#he's so cool he's so cool he's so cool..... i'm so in love ❤ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luveline · 2 years

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𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫? | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary steve finds out that falling in love can be really, really easy. you find out what it’s like when somebody wants to take care of you [10.5k]

warnings fem!reader, fluff, mutual pining, getting together, dustins next-door neighbour!reader, sick fic, hurt/comfort, reader is implied to weigh more than nancy, you’re upset one time and steve goes overboard, small s4 spoilers no major plot details, post s3 pre s4, feat. the lunch club, karaoke, rollerblading, sunbathing

𓆩❤︎𓆪

A vast green jungle, so damp the forest floor bathes your ankles in rainwater runoff. The air is thick with humidity and smells green. Earthy, the sweet scent of petrichor tickles your nose, and-

A shadow distends over the yellow pages of your paperback, dark, eating up the image of the amazon and replacing it with reality – a normal summer's day in Hawkins.

Steve Harrington stands in front of you, his body blocking the sun and its warm glow. The light throws a halo around his head and turns the ends of his brown hair golden.

"Watcha reading?" he asks in lieu of ‘hello’.

"Ever read Journey to the Center of the Earth?" you ask him, leaning towards him invitingly.

You love to mess with him like this, watch his cheeks slowly pink as you bend towards your knees with a demure smile playing on your lips.

"Yeah, I did. In middle school," he says, trying his best to play it cool, hands pushing deep into the pockets of his pants.

"Well, it's nothing like that."

The grin he gets when he realises you're messing with him is adorable. He chuckles warmly and pulls a hand through his hair, looking down at the ground and then up at you again with a bashful pinch to his thick eyebrows.

"You're looking for Dustin?" you ask. You haven't seen your young neighbour since this morning. "He ran off earlier with his huge radio thing."

Steve rolls his eyes. "Typical. I paid him fifteen dollars," he says, his frustration clear, "fifteen dollars, Y/N, to fix my Walkman like three weeks ago. Every time I come by he's out. Little shit probably hasn't even looked at it."

You like Steve. He's a great looking guy who's more than nice when he sees you even though you're always pushing his buttons, and his poorly hidden fondness for Dustin is something you find heart-squeezingly attractive. You don't think twice about your next move.

You stand up from your lounger and have to shield your eyes from the sun, tucking your book under your naked arm. "If you want… I have a cassette player I'm not using. I got a Walkman for my birthday." You don't give him an opportunity to say no as you start for the front door.

"Are you sure?" Steve asks. You hold the door open for him, standing at the threshold with a grin.

"Positive. It's collecting dust, at this point."

"I mean, sure, if that's cool. Just until Dustin gets his act together," he says, pushing past you. His hand brushes your hip.

"That's cool," you confirm, walking behind him through your open kitchen and living room. "It's on the left."

Steve pushes into your bedroom. The window's open, breezing around the smell of fresh linens and the hydrangeas in the planter on your sill, shifting the gauzy white curtains.

The suncatcher hanging from the window sprays rainbow kisses over your walls and posters, your laundry basket full of summer dresses and discarded night shirts. The carpet is freshly vacuumed and plush underfoot as you beeline for your desk. Steve hovers by the door before leaning his weight against your bookshelf, eyes taking it in curiously.

"Cyndi Lauper," Steve says, eyes on a big poster of said singer with her iconic orange hair and hat. You raise your eyebrows at him, pleased, and he shrugs. "She's famous."

"You like her?"

"Nah," he says. "But I'll listen to anything. Except Depeche Mode; sharing a player with Robin all summer has sailed that boat."

"Yeah?" you ask, kneeling down in front of your desk to dig through the cabinet underneath. You frown, up to your elbow in bric a brac and forgotten trinkets. "It's in here somewhere."

"Yeah. I mean, maybe not anything. I don't think I have the palate for some of those rock and roll bands. Dustin made me listen to Black Scabbard in the car last week and…"

"Black Sabbath," you correct lightly, pulling out of your cupboard with a relieved huff.

"Right," he says.

You look over your shoulder to find him perusing your bookshelf, his hand running lightly over the shiny glass paper weight you use as a book end. He teases the spine of a hardback book curiously but must feel your gaze, turning to you with a sheepish smile.

"Do you like to read?" you ask.

Steve wrings his hands held at his hip. "Sure, I don't mind it. Bigger fan of movies."

"Right, Family Video must get pretty distracting," you say, walking towards him on light footing to offer the dinged-up cassette player. "She's well loved but she works, I swear."

He takes it from you, fingers brushing the backs of yours. "Thank you."

You shift from one foot to the other — because oh my god there's a boy in my room — before smiling with teeth. You stop. "You're welcome. Want a drink?"

"Uh…"

"I've got pink lemonade."

"Oh, then definitely."

You lead him into the kitchen and install him at the kitchen table with two empty glasses. The carafe of lemonade is beautifully cold from the refrigerator with slices of lemon and strawberry bouncing around the top as you pour it. The condensation wets your fingers.

Steve looks handsome and maybe slightly silly behind your homely oak table, all clean cut and well dressed. You feel bare beside him in your tank top and flowy midi skirt, too much skin.

"Are you hungry? I make a mean BLT," you say, bringing your feet up onto the chair, knees digging into the table.

"I'm good, thanks," he says.

"Are you having a good time of it at FV? They denied my application, but that's 'cos Keith has a vendetta against me for wiping out his score on the Palace's Tempest."

"You're a Tempest girl?"

"Everybody plays Tempest," you say.

Steve gives you a look. "Nerds play Tempest."

"Fine, every nerd plays Tempest," you allow, rolling your eyes. "Lemme guess, you're a Centipede guy. No, worse! You play Pac-Man. I can tell."

His silence is enough to make you giggle in triumph, elated to have sussed him out so quickly.

"How did you know that?" he asks finally.

"You called Black Sabbath 'Black Scabbard'. You're not a nerd."

"I could be."

"But you're not."

You share a steady look over the table. His eyes are bright with mirth, a sleek brown like fresh brewed coffee. You love the shape of them, deepest with the round under eye blanketed in straight black lashes. A red polo stretches across his chest. You find your eyes drawn down the length of his arm to his hand where he's drawing circles around the rim of his glass. He takes it into his hand and you watch his wrist bend, his arm flex as he brings the cup to his lips and a drop of condensation drips onto the table mat.

"I don't look the type?" he asks after a rough swallow. He sounds almost incensed.

"No, of course you don't. King Steve," you croon.

He crosses his arms across his chest and leans back, looking you up and down showfully. "Neither do you."

He's all charming smiles as he raises his chin and shakes his head, lips stretched up in an open-mouthed smile.

"Tempest," he mutters in bemusement.

You burst into laughter, quick to defend yourself when there's a pounding knock at the door. You're still laughing as you stand, calling to Steve as you walk to the door, "Tempest isn't even that nerdy! It's the Dragon's Lair dorks you need to watch out for. Oh, hi baby. What's wrong?"

"You haven't seen Steve, have you? His cars outside," Dustin announces, standing under the porch with his wild curls stuffed under a hat, his pulley cart ditched halfway between your yard and his.

"He's in the kitchen. You want some lemonade? You look frazzled," you offer, brushing your hand over his sunburned shoulder lightly as he scoots right past you.

"Thanks, Y/N." Dustin strides into the kitchen with purpose, glaring at Steve pretty heavily as he takes your seat at the table. "Why are you here?"

"Fucking charming. I came to see you, Henderson, but you're never home. Too busy finding secluded knolls to radio your girlfriend and play karaoke."

"Dick," Dustin says, though he defrosts as you fill a glass for him.

"What do you want?" Steve asks him.

"Why do you assume I want something?"

"Don’t be coy, you're not Madonna. It's tacky."

"Dick," Dustin says again, glaring.

"Dustin, do you want something to eat? You shouldn't go out in the sun all day by yourself, you know? What if you get heat stroke?" you ask.

Steve gives you a strange look like he's puzzled with you. You smile back at him, hand coming down on the back of Dustin's chair easily.

"Steve, I need a ride to Mike's," Dustin says, completely ignoring you.

Steve kicks him under the table. "Manners."

"Can I please have a ride-"

"To her, dipshit. Jeez, what's wrong with you? She asked if you're hungry."

Dustin beams at you innocently, soft cheeks rounding. "No thank you Y/N you're a godsend and I appreciate you very much," he says all in a rush, turning back to Steve, the act entirely dropped. "Now can we go?"

"Christ, fine. I'm gonna get you one of those rewards cards for being a shithead. This incident would be a double stamp, by the way."

"Uh-huh," Dustin says.

The younger teen chugs his glass of lemonade and spins off, calling a thank you over his shoulder. Steve gets up to follow him, your old cassette player held carefully in his hands.

"I'm sorry about him."

"Don't be. I've known him his entire life. He's in a phase," you inform him with a small grin, shrugging as if to say, what you gonna do?

"Long phase. Thank you. For the player and the lemonade."

"You're welcome," you say warmly, walking him to the door.

Dustin's already in the passenger seat, having taken his pulley cart back inside. He makes a hurry up motion from behind his window and Steve mutters expletives to himself, giving you one last smile before he trudges off.

The two boys wave at you through the windshield. You wave back.

When Steve's car has winked from view you take your lemonade and paperback outside again to lie under what's left of the sun. You try your best to fall back into the jungle and conjure its sights and sounds, only you keep finding your thoughts wrapped up around a certain boy's laugh and the face he makes as he does, that startled grin, a fist half raised to his mouth.

"Y/N!" A familiar teen voice accompanied by battering knocking at your front door.

You pull it open, still in your pajamas, hair a mess. His knocking had woken you up. You'd had about ten seconds to check you hadn't drooled too violently in your sleep before he was calling your name, and so you hadn't bothered getting dressed.

You wish you had. Dustin stood at the door with Steve Harrington behind him, a happy smile on both their faces.

You try not to flinch as you throw an arm across your chest subconsciously. "Hi?" you ask. "Is everything okay?"

Dustin's dressed for the beautiful weather in shorts and a shirt with sleeves so short it may as well be a tank top, a hat perched familiarly over his cute curls. Steve is dressed in a tormenting pair of jeans paired with a denim jacket. Double denim. He looks hot, physically and figuratively.

"Do you wanna come skating?" Dustin asks urgently.

You blink at him, pulling the edges of your strappy vest down to cover your navel, plaid bottoms low on your hips – you're a mess.

"Skating? I don't have one."

"A skateboard?" Dustin asks, shrugging. "Bring your rollerblades."

You err at the door, leaning your weight against it as you think. "When?"

"Now!" he says.

"I don't want to hold you up," you say, aimed more towards Steve than Dustin.

Steve smiles, hooking cheeks pink with the heat, and is about to talk when Dustin says, "He made me come ask you, he's fine to wait."

You bite back a smirk at Steve's deer-in-the-headlights expression and nod happily. "Alright. Twenty minutes and I'll be ready. If that's okay?"

"Totally," Steve says.

You close the door most of the way and catch a look over his shoulder, finding his pretty friend Robin in one seat and a gaggle of Dustin's friends in the back.

You hear a sharp thwarping sound as you spin away followed by a "What the fuck, dude?" from Dustin and hope that he hasn't tripped over one of your flower pots. You get ready and spend at least ten minutes worrying after your appearance in the mirror before grabbing the skates and jetting into the kitchen. You gather as many impromptu snacks you can find and shove them into a grocery bag, struggling to lock the door behind you in want of a free hand.

Steve jumps out of the driver's side to open the side door for you. You smile gratefully and dump the snacks and your skates in the footwell before climbing in, an empty seat between you and Dustin’s redheaded friend.

You're saved from the awkwardness of seeing people you've met but don't quite know by their ongoing debate, something about which Bruce Springsteen song is best.

“It’s obviously Dancing in the Dark. I don’t really know why we’re still talking about this,” Robin says from the passenger seat.

“You’re just saying that because it’s his most popular,” the girl next to you says.

“Things are popular for a reason.” Robin shrugs.

“Yeah, Max. Plus, popular or not, it’s his best.”

Max scrunches up her entire face. “Better than I’m on Fire?”

There’s a long pause where each child deliberates. Dustin and Mike dissolve into fierce looks.

“Nobodies talking about Born in the USA,” Steve says into the quiet, eyes on the road but head tilted back.

“Shut up, Steve,” Mike says, looking as exhausted as he usually does when you’ve seen him coming in and out of Dustin’s. Though it's been a while, he hasn't changed. Perpetually done with people's shit.

“Disrespectful,” Steve murmurs. His eyes flash to the rear view, catching you red-handed as you stare at him. “What do you think?”

“About what?”

“About Springsteen."

You consider him, his smile, his gaggle of cruel children. “I like Born in the USA,” you say nonchalantly.

“That’s two points,” Steve says triumphantly.

The skatepark is pretty busy because of the good weather. You and Steve end up unpacking your snacks onto a blanket Robin lays out whilst the boys go look for their friend Lucas, who's supposedly already here.

Max doesn't seem pleased with this revelation, sitting down heavily by Steve's picnic basket. Steve offers her a PB&J from the basket and a cold caprisun and she perks up, but not a lot. You want to spend time with Steve, you're not disillusioned into thinking you're anything but a flower under his attention, blooming and wanting, but Max's sad eyes get the better of you.

Too late for introductions, you dive straight in. “What’s in the Walkman?” you ask, nodding at the player sticking out of her jacket pocket, the foam padded headphones around her neck.

“Wild Things Run Fast, Joni Mitchell.” It sounds like a question.

You’ve struck gold immediately. “I love Joni Mitchell! Have you heard her new stuff?”

Max seems alarmed and happy at once, red messy braids swaying as she lifts her chin. “I mean, only what they’ve played on the radio.”

“Her album came out this October, Dog Eat Dog? I have the cassette if you wanna borrow it. It’s amazing.”

“Really?” she asks. She’s peeling the crusts off of her sandwich, one side at a time, dropping them into the small pile of discarded Saran Wrap.

“For sure. You’ve heard Shiny Toys?” Max nods. “It’s all as good as that one. Seriously.”

“Awesome,” she says, taking a huge bite of her sandwhich.

You realise you might’ve come on a little strong and try to backtrack into cool territory again, hand brushing Steve’s ankles as you lean away from the poor girl, smiling sheepishly.

“My mom loves Joni Mitchell,” Robin says.

“Robin," Steve chides lightly.

“What?”

You and Steve share a look that’s so familiar it gives you pins and needles in your hands, something small between the two of you clicking into place. Or at least that’s how you feel.

Max has almost finished her sandwich by the time Mike returns. “Are you ready?” he asks her.

She clambers onto her feet and grabs her skateboard from behind Steve. The two walk away, a distance from Dustin and Lucas, who both seem to have acquired a pair of skates each. Dustin in knee pads and a helmet, Lucas without.

“Why would you say Max listens to mom music?” Steve asks incredulously once they’re out of hearing distance.

Robin shakes her head, similarly incensed. “I didn’t say that.”

“There were so many other things you could’ve said, Robs.” He sounds less mad and more pitying.

"I didn't say that! I said my mom listens to her. She does!"

"Don't take offense. Robin got dropped as a baby," Steve says to you offhandedly.

You know the best course of action here and you take it – in what world would you make an enemy of a boy you might like's best friend who is a girl? Not this one. Plus, Robin seems super nice.

"I'm not offended. My mom loves Joni too," you say cheerily, smiling at Robin, unabashed.

You're slightly disappointed when she looks away towards her lap, until she says, "Projections a bad look on you, Harrington. He has, like, a flat head," she tells you.

Steve starts yammering loudly. "Shut up! My head's perfect, you're being ridiculous. Perfectly round and ordinary, thank you."

"Yeah, I'd definitely say your head's perfectly round," you agree through giggles, reaching for your skates.

You have a funny feeling that a silent conversation is happening as you slide off your shoes and into the skates, lacing up tight, but when you look up Robin's sifting through the accumulated snack pile and Steve's looking the opposite way, towards the kids.

You clear your throat. "Are you guys gonna skate too?"

"Steve is."

"I didn't bring-"

"He's borrowing mine. It's too hot, I can't skate. And I don't have the coordination, anyway."

Steve looks at Robin, at you, Robin again. "I'm not good," he says. You take it for yes.

Steve gets on his skates and straps out of his denim jacket, exposing the distracting lengths of his arms. He's better than he gives himself credit for, steady on his feet. He knows how to stop and start, and you smile to yourself when the two of you skate off towards Dustin and Lucas, following their journey around the skate park, careful to stay clear of the bowls and rails.

"You're good! You said you weren't good!" you say to him.

"I'm not good."

"You're doing great!"

He smiles gratefully, the expression at home over his warm features. He's not really a very smiley guy, you've realised, his lips often pulled up into a grimace or a cruel approximation of a smile, sarcastic. It suits him. You go to say as much, eyes eating up every little detail of him.

"Hey Steve? You should-" and your foot pops over a rock.

You shriek and throw your arm out towards him. Steve catches you with impressive strength and speed as your leg buckles. You've quickly righted yourself and he brings you to a slow but not quite stop. Stopping on skates is easier said than done, especially old skates with the front guards already worn down.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

You've taken his hand without thinking, the two of you widening apart and then coming together like the eclipse of a blinking eye.

You pull your hand away apologetically, the warmth of his palm lingering.

"I'm sorry!" you say.

"Don’t be. Last thing I wanna do is have you crack your head open on my watch. I’m glad you didn’t wipe out."

"Thanks to you."

You slow and stop. Steve does the same, the two of you clumsy for different reasons. He watches as you calm your racing heart.

"Shit, I really thought I was gonna fall. You're a lifesaver." You stare straight into his eyes, their sunlight honey brown, smiling with complete genuineness. He's more than pretty. "Thank you."

Steve swallows and his smile is warmer, somehow, impossibly warmer. Maybe it's the beautiful weather, maybe it's the beautiful boy. You suddenly feel very, very hot.

"I think I might need to sit down."

"Oh, shit," he says, reaching for your arm. You're about to correct his touching – you're not dizzy, just a little nauseous. Only, his hand. His fingers clasped around your elbow, his face fiercely protective.

You let him guide you back to the picnic blanket. One hand around your elbow, the other behind your sun-warmed back, and somehow his hand is the hottest spot.

"Are you okay?" Robin asks, shielding her eyes from the sun. The book in her lap slips shut as she straightens.

"She's okay," Steve says. “Too hot. Budge up."

Robin moves over on the blanket and throws the basket open. Steve reaches in for a capri sun and passes it to you. It's lukewarm, though the day is so hot it's a relief to drink it.

"Steve's really good," you tell her after a noisy suck, the orange plastic straw stabbing your lip. You frown down at it.

"I saw you guys whizzing around. Public menaces, both of you," Robin says, though she smiles as she does. You know she's joking. You don't want to think it in case it's not true, but you feel like maybe she wants to be friends.

