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#but it had a fade in the end that was a bit hard to deal with
alotofpockets · 2 months
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I bet your mother would be proud | Lucy Bronze
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Pairing: Lucy Bronze x Mead!Reader & Beth Mead x Sister!Reader
Summary: After your mom passed away, you're struggling a lot. You had moved to Barcalona to be closer to Lucy, but Lionesses camp brings you back to the UK and your sister.
Warnings: reader struggles with depression after losing her mom. Acl's didn't happen.
Masterlist | Woso masterlist | Words: 1.7k
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“Are you ready to go, baby?” Lucy says after knocking on your bedroom door softly. Both your suitcases were packed, and Keira was on her way to pick you up. You all had a call up for the Lionesses, and were heading to the airport to make the trip over from Barcelona. Lucy sat down besides you, and put a hand down on your knee, when she realised that you were so zoned out that you hadn’t heard her. You jump at the sudden touch, “Oh sorry, what did you say?”
Lucy knew that there was a lot of emotion behind going back to England, it was the first time since your mother, June, had passed away. It had been hard for you to be around everything that reminded you of your mom, so when your contract with West Ham came to an end you grasped the opportunity to transfer to Barcelona, where your girlfriend was already playing. You had been struggling with the loss of your mom a lot, though you managed to separate those struggles and football, earning yourself a call-up.
“Keira is here, are you ready to go?” You nod and let her guide you out of the house. She made sure you were settled before her and Keira went to grab your luggage. “How is she doing?” Keira asks when once she’s sure you can’t hear them anymore. “I don’t think she got any sleep last night.” Lucy answers with a sombre look. “I hope she’ll be able to get some rest on the plane.”
On the drive to the airport you were quiet, a stark opposite to the thoughts in your head. It had been a little over six months since you had moved to Spain, and a few months longer since you had lost your mother. Going back to England wasn't what you were most worried about though, it was seeing your sister you were currently most in your head about. The two of you had always been close growing up, falling in love with the same sport, and pursuing a career in it only brought you closer. When things got hard, you had decided to move away, instead of going through it with your sister by your side. Sure, you had texted and called, but you felt bad for leaving her deal with the immense loss on her own.
Lucy brought you out of your haze by gently putting her hand on your thigh, “Come on love, we're here.” Her voice was soft. One of the things you loved about Lucy is that she could read you like a book, she knew what you needed without you having to ask for it. Once you boarded the plane, you realised just how tired you were. Lucy and Keira’s voices faded to the background, as you fell asleep on your girlfriend’s shoulder.
You woke up just before you were landing, and were glad that you had been able to catch up on some much needed sleep. Once you departed the plane, and got your luggage, a car was waiting for you to drive you to St. George’s Park.
When you arrived, both Lucy and Keira got in between you and the camera crew documenting the Lionesses' arrivals. They did it very subtly, pretending like it wasn’t something they planned on the plane to give you a bit of privacy. You put a smile on your face nonetheless, not wanting the world to see your struggles. Once removed from the first camera crew inside, you were met with another who was documenting the Lionesses reuniting after the international break.
You hugged a few of your teammates, before you saw Beth arrive. Your chest tightened, you wanted to run up to her, and hug her, but your feet felt like they were nailed to the ground. Beth looked around the room, and dropped her bag once she saw you. She made her way over to you, without greeting any of your teammates. You watched her move closer, until eventually her arms were around you, and you started sobbing into her arms. Beth was well aware of the cameras around you, and guided you out of the room, with tears in her own eyes as well.
Beth found an empty room, and closed the door behind you. “Come here.” She embraced you once again, not letting go until you did. “You don’t hate me?” You weren’t sure if you meant to ask the question out loud, but Beth shook her head. “Of course not, I would never hate you. Why do you think I would hate you?” You wipe away the tears still staining your cheeks, “Because I left when things got hard.” Your sister takes your hand and moves you over to the couch in the corner. “That’s okay, I understand why you needed to go.” You scan her face for any sign of her not being truthful, but find nothing but understanding. “I know how much I needed Viv by my side. I know it wasn’t the only reason you needed to leave, but you needed Lucy by your side, and I get that.”
