”

“You were a menace?” She chuckled.

“Oh yeah.” You chuckled.

“What was the craziest thing you did.”

“Oof, let me think…” you placed a finger on your chin. “Ooh! Okay once this annoying guy joined our glee club back in high school. He tried to take my spot on the team, and he kept hitting on Quinn. So I told him he had a free record deal. Idiot, why would anyone believe that? Anyway I got him a one way ticket to Los Angeles.”

“You sent him to another state for hitting on your wife?!” She laughed.

“No you don’t get it. He was an asshole. He tried to turn the team against me, glee club against me and my wife. I wasn’t letting some rich brat steal my life away.”

Natasha raised her brow smirking at you like that’s not an excuse.

“Eh he was fine!” You waved her off. “Plus he never messed with Quinn again and he ended up moving to South Korea.”

“So you’re the jealous type? I wouldn’t have suspected it.” She chuckled.

“What? No. No. Just didn’t like him kissing my baby mama.”

She laughed.

“What’s the craziest thing a man has done for you? I feel like you have a ton of stories.” You grinned. “You’re husband sounds like a big guy. BRUCE.” you gruffed hitting your chest.

She laughed, shaking her head. “No.” She laughed out before trying to compose her laughter. “Bruce has a temper at times but he’s not a man's man if that makes sense? And no one has done anything quite like that for me.” She admits before opening another box.

“What?” You furrow your brows. “You’re telling me no one has ever fought over you?”

“What is this medieval times?” She chuckled.

“I just find it hard to believe that no one has ever fought over you, I mean you’re gorgeous.” You bite the inside of your lip hoping she wouldn’t find that weird.

The redhead feels her cheeks heat up. “I was hit on a lot and asked out a lot. Especially during my modeling days. Sometimes even still when I’m with Bruce, but he’s not a fighter.”

“So you’re saying sometimes when you’re out with Bruce you get hit on and he just… let’s it happen?”

“Well…What would you do?” She questioned you.

“I mean it happens a lot to us as well. Then again she also gets majorly turned on when I put someone in their place after they hit on her.”

“Give me an example.” She smirked.

“Okay well if it’s innocent I usually just-“ you walked over next to her and placed your arm around her waist. “Pull her a little closer like this. Smile at the jerkoff and say ‘Ahh’ that usually works, but if they’re an asshole and want to keep hitting on her then she says something that usually ends up with them crying.”

“Has it ever gotten physical?”

“Once. His name was Noah Puckerman, we were sort of friends at one point. He said he was in love with Quinn. She said she didn’t feel the same way. He really thought Quinn had feelings for him. Anyway we were at a party and he just walked up to Quinn and kissed her. She slapped him, but the weirdo wouldn’t let go. So I sucker punched him in the ear. Now I don’t condone sucker punching anyone, but when someone is kissing my girl and she wants them off of her?”

“He didn’t let her go, I probably would have done the same thing. Truthfully I would have broken his nose.” Natasha shrugged. “What happened after?”

“Well he got knocked out after that; a few days later he dropped out of high school and ended up going to jail for stealing an ATM. Last I heard he’s living in Florida trying to make it as a DJ.”

“So was he the only guy you fought with?”

“Uhhhh… no.” You chuckled. “Like I said I was a menace as a teenager.”

“Did Quinn ever fight someone over you?”

“Oh yeah.” You chuckled. You both finished up in her office before heading downstairs. You both grabbed a box right as Journey flowed through the speakers.

“Oh no!” Natasha grimaced after opening another box.

“Uh Oh what’s wrong?” You chuckled.

“It looks like a frame broke.” Natasha gently lifted the frame, setting it on top of the trash can lid.

“Oh.” You muttered seeing an old photo of you and Finn after the state championship.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh no, don’t be it’s not your fault.” You laughed taking the photo out examining it.

“You played football?” Natasha asked, surprised.

“Why the tone of surprise? I told you that guy tried to steal my spot on the team.” You smirked teasing the redhead.

“I thought you meant your glee club. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of girls playing American football.”