"We prefer speed demons," Steve says easily, still kneeling at your side.

"They should lock you up."

You snort and almost squirt juice from your nose, spluttering and coughing as you bend at the waist. Steve pats your back less than gently and then more so as you move your hand towards him.

"I'm okay," you cough, embarrassed at how you must look hacking your lungs out.

Steve's hand, again on your back, rubs a stern line. "Chill out, Y/N. You can't die before dinner."

"We're getting McDonald's," Robin supplies.

"Don't tell the kids," he says, smirking.

He's still rubbing your back. You suspect you might agree to anything while he's this close.

"You sound like such a dad when you say shit like that."

Steve scowls at Robin's words and pulls his hands away, crossing them over his chest. "Don't say that. Babysitter is more than enough, don't you think? Y/N?"

"An older brother?" you suggest to Robin's extreme delight.

She laughs. Steve scrubs at his face with both hands until his eyes are red.

Robin's sick and Steve's going crazy by himself, manning the desk at FV with almost no energy and even less enthusiasm. A week since he'd held your hand and he can't seem to stop thinking about it.

He catches himself staring at his own empty palm and clenches his fist, bringing his eyes back to the door in case someone walks in and he has to pull off the headphones of your borrowed cassette player.

Steve had discovered a forgotten cassette inside, listening to it out of curiosity the night you'd given him the player and then every night since then. He felt guilty about keeping it without saying anything but he was only borrowing it, he reasoned. He'd give it back when Dustin fixed his skipping Walkman.

The tape was Van Halen II. And Steve's not stupid, he knows who Van Halen are, but he's never sat and listened through any of their full albums. Now he can't stop, constantly rewinding back to the same song, over and over.

He does so now, fingers clumsy and too big over small buttons until the first line kicks in, powerful and high energy like a burst of fresh air.

Have you seen her?

So fine and pretty.

He grins as it plays, thinking of you instantly. Your smile and your legs, the wind whipping at your skirt and exposing stretches of skin he can't stop remembering. You on your rollerblades, the second time after an emergency PB&J, skating in front of him without looking behind you.

"Don't let me crash into someone, okay?" you'd asked, swaying from one side to the other as you shifted your weight.

"It'll be too late to stop you if I see someone! Turn around!" he'd demanded, though his fondness had peeked through.

You'd thrown your hands out. "You'll have to steer me!"

And so he'd grabbed your hands and you'd laughed like a fool as you skated together, squealing through close calls and bumpy ground.

He thinks of your hands in his, their weight and size, the magnetic pulse he'd felt between them, how happy you'd seemed to be with him.

He was harbouring a crush on you. Too old to deny what it feels like to want a pretty girl, Steve wonders if this is entirely a good idea – letting himself like you when the possibility of rejection feels high. You are, as Dustin had promised him, out of Steve's league. "Don't try your luck, dude."

Steve thought for a second that his thinking about you had summoned your image, your easy walk and the elegant way about your hands and how you held them, in a blue dress with matching strappy mary-jane's, white socks with the ruffle tops. He blinks. No way he could think up anything as pretty.

You push open the door and grin from across the room, a large tupperware of some type in your hands. His eyes move up from your fingers where they clutch plastic, your wrist, your arms. The puff sleeves of your dress are short and cuffed, similar to the matching ruched neckline that shows enough to make him swallow. A necklace lays in the valley of your chest, a silver chain with a blue flower at the end, small but thick. Five round petals, a cutout missing that shows a circle of your chest beneath.

"Steve," you say, like you'd been in mid conversation. "Please tell me you have a sweet tooth."

He pulls the headphones from his head and leaves them around his neck, fixing his hair as casually as he can when he says, "Sure, I like candy."

You set your container down on the counter and crack it open, the rich, buttery smells of its contents quickly filling the room.

"I made penuche for Dustin's mom's birthday, but I made so-" you drag the word out, lips a gloss-sticky 'o', "much of it. I can't eat it all. And she said I wasn't allowed to give it to Dustin 'cos he keeps using the f-word."

His laugh is startled but genuine. "Not the f-word."

The fudge is a light brown, almost pink in the neon tinted lighting. It smells divine, and he's saved from an internal debate about what's cool when you push the tub towards him. "Do you like fudge?" you ask him.

He takes one and you take one, and he tries not to look at you as you eat, or when you scratch gloss and a crumb from the corner of your mouth.

"You’re a modern Martha Stewart," Steve says happily.

"Only on special occasions. Where's Robin?" you ask, elbows braced on the counter and leaning in.

"Sick. Apparently."

"Apparently," you repeat, grinning. "What, she didn't look sick?"

"She talked to me on the phone. She sounded sick," he concedes. "Good things it's Thursday."

You look around the completely empty store. "This is what it usually looks like on a Thursday?"

"It's Hawkins. Half the people here get their VHS from the library, the others drive out to Blockbuster. We get about as much foot traffic as an ice cream stand in September."

"It's 'cos you take too long to get the new ones,'' you say. "No offense."

"The tone of someone personally victimised by a Family Video wait list."

"You got me. I've been trying to get the Breakfast Club for two months!" you complain, scratching your chest lazily.

Steve crosses his arms over his chest until his hands are hidden, rolling his eyes. "Oh, so this is bribery penuche."

You blink at him and then your lips part in horror, pretty eyes widening. "No!"

"It totally is. You're trying to butter me up," he says, suave tone disrupted by the need to giggle at his own pun. "Y/N, how could you? Here I thought we were starting to be friends and you're using me for my video store?"

His mock horror puts you eat ease when you realise he's joking. "I really wanna see that movie," you say dejectedly. You reach for another piece of fudge and bite it in half, your chewing morose. "It feels like everybody saw it at the movies but me."

"Of course they did. Why didn't you?"

You glare at him. "I was busy!"

"For the month it was in theatres?"

"Yes!" you defend yourself from his teasing. "I have things to do!"

"Like what?"

"Like school!"

"Everybody has school."

"You're picking on me after I brought you candy. This is so cruel." You don't sound like you've suffered any cruelty. Steve might say you're really enjoying yourself.

"Sorry, sweetheart."

You glare at his insincere pet name. "Whatever. Oh, hey, how's she treating you?" you ask, eyes on the cassette player. "Steve, you have my Van Halen tape! Thank god, I thought I lost it."

"Right. Sorry, I meant to give it back," he lies.

You shrug your shoulders. "Keep it however long you want to. It's good, right? Which one's your favourite?"

He pulls the headphones out and rewinds back before setting the player in front of you. You raise your eyebrows at him but click play, and the audio starts abruptly, loud and mid quality.

Yes, it's love in the third degree.

You grin, head bobbing, eyes flitting to his with approval written all over your face. You don't seem to hesitate before you sing along under your breath, high pitched but quiet.

"Ooh, baby baby. Won't-cha turn your head my way?"

He feels a little enchanted by you, that same magnetism he'd felt between his hands, can't believe how pretty you are and how sweetly you move. You laugh at yourself as you sing the next line, an intense, almost theatrical look upon your face. Like you're swooning.

"Ooh, baby baby. Ah come on! Take a chance, you're old enough to-" You flare your eyes at him and nod, mouth open encouragingly.

He won't join in, no matter how electric he finds you. You roll your eyes and your shoulders roll in a half-dance as you hum along to the chorus.

Dance the night away.

"You're no fun, Steve," you complain, giggling.

"You're enough for the two of us."

You peer over the counter, still moving with the music as you ask, "What were you doing? Before I came in?"

"Looking through the computer at what's late being returned. Riveting, extremely hard work."

"Do you get, like, secret intel on what new movies are coming in?"

"Sure we do. Wanna see?" he asks.

You creep around the counter and stand by his side. He scrolls through the system and translates acronyms for you. "This is the coming in," he says, drawing a line down a list of movie names. "These are what's being moved back to the headquarters."

"Headquarters," you repeat, leaning in to see the screen more clearly. You browse the new titles idly, slipping closer and closer to the computer.

"You'll burn your retinas."

"Invaders from Mars, Youngblood, Black Moon Rising," you list thoughtfully. You turn on your heel. "I don't know any of those. You got a chic-flicks section?"

You're really close. Steve looks at you, this close, this pretty, his hands itching to touch you. He leans in and your arms fall to your sides, the space between you growing ever smaller.

"We do," he says slowly, eye to eye, almost daring you to look at his mouth instead. He wants you to. He wants to look at yours.

You're steadfast, not impassive but certainly unreadable as you say, "Show me?"

Steve reaches for the mouse behind you like he was always intending to, hiding any smugness he feels when you exhale noticeably. You turn back around, his arm brushing over yours as he sorts through the tag system to show you "ROM-COM INCO".

"These are all the ones we have coming in. You know any of those?"

"Hannah and Her Sisters. I saw that one."

"Finally had some free time?" he asks wryly.

"Shut up, Steve."

"You know… I can keep the Breakfast Club for you. Next time it comes in."

The smile you give him is blinding. "Thanks, Steve."

"Yeah, no problem." He hopes the sudden increase in temperature is mutual.

Your backyard is a field of flowers. Maybe dramatic, but Steve's never seen so many, a heavy green spotted in chartreuse, vermillion, bright oranges and pink-white. You lay on a towel in the grass surrounded by them, the sun lighting you up, your skin glowing and perfect.

You're in black, spandex type shorts and a bikini top. Steve feels like a perv for looking, so he clears his throat. You don't budge.

He creeps closer. You're in headphones listening to your Walkman. He can hear the music from where he stands at your backdoor, so it must be loud. He stands over you and hopes his shadow will wake you up. When it still doesn't he gets concerned, kneeling down carefully with his knees digging into your towel.

"Y/N. Hey," he says.

Still nothing.

He pulls your headphones off gently, looking over your face in worry. You must be sleeping.

"Y/N, you shouldn't sleep out here. You'll get sun stroke," he says. He strokes your arm though he shouldn't. He can't help himself, his fingers pressing into the crook of your elbow.

You blink awake and then slam your eyes closed. Steve adjusts himself to block the sun from your face and you manage to pry your eyes open, confused.

"Hello."

"Hey," he says. He can't help the fondness that plays over his smile.

"Shit." Your eyes go wide and you cover your chest with your arm. "I'm naked."

"You're not naked," he says.

"I'm naked. Stop looking at me."

Steve turns away obligingly.

"Stop laughing at me, Harrington."

"Is there anything I'm allowed to do?" he asks, though he does stop laughing.

"I'm so embarrassed. I was sunbathing and I must've fallen asleep."

Steve lets his eyes stray to your naked thigh. He stares at your skin, follows a stretch mark upwards and then swiftly peels his gaze away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be a total perv. I can go wait in my car."

"You're not a perv. I'm being a priss. Sorry. I know I'm not, like, a model and I wasn't expecting to have this much skin on show. I don't look like Nancy Wheeler."

You sound more nervous than Steve has ever heard you. Worse, you sound dejected, though you've tried for nonchalance. Steve stares at you until you raise your chin, your fingers pinching meanly at your thighs.

"You're messing with me," he says.

"What?" you ask, incredulous. "I'm not messing with you."

"You gotta know you're beautiful. That's, like, a stone cold fact. A hard truth. You're beautiful. Who cares if you don't look like Nance?"

You sigh, though it's not very believable when you're smiling so much. "She's really pretty."

"So are you."

"You know what I mean, Steve. She's… small."

"She's a small woman," he agrees. "That doesn't make her prettier than you."

"You're sure?" you ask quietly.

Steve means it a hundred percent when he says, "I'm sure."

The two of you sit there for a few seconds. He can hear your breathing and he's wondering if you can hear his.

"What are you doing here?" you ask.

Your hand is still held across your stomach but you're thankfully looking more relaxed. Steve meant what he said, you're beautiful, he couldn't care less that you're taller or that you weigh more than his ex. You're fucking pretty, and seeing you all laid out and sun kissed has made him kind of crazy.

"Steve?" you ask.

"Oh. I brought you The Breakfast Club. Just got it back in this morning," he rushes to say, grabbing the VHS tape from where he'd left it on the ground. The Family Video spine is glaringly ugly compared to you and your flowers.

"Woah, thank you!"

"You're welcome. It's under my name though, so don't keep it late. Can't disprespect the FV name. I'm going for employee of the month."

You giggle. "You are? Are you the top contender?"

"Nope."

You laugh some more, the sound delicate and sweet as spun sugar, in Steve's humble opinion.

"Not that my fellow employees try any harder, but Keith just picks himself every month for the free credits."

You rub your fingers across the front of the box. "I won't be late. I mean, I'll watch it today, I've been so excited to see it."

Steve stands up. "Sorry to disturb your idyllic sunbathing."

"Idyllic," you murmur, smiling. "You're good, Steve. Thank you for the movie."

"You're welcome. I'll see you later?" he asks, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, slowly backing away.

"No," you say. He raises his eyebrows and you look sheepish but not shy when you continue, "Do you wanna stay? Watch the movie with me? I have stovetop popcorn and soda and everything."

"What about the great weather? You don't wanna waste it."

You force your hands between your thighs and hunch forward slightly. "I do wanna waste it. I mean, I've had enough for today, don't you think? I'm a half hour from heat stroke."

"You're looking pretty warm," he says. Anything to take you up on your offer without sounding too interested.

You're trying not to give Steve the side eye. Trying, but he's very attractive and very close, and he keeps making funny jokes. It's annoying how hot he is.

Steve has slouched back and his jeans have slowly edged down, exposing the flesh of his hip. Not that you've noticed, or anything.

You cram a big handful of popcorn into your mouth and flick your eyes back to the screen. You'd really wanted to see this movie but Steve keeps capturing your attention, again and again, over and over. You can't believe you'd asked him to stay and he had, can't believe he brought the VHS for you in the first place.

That's a dedicated employee right there.

You shuffle closer to him under the guise of sharing your popcorn. Your shoulders touch.

"Thanks," he says. His thigh hits your thigh as he takes a handful.

"Steve," you say softly.

"What?"

"I don't feel well. I think the sun killed me."

He throws his arm around the back of the couch and twists, careful not to upend the popcorn bowl as he looks over you searchingly. You've seen Steve play caretaker before, but being under his watch is different. He's almost a different person as he checks you over.

"You feel sick?" he asks. He holds his hand out between you, his knuckles at your eye level. "Can I?"

You tilt your head back and close your eyes. Steve presses the back of his hand to your forehead and pets down softly, feeling for your temperature.

"You're still really warm. Let's get you cooled down."

Steve springs up and knocks the bowl. You blink, slightly disoriented as he disappears into the kitchen, picking up spilled popcorn off of the couch and eating it with slow chews. Now you think of it, your arms hurt, too.

Steve returns and sits on the edge of the sofa, a bag of peas in his hand. "I raided your freezer. Lean your head back."

"I'm fine," you say, but tilt your head back anyways, gasping when the cold hits you.

"You might actually get heatstroke. Do you know how dangerous heat stroke is? You need to cool down. Where's the A/C?"

"It's on."

Steve feels along your cheek gingerly. "I can't believe you fell asleep outside. What's that about?" He pauses. "Are you sleeping okay?"

"I'm sleeping fine."

"Are you sure?"

His wrist turns and you feel the pad of his fingers rather than the back, the palm of his hand as he cups your face.

You peek through your lashes at him. His eyebrows are pinched and his bottom lip juts out in a concerned pout.

"You can tell me."

The way he says it – well, you imagine you could tell him anything. He sounds warm and worried. This close you can smell his cologne, something heavy with sage, a little bit of lilac hidden under unmistakable bergamot. It's all so comforting and the sun has loosened your tongue.

"Maybe not so much. It's… it's hot. You know? And…"

"What?" he murmurs. Your heart skips as his thumb rubs over your cheek.

You close your eyes like your confession might take form. "I'm kind of lonely, lately," it sounds like a question, "and it's- it keeps me up sometimes. I don't know, it sounds stupid when I say it out loud."

"It doesn't sound stupid."

"No?"

"No, I get it." He pulls away but doesn't move too far, his hand still holding the freezing peas to your forehead, the other brushing against your arm as he drops it in his lap. "These days Dustin doesn't leave me alone. I don't want him to, either. The same with Robs."

You let your head loll to the side. Steve doesn't look shy or scared to tell you, talking almost matter of fact. "But my parents were never home when I was in high school. They still aren't. I felt it more back then."

"Yeah. I don't know. I never see anybody. Besides Dustin," you say. "We have him in common."

"You see me."

"When I'm annoying you at work."

"You don't annoy me." He's stern though he abruptly turns into a conspirator whispering secrets. "Robin's fuse gets shorter with me everyday."

"How come?" you ask, co-conspirator.

"I can't stop watching the door."

You lift your head. Steve takes back his bag of peas and feels along your forehead, now cold enough to ache.

"Here, hold these to your chest. I'd do it for you, but…"

You take the peas and hide a terrible smile, heart racing between your ears. Your nausea has flipped completely into butterflies and they're rabid, knocking at your abdomen insistently.

You're trying to think of a way to make him say nice things again when there's a knock at the door.

"Dustin," you both say.

"Jinx, buy me a soda," Steve says.

You glare at him and he laughs all the way to the door.

"Why are you always here? Where's Y/N?"

"She's got heat stroke."

"I don't!" you call hoarsely.

"You sound like you do," Dustin says. "Can one of you give me a ride?"

"She has heat stroke."

You climb onto the back of the sofa to look down the hallway. Dustin stands at the front door with a huge piece of engineering in his arms that you don't understand, wires and ciricuits and things.

"Remeber when you used to bike everywhere? What happened to that?" Steve asks, sounding majorly pissed. You can't work out why he's so frustrated but it makes you laugh again.

The two boys turn to you with twin looks of confusion.

"I can't bike there, genius. This won't fit in the basket."

You laugh again, twice as loud.

"What's wrong with her?" Dustin asks, shaking his head.

"What don't you understand about heat stroke?

"Potential heat stroke," you interject.

"She fell asleep in the sun. I don't know how long she was out there her brain might be totally jellified, dude."

"You should take her to the hospital."

You clamber onto aching limbs and walk until your behind Steve, reaching for his elbow automatically. "I'm fine, babe. What's your doohickey?"

Dustin smirks and pulls the weight closer to his chest. "Prototype."

"For what?"

"Top secret."

You giggle some more, wobbling with the force of it. Steve sighs and wraps his arm around your back, his hand under your arm to grip you at the ribs.

Dustin gets wide eyes like a looney tunes character. "What's going on here?"

"Nothing," Steve hisses. "Look, let me set Y/N up with the works and I'll drive you where you want to go, you brat."

Dustin drops his suspicion, having got what he wants. "I'll wait in the car. Feel better!"

"That's three stamps on the shithead card, shithead!" Steve calls after him. The two of you watch his retreating figure and then Steve is manhandling you (not too roughly) down the hallway and back onto the sofa.