You talked with Beth for a bit longer, until you were ready to head back to the rest of the team. Lucy sees you walk in with a smile on your face, it was a small one, but it had been one of the few real ones she had seen in a while now. She walks over and greets Beth with a hug, and puts her arm around you after.
Over the weeks of camp, you felt yourself starting to become more yourself again. You were back playing with your girls, and it was visible as a real smile was found on your face again more often than not. The thing that you had been dreading, was actually helping to pull you out of your depressive state.
Not only did your smile return, but you also started joking around a bit again. The team had always insisted that your humour was genetic, since both you and Beth loved to joke around so much.
“Ready baby?” Lucy said behind you in the tunnel before you were lining up to walk the field of your first match back with the Lionesses. You leaned your back into her, and let her arms wrap around you. “Yes, I think I am. Are you?” Lucy quickly placed a kiss onto your shoulder, “Good, I’m ready too.” You walk out onto the field, and immediately look out into the crowd, you always looked for your family before starting. Lucy didn’t have any game rituals herself, so she always helped to achieve yours. She was the first one to spot them, and pointed them out to you. After looking in the direction she was pointing at, you found your dad sitting with Lucy’s parents. Seeing them sitting together brought a smile to your face, you waved to them quickly before the national anthems started.
You were playing Australia at home, and so far the possession had been pretty much equal. You both had a couple shots on target, but none had found the back of the net so far.
A bad pass from Clare Wheeler to Katrina Gorry, was your chance to intercept the ball when the Australians least expected it. With the ball at your feet you start running forward, passing Australian players left and right. You looked up to see who was making the run with you and saw Alessia in the middle surrounded by defenders and Beth making the run to the far post. Since most of the defence line had followed Alessia, who started the run first, Beth only had one defender behind her.
You kept your eyes on your sister as you kicked the ball her way, and kept running in case a rebound shot was needed, but Beth volleyed the ball right past the goalkeeper. She runs your way, and jumps into your arms. Tears start filling your eyes, when you spin her around. Once you've put her down, you both turn to the crowd and send a kiss to the sky, dedicating your goal to your mother.
The rest of the team came rushing your way, celebrating the goal with you. During the group hug, you were trying to make your way to Lucy. Finally, when the group started separating again you found your way to her. She placed her hands on your cheeks, and kissed your forehead, before hugging you tight.
The match continued, and you were able to keep your 1-0 lead until the final whistle blew. After celebrating with your teammates, you and Beth get taken aside for an interview. “How are you feeling about the win?” The interviewer asks. “It was a special one.” Beth says, nudging you lightly. “I think overall we had a good performance, but in our next matches we need to work on finishing the opportunities that we are creating.” The interviewer brings the microphone back to himself, “Talking about it being a special one, the link up between you two was amazing, I bet your mother would be proud to see you out on the pitch together again.” Your eyes well with tears again, “Thank you, I think she would be too. She was always one of our biggest supporters, and I don't know about Beth, but I'm definitely playing for her.” Beth nods, and pulls you into her side. “Yeah, mum would be proud.”
Back at the training grounds, you're laying with your head in Lucy's lap in your shared room. “Hey Luce.” She runs her fingers through your hair, “Hi.” You let your eyes meet hers. “Thank you for everything you did for me these past months. I know I might not have shown it, but I appreciate you so much.” Lucy looks at you with nothing but love and adoration, “Of course baby, you don’t have to thank me for that.” You smile up at her, “I love you.” She returns the smile, “I love you too.”
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y/n_y/l/n just posted
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Liked by lucybronze and others
y/n_y/l/n: for mum 🕊️
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transmascissues · 4 months
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some thoughts about top surgery recovery, as of 3 days post-op:
when they say using your chest muscles sucks afterward, i never realized exactly how much was going to be be limited. coughing, sneezing, hiccuping, laughing — all of it is terrifying right now. even talking for too long starts to put that kind of stress on my chest, and my voice isn’t as strong as it usually is. it takes me forever to fully empty my bladder when i’m on the toilet because i’m totally relying on gravity to do all the work (and shitting was effectively impossible without a stool softener even though i haven’t taken the pain meds they said i would need them for)…and don’t even get me started on figuring out how to wipe (hint: back to front while sitting, using my dominant hand to push my non-dominant hand far back enough). using the computer is also harder — i was planning on playing lots of baldur’s gate after, but for the first couple days i could only really go for a few minutes before using my arms that way got too tiring. having a mastectomy pillow has been an absolute godsend when i’m using my phone because i can prop my arms up on it and not really have to use any muscles at all to hold them up.