“American football.” You chuckled. “It’s just football you’re in America.” You joked; nudging her.

“I’m not American.” She quirked her brow with a smirk of her own. “Football means soccer to me.”

“Get out.” You laughed.

“I’m Russian.” She grinned.

“How long did you live there?”

“On and off throughout my life. It's kind of a long, depressing story.”

“Where in America did you move to?”

“Ohio.” She smiled.

“What town in Ohio?”

“Hamilton.” She smiled thinking back.

“Lima.” You grinned.

“That’s not that far away!” She beamed.

“I feel like we even played you guys once or twice.” You furrow your brow thinking.

Natasha smiles at the crinkle on your forehead as you try to remember.

“So who's this tall drink of water?” She chuckled pointing to the photo still in your hand.

“He was my best friend; Finn Hudson.” You smiled sadly hearing the song he would always sing playing in the background. “Joined the army right after high school. He died in action.” 

“I’m-I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You shake your head. “It was a long time ago. Quinn and I named Finley after him. He was a good guy. Always had my back.” You smile looking down at you and Finn making your best game faces.

“So what made you want to be a football player?” She asked to pull you from memory lane.

“Actually I only joined to impress a certain blonde cheerleader.” You smirked lifting an old squad photo of Quinn Brittany and Santana.

“Let me guess she ruled the school?” She grinned, seeing the three hot cheerleaders smiling at the camera.

“Oh yeah everyone called them the unholy trinity.” You snickered. “I noticed her on the first day of freshman year. Her mother had dropped her off and she was wearing this yellow sundress. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.” You chuckled, placing the photo of you and Finn on the coffee table. You’ll grab a new frame later. “Anyway I tried to go and speak to her during lunch that first day.” You chuckled, shaking your head. “One of the teachers was getting their ass kicked by the cheerleading coach, and she didn’t even look up once. The bell rang and she left and I never got to talk to her. It wasn’t until I saw her join the Cheerios that I joined the football team. Santana had told me she only dates football players.”

“You joined a rough sport for love?” She laughed.

“Hey I got the girl in the end so it was worth getting banged up and concussed.” You grinned, making her laugh. Your phone began ringing, lifting it up to your ear. “Sup baby mama.”

“We just grabbed some food and we’re heading back to the house.” Quinn spoke ignoring the greeting she hates.

“Sweet love you, see you soon.”

“I love you too, bye!”

“Good thing we’re on the last box.” Natasha grins, patting the box.

“Phew.” You chuckled, wiping non existent sweat from your forehead.

You let her finish that up as you get ready to feed Ollie.

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Quinn walked in with your friends laughing with food in their hands.

“Oh wow you finished all those boxes?!” Quinn beamed.

“I had some help from a neighbor.” You grinned nodding towards Natasha.

“Thank you for your help. I appreciate it.” Quinn said, setting the food on the table. Santana leaned over towards Kurt whispering as low as she could. “How much you wanna bet that she doesn’t appreciate it?” 

Kurt and Santana snickered, earning a glare from Quinn.

“Stay for lunch?” Quinn smiled. “I mean you made us brownies and helped us unpack. It’s the least I could do.”

“Oh I don’t want to intrude.”

“Nonsense you’re not intruding.” You grinned. “Natasha this is-”

“Kurt Hummel, I work for Vogue and my God you are the epitome of gorgeous. I’m more than sure you were on the cover of Japan’s issue of Vogue back what 6 years ago?”

“Spot on Kurt that was me.” Natasha chuckled lightly. 

“I’m sorry, but what are you doing in the burbs?” Kurt grimaced.

“Honey. Excuse my husband, he forgets some people like peace and quiet. Blaine Anderson.” 

Soon you were all sitting around the dining table drinking beer and eating pizza. While the two boys were talking Natasha’s ear off about couture and her modeling days.

“She’s a model. Why am I not surprised?” Quinn quipped as she grabbed another beer for you and herself. She watched as Natasha threw her head back laughing at something Kurt said.