"I'm not dying, Steve."

Steve puts your popcorn bowl in your lap and the frozen peas back on your chest. He fills your glass either the warming carafe on the coffee table and then bends down to talk to you, entirely too intense.

"Are you good?" he asks.

"Perfect. I don't even feel hot anymore."

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, okay. Listen, I'm gonna go drop Dustin off, and then I'm gonna call you to make sure you're not dead."

"You don't have to do that, Steve," you say, moving down into the couch, a cushion falling over as you do. He straightens it out, cups your face in his hand so fast you think you've imagined it and then squints at you.

"Don't die of heat stroke."

He starts to walk away and you're startled. Unfairly, you don't want him to go, and you call, "Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"What about The Breakfast Club?"

He grins at you, a lazy, King Steve kind of smile. "I was always gonna leave that here. So you can come 'annoy' me at work when you return it." He pulls a hand through his hair and gives you a once over and then spins on his heel. "Make sure you answer when I call!"

You lose sight of him as he leaves, the couch backing too tall. He shuts the door kindly and you can just about hear the crunch of gravel as his car pulls away.

"He was definitely flirting with me," you say to yourself, pouring a sweet handful of popcorn into your mouth. You're smiling so wide it's hard to chew.

Dustin bursts into Family Video with his small entourage, Mike and Lucas, and an urgent look on his face. Steve quickly stops his facade of being busy when he clocks them.

"What? Need to borrow ten dollars?" he asks, rolling his eyes.

"Actually, it's about Y/N," Dustin says.

Steve stretches across the desk on his elbows.

"What about her?" he asks, suspecting a waste of time.

"She was crying her eyes out in her backyard last night."

Steve blinks, feeling a pit open up in his chest. "What? Why?"

"Well…" Dustin says. "I didn't ask."

Steve pictures your pretty face crinkled with tears, sitting on the paving stones outside your house. He wonders what would make you cry, sob, whatever it was. You'd confessed to being lonely though he sort of hopes that the feeling has ebbed now that he's calling you every day. At first, under the guise of checking up on you, but, I don't think I'm at risk of heat stroke anymore Steve. It's been a week and a half.

Better safe than sorry.

"Nancy said she saw her outside outside Bradley's Big Buy last night looking miserable," Mike adds, in one of his worst outfits, a mismatch of colours and long socks, a visor that Steve once tried to bribe Dustin to destroy on a hot day with his magnifying glass. The small burned spot perseveres at the caps edge.

Steve feels weirdly proud at their concern and better, their detective skills. The three of them look like they could solve crimes, a mystery gang. Lucas is the only one dressed well in Steve's opinion, though that might be because he's in similar fashion, a nice polo and blue jeans.

"You don't know what's wrong with her?" Lucas asks.

His pride wanes. "Oh, you guys are here for gossip?" he asks scathingly.

"No!"

"You're her boyfriend, right?"

"Not-" Steve swallows, "exactly."

Robin, who had been listening from her stool a few feet back, strides over and falls into place by his side, braced by her elbows.

"If Steve were her boyfriend, we'd know why she was crying," she says, earning a round of boyish chuckles.

Steve nods and then understands her meaning, feeling stupid for assuming Robin would say something that wasn't mean while at work. "Fuck off, I'm a good boyfriend."

Four sets of eyebrows raise.

"I am! I'm romantic."

"You smashed our trellis and dislodged a drain pipe," Mike says.

Steve pins the dark haired boy with a smarted look.

"Sorry, is that not romantic? Sneaking out to see a girl?"

"Sneaking in to a young woman's bedroom," Robin says dryly.

"Pervert style," Dustin agrees sagely.

"Jesus Christ." Steve turns away from his band of adopted heathens and takes the phone into his hand. "I'm gonna call her."

"And what? Tell her we were spying?" Dustin says.

Steve holds the cold plastic to his neck. "Were you?"

"Girls lie about their feelings, anyway. You're never gonna get a straight answer," Lucas says morosely. "Trust me."

He slams the phone down. "What am I supposed to do?"

They stand in a heavy silence. Steve can feel a headache clipping his heels, approaching fast, stress and a sharp worry for you. He really doesn't see why he can't call you and check in.

"Something nice?" Robin suggests, picking at her nails.

"Like what?" he asks. Though, as soon as he says it, he already has the beginnings of an idea. Whether its a good one or not is anyones guess.

Somebody knocks the door and all you can think is, oh god why me?

You're in a bad approximation of pajamas - your comfiest and yet your sloppiest, old and worn and unattractive. Fresh out of a stress-cry shower, you've only just managed to catch your breath.

It's like you told Steve, everything lately feels so lonely. You'd gone grocery shopping by yourself and had known without a doubt that you were moving unseen through the world. Something about deciding between TV dinners. Nobody knew where you were, what you were doing, or where you were going. The only people seeing you were the storegoers of Bradley's Big Buy and your disgruntled cashier. You doubt you'd made a good impression.

It was maybe a silly thing to feel overwhelmed by, but you felt it anyways. Sick with loneliness and then panic. A thousand what ifs had filled your head; you couldn't stop thinking, what if it's like this forever?

What if I feel this lonely forever?

You'd finished grocery shopping with a peculiar numbness weighing you down and then you'd gone home to cry in the garden, comforted and horrified by your flowers. They were pretty and you'd planted them and it didn't matter, you were still alone. A ladybug had crawled over the nearest planter and you'd watched it until you calmed down, knees crossed and elbows digging into your thighs, pins and needles in your hands.

Another insistent knock. You consider ignoring it and curling up into a ball. Something hooks you out of it. What if it's Steve?

If it's Steve, you're gonna feel very embarrassed about your appearance. You check your reflection in the sheen of a photo frame and sigh, rubbing your face with one hand as you open the door.

Steve stands a few feet away, leaning against the side of his car with a pair of shades slipping down his nose. He takes them off.

You're so happy to see him you forget your rumpled outfit.

"Hi," you say, half-shouting to cover the distance.

"Hey beautiful!" Steve shouts, properly, loud and unabashed.

The door digs into your tummy. You don't know what to say. His compliment flusters you from the get go.

"Hi," you say again, laughing under your breath.

"Hey."

"What are you doing here?"

"Somebody told me you weren't feeling well!"

You frown, thoughts racing, and suddenly summon the image of your nosey young neighbour. You take a step back instinctively and Steve must see it because his face goes stony.

"I'm sorry, I know you probably didn't want me to know. But- when I found out you were upset, I couldn't ignore that. You'll have to forgive me."

You try pushing the smile off your face with your hand and stand there scratching your top lip. "No. No, it's okay."

He raises his eyebrows and takes a few big steps towards your house. You step out onto the porch and he closes the space between you, holding his hands out. You take them and he envelopes you, warm hands pulling you along and up the path.

He walks backwards. "Don't let me crash into someone, okay?"

A memory. The two of you hand in hand, ground flashing under your skates.

"Okay," you say weakly.

He squeezes your hands and drops them, a foot from the car. "Stay," and he doesn't finish, turning away from you. He opens the passenger door, the door behind and then the trunk.

The smell is beautiful. A floral wave.

The sight is something else. A carpet of bunches, bell-shaped freesias and carnations, roses in darkest red, chrysanthemums, dahlias, tiny orchids and irises; gorgeous purple irises with white centred petals buffeted by frilly sweetpeas.

"They didn't want to give me the buckets but I told them I had a really pretty girl waiting for me, and if they suffocated in the heat then I was gonna drive right back and complain loudly." He stands by your side and nudges you. "Break out in tears."

"That's a lot of flowers," you mumble.

"Half the store. The other half's on standby."

"Standby?"

"I worried you might not have the space."

"I won't."

Your gaze flits over soft petals and light green stems, thorns and leaves and greenery, baby breath tucked in by plastic wrapping.

"Why did you do this?"

"You…" he laughs at himself. "Okay, so. The day you had heat stroke-"

"I didn't have heat stroke. I had heat exhaustion."

"Semantics. You were lying in the backyard. Just… sleeping. I was waiting for you to look up and see me, and I couldn't- I still can't get the image out of my head. You looked unreal."

You feel hot all over as he searches for words. He's smiling wide as he talks, like he can't believe how happy he is. It's infectious.

He shakes his head. "Anyway, I know you like flowers. Obviously. So."

"So you got me a florists?"

"Half."

You hug your torso. The idea that somebody would do this for you, that Steve would do this for you, is so alien you can't comprehend it.

"They're for me?" you whisper.

"For you. All of them."

You look at him, the flowers, him again, and start to laugh. You throw your hands up to your cheeks and giggle like a little kid.

"Why are you laughing?" he asks, an undeniable affection in his curiosity.

"Why would you do this for me?" you ask in a similar tone.

He purses his lips and shrugs. "You could've called me. I want you to know that."

You scrub your hot cheeks and shift from foot to foot. "I was being silly."

"It's not silly. It's not stupid. And even if it was, I still want you to call me. These are 'call me' flowers. Call me first."

You wrap your hand around the top of the door and lean in for a look at the sea of flowers. Pollen sticks sweet in your nose.

"Do you like them?"

The smallest hint of insecurity. You can't stop laughing, joy warping every word. "Yeah, I love them," you say over your shoulder, feeling as though you've become nothing but a vestibule of breathless wonder.

"I didn't know which one was your favourite."

All of them, you think. Not sure you could pick one, your eyes bump from bouquet to bouquet.

You try to blink them away but tears form quickly, lashes heavy with them as you stand up straight and wipe under your eyes with the back of your index finger.

"Thank you, Steve."

"You're welcome." Steve comes up behind you and takes your shoulder into his hand, thumb rubbing roughly over your shirt. "C'mon, don't cry. I got you all those flowers because I don't want you to cry, not to make it worse."

"They're really pretty," you say, strained, pushing the bottoms of your palms into your eyes to stop from sobbing. That would be dramatic, you argue with yourself, so dramatic, but this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for you.

"Shit," he mutters.

You tense up as his hand moves across your back to grip your other shoulder and he hugs you to his chest, left hand stroking the length of your upper arm, encouraging your hands from your face.

"You're okay, baby," he says.

You sniffle as his right hand climbs your shoulder to cup your neck. He pulls your face to his mouth and presses a kiss into your temple, warm and tingling, firecrackers under the skin. You turn your face to look at him and he pulls back, his chin jutting down.

The shape of his lips lingers on your forehead, a burn. White hot.

Steve wipes the tear tracks from your face with the side of his hand.

"I know what'll cheer you up," he says.

You miss his touch as soon as he's gone. He leans over the passenger seat, the chair and its footwell both bursting with flowers, and turns on the radio. You watch him click to the cassette player. He turns the volume up high and then pulls out.

Slowly, the song builds into a zinging guitar.

"Oh my god."

"Have you seen her? So fine and so pretty," Steve sings with no hesitation. You're startled by his confidence.

"Fooled me with her style and ease," he continues, holding out his hand.

You take it, listening to him fight his way to the right pitch, his voice cracking.

"And I feel her from across the room-" He takes your second hand, gaze electric. "Yes, it's love in the third degree."

He tugs at your hand, nodding until you join in.

"Ooh, baby, baby," you sing weakly, searching for footing.

"Won't-cha turn your head my way?" he begs.

"Ooh, baby, baby," you both sing, Steve with more passion, pulling your arm one way and another in an awkward dance.

"Come on, take a chance, you're old enough to," and here's where you both go weak and high and enthused all at once, glad the stereo's up so high you can't really hear it when you both shout, "dance the night away!"

It's not quite night yet. You've a lot of dancing to do if you're gonna listen to Van Halen's instructions, the sun a half-disk of gold on the horizon, the sky raspberry pink bleeding up into darkening indigo.

Steve grins at your growing enthusiasm and twirls you around. You only allow him this, too afraid to step on his toes as you come to a stop.��

He hums along and you clutch his hand. You covet the other where it's held to his chest, pushing your fingers through his. They fit together perfectly.

"Am I ever gonna get that tape back?" you ask.

"No," he says, laughing loudly. "No way. I love this song."

"I love this song too. That's why I bought the album."

"You said however long I wanted!"

"I didn't think you'd stick around this long," you confess.

"I did," he says. He leans down, stops. "Can I kiss you?"

You nod and beat him to it, hand at his collar as you step on your toes and press your mouth to his. You're both smiling, your eyes closed tight and your lips tight together until he pulls back, pulling his hand from your brushing grip to stroke the side of your face, rough in his rush.

When you come back together it's slower, your lips parted mid-giggle as he moves in. You sigh, a high-pitched and embarrassing sound from the back of your throat that's quickly swallowed by his ardency.

"Stop laughing at me," he admonishes playfully.

"I'm not! I'm not, I'm really happy," you defend yourself, setting back on your heels.

You've forgotten all about your pajamas and the icky feeling in your chest. With Steve's palms to your cheeks like this – like you're something worth being cradled in careful hands – you can't feel anything but happy.

"I don't have enough vases for your flowers," you apologise as he chases you down, dropping kisses over the corner of your mouth and the apple of your cheek.

"Good thing I begged for all those buckets," he says, brown eyes squinting with the force of his cherubic smile. His pert nose flares with a silent laugh.

"Good thing," you agree.

He holds you by the shoulders. "Good thing," he says again.

You descend into another round of laughter that leaves you panting for air, your head dropping into his chest. "A really good thing."

"I didn't go overboard, did I?" he asks, petting the nape of your neck.

"You did."

"Sorry, I-"

You wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze him as hard as you can. He groans lightly as he encircles your shoulders, the tip of his nose a butterfly's wing against your forehead, impossibly light and skipping, back and forth and back again.

"I'm gonna make you flower shortbread," you say eventually, soaking in his warmth, his closeness.

"Yeah?"

"I swear. And more penuche. What's your favourite? I'll make you whatever you want. What do you have a sweet tooth for?"

"Could I get another kiss?" he asks quietly.

You tilt your head back and wait. Steve isn't quite smiling though his eyes boast an emotion you're afraid to name, unbearably fond.

"Are you gonna kiss me again?" you ask into the gap.

"In a sec, just… let me look at you," he says, hand cupping your cheek.

You blink back a stinging wave of tears and smile, tracing over his features greedily.

"You're beautiful," he says.

It��s funny. You were thinking the same thing about him.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thanks for reading!

#steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things

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imnameimswrld · 4 months

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╰┈➤ ❝ [𝐂𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐁𝐲 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 || 𝗢𝗣𝟴𝟭 ꒱꒱

━━ ❪ . . . oscar x verstappen!surfer!reader ❫

━━ ❪ . . . description : freshly surfing world champ, yn goes to take some much needed time off, and starts her vacay off by attending the miami grand prix. her intention was to support her big bro, but it appears a certain papaya driver had other plans; ❫

━━❪ . . . smau ! ❫

━━❪ . . . warnings : none ❫

━━❪ . . . fc : caroline marks ❫

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

ynverstappen

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, and 767 224 others

ynverstappen world champion, blessed, thank you to the beautiful cali waves 🌊🏆

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user so well deserved, congrats yn !

bestfriend you were WICKED on the waves girl !!

maxverstappen1 let's gooo, congrats sissy ♡

⤿ ynusername couldn't have you being the only world champ in the fam, now could I ? 😋

⤿ maxverstappen1 no, no you just couldn't 😤

user the verstappen siblings are just legendary

user so with the break coming up, will we see yn at the next grand prix 👀 ?

⤿ user plus the next ones in miami, super close to cali, so 🤞 !!

oscarpiastri congratulations yn, coolest world champion ever 👏🥇

[ liked by ynverstappen ]

user and if I said yn and oscar would be SO cute together ?

Boeta 🏎

hey sissy

where r u ?

Sissy 🌊

chillin'

what's up ?

Boeta 🏎

no, I mean where r u

you said you were gonna be the paddocks when I got back from my meeting ?

Sissy 🌊

oohhhh

well, I am in the paddock

just not yours

Boeta 🏎

what ?

yn, are u hiding in dani's closet again to scare him ?

Sissy 🌊

ahhh, good times

but nope, I'm in the mclaren paddocks

Boeta 🏎

is lando talking your ear off again ?

Sissy 🌊

nah, lol

I'm uh, actually with chilling with oscar

Boeta 🏎

piastri ?

since when are you guys on chilling level

Sissy 🌊

since he asked me out to dinner later

[read]

Boeta ?

uhhhh, boet ?

[read]

ynverstappen

liked by redbullracing, schecoperez, and 977 335 others

ynverstappen soooo good being back in the paddocks, thanks so much for having me redbullracing – and ofc, congrats boeta on p1 ! 💙

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user soooo, did anyone else see the video of oscar and yn walking around together ??? dude had the dopiest smile on his face too 😭

redbullracing you're practically family yn ! 💙

[ liked by ynverstappen ]

user 2 champs 🏆

danielricciardo thanks for not scaring the crap out of me this time yn :)

⤿ ynverstappen ah, there's always next time dan 😄

⤿ danielricciardo no no, pls don't.

mclaren hope you had a wonderful time at the race yn ! 🧡

⤿ redbullracing are you going to apologize for stealing her from out paddocks ?

⤿ mclaren are we supposed to ?

⤿ oscarpiastri of course not.

⤿ maxverstappen1 thin ice piastri, watch it.

user uhhh, not redbull and mclaren battling it out over yn 😭

user my yncar ship is HERE BDJEHZIS

oscarpiastri just added to their story !

[ caption 1: stolen forever maxverstappen1 🤚 ; caption 2: 🧡 ]

Boeta 🏎

oscar is really bold

Sissy 🌊

oh, I know 😁

it's one of the many reasons why I like him

Boeta 🏎

so you like him then ?

like, really like him ?

Sissy 🌊

yeah, I do boeta

Boeta 🏎

okay then...

invite him to the lunch tomorrow

Kelly has been dying to see the two of you together

Sissy 🌊

she's so prescious I love her

and thanks boeta, for being cool with all this

Boeta 🏎

hey, i may be protective, but who am I to tell you who you can and can't date sissy

Sissy 🌊

🥺🥺 , houd van je 💙

Boeta 🏎

mhm, hou ook van jou 💙

ynverstappen

liked by oscarpiastri, kellypiquet, and 878 301 others

[ tagged: oscarpiastri ]

ynverstappen had some cake by the ocean with my papaya boy... p.s yes, the cake he bought me brought me to tears 🍰 🧡 🌊

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user BYE I'M GONNA GO CRY IN A DITCH SOMEWHERE

user stop that cake is so cute 😭😭

oscarpiastri I'm just happy to call you mine, liefie :)

⤿ ynverstappen and I'm just as happy to be your liefie ❤

⤿ maxverstappen1 not the dutch- ya'll gonna make me puke.

⤿ kellypiquet max, stop bullying your sister and oscar and go clean the litter boxes dammit

⤿ ynverstappen oohhh, mother is mad now boet, better get to it then 😄

⤿ maxverstappen1 you're staying in my house.