the biggest piece of not being able to use my chest muscles right now, which i’m writing separately because it’s been such a huge thing for me, is that i cannot sit up or back by myself at fucking all. like, if i sit on the couch and lean back a bit to sit against the cushion, it hurts to pull myself back up to fully straight — and if i’m leaning back any more than that, i just can’t do it at all and i’m stuck there unless my boyfriend puts their hands behind me and pushes my dead weight back up. i totally get why some people sleep in a recliner now because i’m completely at the mercy of having someone there to help move me around once i’m at any sort of angle. sitting back is mostly the same as far as what i can do, and arguably hurts worse to attempt at all, but my ability to do it seems to be coming back faster than my ability to sit up. if you’ve never had your mobility limited to that extent before, prepare yourself: the first time you’re stuck somewhere and the person who normally helps you doesn’t answer immediately can be really fucking scary (i learned that the hard way).
the anesthesiologist warned me that i might have a sore throat after surgery from being intubated, but i was not prepared for what “sore throat” ended up meaning for me. you know that feeling of swallowing something that’s too big and you can still feel it in your throat even after it’s down? it’s like that times 20, and further down in my throat. the worst pain i’ve felt in the last three days wasn’t from the surgery itself, it was from trying to swallow pancakes when my throat was at it’s worst. today is the first day it’s even started to fade, and even now, it hurts just to swallow my own spit. i don’t know about you, but that’s not what comes to mind when someone tells me “you might have a sore throat”.
on that note, the incisions themselves have really been the least painful part in general, probably because the nerves there aren’t reconnected yet. the vast majority of my pain and discomfort at this point has been from the drains and bandages — the drain sites getting sore or just randomly starting to sting, waking up feeling suffocated by the ace bandages, etc. it’s not because anything is wrong with them — the drains weren’t placed wrong and the bandages aren’t too tight, they’re just a huge pain in the ass to deal with 24/7. i can’t express how much i’m looking forward to getting the drains out and being able to take binder breaks because it’ll make things so much more comfortable.
my incisions are connected in the middle because my chest tissue was all really close together, and the part where the incisions connect is really the only part where i’ve felt any pain so far. i suspect it’s because the swelling on either side is making that part of the incision push together and press against itself, and then the binder pushes on it even more. it’s not a severe pain at all, but i do sometimes lift the center of the bandage off my chest for a second to give that spot a bit of a break.
i’ve already started getting some of the weird sensations associated with nerves reconnecting, and it definitely is wild. so far, it’s been mostly tingly feelings, sometimes like chills and sometimes more like a limb falling asleep. (weird observation: taking a shit makes my ribs tingle? i’ve got no good explanation for that one.) i’ve gotten a zap on one side and some buzzing feelings too. it’s pretty mild right now, probably because it’s so early on.
i’ve also gotten what i would describe as phantom boob feelings, especially on the first night. specifically, when i close my eyes, sometimes i’ll feel like someone is touching or jiggling the boobs i don’t have anymore. definitely not a super pleasant experience, but i think being out of it from the anesthesia still really helped me not be too upset by the worst of it. i’ve gotten a couple little phantom nipple touches too, but those were just split second blips of sensation that were far less bothersome in comparison.
i never realized that the classic post-op hunch is caused more by the binder than by the body itself, but we had to take all of my bandages off the night after my surgery to send pictures of something to my surgeon, and i was shocked by how much straighter i could sit with everything off. i was definitely still hunched, but it was more like a natural slouch and less like i looked like i was using an invisible walker. with the binder on, it’s super uncomfortable for me to try to stand straight at all because it feels like the ace bandage doesn’t come with my body and just drags everything down, and i’m always holding my mastectomy pillow or my hands to my chest while i walk around to stop it from feeling like gravity is going make the bandage tear my chest open.