“Probably because she looks like that.” you chuckled as Quinn glared at you.

“You have got to model my line.” Kurt begged.

“Honey. Please stop.” Blaine laughed.

“I haven’t modeled in years.” Natasha shook her head laughing.

“Oh please it’s like riding a bike. Just hop right in front of the camera and get back on that catwalk girl.”

“Maybe.” She bit her lip.

“I’m making a look just for you and you’ll have to say yes.” Kurt winked.

“So Natasha, who is this man you left your modeling career for?” Blaine asked with a smirk.

“His name is Bruce Banner, he's a scientist who is currently in Zurich right now giving a lecture.”

“That’s interesting.” Blaine nodded.

“A model marrying a scientist. You definitely flipped the script with that.” Quinn chuckled.

“When does he come back?” Kurt asked, sipping his hard seltzer.

“In a few weeks it’s a major conference and he’s also working alongside another scientist for a project at the moment so there’s really no set date.”

“That's a long time.” Quinn furrowed her brows looking down at her pizza. There’s no way she’d be away from you for that long. No way she could be away more than a week, maybe two max.

“It’s his dream.” she shrugs as if to say ‘who am I to stand in the way of it’.

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“Today was so long.” Quinn sighed leaning her head back on your shoulder. Letting the hot water relax her muscles humming along to The soft tunes of Al Green that flowed from the speakers.

“Hmhm.” You hummed kissing her shoulder. “I’m glad we got the spa tub.” The blonde hummed, sending vibrations to your heart. You sighed against the back of her neck before peppering her with soft kisses.

“Natasha seems nice.” She arched her brow, a small smirk playing on her lips. 

“She’s very nice.” You continue kissing and massaging your wife trying to get her to relax so she could maybe give you the goods.

“Oh I know you think so.”

You eyed the droplets running down her breasts when you were brought out of your sexy time thoughts.

“Wait…What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you think she’s sexy and I know for a fact she’s into you.”

“Quinn not this. Not with our new neighbor we just met.” You whined.

“I’m not upset. She’s a very beautiful woman. Gorgeous even.” She shrugged. “She knows how to toe the line. I'll give her that.” She huffed.

“Quinn, Natasha is not into me. She is married just like you, and just like me. She has a husband.”

“Hm one that she barely mentions or sees.”

“What do you mean she barely sees him? We’ve known her for a day.”

“Think about it. She brushed off any questions about him.”

“It’s our first night here.” You chuckled.

“I’m just saying her husband seems to be MIA consistently if she just doesn’t care that he’s gone with no set date of returning. She also mentioned that this block is close.”

“And?”

“Annnd it would explain why she’s taken a liking to you. You haven’t met her husband but the this whole block has.”

“You’re reaching. It’s our first night. Can we not?”

“Fine.” Quinn sighed, relaxing against your front.

“Remind me to thank your sister for taking the girls.” 

“It’s nice.” Quinn nodded as you wrapped your arms around her. She turned her head meeting your lips.

“God, you're so sexy.” You muttered running your hands down her body as she rocks into your cock. “How about we take advantage of our empty nest.”

“Christening our new home?” Quinn smirked.

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Natasha was reading when she noticed your light in your bedroom flick on. You and Quinn were laughing. When suddenly you spun her around lifting her up against you. Kissing her before laying her on the bed. 

The redhead gasped as you let your robe slide off your body. She gasped seeing all of you for the first time. You were exactly as she pictured tan skin, and muscles rippling throughout your body. What really caught her eye was your dick.

Women with appendages were a rare gem. She knew of only one other woman that had one and that was Val. She only knew because Carol told them one night. She kind of figured you had one when you mentioned your daughters.

You grabbed Quinn’s legs, spreading them as you line yourself up.

“Fuck.” She watches your lips mouth the word as you throw your head back.

Natasha feels a pool between her legs. She gasped as you noticed your curtains were open. You quickly move over closing them not noticing the light coming from Natasha’s lamp next door.