⤿ ynverstappen says who ? I'm staying at oscar's – plus, you know how I love the aussie waves

[ liked by oscarpiastri ]

⤿ maxverstappen1 yn verstappen istg... girl gets a bf and thinks she's the shit.

⤿ kellypiquet MAX.

⤿ maxverstappen1 I'M GOING.

user can I make this comment section my roman empire ?

user I'm laughing and crying rn, this is too funny

#f1 imagine #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #oscar piastri #max verstappen #red bull racing #mclaren #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri f1 #oscar piastri fluff

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leonistic · 2 months

Text

clauses, clashes: debater!yuu || heartslabyul, savanaclaw

riddle rosehearts

"[name] is an excellent debater. i enjoy starting debates on any topic, be it law, morality, religion, education, or livelihoods, as they are well-informed about the happenings of both their and our worlds. it is a pleasure to talk to them and indulge in their debates regardless of the topic. one time, i did see them ask leona about the economic situation in the sunset savannah so they could prove a point. they are quite fearless."

trey clover

"[name] being a debater is nothing new, if you've ever heard them talk. they love debating with riddle and azul, it gives them a lot of information about twisted wonderland, and they keep themselves and the top students of the second year in check, if you get what i mean. overall, i don't really mind how loud and decisive they can get sometimes, but how much they know and can discern does shock me."

cater diamond

"yep, i heard about [name]-chan being a debater, but i thought of it as some weird rumours until i saw them debating about climate or something with riddle, i don't even know what it was till today. they're intelligent, well-aware... i mean, what else does the ideal student look like?! they're also somehow one of the top 10 in the first years, maybe because they've already been through a few years of schooling in their own world? woah!"

ace trappola

"haha, [name]'s scary, the way they look when they're debating, i mean. they get fierce and stuff, and then they launch with rapid-fire facts and questions that make it difficult for any normal dude to answer. only people i've ever seen answer them right away are riddle-senpai, azul-senpai, and leona-senpai. takes guts and some recklessness to be fighting them with words, but maybe they're doing something i'm not, since they're scoring well. should i try debating with riddle-senpai too?"

deuce spade

"[name] is super scary and awesome when they're in debater mode. i'm being serious, stop chuckling! one time, they walked up to malleus draconia himself and just launched into conversation! i don't even know what it was about, but he looked so confused before smiling and nodding to whatever they were saying. no wonder they're in the top 10 all the time... their academic sources are terrifying."

leona kingscholar

"the herbivore being a debater's real interestin', to be honest... i haven't seen many people who can speak confidently about a variety of topics like they can. they came to me once, asking about the economical condition of the sunset savannah in the last decade. couldn't tell 'em much, but they insisted i helped. weird kid, roamin' around so freely in the lion's den..."

ruggie bucchi

"[name] is super cool, y'know?!?! heard them debatin' with azul once in the mostro lounge, over over-prized foods 'n' drinks and why that would hurt business in the long run. safe to say azul listened to 'em and brought his prizes down by a bit, and suddenly we're all busier than expected, especially then they mentioned delivery apps and discounts that allowed stores in their world to connect with customers all over the globe. sounds interestin', don't it? the best part is, i can finally afford 2 coffees a day at the lounge with the leftovers of whatever leona's paying me, shishishishi!"

jack howl

"i did hear that [name] was good at debating, but i've yet to see it for myself, you know. it's a shame that nrc doesn't participate in such competitions, otherwise they'd be able to shine here too, build some sort of a reputation other than just "the magic-less human", you know? they're well-learned with the capacity to learn more, but the way that they hyperfocus and absolutely zone out sometimes is terrifying."

request by @red-viewe: Hi soru! can i request like hcs on a mc/reader who is rlly good in debating? And like how savannaclaw and heartstahyul would react? Take ur time ofc and make sure to take care of urself!! -red❤

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harrysfolklore · 1 year

Note

Instagram concept with Sami miro as the face claim and she’s Harry’s stylist and they eventually start dating

HERE !! i loved this concept i hope you like it <33

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

liked by sza, harry_lambert and 55,927 others

yourinstagram starting the job of my dreams this week 🥺

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yourfriend SO PROUD OF YOU !!

jefezoff Welcome to the team 🤘🏻

harry_lambert Couldn’t think of a better person to take my place, you’ll do amazing darling ❤️

↳ yourinstagram i love you 🤍

chiaraferragni 💖💖

fashionfan I love all of your projects! I’m excited to see what’s coming

madisonbeer good luck wifey

liked by yourinstagram, jefezoff and 189,637 others

harry_lambert Goodbyes are bittersweet ❤️ I had the best time dressing my angel sue @harrystyles for half a decade. H, you will always be my #1, and you’re in good hands @yourinstagram ❤️

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harryfan1 NOOOO LAMBERT :(

jefezoff 🥺🥺🥺

harryfan2 we’re going to miss youuu

harrystyles Thank your everything, Lamby ❤️

↳ harryfan1 ilysm

yourinstagram you’re always going to be the 🐐🐐 thank you for this opportunity 🤍 and thank you to the lovely harry fans for being so nice already, i promise to give you the looks you want

↳ harryfan2 wtf i already love her

↳ harryfan3 maybe lambert leaving is not a bad thing

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 7,098 others

harryontour Harry’s new stylist is YN, a designer, fashion blogger and stylist who has worked with celebrities like SZA, Madison Beer, Jacob Elordi, Bella Hadid and more !

Fun fact: She designed this jumpsuit harry wore back in 2017 for HS1 promo

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harryfan1 she’s super talented i love her

harryfan2 she’s also so sweet and nice

harryfan3 we love a successful woman on harry’s team. those outfits are going to slay

yourinstagram Thank you guys 🤍🤍

↳ harryfan2 SEE she’s super sweet

liked by harrystyles, jennierubyjane and 102,389 others

yourinstagram some fun facts about me:

i'm a scorpio

my favorite one direction song is stockholm syndrome

i prefer tea over coffee

love on tour starts tomorrow !!!!! 😳😳

view all 10,837 coments

harryfan1 she's so cool

harryfan2 bestie let harry go shirtless on stage tomorrow

↳ yourinstagram your wish = my command

↳ harryfan3 YEEEESS

harrystyles Stockholm Syndrome. Great bop.

↳ harryfan1 harry styles what are you up to

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 9,937 others

harryupdates HARRY IS PERFORMING STOCKHOLM SYNDROME RN !!!!

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harryfan1 OMFGGGGGG

harryfan2 AHHHHH MY FAVE

harryfan3 SO RANDOM BUT IM NOT COMPLAINING

harryfan4 THANK YOU TO WHOEVER MADE THIS POSSIBLE

YN AND HARRY VIA TWITTER

liked by jefeazoff, yourinstagram and 2,255,903 others

harrystyles Love On Tour. Horsens I. May, 2023.

view all 41,927 comments

harryfan1 AHHHH

harris_reed little boy blue 💙

harryfan2 MY BABYYYYYY

yourinstagram nice outfit 🕺❤️

↳ harrystyles Thanks, the girl who put it together for me is pretty dope x

↳ harryfan1 HUUUUHHHH

↳ harryfan2 us he flirting?

harryfan3 he missed the stage so much

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 7,039 others

harryupdates “We have a new band member with us, please welcome Madi Diaz to the stage! We also have someone new backstage, someone who gets me looking all fabulous every night, give it up for my new stylist, YN!" - Harry in Horsens tonight !

view all 992 comments

harryfan1 AWEEE

harryfan2 yn is the coolest

harryfan3 LOVE THEM

harryfan4 the video of yn's reaction was so cuuuteeee

liked by dualipa, harrystyles and 187,993 others

yourinstagram FIRST STOP OF LOVE ON TOUR DONE !!! thank uuuu for all the love on h's outfits, putting them together for each night has been so far the coolest thing i've ever done as a job, see you soon munich 🤍🕺

view all 10,304 comments

harryfan1 SLAYYYYY

sza Congrats ❤❤

harryfan2 MORE OUTFITS WITH HITTIES PLEASE

harrystyles Who's Harry Lambert anyway, EW?

↳ harryfan3 WTFFFFF

↳ harry_lambert Hey!

↳ yourinstagram not you quoting taylor swift please

liked by lizzobeeating, yourinstagram and 3,155,703 others

harrystyles Love On Tour. Horsens II. May, 2023.

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harryfan1 BABYYYYY

annetwist Love love ❤❤

mtv me after totally wrecking the office bathroom

harryfan2 i can't wait for my show

yourinstagram you people don't knoe this but ____ was playing in the background

↳ harrystyles That's a special bop x

↳ harryfan2 he's obsessed with the word bop i swear

FANS VIA TWITTER

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 9,376 others

harryupdate HARRY ON STAGE IN COVENTRY TONIGHT !!! YN UNDERSTOOD THE ASSIGNMENT LOOK AT THE HITTIES !!

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harryfan1 OMFGGGGG

harryfan2 THIS IS OBSCENE

harryfan3 LONG LIVE YN BEST STYLIST

yourinstagram glad you liked it besties, also 'hitties' might be my favorite new word

↳ harryfan1 SLAAAAY

liked by alexademie, harrystyles and 201,109 others

yourinstagram snap from the other day !! also spoiler alert: the theme for edinburgh night one will be donus ily harries

view all 10,370 comments

harryfan1 she's so gorgeous

harryfan2 is this from their date? 👀

jennierubyjane ❤

harrystyles Decent photo x

↳ yourinstagram credits to harry styles i guess 🙄

↳ harryfan2 OHH SO IT IS FROM THEIR DATE

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 7,782 others

harryupdates Harry playing golf today in Scotland !

view all 490 comments

harryfan1 BABYYYY

harryfan2 such a slay

harryfan3 why do i feel like im staring at boyfriendrry rn

harryfan4 I LOVE HIM

TEXT BETWEEN HARRY AND YN

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 8,083 others

harryupdates Harry having dinner tonight !

view all 997 comments

harryfan1 that jacket is soooo iconic

harryfan2 BUUUBBB

harryfan3 HES IN ANOTHER DATE WITH YN BYEEEE

↳ harryfan1 how do u know

↳ harryfan4 she posted a story with the same background

liked by harryupdates, harryfan1 and 10,739 others

harryontour "The hitties are out tonight! YN taught me that word !" Harry on stage on Edinburgh tonight !

view all 1,012 comments

harryfan1 OMFGGGG

harryfan2 so yn teaches him words now 😵

harryfan3 they're definetely dating lmaooo boyfriendrry is HERE

harryfan4 MY BABY

liked by lizzobeeating, yourinstagram and 1,532,672 others

harrystyles Love On Tour. Edinburg II. May, 2023.

view all 26,145 comments

harryfan1 BABYYYY

harris_reed Little shooting star 💫

harryfan2 this outfit was 10/10

annetwist ❤️

yourinstagram damn your stylist has such a good taste

↳ harrystyles Bet x

↳ harryfan3 STOP FLIRTING IN FRONT OF US

taglist: @lightsoutstyles @waitingroomharry @willowpains @straightontilmornin @sleutherclaw @gimsaysay @hazzassmirk @platinumbarbie143 @musicforcinemas @celesteblack08 @scntfrhs @eleanordaisy @lomlolivia @iceebabies @peterparker1sgf

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muchosbesitos · 8 months

Note

So like what if. WHAT IF. Miguel ends up lusting after a new recruit. BUT she's a tatted up goth girl with an intimidating aura. He wants to screw her with every fiber in him. COULD YOU IMAGINE. BIG OL MIGGY WANTING TO GO AFTER HER. can you make this into a fic. Please. I'm foaming at the mouth. I love your work ❤

the girl with the tattoo

pairing: miguel o’hara x spiderwoman reader

warnings: masturbating (m), stalking(?), fingering, protected p in v, doggy, use of toy, overall smut 🫡

author’s note: thank so much for this request and i’m sorry it took me so long 😭 i hope you enjoy <33

word count: 4.1k

Your life as the spider-woman from your dimension was fulfilling, but it felt empty sometimes. You couldn't maintain any friendships because of how busy your schedule was, as a physicist and having to save the city. You'd lost your boyfriend a couple months back after a brutal fight with the Green Goblin, and you couldn't bring yourself to date anyone else again just yet. So when Hobie, the guy with the cool piercings on his face and same powers as you, recruited you to the Spider Society, you couldn't help but be enchanted by the idea.

Miguel had spent a couple minutes staring into the monitors when you walked in through that portal with Hobie, ignoring LYLA giving him the debrief about their latest mission. He was captivated by everything about you: by the tattoos on your arms and legs, the ink running through your skin perfectly to make these tiny shapes to the exaggerated eye liner you had on. "MIGUEL!" LYLA yelled, snapping him out of his thoughts as he turned around to look at his assistant. "The new recruit's here, try not to drool so much on the way over," she said with a small giggle before disappearing. Miguel rolled his eyes as he got off the platform, rubbing the side of his lip just in case he actually was drooling.

You were in the middle of talking to Hobie, getting the introduction around the place (mostly just to avoid Miguel at all costs), when you felt someone behind you. "Who's this?" You heard someone ask, turning around to see a very tall man standing in front of you. Hobie appeared unfazed as he shrugged, crossing his arms as he looked up at the man. "Is the new recruit. Started to show her around 'fo you showed up," he responded and you couldn't help but feel the man's stare boring into you. "What did I say about bringing it new recruits?" the man hissed out, rubbing his temples as he asked. "Not to bring 'em. She's talented though, you just need to see her in action," he responded, before leaving the two of you alone.

You looked over at the man, stating your name and extending your hand out as you noticed his gaze go from the tattoo on your upper arm to your hand. "Miguel," he simply stated, shaking your hand as gently as he could, his large fingers engulfing yours. You looked around to see some of the other members in the society staring at you two, their gaze diverting when they saw you returning their stare. "Do you plan on saying something or do you just plan on looking like a scary vampire?" You asked after a couple seconds of silence from Miguel’s end, watching as his brows furrow, his gaze averting from yours. You could've sworn from the descriptions that Hobie gave you that he would've turned out to be more of an ass, but the man just looked plain intimidated.

You walk into the 'design room' as Miguel called it, where he would be designing your suit and making it. You looked up to see a couple examples on the wall and you couldn't help but feel a bit impressed at just how versatile he was with the suits. You took off the black sweater you had on, leaving you in a tee and skirt. If you would've looked closer, you would've noticed Miguel staring at your breasts, his gaze darkening as he saw the metal bar poking through. However, your attention was directed at LYLA as she asked you a bunch of questions about what type of design you were looking for and the material that you wanted.

"No, no spandex," Miguel spoke up after a while, the two of you turning to look at him. "And why not?" You asked, folding your arms as your brows furrowed. Because he was pretty sure his cock wouldn't survive it. "It's just a really restrictive material, really, you'll be able to move a lot more freely with the holographic suit," he replied, his gaze averting yours so you wouldn't catch on to his lie. You turned to look at LYLA, shrugging as you tell her to use the holographic material for the black suit you had in mind.

Miguel felt his cock strain underneath his suit with every passing moment in that room, watching as LYLA took your measurements. Everything about you was just captivating to him, from the numerous amount of tattoos on your body to the damn nipple piercings that would invade his waking thoughts from now on. He was fascinated by the intricate designs of your tattoos, all seeming to have their own special meaning. He wanted to ask you about them, what they all meant and symbolized to you, but he got the impression that you didn't like him all that much. He opened up his gizmo when he felt you turn around, not wanting to get caught staring as he typed a random message to Peter, asking him to join for lunch.

Somehow, the fact that you didn't like him turned him on even more. He was used to women throwing themselves at him and begging at his feet, but he never had the instance where he was the one being intimidated. He watched as LYLA handed you the gizmo, explaining how to use it and how to turn your suit on. His gaze travelled down your body as you turned on the suit, the material wrapping around your curves perfectly. Shock, he really couldn't catch a break. He bit down on his hand to prevent himself from saying something embarrassing, feeling his cock tighten up even more in his suit. You turned around and looked at Miguel, a pleased smile on your face after looking at yourself in the mirror. "What do you think, boss?" You asked, noticing that his eyes just wouldn't meet yours. "It looks decent," he muttered, getting up abruptly and stepping out of the room. "Rude," you muttered, wondering why you'd even bothered to ask him.

Miguel went back to his office, ignoring all the other Spiders who greeted him. He felt his cock straining painfully underneath his suit, his hand gently rubbing against it. He turned off LYLA's access to his office for the time being and turned the monitors to analyze the cameras for the room that you were in. He saw LYLA making some modifications to your suit, the holographic material hugging your ass perfectly. He let out a quiet "fuck" and deactivated his suit, his hardening cock hitting the side of his stomach.

He spread his legs on the chair, rubbing the precum that was spilling out of his red tip around his cock, using it as lube. He started off slow, tentative, as he wrapped his hand tightly around his cock. He knew that you would feel a thousand times better than this, that your cunt would feel like heaven to him, but he was too turned on to think properly. He gripped his desk as he started speeding up, his hips bucking up into his hand to find some pressure. His eyes zeroed in on your chest once more and he let out a pathetic whimper, wondering how it would feel to see his cum lathered on top of the piercings.

He tightened his grip around his cock, like he wanted to imitate how tight your cunt would feel around him, but a nagging voice in his mind told him that it wouldn't compare. He pushed that voice out of his head in a desperation to cum, to go back to focusing on his work. He heard his watch going off and remembered he was supposed to be giving a brief on a plan to catch an anomaly, but he knew that if he stopped now, he'd just show up with a hard cock and a bitter attitude. He swirled his thumb around the tip, letting out a soft groan as he pictured you underneath him, licking and sucking him off. How pretty you would look with that eyeliner running down your cheeks, crying just from how big he was. He gripped the side of the table tightly, feeling his balls starting to tighten up.

His hips bucked up into his hand at an embarrassing speed, eager for that feeling of release. He tightened the grip around his cock, moving his hand faster as he let out a soft moan, his orgasm quickly approaching. He watched as you smiled through the monitors, thanking LYLA for the work she'd done and his orgasm washed over him like a tide. He looked down at the mess he'd created, shaking his head in disbelief as he grabbed a napkin from the desk. He cleaned his hand off along with his thigh, putting on some hand sanitizer. He had expected to feel some sort of relief, but he still found the need to have you underneath him overwhelming. He activated his suit once more and calmed down his breathing before walking over to the briefing room.

He felt ashamed as he walked inside, all the eyes in the room looking at him. to think that they were all in here waiting for him while he was in his office fucking his fist to the thought of having your cunt wrapped around his cock. He coughed, pushing those thoughts aside before he got a hard-on in front of his colleagues as he started to give everyone their reports. He ignored the complaining some of the members had, rubbing his forehead as he stayed behind. Jess looked back at him worriedly, but he shrugged her off, saying that he was fine. Which was relatively true, he had no reason to be upset, just the fact that he'd grown attracted to you and didn't know how to go about his feelings.