every so often, when things are getting especially painful or uncomfortable or just generally difficult, i do start to wonder if i made the right choice. not because i regret getting rid of those things — not by a long shot — but because it’s a fucking hard process to go through. this is probably the hardest thing for me to admit, but the rational part of my mind knows it’s natural to feel that way once in a while. all of this is temporary and the relief from dysphoria will be permanent, but right now? this is my entire world and it doesn’t feel particularly temporary and i do have moments of “why do i have to go through all this when other people get to just have the right body from the start? why couldn’t i just live with what i had? why can’t i just be living my normal life right now?” no matter how sure you are of your choice, no matter how proud you are of being trans, this shit is hard and it’s okay to feel that.
i’m going to put the pictures of my chest one day post-op under the cut, because i think it’s pretty rare to see pictures from that soon after the surgery. they’re not gorey at all — the actual incisions are totally covered by steri strips and everything around them is clean — but still, if you don’t want to see relatively fresh surgery results, don’t look under the cut.
for all the discomfort and pain and limitations and other weirdness of recovery, every time i look at these pictures it reminds me of exactly why i’m doing all of this, and i’m so glad i kept fighting for this for so long. some people might never understand why someone would choose to go through this whole process, but i know it’ll be worth it in the end.
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here’s my chest one day post-op! i think it looks super good and my surgeon said it looks like it’s healing perfectly (as much as it can be healing at one day). for reference, my chest was a DDD/F before surgery. i know this isn’t how my chest will look in the end, but i’m already thrilled with how things are turning out! i’ve truly never been more confident in my choice of surgeon — like, come on! look at that! she did so good!
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magiccath · 3 months
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Psychic paper
tenth doctor x GN!reader
Summary: In which the psychic paper betrays the Doctor
A/N: The Doctor is fruity, deal with it xx
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You’d been traveling with the Doctor for a while now and you loved every minute of it. In that time he had shown you all kinds of things you had priorly deemed impossible; aliens with wiggly tentacles, a spaceship that defies the laws of 3 dimensional space, a buzzing device he calls the Sonic Screwdriver, and homicidal salt shakers with toilet plungers for arms to name just a few. 
It seemed that with every adventure he showed you something new and fascinating, constantly topping himself without even trying. There was so much in all of time and space it wasn’t that hard. Anything outside of the 21st century was new to you. 
This time, the Doctor had taken you to see a mechanics factory in the 35th century, but as always the adventure didn’t end there. Aside from new experiences, the Doctor could almost always promise some kind of trouble. He claimed he didn’t go searching for it but rather that it tended to follow him. Either way, most adventures with the Doctor involved some kind of mischief and usually a lot of running.
“It’s no good, you can only get in with an ID,” you groaned, popping your head back around the corner. “There’s a security guard checking everyone going in and out is an employee.” 
You were hiding in a hallway, hoping to get inside the establishment's headquarters. The Doctor had a hunch that malicious alien forces were behind the operation, but he couldn’t be sure without poking around further. Typical Doctor, he just couldn’t leave well enough alone.
“I can’t think of any legal ways to get in there,” you shrugged, turning to the Doctor for ideas. 
“I have identification,” the Doctor smirked, rummaging around in the seemingly endless pockets of his coat. 
“You’re not an employee,” you pointed out. 
The Doctor made a triumphant sound as he pulled what appeared to be a small black notebook out of the depths of his pocket. He flipped it open and you realized it wasn’t a notepad. The item was more like a police badge, minus the actual badge part.
He turned the paper towards you with a smile, clearly expecting you to be impressed 
“Aren’t I?” He grinned brightly, looking at you eagerly. “Psychic paper,” he explained, tapping the stark white paper with his finger.
You grabbed the item from him, squinting at it. You wanted to make sure you were reading it right, maybe your eyes were acting up. 
“This just says ‘I love you’?” You asked, handing the Doctor his weird paper back with a frown. 
“I think that flirting with the security guard is more of a Jack move,” you winced, not wanting to hurt his feelings. The Doctor was quite the charmer, but strategic flirting wasn’t his strong suit.