“Shit.” Natasha sighed at the slickness beneath her folds. She couldn’t help but grab her vibrator. She felt almost guilty thinking of you as she touched herself. She had only just met you, but everything in her was telling her to jump your bones.

“Fuck Y/N.” She whispers, closing her eyes as she pictures you on your knees in front of her.

‘Damn babe you’re soaked.’

“Hmm for you.” She husked, dipping inside of herself before turning on her vibrator. She moaned, imagining your tongue touching her clit instead of the only thing that’s been giving her any sort of pleasure. She sighed going back into her imagination.

‘You taste like heaven, I bet you feel like it too.’

“Yes please I need you inside me.” She husked thinking of your long cock she saw enter Quinn.

‘Fuck you do feel like heaven. Oh Natasha.’

“Oh Y/N you feel so good!” She whimpered imagining you plowing into her making her take all your weight. 

‘You sound so close already, baby girl.’

“I’m so close, don't stop!” She moaned imagining your cock pumping in and out of her. “Oh fuck Y/N!”

‘Oh Natasha! Oh baby you feel amazing I’m gonna-‘

She moaned loudly as she came undone thinking of you as she twitched beneath her vibrator

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You slowly made a move to get out of bed when your wife clutched onto you.

“You’re not seriously working out after yesterday are you? Come baby it’s our first morning in our new home.” She snuggled into you.

“Quinn, I ate like a ton of food. Satan is right, I'm gonna get flabby.”

“She was joking with you. She still calls me tubbers.” She smiled, eyes still refusing to open.

“I’m wide awake, I'm going for a jog.” You say getting up hearing your wife sigh.

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Natasha sat with her mug of coffee and a book. She loved watching the sunrise. She heard your door shut looking over to see you stretching. Her activities from last night coming to her mind. She blushed, clenching her thighs together. All you did was walk out the house and she’s already wet for you. She whined at the uncomfortable throb between her legs as she watched you stretch. Your body was a temple and she wanted to worship it.

You waved with a sweet grin; nodding to her as you jogged by. She waved back, eyeing the way your cock outlined your shorts as you ran. She huffed at the pool between her legs going back inside to relieve herself. 

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She was in the middle of thinking of you while touching herself when you strolled into your room. Her breath hitched as you slowly took off your workout shirt that clung to your body. She licked her lips seeing your abs flex as you took off your socks and shorts. She bit her lip with a whimper as you took your briefs off. You were so big, even flaccid.

You looked in the mirror standing near the window as you flexed your arms and abs. “That’s it.” You smirked seeing your abs pop out a bit. “Keep it toight.” You barked.

“Stop looking at yourself and take a shower you stink!” Quinn laughed hearing you barking like a jock.

You took your shower forgetting your clothes, you stepped out a towel loosely hung on your hips.

Your wife came behind you taking the towel off.

“Hmm you smell good.” She hummed kissing your back.

“Hmm the better to lure you with my dear.” You smirked and quickly brought her up. Her legs automatically hook around you. 

“Beth and Finley will be here this afternoon.”

“So we have time.” You smiled leaning down to take her lips with yours. 

“Hmm Y/N.” She whimpered, letting you gain access to her neck. “Make love to me.” She whispered.

“Quinn.” You groaned feeling blood rush to your penis.

“Take your time with me.” She spoke softly, taking her shirt off. “Fuck me slowly.”

“Mmm..” You twitched as you felt her take your bottom lip in her mouth. You hummed laying her down on the bed before kissing down from her neck to the valley of her breasts. Her breathing became rapid. Your fingers worked her shorts down her legs along with her soaked panties.

“Ohhhh God that feels so good.” She moaned, feeling no warning before your tongue was tasting her.

Meanwhile just next door Natasha was once again watching you and your wife. She moaned, closing her eyes, picturing herself in Quinn’s shoes. 

She opened her eyes. She must have had them closed for a while cause now Quinn’s head was bobbing against you. 

You hissed pushing Quinn back on the bed letting your cock flop out of her mouth. You spread her legs meeting her in the middle of the bed. You gathered her wetness on your member before slowly inserting yourself.