He spent a while in his office as thoughts of you crept in his mind, most of them were lewd but some of them were a bit more wholesome. He pushed those thoughts off as he bounced a ball, turning LYLA's access to his office back on when he heard a knock on the door. He opened up the door, seeing Peter standing there with Mayday crawling on his shoulders. Ah right, the lunch.

"So imagine my surprise when my best friend finally invited me to lunch," Peter began speaking as they walked down the hallways, his slippers squeaking against the floor. He wanted to toss those slippers away, wanted to tell Peter that he only did it because he didn't want to get caught, but he didn't have the heart to do that today. He, however, did have the heart to ignore the man as he talked and started to play peek-a-boo with Mayday. He felt a ghost of his smile on his lips when he heard Mayday's giggles echo through the room, catching her when she fell off Peter's shoulders.

Peter had settled on getting the 2099 meal, a burger with Miguel’s mask on there along with some fries and a drink. Miguel rolled his eyes as he sat down in front of Peter, his eyes darting towards the burger as he took a bite out of his empanada. "Capitalism," he muttered, shaking his head as Peter took a bite out of the burger. "Okay, so maybe it's overpriced for 20.99 but it's so cute. You truly win at life when you have a burger with your face on it," Peter spoke up, watching as Miguel’s eyebrow twitched a bit. Miguel stood up, partly because he didn't want to see that stupid burger anymore, but mostly because he realized he forgot to get a kid seat for Mayday. He put her on the seat, giving her small pieces of his empanada. Even though most of the crumbs ended up on her cheek and some in her hair, Miguel couldn't help but feel a bit happy when he saw her take bites out of it.

The lunch hadn't gone too bad, most of it was just spent with him feeding Mayday small pieces from his empanada while Peter talked. That was, until he heard your voice. He turned around to see you walk into the cafeteria with Hobie, carefree as you laughed at something he'd said. He saw Peter's eyes brighten up as he waved at you, shaking his head. He wasn't sure why he was so jealous of a man in a bathrobe, maybe it was because he wanted you to wave at him that way. To acknowledge his existence as something more than just an overbearing presence, to smile at him the way you did to others.

"Have you gotten a chance to talk to the new recruit yet?" Peter asked, snapping Miguel’s attention away from Mayday as he turned to look at him. "Uh yeah, we've ran into each other a few times. You?" Miguel responded, trying to keep his tone light and conversational so he'd get more information out of Peter. "I mean, yeah, she's a little intimidating and all with all those tattoos, But she's nice once you get to know her," peter replied, shrugging a bit as he spoke of you. Fuck, how Miguel wanted the opportunity to get to know you.

Over the course of a few days, he kept hearing about the other Spiders talking about you. He listened to the way that they spoke highly about you, how nice you were once those barriers were put down. He couldn't help but feel a sting of jealousy that he was the only one you hadn't made an attempt to get to know, that you regarded everyone with a smile and a wave and regarded him with a roll of your eyes, like his sole existence plagued you. He had resisted at first, not wanting to open up your file so as to keep your privacy, but the more that he heard conversation about you, the more that he wanted to find out about you.

He opened up your file late at night when everybody had left, not even LYLA was around to be nosy. He hesitated for a moment when he got the file unlocked, wondering if violating your privacy was really worth all this trouble before deciding to do it. He knew that it would take a while for you to open up to him and he just had a itch, an itch to get to know you as much as possible. The contents of the file weren't really surprising, your canon events were the same as the other Spiders'. He looked over to see the file where you lost your boyfriend, the tears in your eyes visible even through the hologram. He bit down on his lip, his fangs gently digging in as he started to feel a bit guilty. That night he realized why you were so eager to make friends, that you'd come from a place of loneliness and no family at all.

Miguel had reached his breaking point when you no longer acknowledged his existence, you simply looked over to the person he was next to and greeted them before walking away. not even the occasional eye roll. He cornered you when you were on your way out of the cafeteria, caging you against the wall and his large body. He tilted your chin up so you'd look at him for once, his gaze completely neutral. "So tell me, why have you been ignoring me lately? You don't even scowl at me anymore," He asked, keeping his tone light as he watched your eyes widen with surprise. You hadn't thought he would notice. "I don't see why you care," you responded, shaking your head as you pushed his hand off your chin. You pushed his chest away from your body, walking off to catch up with Hobie who was watching the interaction.

"What was that about, mate?" Hobie asked with an amused smile, looking back at where Miguel was standing. Miguel had a scowl on his face, like he was jealous he couldn't maintain your attention. "I don’t know. He was asking why I was ignoring him but not sure why he even cares," you replied with a small shrug, watching Hobie’s eyes light up with some kind of interest. "You're blind if you haven't realized it by now," was all he offered though, leaving your mind running with what possibly he could be referring to. Hobie took you to the briefing room where you'd be receiving information for your next mission, Jess leading the meeting as she handed out some manila folders.

Miguel got the news that you were off on your first mission, so he decided he would show up after at your place to see how it had gone. That, and he wanted to apologize for his behavior. Apologizing wasn't something he was completely used to doing, but he was willing to put his pride to the side if it gave him the chance to have an actual conversation with you. He walked over to Jess when she came out of the portal, asking her about how the mission had gone and if anyone was hurt. To his relief, the mission had gone smooth and nobody had gotten injured.

Your first mission wasn't too hard, but you felt the soreness in your arms from swinging around. You immediately took a shower and changed into your pajamas when you got home as a means to relax. It was starting to get to you, pretending you were okay with the other Society members just to get them to like you. You got up when you heard your doorbell ring, putting on your webshooters since you weren't expecting any visitors. Your eyes widen when you saw Miguel standing outside, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"I'm here to apologize. I'm sorry for the way that I cornered you earlier today and for the way that I’ve been treating you these past couple days. I also wanted to come see how you were doing," he spoke up after a while of silence, his eyes drifting off to the skimpy top you were wearing, focusing on your breasts. You quickly came to the realization of what Hobie was referring to, watching Miguel struggle to keep eye contact with you. "Did you really come here for that or for something else?" You asked, hooking a finger to the strap of your shirt as you toyed with it. His eyes followed every movement of your finger and you couldn't help but let out a small laugh. "Tell me, Miguel, do I make you nervous?" You asked, tilting his chin down, the same he'd done to you. He nodded, flustered, as he stumbled over his words to come up with some sort of defense for himself. It was empowering, really, seeing your behemoth of a boss practically drooling over you.

"I have one condition if we're gonna do this, okay?" You spoke up when Miguel stepped into your apartment, folding your arms as you looked over at him. He looked so pathetic and needy, nodding like he would give you the moon if you asked for it. "Given some past experiences, I'm not really looking for a relationship. are you okay with this just being casual sex?" you asked, gauging for any reaction from Miguel. You blinked and he was right there on top of you, his lips crashing against yours. "I'll give you anything you want," he mumbled in between kisses, his pelvis thrusting against yours. You let out a soft moan as you felt his hands start to explore every inch of your body, his warmth almost setting a fire in his wake. He gently rolled the buds of your nipples in between his fingers, playing around with the piercings as he moaned. "Been thinking about these every time I cum," he whispered, his lips moving down to your neck.

He bit down on your neck, his fangs gently scraping against your skin as he did so, his tongue running over the bite to soothe the sting as his hand snaked its way to your pants. You let out a small whimper when you felt him cup your pussy, your hips bucking into his instinctively. "Looks like all I had to do was just fuck the attitude right out you, huh?" He whispered, his voice carrying a light tone of amusements as he gathered some slick with his pointer finger. He slowly thrust his finger in, pumping it in and out of you slowly. He continued his attack on your neck, leaving small hickeys as he kissed you. He knew that your accelerated healing wouldn't allow them to be visible tomorrow, but he enjoyed seeing some part of him marking you.

He eventually pushed his middle finger inside of your pussy as well, making a scissoring motion in efforts to open you up. He curled his fingers upwards, hitting your g-spot as you pushed your hips against his palm, hoping to get some much needed friction. You felt yourself getting closer to that brink of orgasm, only to get it pulled away from you. You turned around to look at Miguel, watching as he licked your slick off his fingers. "Only place you'll be cumming is around my cock."

The two of you eventually got your bedroom and you couldn't help but let out a small laugh as Miguel bumped his head against the ceiling. "You think that's funny?" he asked, a teasing tone in his voice as he placed you on the bed. He was quick to disintegrate his suit, his cock hitting his stomach as the tip started to leak precum. "There's some condoms on the bedstand," you spoke up, remembering your policy for one night stands. He reached over, grabbing a condom from the box before getting an idea as he saw your vibrator. He turned it on the lowest setting, setting it against your clit without any pressure as he started to slide inside of you. He let out a moan as your walls engulfed him completely, every part of you was enticing to him. He started off slow, getting you accustomed to the size of his cock before applying more pressure to the vibrator.

You let out a moan as you felt the vibrations shoot straight to you, your hands gripping the sheets. You shivered a bit as you felt miguel's tongue all across your arms, licking as much of the tattoo designs as he could. Even with all that he was doing, he kept his pace steady and even. He used your flexibility to his advantage, placing your legs on his shoulders and the angle allowed him to hit deeper inside of you with no trouble. He started to speed up when he felt your walls clenching around him tightly, the vibrator hitting your clit directly. He pulled his cock completely out of you and just when you were about to complain from the loss of contact, he slammed it into you once more. He started fucking you with a new vigor, his thrusts quick and sloppy as he turned the vibrator on a higher velocity. You clenched around him tightly as you felt your orgasm wash over you, your slick covering the condom completely.

Miguel flipped you over on all fours and he swore he could've come right there on the spot. He noticed that you had a couple other small tattoos on your back, but the one capturing his attention was the blue and red spider tramp stamp. He thrusted in you with ease, your previous orgasm providing him with all the lubrication he needed and he started off slow. He placed his hands on your hips, his heavy balls slapping against your pussy in the most delicious way possible. Miguel started speeding up, keeping his thrusts deep just to feel his tip hit your cervix. He placed the vibrator around your clit again, letting out soft moans of your name as he felt you shiver from the sheer intensity. You clamped tightly around his cock, your orgasm coming quicker than you expected with all the stimulation. Miguel let out a soft groan as you tightened around him, milking his cock for every drop. He filled the condom a few seconds later, delirious over the fact that he'd actually fucked you.

The two of you continued throughout the night, since you were one of the few people that could actually match Miguel’s stamina. You watched as he turned the suit back on the morning, and a part of you wanted to ask him to stay but you knew that wasn't what you told him. He leaned over, kissing you on the forehead before he opened the portal back to the Society.

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sashi-ya · 7 months

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𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟑 DAY 20: GETTING CAUGHT Shanks 𝘹 F! 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Requested by: @downforsanji ➡ Hii Sashi!! I always love your work, one of my favorite writers 😘 for the kinktober, may I please request kink/day 20 (getting caught) with Shanks? The reader is female (she/her). Additional kinks/trope are friends to lovers and praise/degradation kink. Also power dynamic if it suits the story. Thank you so much Sashi ❤❤ have a nice day!! ➡ hi love! I'm sorry for the delay, but here it is! finally! hope you enjoy! 💞 tw: kinda public. soft degradation. soft power dynamic. friends to lovers. ft buggy. wc: 1.2k 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Someday had to happen; they were friends -and sometimes brawled like enemies- but still everybody noticed the tension in between them swearing that their relationship had to be more than being friends…

Well, they were… right.

“I can’t stand you, Shanks. That damn face of yours, always so cocky but still acting like a sweet boy. People should know your true you” you spit, pushing him aside after he beat you in that game.

He keeps laughing, grabbing you by your wrist to stop you from leaving a party where nobody is paying attention at you, even though is full of people.

Shanks catches you, as your nose finally buries on his exposed chest. You smell the scent of his sun kissed skin, feeling his hand pressing your waist against him.

“Oops, you clumsy! Don’t fall” the red-haired scoffs, while your eyes fix on his sharp jaw and your legs quiver.

“Stop it, for real. You pulled me… are you that needy for feminine touch? You try to downgrade him, even if it’s you now who is not willing to move away from his arms.

Your friend hugs you closer, so close you can feel everything of him. And so close, he can feel everything of you, too. You gasp, because you are sure you just grazed something hard on him.

“Sh-Shanks…” you murmur. “(Name)…” he smirks, biting his lower lip so slow and sexy as he looks down to you.

Your hands feel sweaty against his chest, your legs more and more weak… truth is, that even though you love him as a friend… Shanks is beyond sexy, and you just discovered how much you wanted to touch his skin, to kiss his lips…

He looks to the sides; the music is loud, people are drinking, people are dancing, and others are dancing. Some more are passed out on the couches, and others about to. The music is loud, the smoke fills your lungs, and the little door of a pantry stays semi open behind you.

And Shanks pushes you slowly inside of it, and you walk backwards because you really want it as much as he does. And it wasn’t the alcohol, nor any drug… it was… desire.

As soon as you are inside, you hit your back with a shelf full of toilet paper with them falling on your head. Shanks, whose hand rests sexily but still delicately in your face, laughs at you.

“Stop it…” you shyly say, trying not to laugh. Even if you would like to keep it cool, you simply couldn’t. The man right in front of you shared many laughs with you not to laugh now.

“Or else? What are you gonna do, hm?” he teases you, lifting your chin up in between his fingers. His red locks tickle your cheeks, and the warmth of his breathe menaces with kissing you.

You swallow, pulling him even closer from the collar of his white opened shirt.

Inside of that little pantry, it’s hot and humid. And the little light filtering through the door is the only source of light… even if there is no need to see, because you know him so well. There is only one need, and it is to feel.

When his lips finally crash against yours, you moan loudly. It’s almost a surprised whine, a gasp of the unbelievable happening.

His tongue, and yours, dance lustfully. The music coming from outside, filters like a murmur, playing in the background while the pumping hearts of you two take over.

And the more you two kiss, the more both want to melt into only one body; his hardness pressed against your lower belly, the little hint of alcohol in his breath, the way he lifts you up holding you from under your legs and your arms around his neck.

“Fuck… if you wanted me this bad why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, scoffing once again, but this time with a little tremble on his voice he can’t conceal.

“Wasn’t it you the one who pushed me inside this place, Shanks? Is you who is desperate to fuck me” you reply, teasing him with your voice and softly humping on his erection.

Shanks stops smiling, and this time you feel the shelves on the wall carving on your back. He moves you so that his sex practically pierces your panties from under your short tight shirt; you can even feel his throbbing member all through his capri shorts.

“You are right, I am desperate to finally fuck you. I’ve been wanting to be inside of you from months… even holding myself back whenever you fell asleep next to me on that long trip with the guys…” he confesses, breaking your blouse with claws like a feral animal.

You are left speechless, thinking such thing would never come out of Shanks mouth… or at least when talking about you. But he seems to be watching you for long enough, waiting forever for you. Who are you to tell him to stop, despite being on a very public spot where anyone could walk in at any moment?

“Then… fuck me, once and for all ~” you purr, passing your hand through his beautiful crimson hair, feeling his eyes burn holes into your soul and the muscles of his jaw tensing in desire.

“As you please, my dear friend”

You aren’t very sure how, but he already managed to free his sex from his trousers’ prison. You can feel the wetness of his tip pushing against the equally wet surface of your panties. It is warm. It feels like heaven to even have your sexes barely separated by a fine mantle of lace.

But lace should be removed, or at least moved to the side, because this man wants to bury deep inside of you. And that’s exactly what he does, as he guides his sex towards your dripping flower.

He breathes your suffocated moan, while he stretches your entrance as he slides inside of you. Your nails carve on his shoulders, and after staying for a couple of eternal, killing seconds right by your entrance, he impales you so violently and mercilessly it rips a growl out of you.

And the more you moan and whine, the more his hips become the executioners of your sex. His grunts and low growls, the way that he sucks your nipples while he keeps fucking you…

The way you had forgotten you were at a party, in a pantry close to everybody… the way you had forgotten about time, and about parties ending at some point of the night…

“SHANKS?” a man, with blue hair and a funny looking nose screams while opening the door. “I can see your butt cheeks what the fuck!” he continues.

You open your eyes, picking through the broad shoulders of your lover, to see Buggy, Shanks best friend, screaming with the door open.

“Buggy… close the god damn door!!” Shanks protests, once he stops sucking on your breast. He doesn’t seem to care, and for some reason he only wants his friend to go away to keep fucking you. “Or stay, but let me finish fucking her”

“SHANKS, NO!” you chime. “Shanks, you are disgusting… fine! Roger called us, so hurry up. And I knew it, finally you did her” Buggy claims he knew, and of course he did. “Yeah yeah, now go!”

“Shall we continue, mademoiselle? “Shanks for the love of God…”

taglist: @stephisokay @henrioo @shuzuiikoii @bullbonez @fengxinwifutobecalled @i-started-reading-fanfics-at12 @crimsonlikeshellsing @weebare808 @thestarwasborn @bookandyarndragon @cyberdazetragedy @uzxotic @fushiguroshotwife💖🙆‍♀️

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musings-of-a-rose · 2 months

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Not Without You

Pairing: Lucien Flores x f!reader (nickname: Poppy)

Word Count: 2800+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

Notes: Listen. I saw that clip of him making out in The Uninvited. That's it. That's the explanation. This is not betad. This one is for the sluts.

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Lucien Masterlist

--------

I get out of my car, staring up at the ridiculous mansion in front of me. The sound of the ocean, just out of sight behind the giant home, is soft and gentle in my ears, calming me. Giving me a little mental boost before I sigh, smoothing down my dress. I make my way to the front door, weaving between a few cars that were parked out front. Expensive cars.

It's not that I'm jealous of my childhood friend. Emilia deserves to be happy and she's happy that she married money. Some fancy producer out here in LA that fell for her big eyes and bright smile the second he saw her.

But that doesn't mean I wanted to come to one of her dinner parties, having to schmooze and pretend to be interested in what everyone has to say. I've been here before, met the people, fucked the party boy actor that eventually broke me, and yet here I am, unable to say no to Emilia.

I raise my hand to knock, dreading what the evening will bring but the door flies open before my knuckles touch anything. Emilia stands before me, a few rollers still in her hair, stress all over her body.

"Poppy, you're early! Thank GOD!" She pulls me inside and hugs me, the door closing heavy behind me.

"I always come early because you need me," I smile as she chuckles, lightly punching my arm. "What can I do to help?"

"You're angel, I swear! Can you make sure the table settings are right? There's extra silverware in the-"

"I know, Emilia. Everything like normal?" I'd been to so many of her parties, I know exactly what the set up is.

She nods, her smile growing wider. "Keep it simple and classy. You know me!"

I nod. "So what kind of party is this one? Another schmooze for Mr.?"