The Doctor grabbed his psychic paper from you, frowning at it aggressively. It wasn’t supposed to say that. 
“What-?” he asked, glaring at it the same way you did. Once the words registered with him he turned a dark shade of red. He should have been more careful when he handed it over to you.
“It’s not supposed to say that,” he mumbled his thoughts, trying to hide his fluster. 
“How does it work? Is it like a reusable notepad?” You asked, genuinely interested. Even if the Doctor’s tools could be finicky, they were interesting. Maybe he had just forgotten to erase the message from the last time he used it. 
“No, it’s supposed to show the reader what I want them to see,” he blushed, shaking the paper out like a Polaroid. Usually shaking the item would clear it, but those three words refused to fade from the paper. 
“Sometimes it’s a bit slow…” he said, really more to himself than to you. He was still shaking the paper, desperately trying to get the words to disappear. 
“So you were going to try and flirt with the security guard?” You frowned, now you were even more confused. The Doctor would much rather blow the whole place up than try and flirt his way through security. 
“No!” He said, almost a bit too quickly. He blushed again and averted his gaze, an anxious hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. He hadn’t planned on telling you like this. He hadn’t planned on telling you at all.
“When I handed it over it was supposed to show you an employee ID,” he winced. You nodded, this much you knew. What you didn’t understand was the confession of love. 
“But I think the psychic paper picked up on my feelings instead,” he whispered. If you hadn’t been listening intently you might have missed the last few words. 
“Are you saying that you love me?” You frowned, looking at the floor with concentration, “or the security guard?” The second option seemed more viable at the moment.
For the first time in a century, the Doctor was speechless. He stared at you, wide-eyed and unblinking as you waited for his answer. If it was possible, his jaw might have fallen to the floor.
“He’s pretty handsome, I can’t blame you,” you added, peeking over the wall to look at the security guard again.
The Doctor shook himself out of it, rambling a string of incoherent words. “I- uh, wha-?” He stumbled, trying to form a sentence.
“I handed the paper to you.” He said definitively.
“It’s a really dramatic way to come out, Doctor.” You continued on, ignoring him. It’s not like you didn’t know already, he wasn’t exactly subtle about it.
“It didn’t say ‘I love men’!” He threw his hands up in distress. “It said ‘I love you’!”
You finally stopped rambling on about the security guard and turned your attention to the Doctor. His words caught up to you and tentatively you pointed at yourself as if there was any other you. The Doctor nodded exasperatedly as if to say “Yes, you!”
“You love me?” you asked, still pointing at yourself. 
“I think I’ve said it about four times now.” 
“You?” You pointed at the Doctor, “Love me?” 
“Blimey! Yes!” He shouted, frustrated now. You widened your eyes and anxiously checked around you, scared he might have given away your location. Thankfully, everyone appeared to be out of earshot. 
“Yes, I love you,” he whispered this time, his eyes boring into yours. You blinked slowly, your brain still refusing to process his confession. 
You smiled brightly, your grin taking over your entire face. The Doctor loved it when you lit up like this, your happiness radiating off of you. He felt a small smile of his own tugging at his lips just looking at you. 
“I hope that’s alright,” he whispered quietly. He would never forgive himself if he lost you over a psychic paper mishap. The embarrassment would be too much - he’d have to run away. Maybe to that planet inhabited by only rubber ducks? 
“That’s more than alright,” you grinned, a hand instinctively reaching up to his arm to comfort him. The fabric of his coat was cold against your palm, but you didn’t pull away.
The Doctor really smiled back at you now, the wild lopsided grin that was reserved just for you. The kind of smile that always made you laugh with joy. 
He wasted no time wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting your body off the ground in excitement. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your familiar scent. You laughed happily, waving your feet about slightly. 
The Doctor pulled back just enough to kiss you, his lips soft and gentle against yours. Neither of you could stop smiling, even as your lips met. You laughed against him, planting kisses across his face sloppily. Your lips brushed the tip of his nose, the arch of his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth, and his jawline.
“The security guard is pretty cute though,” the Doctor teased with a sly smile. 