“Oh Y/N!” Quinn moaned, bringing your neck down to kiss you. You were pumping in and out slowly. Every once in a while trying a different angle. 

“Quinn” You breathed out.

“What baby?” She husked.

“Get on top.” You grinned seeing her smirk.

You laid down as she got on top of you rubbing against your hardened member letting her juices lather on you before sinking down on your cock.

“You always fill me up so well.” She sighed before moving up and down on just the tip of you before going all the way down again.

“Shit Quinn.” You groaned watching her rhythm speed up. You sat up helping her motions.

“Fuck I’m gonna-” Quinn moaned loudly as you laid her down and began pumping in and out with more speed. Her mouth formed that familiar ‘O’ before she was shaking beneath you. 

“Fuck fuck fuck don’t stop!”

“That’s it, love let go.” You grunted as you pounded into her; her nails scratching down your back.

“Oh baby.” She moaned with a smile on her face. “Fuck that was good.”

“Oh I’m not done with you yet we still have a couple hours.” You smirked before rocking your hips. Your cock was still rock hard and her cunt was still throbbing for more. She moaned against your lips. 

Natasha sighed guilt washing over her after her euphoric orgasm ended. She wasn’t going to watch you anymore. She stood on shaky legs closing the curtains as you and Quinn began round two.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

[yanderechuu]

do any of the teachers ever notice the things happening to y/n? (i headcannon Mic and Midnight as yanderes that would give advice to 1A lol)

yandere!Class 1A x fem!reader

[2.1K]

Summary: Aizawa is the first one you approached in regards to your certain predicament.

Warning: nonconsensual recording

│

Aizawa suspected something wasn’t quite right by the moment he saw you entering the class a minute before the bell rang, all haggard and teary-eyed, though you tried your best to obscure your disposition. He always knew you to often be in a state of discomfort whenever you were compelled to socialize, especially with your classmates, but now - you looked as if you reached your limit of holding the weight of the world on your shoulders, crashing down all at once as depicted on your crestfallen expression. 

And when you showed up in front of the faculty room, timidly soliciting his presence, his suspicions were only further verified. Even with a pending question regarding subject matters in your mind, you weren’t one to approach a teacher to inquire about it, and if you did it was because the teacher was the one who would ask your attendance; never the other way around.

Present Mic was the first one to acknowledge you. He stood up from his office chair, waving at you comically. “Yo, (l/n)! Having trouble with English again?”

You never had a problem with his subject; he only insisted that you’d come to him in regards to that. “N-no, not really. May I speak to Aizawa-sensei?”

“Talk with me instead!” He enthusiastically spoke and headed over to you. “Come on, what’s the matter?”

“It isn’t your place to ask that when I’m here.” Aizawa interceded, clearly unimpressed by Mic’s antics. He failed to see the latter’s displeased countenance. “(L/n), what is it?”

You avoided eye contact with him, averting your view to the ground - that was alright. You were always like this, and he didn’t mind. Nothing out of place except for the fact that it looked as if you were about to cry any moment now.

“Can we- can we, um, talk somewhere more private?” You asked quietly.

His brows raised in wonder at your request. Nevertheless, he didn’t decline you, only nodding lackadaisically before heading towards the teacher’s lounge, where you followed him suit. He flicked the door tag to ‘occupied’ and entered the room after you, when he told you sit on the three-person sofa situated not quite on the farthest left of the space. Then, he settled himself on the chair across you.

“Well?” He asked, expectantly.

But you had once again your head above a thick cloud of anxiety. You knew that after the event with Momo in the girls’ locker room - where you had injured her against your will because she had been violating your personal space - your homeroom teacher kept a cautious eye on you in case you’d re-enact that incident. And it wasn’t just that incident that made him look at you like you were a criminal on the loose, either. Your classmates found and did a lot of ways to place you in Aizawa’s naughty list just so you wouldn’t snitch on their abusive (they’d call it affectionate) behavior on you.