She waves her hand. "Yeah something like that. He's meeting with a bunch of actors for some upcoming project. He's hand selected them."

"Cool."

Emilia thanks me again before running off to finish getting ready. I pause for a moment, looking around trying to remember where the dining room is. I head down the hall and into what I think is the dining room. It turns out I remembered correctly, my eyes roaming over the table and making small adjustments to the settings already there. I end up pulling out more silverware, fixing them to Emilia's standards. I hate that I know this stuff, but I've saved her ass more times than I can count at these things so it helps to know what to expect.

As I work, my mind goes back to all the parties past. The ones she brought me to when she first started dating the producer several years ago. She had been so nervous, as if the producer wasn't already head over heels for her. That's where I met-

No. Not going down that road again. I can't do that to myself.

I shake my head and finish the settings, adding some minor touches to the decorations and finally lighting the candles. A knock at the door brings me out of my head and I walk over to answer it. An older gentleman stands there, putting out a cigarette with his shoe. He introduces himself as the director. What an ego.

Several people arrive after him, a mix of actors and a screenwriter. They all mingle in the sitting room for a few minutes before Emilia and the producer make their way in, everyone doing introductions.

The producer claps his hands together, looking around. "We're still missing one, but I doubt he'd mind us getting started. Who's hungry?"

Everyone gives their approval but as they move towards the dining room, a knock raps on the front door.

"That should be him. Guess I tried to start too soon!" Polite laughter at the producer as Emilia moves to answer the door, a quick glance in my direction before she disappears down the hall. The producer is telling some little story about a prior movie he was involved in, one I've heard a zillion times. But his story is short and he motions behind me.

"Just in time! We were about to eat. Welcome, Lucien."

My back stiffens. The room starts to spin my chest heaving. He didn't say Lucien. Did he? Maybe it was another Lucien. It couldn't be my Lucien? No. He's not my Lucien. He made that very clear when he wanted to continue partying and I wanted to settle down.

"Perfect! I'm starving."

Fuck. There was no mistaking that voice, the one that sets my skin ablaze, makes warmth pool between my thighs, the one that told me he needed to focus on his career and couldn't be with me. Not in the way I wanted him.

A small hand on my elbow squeezes me and I know it's Emilia, gently guiding me towards the dining room.

"I'm sorry, Poppy. He invited him and I didn't make the connection until the last minute."

"You couldn't have given me a heads up?" I yank my arm from her grip and swallow hard. I can't let him see how he makes me feel. He doesn't deserve that. I turn, letting the others file past me until he stops in front of me.

"Poppy. I..I didn't know you'd be here."

I'm determined to show him how much better off I am, that he means nothing to me now. I look up into his eyes and all of my resolve goes completely out the window. Were his eyes always that big? That round? So soft? I want to yank him to me by the thin chain around his neck, press my lips to his and never let go.

Way to show him, Poppy.

"I didn't know you'd be here either."

A silence stretches between us, a heavy, loaded silence. His eyes soften the longer he looks at me and is that regret I see? No. I'm projecting. But then he offers me his arm, taking me completely by surprise.

"We can be adults. Shall we?"

Don't do it. Don't take his arm, Poppy. Don't do it, don't do it, don't-

My fingers close on his offered up arm. "I'm sure this is a great opportunity for you."

Fuck, he's still warm. His skin smooth where my fingers touch him. Way to go, Poppy.

He escorts me into the dining room and I feel Emilia's eyes glued to us. He pulls out my chair and I sit, him scooting the chair in behind me before walking around the table, looking for his name card. Which was conveniently placed directly across from mine.

The producer clears his throat after everyone sits and starts making some speech about the project, about handpicking everyone here, blah blah blah. I zone out, trying to use my peripheral to steal glances at him. It's been several years since that night we split, the yelling match that had devolved into quite possibly the hottest sex I'd ever had. No, don't think about that. I need a better look so I turn my head to take a drink and chance a glance at him, only to find him already looking at me, still with the soft eyes. I nearly choke on my drink, managing to swallow it and clear my throat.

He finishes his speech and everyone claps politely, starting to eat and talk amongst themselves. I sit, deciding to choose silence while eating but then Lucien looks directly at me.

"So, what do you think?"

"Uh what?"

Fuck him with those big, stupid eyes.

He gestures towards the producer with his fork. "The project."

"Oh. Well I'm not involved so," I shrug. "I'm just here for Emilia."

He chuckles. "How many rollers were in her hair this time?"

I laugh, my body betraying me. "Four."

"But seriously. A good project?"

"I think..I think it's an honor he hand picked you. I'm not sure what the project itself is, but I'm sure it would be great for your career."

His eyes study my face as I take a bite of my food. "It's not always about the career though."

Anger surges up through me. "Isn't it?"

"How are we doing over here?" Emilia had walked up, cutting off whatever Lucien was about to say to defend himself.

"Great, Em. I'm just going to get something from the kitchen." I set my napkin on the table and push my chair back, Emilia giving me the smallest squeeze to my arm before I turn and head into the kitchen, the door closing behind me and effectively cutting off the sounds of the dinner party.

I lean over the kitchen island, my hands splayed out over the cool marble, trying to calm myself down. I hear the door open, the chatter from the party momentarily loud again before the door swings shut and it's quiet again.

"Em, I'm fine. Really. He just...caught me by surprise. I can hold it in."

"What if I don't want you to hold it in?"

My head snaps up, meeting his gaze, embarrassment making my skin heat up. "Oh. I thought you were Emilia."

Lucien takes a few steps towards me, the light glinting off the thing chain around his neck. "You didn't answer my question."

I stand up straight, crossing my arms. "We've done this dance before, Lucien. It didn't end well."

He smirks and I want to slap him. "I think it ended just fine. In the doorway, on the floor, in the front yard. I had to move my neighbors were too jealous."

My body betrays me with a small smile at the memory but then I reign it in. "I'm still not paying for that end table."

He's closer now. When did he move closer? Almost close enough to touch. His voice is low and raspy. "I'd destroy every end table on this planet if it meant having you under me again."

Fuck. Me.

I turn away from him, not giving him the pleasure of seeing what he does to me. "Flattering. But you made it very clear I was not number one in your life."

"I was stupid. I guess I needed to prove to you, to myself, that I could actually do this acting thing."

Finally composing myself, I turn to face him. "And how'd that work out for you?"

His eyebrows furrow together. "Have you not seen any of my films?"

I had. I had seen them all. I know I shouldn't have, that it wasn't helping me get over him. But Lucien has this pull, this hold on me I've never been able to fully shake.

"Some. But I'm asking your opinion. Off camera."

His jaw ticks a moment before he takes a swig from the glass I only just realized he was holding. "It brought me here."

I scoff. "Yeah, the producer hand picking you is actually a very high honor. I'd be-"

"No, you misunderstand." He shakes his head and sets his glass down on the counter. "I lied earlier."

It was my turn to furrow my eyebrows. "When? You've lied to me a lot."

"Earlier, when I said I didn't know you'd be here. I knew, well...more like hoped you'd be here. Knew it was a long shot but the only way you'd talk to me again."

My heart was racing, nearly bouncing out of my chest as he takes another few steps right into my personal bubble, my lower back against the counter. "I already told you I'm not replacing that end table."

He's right in front of me, the warmth from his body radiating onto mine. "I was a fool, Poppy. I..I love you."

I've waited years to hear him say those words to me again, to hear him actually mean them. To hear them not sandwiched between things like "but I have to focus on my career".

His lips are so close to mine, his breath fanning over my face.

"You broke my heart, Lucien."

"I know. I'm sorry. Let me put it back together."

"Lucien, I-" but he cuts me off with the softest touch of his lips I've ever felt, a whole slew of emotions flooding my body, including the one pooling between my legs.

"I can't do this without you, Poppy."

"Do this?"

"Life. I don't want to do it without you."

Fuck.

I grip that chain around his neck and pull him to me, our lips crashing together, his body pressing into mine. But then the counter scrapes across my spine and I jolt, breaking the kiss to gasp in pain. Lucien steps back, offering me his hand.

"Let's go somewhere where we won't break the furniture."

I shouldn't take his hand. I can still back out. But a small voice in the back of my head believes that he means it. That he wants a life with me, wants what I wanted all those years ago. And right now, I'm letting that voice win. I take his hand and he smiles, that smile that makes me feel like I'm the only person in the world. He guides me out the back door, past the pool, past the changing tents between the pool and the beach, and down the walkway alongside the neighbors cement wall that leads down to the beach.

He spins me and I laugh, tasting the salty ocean air on my tongue. I back up towards the wall and he follows me, lowering himself to my level. His large hands wrap around my hips, gliding down to cup my ass, and I moan into his kiss, my hand gripping his shirt to pull him closer to me. He kisses me, his tongue sliding into my mouth like it had so many times before. One hand still firmly on my ass, the other slides up my side, cupping my face so tenderly, full of love. He pulls back slightly and looks at me, like he's shocked I'm really here. That he's really kissing me.

"I love you, Poppy. I never should have let you go."

"Then don't let me go. I've always been yours."

He kisses me again, his hips pressing into mine and I can feel him hard, my cunt desperately throbbing, begging to feel him inside me again. Somewhere in my haze of desire, I hear myself begging, whispering pleas in his ear to take me, that I need him inside me before I die. His hands slide my dress up my thighs, reaching under and ripping my underwear in two, tucking them into his pocket. He had ruined so many good pairs of my underwear that way, but I honestly couldn't care less. My fingers fumble with his zipper, but I manage to get it down, reaching in to grip him, a sharp intake of breath when my fingers close around him, pumping him a few times. His hands slide under my ass, lifting me up as he presses me against the wall. He slides into me and the world stops moving, colors are brighter, and I finally feel right, like I'm actually here on this planet. Every thrust of his hips brings him deeper into me, holding me here, holding me to him. His breath comes out in short pants, desperate pleas of love and apologies between our moans as he fucks me against the wall.

And then the light blooming inside me breaks, my head pushing back, my nails digging into his skin, my entire body tingling as pleasure radiates out from where we connect. Lucien follows suit, moaning my name as he spills himself inside of me, pushing as deep as he can. We stay like that for a moment, trying to catch our breaths.

"I want to stay inside of you but my legs are fucking shaking."

I laugh and he yelps, quickly trying to pull out of me as my laughter contracts my body around him. He sets me on the ground and zips his pants as I smoothe out my dress, my laughter slowly fading. I look at him and he looks back at me, his eyes still soft and gentle. He tucks some hair behind my ear before cupping my cheek again.

"I wasn't kidding, Poppy. I was fucking stupied before. I need you next to me. When we're together, I feel...right. like I belong here. I don't think I can face this life without you."

I know it's a possibility this will end the same way it did before, but something in his eyes is different this time. He's had time to think, time to experience life without someone with him. Without me. He's grown, matured - well, matured some at least. But do I want to open my heart back up to him? Knowing that he could shatter it again at any moment?

"I'm still not replacing that end table."

He smiles and it lights up my entire world. "That's ok. I have plenty more furniture we can ruin with our love."

-------

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @booksarekindaneat @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21 @gooddaykate @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed @ladykatakuri @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @justreblogginfics @kmc1989 @veryprairieberry @mysterious-moonstruck-musings

#lucien flores x reader #lucien flores x you #lucien flores x f!reader #lucien flores x female reader #lucien flores #the uninvited #the uninvited ff #the uninvited fanfiction #the uninvited fanfic #lucien flores fanfic #lucien flores fic #Lucien Floires ff #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character ff #pedro pascal characters

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i-drop-level-one-loot · 2 months

Note

Hiii!

I found your stories a few hours ago and they are perfect, I don't think I ever went through someone's account so fast hahah

If it's fine with you, could you do a sequel to the yandere bully story? Maybe what would happen if reader ended up too scared of his bullying and decided to change school, or had to move away due to personal reasons! What would be yandere's reaction?

Of course, it's just a request, so feel free to not do it if you don't feel like doing it!

Loving your stories, keep it up, I'm rooting for you! ❤

Yandere!Bully x Fem!Reader part 2

CW: Bullying, breaking and entering

Simon's mind went blank. It was as if the organ didn't want to process what he had just learned, so it decided to power off instead.

"Yeah, apparently she started homeschooling." The sharp nosed boy tried his best to bite back his smile. A year younger than Simon, Nicky looked up to him, aspiring to be just as (much of a bully) cool as he was. So when he overheard the office ladies sympathetically discussing Simon's favorite victim, he made sure to gather as much information as he could in order to try and impress Simon; gain his favor.

The squirrelly brunette had prepared mentally for a number of different reactions Simon could have had to the news: anger, disappointment, mild amusement.. but when he turned his eyes away from his milk box it confused him to see Simon's stare empty.

Thinking that Simon didn't care Nicky doubled down. "My sources say she was too scared to name her bullies, and that she just wanted it to end without a confrontation."

'She left because of me??' Simon squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to shut out the kid yapping beside him. When (Reader) didn't come to school Simon was, of course, worried. He thought that she might have gotten sick, or worse. The worry over not being able to see her beautiful face was eating him up, and he admittedly began lashing out at other people, really making him into the bully (Reader) thought he was. But now he was hearing that she had left the school because of him??

"It's a good thing she didn't snitch, huh?" The prideful child said in a haughty way, pleased with himself (even though Simon didn't know, or care, why).

"Why are you telling me this?" 'Can't you see how fucked up you got me right now??'

"Huh?" Startled and suddenly nervous, Nicky wrung the bottom of his hoodie in an attempt to calm his stutter. "B- I just, I thought, because you- you seemed to hate her, ya know? So I thought- I just thought you'd be interested to know.."

"Great. Now I know." Simon's voice was hard and sharp. He wanted to cry, but he sounded like he was on the verge of attacking the younger kid. "What am I supposed to do with that information?"

Heart in his throat and lip trembling, Nicky handed over his phone with the camera open. "I took a picture of her address.."

Knock knock knock!

(Reader) happily rolled off the couch and made her way to the front door. Neither of her parents were home and she had already finished all of her classwork, so the student had been relaxing while scrolling through her phone. She had only been homeschooled for a week, but was already back to her old self again. (Reader) was so stress free that she wasn't as paranoid about an unexpected visitor as she probably should have been.

She opened the front door without peaking to see who it was, and she didn't have time to process that it was Simon until he had already shoved himself inside and closed the door behind him. All of the fear and anxiety that (Reader) had finally worked through snapped back like a rubber band, physically hurting her chest.

"What- Get out!" Her shaky voice commanded.

"Shut up." Simon had planned on being comforting and sweet, rehearsing the entire trip on how to apologize and finally woo (Reader) correctly. To mend all the damage his foul personality had accidentally done. But then he was there, in her hallway, and she looked so scared of him.. "What were you thinking? Not coming to school. I thought you might've killed yourself." His attempt to show how worried he was for her only sounded like a threat as it left his lips.

(Reader) thought about her phone she left on the couch, and wondered if she could get to it before he could grab her. "Please leave me alone.." If only she could inch backwards as subtly as possible..

"Why? I came here to make sure you were okay." Simon grabbed her wrist and squeezed tightly enough for her to bite the inside of her cheek. "Come back to school."

"..No."

His grip tightened.

"I- I can't!" (Reader) struggled to break free as the tears began to pool up. "Do you know how difficult it was to get into homeschooling?? More than half way through the year?? I didn't drop out!! I couldn't go back, even if I wanted to!" Her pleas made sense, but Simon was already too heartbroken to hear them.

"Then I guess I'm going to be your new study buddy." His smile was supposed to be kind, suave. He wanted to look caring and dashing. But to (Reader) his half lidded eyes and tight smile looked like a malevolent smirk.

"What?"

"What? You thought you could run away from me? It's not like your family has enough money to just up and move whenever they want." Simon glanced around at the furniture visible from the entrance to double check that they, in fact, were not rich enough to move whenever. "And now I know where you live."

(Reader) parted her lips to talk back, but Simon quickly closed the gap between them, pulling her into his chest and kissing her painfully. He had imagined their first kiss many many times, and it was never like this. But it didn't matter if it was rushed and he pulled her in too hard and he slammed his lips against her's too forcefully. The young man wanted to beg her to never leave his side again, but instead as he turned around to leave he only left her with another warning.

"Don't even think about calling the cops. I'll be back to check up on you again later.. and if you try to run again, I'll fucking find you."

#thank you for interacting with me #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere bully #fem reader #yandere tsundere #part two

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artificial-transmutations · 3 months

Text

Can you believe it?

10.02.2024

Can you fucking believe it?

As most of you know, I'm working for LifeCorp, and you won't believe what they just did to me! I'm pissed!

My job is, apparently, becoming 'obsolete' with the whole AI thing bla bla bla. But! Of course, they don't want to fire me. Instead, they're offering me alternative positions. So far so good, right? But do you know which positions they offered me?

- Security Guard

- Janitor

- Escort

Not that bad, right? I mean I don't have the skillset for any of those, but that is apparently no problem, because these jobs come with a fucking mandatory life change if I take them?

Apparently, my usual charming self is not enough:

What kind of bullshit is this? Normal companies ask you to move if you want to keep your job, LifeCorp requires you take on a whole new body, just to keep working for them.

You think that's outrageous? It gets better. Apparently, none of those jobs is suitable for a woman. I can be a male security guard, a male janitor or a male escort. And when I complained about it, they just said that for security guard and janitor, a strong body is a requirement, and they have enough female escorts already. What a bunch of assholes! There's absolutely no way I'm gonna take one of those jobs.

Love, Tracy

***

14.02.2024

Have you seen LifeCorp's newest shit post? The valentine's day special? The audacity!

Stacy and Zara are now fricking men? No doubt they have been bullied to make that change. You know what this company has? A fucking frat-boy attitude. More and more people are becoming guys, "BeCaUsE tHeY wAnT tO". Bullshit. It's clear to me that the upper management wants to see more dick in their company. Probably a cocksucker like Stacy and Zara have become. I'll talk to them first chance tomorrow.

Oh, and Matthew? Why would anyone want to become a Latino?!

Love, Tracy

***

18.02.2024

Okay, I talked to Stacy and Zara (No, I won't call them "Steel and Zacharias", these are still women!). They were all "Oh, we're so much happier now" and "We're finally being our true selves" and "You should do the same, really."

It's a fucking brainwash. I mean, they haven't been right in their mind to begin with (they had the delusion of being a couple - ha! Couples are one man and one woman, nothing else!), but it's becoming veeery clear to me that they have been forced and brainwashed. And I will find proof for that!

Love, Tracy

***

18.02.2024 - 2

Okay, I'm fuming now. I told my boyfriend about that whole job situation. And you know what he said? You know what he fucking said?

"Ok. Do whatever makes you happy."

He just said "Ok" and was all cool about it! He even had the audacity to tell me that they didn't force me to do anything and that I could just find a new job if I didn't want any of that bodies.