“I knew it!” You burst out laughing, throwing your head back as you did.
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riaki · 4 months
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OKAY EVERYONE IS SAYING GOJO DOESN'T DESERVE A HAPPY ENDING YES
BuT what if we could make it a little ANGSTY instead?? 👀 He gets his happy ending. His. Happy ending. You? Well.. Old habits die hard. This is what you wanted after all no? So what if he breaks his promises? What if your smile begins to fade? What if
What you said about later on reader and freckles growing apart cause freckles seemed nice it'd be a shame for him to be an ass
But that it's silly cause the irony is what if that freckle boy.. was just like Gojo but in a different light.
Being as it wasn't him who hurt reader, it was easy to overlook the fact of how similar he was to the old Gojo she knew before it became a shit show
Maybe she realizes that
Maybe she starts thinking
Maybe she drifts apart
And maybe Gojo comforts her but he's the last person she wants to see
Because it's these stupid feelings for Gojo that led her to this hell
And Gojo goes again
And he reels her in
And once he has her
Only to see as her smile begins to fade
As all the effort he had put in when he didn't have her start going away once again
And he starts to fall into old habits becoming the same as he was before, but this time, with you at his hand
As he slowly takes away your smiles again.
But it's okay, he'll make it right. Just...later. and later. And later...
You hope.
sorry I'm not good with angst sorry for any cringe 🤣
this is!! such!!! a good!!!! take!!!!!! on hsbully!gojo!!!!!! tbh this ask speaks for itself lol n dw anon! i rlly love the way u brought it :3 this is highschoolbully!gojo part 592727465527 *suggestive!
yeah. freckles boy isn’t that great of a person. maybe he tried but it didn’t work out; u dunno why but u keep seeing gojo in him— hints of satoru in ur life. like that stinky cologne he thinks is kinda cool but rlly doesn’t smell too good on ur bfs drawer, or the way he takes his coffee. honestly, if u squint, it almost seems like freckle boy is tryna copy gojo in a way…? but u don’t like thinkin abt him so u don’t blink an eye.
fast forward u broke up with freckle boy because something or other; the point is, u really didn’t feel anything with him. there might’ve been a spark, but it was really only artificial and had no wind to fan the flames. and since u got together gojo’s been distant; his smile seems dimmer and there’s always this faraway; foggy look that makes the brilliant azure of his eyes seem cloudy gray. but then ur catching up with him again and at some random frat party you get drunk and ur sense is inhibited and— u end up kissing gojo… oops.
so then u kinda enter this fwb state with him. and.. he’s pretty cool, right? he’s kinda evrything u want in a guy— tall, pretty, cool, strong, handsome, charming— it’s a package deal. but there’s also this… rift, between the two of you. see, ever since gojo lost u the first time, he’s always been so scared of pushing u away. so u stay fwb because he doesn’t wanna lose u again in case he’s feelin more than you are. but his heart doesn’t skip a beat when he sleeps with other girls and his chest doesn’t tighten like it does with u when he gets mouthfuls of fruity gloss from kissing other girls. but he forces himself to keep this wall up between the two of u because he just can’t risk losing you a third time.
it sucks for u too, though! gojo’s just a bit too dense to see it. whether it’s in his own nature, or he’s faking it. it’s probably the latter, but that’d mean he’s not being genuine again, n you don’t wanna think about it. but you’re gettin comfy with him and so is he, and you really do whole heartedly believe he’s changed this time, and for good. and it’s true! he has. but not in the way you thought. apparently, he’s exchanged being an ass with an unreachable ego to a pinch more genuine, but still an ass. it’s proved when u get to his apartment one rainy day ready to spend the weekend w/ him for a study date, but there’s clothes on the floor. dresses n stockings and a frilly blouse that you definitely think (or hope) don’t belong to gojo. unfortunately, your suspicions are confirmed when you lay eyes on the tangle of people on his bedroom through the crack in the door— this time, it’s your turn to run in a hurry. turns out, he got comfortable with you— all in the wrong way, thinking it’d be okay to sleep around. except he gives chase— after pulling on a pair of pants, of course.