That didn’t erase the fact that you were nevertheless his student; he cared for you no less than he cared for his other pupils, yet you were just too ignorant in figuring that out. All that mattered to you was that you’d voice out your current concern to him, but with your insecurities holding you down it seemed it would be more difficult than you had primarily foreseen it to be.

“I-I,” you stammered out, fiddling with something inside your pocket, “u-um, you see, t-there’s this, I mean, I can’t-”

He grew increasingly frustrated with your constant stuttering, and although he did understand your shy nature which largely affected your conversational habits, he only had so much patience to deal with it.

“I don’t have all day.” He stated, glowering at your form in mild irritation. “If you’re going to keep doing that, talk to the wall.”

You abruptly halted in speaking after that, only looking down on your lap, staring wide-eyed, grief-stricken at the revelation that perhaps he really did not want to heed any of your words because you were just that bad of a student that he had decided you were not worth much the effort to concern himself with. And maybe he was right - that your words didn’t matter because you didn’t matter; that there were more affairs he better be tending to than yours; that you were only making a big deal out of this when it truthfully wasn’t.

Oh god, you felt like vomiting. Self-deprecation was getting the better of you.

He stood up and sauntered to the exit, not bothering to spare you a glance. “Come back to me when you actually know what you want to say.”

It was a matter of seconds when you ran to him, pulling him back rather harshly by the grip you had on his sleeve. He turned around due to the force to see your head still hung low, avoiding his gaze as always - only, your shoulders were quivering sporadically, and occasional sniffs were heard from your person.

“P-please, sensei...” you voiced out, shaken and horrifyingly delicate. “I-I’m so scared. Please.”

While he looked at you with contracted irises, countenance now alert from your unexpected disposition, you pulled your trembling hand out of your skirt pocket, nervously disclosing to him from your palm a small, black device with a tiny yet prominent lens.

“M-my room,” you heaved, “I-I saw this i-in my room, m-my closet, while- while I was dressing up, and I don’t know how long it had been in there but it probably already caught me bare and-”

You broke down in a flurry misery and shame, allowing yourself to fall to the ground but you didn’t - Aizawa seized you in his arms, his gentle, fatherly arms that could only do so much to console you from the horror of your reality. And he held your head as you cried on his chest, one little thing he could do after ignoring your situation and letting you think that your significance was less than the rest of his other students. At that moment, you were just so little, so fragile, so naïve he’d keep you in his pocket if he could. Why would someone do something as debauched as illegally recording your innocent self?

“I’m sor-sorry,” you sobbed, “I’m really telling the truth, p-please-”

“Shh, it’s okay. I don’t doubt you.” He reassured. Why were you apologizing? Were you that insecure of being a nuisance? No, no, you never were. Not to him. He reached for your hand to take the cursed device. “Since when did you find out?”

“J-just this morning.” You responded.

“Alright. Do you want to rest? This must have taken a huge toll on you.”

But you still had classes ongoing. Then again, you didn’t feel like looking at the faces of the prime suspects who possibly did you dirty, even when you knew that you’d have to eventually interact with them to get notes of your missed lessons. You were so tired from summoning the lot of your courage to confront your teacher regarding your problem, so you probably wouldn’t have the energy to listen to class discussion. Aizawa finalized your decision by pulling you up and guiding you towards the office of Recovery Girl who, after being briefed of your predicament by your homeroom teacher, welcomed you with a warm smile, telling you to make yourself comfortable in one of the beds in the infirmary.

He then made his way to 1A classroom, a newfound swelling of rage and disappointment in his chest, both forwarded to his class and to himself because only now did he realize that perhaps you were often so restless and apprehensive in the presence of your classmates because they did things that made you bury yourself in the deepest parts of your shell as a last attempt to revel in a sense of safety. Your timidity was not entirely derived from your own nature; it was also due to the maltreatment you were receiving from your classmates. Halting his steps by the classroom door, he looked through the glass window, seeing the class focusing on Midnight’s lecture.