But the best part is still to come. He said, and I quote, "Just make sure to ask them to make me gay if you take any of those jobs, so we can still be together." I mean... wow. That's a reason for a breakup just there. He's a fricking man, or at least that's what I thought up until now. The thought of becoming gay should have been something that made him sick!

But, oh no. He's fine with it. Disgusting! I need to re-think this relationship.

Love, Tracy

***

19.02.2024

I have a plan!

I'm going to accept one of LifeCorps offers. No, hear me out. I'm gonna accept - and then I'll sue them. Discrimination, kidnapping, something like that. I'm gonna be rich. Oh, and about my boyfriend? He's gonna have it his way. I'll make sure they make him the fag he begs to be and then break up with him. This'll teach him. Good thing he doesn't read this feed.

I'm just too clever for this world. Take that, LifeCorp!

Gonna take the janitor, though. With all their fake diversity and stuff, the guard and escort probably aren't even white.

Love, Tracy

***

22.02.2024

I just got a letter congratulating me on my choice and that they are happy to keep me as an employee. Ha. If these losers knew.

Love, Tracy

***

26.02.2024

Holy shit! How do you guys even walk with that thing?

Needless to say, I got my new body. Here's what I look like now:

Apparently, they meant it well with me, cause my new dick is just... enormous. And they gave me some huge balls to match it, too.

The muscles aren't all that bad, either - I just feel big and powerful all around. The hair will take some getting used to, but it's not for long, after all. After I sue them, I'll demand my original body back.

I do have to admit, I'm feeling good, though. So much more powerful, but calm and happy at the same time. I wonder if this is a guy thing or a me thing? Is that how my boyfriend feels all the time?

Oh, gosh. My boyfriend. He's probably gay already, so I should break up with...

But that would be really mean. Also, thinking about him just made my new member react. It's kinda straining my underwear now. These things really do have a mind of their own, right?

What was I writing about? Yes, my boyfriend. Why did I want to break up with him? I mean, he's just cute like a button, right? I just realize what a gigantic asshole I was, planning to break up with him. I'll have to apologize. Or, even better, I'll apologize by showing show him this huge package I got. That's what he wanted, right?

I should really go. Don't want to keep him waiting.

...

You know what? I think I'll try out this new life before I make any more rushed decision. So far, I enjoy being a dude a lot and I'm actually looking forward to my new job. And my new-old boyfriend. And they didn't even force me to do anything. Perhaps I should ask them to adjust my ethnicity later on, though - I feel a bit more adventurous now. Also, I think I'll go by Trace now. It's an unusual name, but I like it.

Sorry for being such an ass before. Well, speaking of ass - off to get some.

Bye!

- Trace

#female to male tf #straight to gay #muscle transformation #hairy

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meryldian · 1 year

Note

Hi, i'm loving your work, you're so talented. I was wondering if you could do an arguing with the Kaulitz twins (separate) HC please? ❤

I sure can!! Tysm for the request ִ ࣪𖤐

✶ Arguing with the Kaulitz Twins ✶

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

★ Bill Kaulitz ★

Let’s start softly

This may have been said many, many, many times but it’s true. You guys rarely fight, but! When it comes to little arguments over some petty topics I’m afraid it’s the opposite.

It never lasts long.

You accidentally pulled a loose thread on his silk shirt? He’s going to pout about it for the next thirty minutes

You stepped on him? He will dramatically say you’re plotting against him

Missed a chord on stage? Oh he will be genuinely annoyed for a little while

When it comes to serious arguments though, you need something big to anger him so badly.

It would start just like your usual bickering. Making petty remarks at each other and someetimes avoiding the main issue.

Once his face drops and he goes completely serious you know it's about to go down.

Bill can be very pigheaded so he will stick to his point no matter what. He likes being right just as he likes being in control.

He's the type to speak really fast and cut your word because he feels the need to explain himself.

Is very consious of what he says though, he will never say something hurtful that he doesn't mean.

It's a different story if he actually means it. He's brutally honest and if you did something bad he will tell you without sugarcoating it, even if it can come across as rude.

Bill can take a lot in but there's always a point where he breaks, it's normal.

Look he's not a rude person at all, but he's not one to let things slide either.

A flaw of his is that he may say a hundred things at once and expect you to listen through but there's times when one of your first replies will make him cry or freak out right away. Ofc not always but it's one of the things Bill would need to work on.

He is not that aggressive but is VERY defensive.

Bill doesn't like conflict though, this is really a worst case scenario where something comes up and you guys need to argue it out.

Friendly reminder that it is necessary in relationships to argue from time to time as long as it stays healthy.

If the argument gets too heated Bill prefers that you both part ways for a couple hours to cool down. Then you discuss again after re-arranging your thoughts.

At the end of the day he never meant wrong, he just wants to fix whatever came up.

Bill would feel terrible after you fight. He genuinely fears you’ll leave him or start hating him.

Would not apologize instantly because his pride plays a big game, but give it some minutes or an hour; worst case a day and he will come back sobbing and asking for your forgiveness, expressing how much he loves you and how he never meant to fight.

You’re the type to be angry at each other but still cuddle at night.

Hug him and tell him he's valid please.

☆ Tom Kaulitz ☆

Tom, Tom, Tom

Believe it or not, Tom becomes quite submissive when he's very emphatuated with someone.

He really is at your mercy.

Yet it doesn't change the fact that he's a bit of a hot-head and just like Bill, he likes when he's right.

Let's not forget Tom was a bit of a punk activist growing up. You get what I mean when I say that be likes to get his point across. (Y'all need to read Bill's book if you speak/understand german it's a GEM. There's also a girl narrating some of it in spanish on YT :)

Unfortunately, arguments do happen often. Sometimes it’s really nothing but other times it can get pretty ugly.

When you guys are mad at each other everyone knows that it's better to leave you be because it will get loud.

Your fights range from small discussions that you have often to actual screaming matches when it gets bad.

It's inevitable for the both of you to raise your voices as each other in these cases.

The reasons may vary. It can be miscommunication, ESPECIALLY in 2006-8 when you were still young teens experiencing the world of fame.

Jealousy, for sure. I can see Tom being skilled enough at hiding it but he’s very possessive still.

And well, it’s still Tom. Again if you focus on his earlier years of fame the amount of girls throwing themselves at him can definitely be a cause of conflict.

Unless you’re very chill about it.

There’s definitely still possessiveness on Tom’s side.

I feel like neither of you would really know how to process the frustration.

A little thing to take into consideration is that you’d be the couple that argues, yell that you hate each other and then 10 minutes later you’ll be back to normal and never speak of it again.

Which you need to work on.

It’s because of this very reason that some of your fighting topics can be repetitive.

From what the twins have confessed, they could get pretty aggressive with their surroundings.

Tom would never, NEVER, raise a hand at you. No need to worry.

But the items around him can’t say the same.

He’s the kind of person that feels the anger in him build up physically and needs some release. When he’s fuming, in the worst of scenarios some tables would be kicked or some object would fly around. Just never at you.

This habit does get worked on throughout time though, he matures and grows.

The only physical fight that would ever go down is a pillow fight. Or play fights. Or in bed. But that’s another story.

A bit similar to Bill, Tom needs some time to cool off, just does it more impulsively.

He would walk out sometimes because it’s far too overwhelming.

Makeup sex is a big thing in your relationship.

Tom would love to express himself better and talk things through he simply needs help doing it.

Maybe you’re the help he needs.

#bill kaulitz #bill kaulitz x reader #tokio hotel #tokio hotel imagine #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz #gustav schäfer #georg listing #tokio hotel x reader #georg listing x reader #gustav schafer x reader #gustav schaefer #x reader

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luveline · 2 years

Text

𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary steve likes you, eddie munson's best friend, to the point of heart palpitations. you feel the same way about him [6k]

warnings fluff, getting together, mutual pining, first kiss, first date, eddie munson is a good friend, steve is hopeless, fem!reader, reader is hellfire club adjacent, reader is an overthinker and steve is a softie, pre-s4 post-s3, no s4 spoilers besides eddie + hellfire club existing

𓆩❤︎𓆪

The first time Steve sees you he's smitten.

You're sitting on the stoop of Eddie Munson's trailer. Coolest girl he's ever seen – and Steve doesn't go for the edgy type. Crazy cool clothes, hair all messy pretty and your eyes edged in dark makeup, you're fiddling with the cassette player in your lap, brows pinched in frustration.

Steve can't look long. He's dropping the lunch club off for some impromptu Hellfire gathering. The kids pile out, eager to see their new (no, Steve isn't bitter) friend with a chorus of rushed, half-hearted thank you's.

You push the headphones off of your ears as his kids approach.

"Hey, Y/N," they say, one by one as they enter the trailer and disappear from sight.

Steve is two seconds from leaving, swears, when he hears Lucas ask how you are.

"You know," you say, voice quiet and immediately intoxicating. Steve watches as you slowly push two fingers between your shiny lips and pretend to blow your brains out. You drop on your back and lie there for a moment, chest rising with easy, breezy laughter. The sound draws heat to his cheeks, worse the sight of your naked thighs.

He's hooked. He has to leave quickly, before you sit back up and indoctrinate him with your looks alone.

The next time he sees you is similar and not. You're sitting on the ground outside the movie theatre. Again, Steve is playing taxi cab for his doofuses, though this time the thank you's are slightly kinder, louder - he'd blown off a girl he didn't stand much chance with in the first place to bring them.

"Love you!" Dustin calls, slamming the passenger door.

You drop the cassette player in your hands and lean your head back against Eddie's thigh. Steve takes a few seconds to realise you're looking at him, head tilting this way and that to catch a glance at him through people's legs.

"Who's your friend?" he hears you ask Mike.

Mike doesn't even look. "Who? Steve? He's my sister's ex-boyfriend."

You smile at him. Steve, hating to be caught but not stupid enough to blush, nods at you through the window before turning the key. It's the suavest thing he's ever done and he's still applauding himself when you approach his window. He hadn't noticed you get up, distracted by triumph.

You knock the window. He rolls it down.

"Hi," you say.

"Hey," he says back. Then, cautiously, "You need something?"

You smell like a lot of things as you duck your head into his car. Mica and perfume and, softer, talc. Hairspray. Something else, wet like ink. He can't help looking at your make up, the rhinestones under your lower lashes, the shiny sticky pink on your lips.

"Steve," you say. He likes the way you say his name, confident, like you've always known it. You smile softly, at ends with your Joan Jett-esque levels of cool. "Do you wanna come see the movie?" Then, in what marks the beginning of the end, "With me?"

He knows he should play it out. Plus, he's startled. "I don't know, I'm just here to drop them off."

"It's okay if you have plans," you say. He catches a sneak of your tongue pressed behind - what he perhaps insanely thinks of as - cute teeth. You're talking to him in this lilting cadence that has him pinned. "But you drove all the way here, so if you're not busy…"

He pretends to consider.

"What movie?" he asks.

You bring a hand to your neck and secure a small silver pendant between your neatly lacquered nails. "Uh, it's called Day of the Dead. S'about zombies," you tell him. The way you say zombies - your voice goes high and airy, your lips move slow like they're catching up to the word, your eyebrows raised up. Eyes wide. He wants to play it back.

"Please?" you ask when he fails to reply.

He thinks he has to be dreaming. Or drugged again. Definitely drugged.

"Sure," he hears himself say, though he can't remember thinking about it.

You don't smile like he expects. You make a sound, a happy inhale, your eyes light up but your lips stay straight.

Steve thinks you might be nervous.

And sure, he can be a jerk but he's not a total douchebag. He gives you what he hopes is a reassuring smile and gets out of his car, locking the doors to follow you to the ticket stand. Closer now, Steve can't work you out: half dreamy, half fidgeting.

Your boots thud up carpeted stairs into the auditorium, the lights already down, previews blaring.

There's two empty seats next to Eddie. In the dark you catch the hem of his jacket between your fingers and pull him behind you.

His heart skips.

Eddie, in what Steve thinks of as his most mature greeting to date, nods at him and then turns to you curiously. "You okay?" he asks seriously.

"I'm perfect, Eds. Did we miss any good previews?" you ask, sitting heavily beside your friend and stealing a big handful of popcorn out of his lap.

Eddie only chuckles. "Nothing you'd like."

You nod and then turn to Steve shyly. "Sorry we didn't get snacks," you whisper. You offer your hand to him, full of popcorn.

He shakes his head. You look embarrassed but not surprised, tipping your head back to polish off your handful.

"You went to Hawkins High?" you ask with your hand over your mouth.

"I did. You didn't?"

"I did," you correct gently, wiping your hand on your thigh. "I graduated two years ago. When Eddie should have."

That makes more sense, though Steve's sorry he doesn't remember you. He was a little obsessed with Nance at the time.

"Do you work?" he asks.

You smile like you're about tell him a big secret, edging forward. Your arms brushes his arm on the rest between chairs. "You can't tell anyone."

"On my honour," he says, eyes wide, terrified you're a mercenary or worse, a cold caller.

"I desk at the library," you say.

He blinks. You giggle and Eddie shushes you, already sounding defeated. Chastened, you drop your voice to a barely perceptible level.

"I know, I don't look the type."

"No," he says, too loud, receiving several disgruntled glares. "No, you- Well, maybe you don't. But I don't look like I worked at Scoops Ahoy all summer, so…"

You slap a ring-laden hand over your shiny pout and try to smother a laugh. Bracelets slide down your wrist. "You do! You do look like you worked there," you say joyfully.

He can't find it in him to be offended.

You're milder as you settle back into your seat. A preview passes. You clear your throat.

"I'm sorry," you say, sounding worried, "if that was cruel. I get mixed up. I know- I mean, I don't know, but the Starcourt thing. That must've been awful."

Your words stick together like taffy. He releases you as quickly as he can.

"Hey, don't be sorry," he says, scoffing lighty. He readjusted where he's sitting, crossing his arms over his chest. "Doesn't matter." It's not like you'd meant anything by it.

You look less peaky but still hesitant.

"Would you believe me if I told you the worst part of my job was the uniform?" he jokes, wanting to put you at ease again.

"Was it really so bad?" you murmur, your lips slowly curving up into a smile.

"There was a mandated hat."

You laugh. People shush you aggressively. Steve feels something close to magnetism at the sound, and wants to make you do it again.

"Where do you work now?" you whisper as the movie begins.

"Video store by the arcade."

"Family Video?" you ask. He nods, looking down at your hands in your lap, your fingers. Your legs are shaking, minute trembling. You twist one of your rings around your fingers and he wonders what's making you nervous.

"That's the one."

You bend in close, so close he thinks he can smell your shampoo. Dusky, rosewater. Sweet.

"Maybe I can come see you. You can recommend me something."

"Sure," he says, too loud. Somebody coughs, though the cough sounds suspiciously like dickwad.

You watch Day of the Dead, stealing popcorn all the while. You pop the lid off of Eddie's drink and take sneaky sips, and your friend flicks your upper arm when you get greedy. In response, your bashful, peeling laughter.

"Fine, I'll get my own drink. You want one?" you ask Steve, standing with your back bent, necklace dipping down in the space between you. He follows it, looks accidentally straight at your chest and then back up, guilty and blushing. "Steve?" you ask.

"I'll come with you," he says, desperate to escape the dark, the warmth.

Steve follows you down the red, trodden carpet and back into the main body of the theatre, an atrium with high glass windows and wooden beams. It smells old, like dust. The sky is dark now, night eating up every bit of natural light. White cat eyes beam from the movie theatre's floors to guide you to the snack station, a brighter, well stocked haven of greasy foods and cold drinks.

You stand in front of the popcorn machine. It paints your skin with a golden yellow shine, like the sun. You're very quiet as you open your clutch, pulling out hair pins and chapstick and a lone cotton pad before you find your purse, a battered leather pouch embossed with hearts. He tries not to fill the silence, digging for his wallet in his pocket. He gets a too big coke and you deliberate over slurpee flavours, eventually asking for a mix.

"It's so quiet out here," you murmur around your straw.

"Like Family Video on a Friday," he agrees.

"Isn't Friday, like, one of your busiest nights?"

"Yep."

A burst of surprised giggles. Steve hides his smile with a cough, 'cos he's cool.

You pull the straw from your cup and lick it clean, digging for a certain flavour though he's not sure which, still laughing to yourself. Steve takes the initiative and leads you back up the stairs and to your seat, catching your jacket in his hand before you can walk down the wrong row.

You smile gratefully, your lips stained blue and red.

You're sitting on the pavement outside of Family Video. Steve can see your back, your hair.

He wonders why you're here, if it's to see him, and then if you're okay, and feels bad for thinking in that order.

"Robin," he says loudly, reluctant to tear his eyes from you lest you disappear like a shoddy apparition.

"Steven."

"Not correct."

"What, idiot?" Robin asks, picking her head up from the book stretched open in her lap. She sits up and her back clicks loudly.

Steve sighs in disgust. "That's gross, you know? You'll get, like, arthritis."

"You think arthritis is gross? Not cool, Steven."

"No, I meant them as two separate things. Gross to hear you click, and that the clicking will give you arthritis," he explains, exasperated. He runs a hand through his hair.

"That's a myth."

A long pause where Steve watches your back moving, how you're leaning forward towards the sun bleached tarmac.

"What?" he asks suddenly, turning from you finally to stare in disbelief at his best friend.

Robin is more than prepared to fight her cause, the leaves of her book closed around her hand like she'd been waiting for him to ask. She probably had been.

"It's a myth. Clicking your bones doesn't give you arthritis. The clicking sound is fluid moving- Are you even listening to me?"

Steve has dropped his head into his hands. He spreads his fingers wide so Robin can see his eyes. "Robin, we have more important things at hand."

"Like what? Keith's laundry?"

"Like Y/N is sitting outside right now!" he shouts, and then cringes. You don't show any sign of having heard him. He continues in a strangled whisper, "She's been out there for like, five minutes!"

Robin kicks up off of her stool to stand at Steve's side, up on tiptoes to see over the vinyl on the windows. She's listened to his inane rambling and insecure, badly disguised yearning all week, but hasn't had a face to a name until now. She makes a sound of approval like she can understand why Steve has been so wound up about you.

"Why's she on the floor?"

"She does that."

"Oh," Robin says, chin jutting up. "Are you gonna go talk to her?"

He wants to. Dreadfully. Intensely wants to.

"Or I could go talk to her," Robin offers, wrists touching. She rubs them together. Steve ignores her mischievous, shit-eating grin.

"Sure, Robs, you talk to her. Stun her with your stellar people skills."

Robin's lips push, as close as she's ever come to pouting. "Cruel."

"Yet accurate."

"If you're so amazing, why don't you go talk to her, hot shot? Woo her! Chop-chop."

Steve steels his nerves because even if he is about to make a huge fool of himself he's slightly worried about your on-the-ground position. Not unusual for you, but still.

"Are you okay?" he asks as he emerges.

You turn to Steve like you're unsurprised that he's there and offer your headphones to him. "Put these on?"

"Are you okay?" he asks again, voice not dissimilar to when he's bossing around the kids.

You hold the headphones to your chest and dip your chin. "Steve, I'm fine. Please?" you ask, offering them to him.

He puts on the headphones, bent at the waist for the wire to reach your cassette player. He quickly discovers the source of your unhappiness – the tape sounds bloated. Distorted.

"The tapes messed up," he says.

You shake your head with patience, though he can tell from your expression this isn't the first time you've explained it. "It's not the tape, it's the player."

Steve's back gives a twinge. I'm an old man, he thinks in horror, standing up straight with your headphones back in his hands.

"You drop it?" he asks expectantly.

You only frown more, looking generally put out. "No, I took great care of her. Scout's honor."

Steve sighs and decides to take the leap, sitting down beside you on the sidewalk. There's a small dip where the parking lot starts and he stretches one leg out across it, hand on his knee, the other across his abdomen.

"Can't one of your nerd club fix it?" he asks.

"I'm not actually in Hellfire Club, you know."

He didn't. "You can't ask? Eddie must've learned something at school after this many years. By accident. Like… osmosis."

"Eddie's on his third try for a reason," you say, picking at a small ladder in your tights on the side of your calf. You're wearing socks, too, peeking up just over the edge of your thick bottomed boots.

"You know Dustin?" he asks after a patch of silence he would find awkward with anyone who wasn't you. You make it peaceful, in a way. "He could take a look. He went to science camp and built, like, the world's strongest radio."

He can't tell if you're listening. Your eyes are trained on the sidewalk, its crack, and the weeds growing between them. There's a wet snapping sound.

You hold a small yellow flower between your fingers.

"A creeping buttercup," you tell him. You push your palm flat in the space between you both and lean towards him. "Do you like butter?"

"Do I- Yeah, sure, I like butter. Who doesn't?"

You lick your lips. "Mind if I check?" you ask him.

"Is that a trick question?"

"Steve," you say, chiding. You tilt your head to your shoulder and the breeze kisses your hair, ruffling soft strands as you hold the flower under his chin intently. He feels frozen.

"You love butter," you say, nodding like what you just said makes sense.

"Are you sure you're okay? Didn't hit your head on the way here?"

"Here. Hold it under my chin," you tell him, offering him the flower. You twirl its stem, though you stop when he moves to take it.

Steve feels like an idiot as he holds it by your neck.

"Closer," you say softly, lifting your head.

Steve raises his eyebrows but keeps his skepticism to himself. To his surprise, when the flower is close enough to your skin, a small patch of yellow light appears, gauzy around the edges.

"What the fuck…"

You lower your chin, your faces closer than Steve had realised. You look straight into his eyes. "It's a reflection of the light. 'Cos it's clear out."

He feels out of his element no matter how captivating he finds you – he can't get to grips with it. His silence quickly deters you; you look away from his face and your lips pull into a pout as you bite your bottom lip. You bend at the waist and mess with your shoelaces.

"Did you wanna come inside?" he asks, trying to fix whatever it is he did. Girls are complicated.

You cheer up a bit.

"Do you have anything like Day of the Dead?"

He has no clue.

"Sure we do," he says confidently.

He stands up fast and offers his hand. You take it, your palm smooth and cool in his, admittedly warmer and slightly calloused. He hopes the ease with which he pulls you up is impressive, then feels stupid for thinking that. You squeeze his fingers before you let go and follow him into Family Video.

"So, what? You like him?" Eddie asks you from above, cross-legged on his bed. Denim jacket nowhere to be seen, he sits in a t-shirt with the sleeves hacked off, tattoos on clear display, stark against his pale skin.

"Don't be jealous, Eds," you say mildly.

He crawls to the edge of the bed to look down at you where you lie on his floor. His hair tickles your nose and you hold in a sneeze.

"Nice face," he says.

"I think he likes me."

"Why wouldn't he? You're cool."

You stare at your best friend's earnest face. "You know why."

"No, I don't."

You close your eyes, head dipping to your shoulder. You can't hide from him, though you've tried. Your arms cross over your tummy in a self-hug.

The ground is cold. His uncle's trailer is always cold, frigid in the winter. Minimal insulation and no A/C. You rub your face into the scratchy rug beneath you and sigh morosely, suddenly overcome with a pinching misery.

"There's nothing wrong with you," Eddie says seriously.

"I don't think I can do it." It hurts to say, though you know Eddie won't judge you.

"What? Have a boyfriend?"

You nod. The mattress creaks as he moves. You're expecting his touch, though his cold finger flicking you square in the forehead startles you anyway. Your eyes jump open. You flinch up into a sitting position and rub your head.

"Shithead."

"Stop doubting yourself."

"I get so messed up. I'm a bad friend, I wouldn't- I wouldn't be a good girlfriend," you mutter, bringing your knees to your chest. You hide in them.

"You don't get messed up," he says.

"I'm stupid."

"Y/N," he says, dragging your name out sternly. "Here, come sit with me. I won't flick you again, promise."

You rub your eyes, smudging your makeup and stand reluctantly to flop onto his bed, his rumpled sheets a lump under your back. Eddie pulls your necklace from where it has ridden up your neck and drops it down the valley of your chest absent-mindedly.

"You're not stupid," he says gently. "And you don't get 'messed up'. You're overthinking things."

"I'm not," you argue. "I'm an idiot, and I say the wrong things, and maybe he does like me but it won't last long."

You didn't have an easy time in school. Eddie knows this, lived it with you, and he's blamed it a thousand times for your low self-esteem. Ever understanding, he hums to himself skeptically and grabs your shoulder, giving you a good shake. He doesn't stop until you're laughing.

"I'm trying to shake some sense into you," he confides. "You're really fucking cool. And I'm not just saying that because you've been copying me since middle school, you're really cool."

"Cool," you repeat.

"Awesome."

You run the chain of your necklace through your fingers and feel the links skip over your skin, frowning.

"I thought for sure he'd ask me out by now."

"Maybe you should ask him."

"He probably thinks I'm, like, a creepy stalker."

"Creepy, maybe. Stalker? For what? Visiting him at work? That's friendly." You're overthinking things, he doesn't say.

"I left him my phone number," you admit, whispering. "But he hasn't called me."

"Babe, you're always fucking here. Did you check your machine?"

Obsessively. "Yeah."

Eddie throws himself down and kicks his legs over your tummy, to your annoyance. He ponders and you sulk, the rough sounds of Black Sabbath playing in the background.

"You've only met him a few times, right?"

Right. The movies, the video store, once when you'd bumped into him at the arcade and a couple of times when he'd checked out books at the library.

Eddie smiles as you tell him. "The library?"

"Yeah."

"He's visiting you at work?"

You think back to the last time you'd seen him, all of ten minutes across the desk with your clean library uniform and your neat hair. You finally cracked and asked him if he thought it suited you better.

"You look great," Steve had said, smiling lopsided, "but I miss your pretty gems. Oh, we have Friday the 13th back in. I kept it for you..."

"No, he's visiting the library," you say.

Eddie chuckles, his deep, teasing laugh. "And before you met, you saw him in there a lot, huh?"

"Well, no."

"So it's a coincidence that he found out where you work and he's suddenly an academic?"

"Shut up, Eddie," you plead, covering your face with your hands.

"Fine, whatever, we'll stop talking about it. Wanna paint my nails?"

"No."

You get up and paint his nails. You've done one hand pretty well when there's the sound of a car parking outside. Eddie turns down the stereo and you stare at each other curiously, listening for clues.

"Your uncle?"

"No. Probably for someone else."

Instantly disproved, there's a knock at the door, breaking up the silence. Eddie sighs dramatically and climbs over your legs to answer, his footsteps clumsy. "Yeah, coming," he calls. You stand and peer around the doorway, waiting to see who it is.

Eddie opens the door. "Harrington," he says, surprised, vaguely disgusted. "The munchkins aren't here."

"No, I know. I'm looking for Y/N."

You feel a stab of excitement right to your heart and scramble for Eddie's mirror, looking over your face and outfit with something close to terror looming – you're in an old band t-shirt covered in hair-dye from Eddie's red and pink phase and a skirt that's too short. You pull it down to make sure everything is properly covered.

"Yeah, she's here," Eddie says, though the door creaks as he closes it slightly, his voice a fraction from intimidating as he asks, "Who's asking?"

"Me?" Steve asks.

Your socks slide over linoleum in your rush to stop Eddie from being a total dick, edging him out of the way with your hip. He doesn't budge. You shove him with a huff and smile at Steve, trying to calm your pounding heart.

"Steve, hi."

"Hey," he looks over your shoulder. You turn, see Eddie standing there looking unimpressed. He waves. You glare at him fiercely and step over the threshold, shutting the door behind you.

You don't second guess as you take Steve's wrist into your hand, pulling him down the steps and into the short grass to make sure Eddie can't eavesdrop. It's damp under your socks.

Steve looks hot. You're a simple girl, you won't deny that. His hair looks more windblown than usual, lazy strands falling into his face. His eyes are serious, light brown and edged in straight lashes you would count if he let you, brows slightly lifted. You realise he's taking you in as you do the same and feel self conscious, shifting from foot to foot.

"Sorry, I look weird. I didn't-" you bite your tongue. I didn't know you were coming, you'd almost said, but of course you didn't, and telling him you would've dressed up if he was coming might scare him off.

Any anxiety you'd had is soothed as he takes your hand, still loosely clasped around his wrist, and squeezes the centre of your palm with his thumb.

"Are you kidding?" he asks, hand moving down, thumb rubbing over your pulse point. "You look beautiful. Don't worry about it."

His nonchalance trips you up. You can feel your heart in your mouth, like a hummingbird on your tongue.

"What did… what did you wanna ask me?" you stammer.

Steve drops your hand. "I tried calling, but I figured you'd be here. Uh, so-" he laughs, pulling a hand through his hair before dipping into the pocket of his jacket. You watch his arms then his hands.

"I got these," he says, pulling two tickets from his pocket. White and a third red, he offers them to you. You take them, enough adrenaline running through you that your hands are shaking and you struggle to read what they say.

Steve jumps in. "I know you really liked Day of the Dead. They're doing a showing in Indianapolis, one of those fancy theatre's where everyone dresses up as zombies, and like, they throw fake guts on you. Or something."

"Oh," you murmur. Awesome, you think. Oh my god. "That's sick."

"Right?"

"And you…"

"I want you to go with me. I want to take you," he says firmly. "On a date."

"A date."

"It's Friday. I'll pick you up, we'll drive there in the morning. Hang around, we can go wherever you want for dinner, see the sights."

"This is before or after we dress up like zombies?" you ask, hiding a huge smile.

Steve blushes, let it be written, his cheeks red. He sounds frustrated as he says, "Right, not my best idea. Before? We can get ready in the car," his voice fades before he finishes. "That's not a good idea."

He starts on a self deprecating waffle that you can't allow. You press the tickets to your chest, way too happy. "This is pretty cool."

"You think so?" he asks quickly, strung out.

"Yeah," you say fondly.

"Oh."

You almost step on his toes as you kiss his hot cheek. He smells nice. You set back on your heels and linger, trying to work out what his cologne smells like. Something fresh, not quite lemony.

You get a bit dizzy and carried away, stroking the curve of his arm with the back of your hand. Steve makes a sound like a hiccup and you remember yourself, stepping away bashfully, afraid to meet his eyes.

"So," Steve says, sounding relieved. Excited. "You'll go?"

"Yeah. It sounds awesome."

"It's a date," he says.

You tell him your address and he promises to call you to smooth out all the details but he really has to go to work. You climb back up the stairs and close the door almost all the way, watching as Steve gets in his car through the crack. He sits motionless for a bit before he fist pumps the air, says, "Yes! Ugh, yes. Still got it. Still got it, Hawkins."

You close the door.

"Ew, you look happy. Harrington cop a feel?" Eddie says.

"Something like that."

You're running down a dark alleyway with Steve's hand in yours. He's almost dragging you. Dude runs fast.

"I ran track!" he tells you helpfully.

You can't help the breathless laughing as you go, nervous and humming with energy. You'd both been having a great time at dinner and lost track of time, and now it's twenty minutes until doors open for Day of the Dead and neither of you look particularly lifeless.

You almost slam into the back door of his BMW, scrambling inside. Steve is quick behind you, upending the bag with your change of clothes onto the back seat. Your makeup and fake blood tumble out after it. He reaches up to turn on the overhead light.

"Fuck," Steve says, face carved in shadow. "Fuck. We don't have time."

"Sure we do," you say, tugging your shirt off quickly. Steve looks pointedly away once he notices your predicament. You chuckle. "Steve, just get changed. I don't care if you look."

"I'm a gentleman," he insists, rushing, the two of you folding and bumping into each other in a hurry to get dressed into your old clothes.

You catch flashes of his bare chest as he buttons down then buttons up, his legs, his thighs. You feel heat lick every stretch of skin you have at the sight. Oh, he's hairy, you think, and then have to slam your eyes shut to stop from thinking sick (completely normal, dirty) thoughts.

You pull your tights off of your ankles, blush at the idea of being sequestered in a car with him in your underwear, and leap to replace them with a pair of tight, pinstriped trousers, shrugging into them with great difficulty. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly as you pull on your blouse, white for the best fake blood effect, buttoning up just enough to hide your bra.

Make up next. You want to look scary and, importantly, believable. You fish for the make up you'd brought and have managed to suitably brush up your dark eyes with purples to look bruised and sickly by the time Steve has finished redressing. He tightens the tie around his neck.

"You next," you say.

Steve hesitates. "I've never done any makeup before."

You don't blink. "That's okay. I'll do it for you, if you want me to."

Steve climbs closer over your discarded clothes, close enough to hear his breathing, still fast. You brush the hair out of his eyes and they find yours, the two of you sharing a private smile, though there's no one else around.

"Will you ruin my good looks?"

"You'll be a very handsome zombie," you promise.

You reach for his face.

"You need to get closer," you tell him, fingers hooked under his ear. You tilt his head to the light.

"I can't," he says.

You steel your nerves and grab onto his shoulder gently, anchoring yourself as you climb up into his lap. If he's surprised he doesn't show it, his big hands coming up to your waist. You can feel the heat of each finger clearly on your skin where he grips you and the heat of his thighs like a furnace underneath yours. You try not to brush against him, standing up on your knees.

You use your fingers, rubbing them gently in the powder shadows and then over his silky skin. Big stripes of purple, a wash of yellow around his pretty eyes. He closes them as you dab a dark red under his eyelashes. You grow closer still, your breath fanning over his face. His hand skips respectably over your back and down to your thigh, holding you up. It's helpful. It's torture. You try not to breathe too loudly.

"You have really soft skin," you say, using your thumb to spread dark contour under his cheekbone, one side of his face gaunt.

You cover your work with your hand as his eyes open.

"Yeah?" he asks.

This closeness. Suddenly, abruptly, the feelings you're trying to push down rear their heads, and the heat becomes hard to ignore.

"Yeah," you murmur, thumb under his eye. He looks ridiculous. You know you look the same.

"Am I done?" he asks. His hand squeezes your thigh as he adjusts his hold.

"Not quite," you say.

You finish his makeup in silence. Time slows. You forget that you're late, content to feel his features under your hands, to learn the planes and dips of his face for the first time like this. You tuck his hair behind his ears carefully, smoothing back his hairline.

He's looking up at you. You sit down in his lap and he moves his hands to behind your back, his head following you down intently. He looks serious.

You draw your hand from his face and drop it onto his thigh, your rings brushing over starchy slacks.

It's his turn to touch you. Steve's hand comes to your face, his broad palm over the entirety of your cheek. You wait for something though you're not sure what, frozen with apprehension, simply watching him take you in.

"Do I look scary?" you ask, eyes on his lips.

They part before he answers, like he knows what he's going to say before he says it. "Horrifying," he murmurs wryly, hand gently pulling your face towards his.

You lift your chin to meet his lips, the muscles of his forearms shifting against your chest as he cups your face in both hands, guiding you to him. Your lips touch, tentative at first, one small kiss that feels more than warm, a homely, perfect fit. He pulls back and you don't, tapping the tip of his nose with yours until he opens his mouth.

You sneak in as his hand runs down your neck, your arm, slow and sleek. He makes a small sound as he takes the lead, opening you up, and it tickles your lips with its vibrations. He sounds content. You're feeling similarly happy, grabbing at his hand where it holds your face, squeezing his wrist to hold it in place as you push yourself into his arms. He takes you eagerly, pulling you chest to chest.

His head bumps the window. You pull apart, panting and happy and giggling, your lips damp and tingling. Steve rubs the back of his head, looking at you with an expression you can't describe.

"What?" you ask, wiping at his bottom lip with your thumb where your lipstick has stained him.

"How come you're so pretty, even like this?"

"Like this, a zombie?" Steve nods slowly. "Let me know when you find out, Harrington."

He pulls you back in with a smirk that sets your tummy aflame. "You think I'm pretty?" he asks, lips a millimetre from yours.

"Super pretty," you say, and kiss him. He loves on your top lip like you've got all the time in the world, kisses warm and slick. "Almost as pretty as me," you say between them.

He slows your kisses, gives you one last peck over your burning mouth. "No one's as pretty as you," he says agreeably.

You beam. Steve beams back though it quickly fades as he brings his arm up to check his watch.

"We're so late," he says, manhandling you off of his lap with an apologetic grimace. "C'mon, we still gotta cover you in blood."

You both get out and Steve sprays you down with fake blood. You laugh as he does, the cold liquid tickling your skin as it trickles down your face and your chest and your tummy.

Steve takes his own bloodying with far less laughter though he smiles at your glee. He's so handsome you can't help it, stepping into his space for another kiss. There's blood on your lips, evidently, as it transfers to his.

"We need to go," you say, like it's his fault.

"Wait. I have something for you."

Steve opens the driver's side and takes a small object from under the seat. He hands it to you.

"I called in a favour. Dustin and Lucas fixed it up, I checked, like, ten tapes. It works."

In your hands the bane of your existence, your faulty Walkman. There's a fake blood mark in the shape of his thumbprint on the side and you decide you're going to leave it there forever, looking to him with a completely uncool amount of affection.

"Steve," you say happily, a heat behind your eyes.

"I got sick of seeing you pouting, that's all," he says hotly, crossing his arm over his chest. "Now you can stop sulking."

You throw your hands around his neck to hug him tightly, the Walkman pressed to his neck. He oomphs, hands flying to your sides. Your face against his shoulder, you curl a strand of his brown hair around one of your fingers. "Thank you." You dot a corn syrup kiss against his throat. "You're the coolest," you say as you pull away.

His hands move from around your back to your shoulders, holding you at arms length. "People have said that about me."

"I bet."

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