Well, not quite. He could tell that your classmates were visibly affected by the lack of your presence, glancing at your desk from time to time as quiz papers were being passed behind - so they were in the middle of a test, he guessed. But that wasn’t his concern.

In impudent manner, he walked in amid Midnight’s talking, disregarding her face’s sudden morphing into vexation as the students gave him a look of confusion.

“Eraser, what are you-” she was rudely interrupted as Aizawa took the test reference papers from her hands. Something about Modern Hero Art History, he read. He faced his class with disdain, stating,

“Until someone confesses their crime of hiding a spy camera on (l/n)’s dorm room, all of you are receiving failing marks on this test.”

Quite suddenly, the class burst into violent upheaval, gasping, perking, some allowing the dreadful news of your situation to sink in, others letting out noises of complaint before actually taking consideration to the main point of Aizawa’s statement. Midnight stared at him in disbelief, but did nothing to stop his measures.

Momo abruptly stood. “I-is (y/n) okay? We should go check on her!”

“No, you shouldn’t.” Aizawa said. “All of you are suspects. You’ve no right to see her.”

“She probably just made that up get back on us for whatever fucking reason!” Yelled Bakugou.

“Yeah?” The male pro-hero disingenuously mused. He then picked up the spy camera and held it for everyone to see, before setting it down the teacher’s podium. “This was found on her closet. Would she risk recording herself naked just to prove that point?”

Noise died down thereafter, setting their sights solemnly at the device, the class collectively having the same thought in regards to the spy camera.

(Why hadn’t they thought of that? It could have been easier to check on you that way, since you almost always confined yourself in the privacy of your own room.)

“So? No one wants to speak up?” Aizawa asked, though expected the silence.

“Aizawa, have them approach you after classes. It’s embarrassing this way.” Midnight intervened.

“Well that’s the point. Get them exposed to the entire class, so everyone could realize how much of a perverted bastard one of these to-be heroes are. Good values, my ass.” He replied, not bothering to filter rather colorful vocabulary. “Where’s your dignity?”

He let a minute or two pass for the perpetrator to reveal themselves, but soon it became apparent that whomever they were refused to admit to their crime, willing to sacrifice the grades of the class for the sake of anonymity. That would be deemed useless, anyway, because Aizawa was already set on figuring out whom they were, no matter the extent he’d go to in order for that to happen. He’d expel them at once.

But he didn’t have the power to expel someone outside of his class.

“I guess that’s it for your test.” He sighed, disgruntled, picking up the small camera and sauntering his way out of the classroom after giving Midnight a look that he was dead serious with marking all of them a failing score. She stared at him in uncertainty, nonetheless abided by his decisions, albeit hesitantly.

Upon ascertaining his absence, Midnight turned to Class 1A, amusement and humor dancing on her seductive countenance.

“Naïve, hormonal teenagers,” she mused, “the closet, really? Couldn’t you have chosen somewhere less conspicuous?”

None of them bothered to tell her that they were truthfully unaware of the incident.

===

Hagakure Toru, stealth hero, entered your room silently in the nude, the only proof of her movements being a tinier, different spy camera she’d brought along with her. No, not the closet, you might find it again. It looked so painfully obvious on the desk, too, and neither in the bathroom due to its pale white interior. 

But on the pencil holder situated atop your nightstand would do. You barely moved it, anyway, only having its purpose served as a decoration; something to fill the vacancy of the bedside table. After a few adjustments in camouflaging the device with the environment and making sure the lens displayed the area of your space, Hagakure checked its concealment one more time, before mechanically heading outside and back to her own dorm. 

Her body collided almost violently with her room’s door, snapping her out of her trance. 

“H-huh!? Weird... how’d I end up in my room?” She asked, receiving no answer from particularly anyone.

But Shinso Hitoshi could provide her one, if only he weren’t outside, staring at your terrace from five stories down your room, a gratifying smirk donned on his features. Now, the only thing he had to do was dismantle and relocate the gadgets wirelessly connected with the camera Aizawa had confiscated.