eventually he catches up to you; you hate those stupidly long legs. catches your wrist and forces you to face him. in front of a chick fil a, nonetheless. he gets an overwhelming sense of deja vu— but he’s forcibly snapped out of it when je realizes you’re crying. and damn, you look gorgeous, and he wishes it would rain because the sunlight falls around you like liquid gold, framing your pretty face and reflecting prisms of rainbow in your tears.
once again, he doesn’t get it. why are you crying? it’s not like you were really serious or labeled, right…? and the entire reason you’d stayed that way was to avoid somethin like this. but gojo slowly comes to the realization that he’s fucked up big time— he has been since day 1. really, he should’ve found somebody cheaper to chase— you stole his heart and his pride, making him awkwardly and stiffly apologize to you in front of a fast food restaurant on some random crossing next to a train station. it’s only tense because he doesn’t really know how to apologize— he doesn’t have much experience with it, and for that he blames his ego.
but even so, he’s not ready for those big, sappy love confessions yet. you always made him feel so weird— correction: you still do. so you walk away somewhere between fwb and strangers. it’s always one step forward and two steps back with gojo. but maybe, just maybe— he can slowly rebuild your trust with some patience, empathy, and a lot of genuine love that he’s yet to realize he’s been nursing in his heart for you since the first time he laid eyes on you.
paaaaaaart one
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demonpiratehuntress · 4 months
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stupid
Portgas D. Ace x F!Reader
Summary - your cluelessness could rival Luffy's. not knowing Ace has the biggest crush on you, you think he keeps asking to stop at a particular island to see someone. and you're confused when he brings you your favourite flower each time.
Warnings - angst to comfort (been feeling a bit angsty lately)
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"Hey, it's Ace's girlfriend's island!"
The comment was seemingly harmless, purely meant to tease the 2nd Division Commander for his constant - albeit mysterious - request to always stop at this island any time the ship passed it. But despite the good-natured intention of the crewmate who'd said it, you couldn't stop the way your heart sunk a little.
Your secret was well-kept if no one knew about your crush on the fiery commander, which you were kind of grateful for considering the circumstances you now found yourself facing.
"(Name), are you gonna come this time? Maybe we'll actually get to meet her!" One of your crew asked, again not meaning any harm.
But the thought had you losing your balance, and you stumbled a little before catching yourself. You shook your head with a small, forced smile, "No, I'm okay. Looks like I'm a bit tired." You laughed, but it didn't sound quite like it usually did.
Before they could question you, though, you were gone. It was well-known that you were Ace's best friend, and the two of you were practically inseparable. Or had been. Ever since you noticed the repeated stops at this island you'd started putting distance between you and him, little by little so he wouldn't notice.
It was hard. Incredibly hard. You never stood a chance against Ace's charms and humour, and now you had to deal with the consequences of falling for a man every woman would want. You were just his best friend, and that's all you'd ever be. So you had to either learn to accept it and let him go, or else the burden of feeling so much for him would inevitably break you.
The odd thing about this whole scenario was that each time Ace would go out and spend the day with whoever he was seeing on the island, he would always come back with a (favourite flower) for you. And you had no idea why, but he just said it was because he knew you liked them and shrugged it off.
The moment you hit your bed, your emotions overwhelmed you and you broke down, crying into your pillow until you fell asleep.
This time, you weren't going to accept his stupid flower.
-
By the time you woke up, most of the day had passed. You were still docked at the island, indicating that Ace and whoever had gone with him had not returned yet. You tried not to care, dismissing their absence by immersing yourself in one of your books. Locking yourself up in your room so you wouldn't have to deal with anyone - or the crew relentlessly teasing Ace for having a girlfriend.
A knock at your door startled you, but you chose to ignore it and went back to reading. After a few minutes, you exhaled, thinking that the person had left, until a familiar voice made you jump.
"I know you're not sleeping! Come on, this is mean!" Ace complained, knocking again. "Let me in!"
You rolled your eyes but again ignored him, continuing on the adventure you were embarking on mentally. His knocking continued, and you cursed his stubbornness as you eventually threw your book aside and got up to angrily open the door.
"What?!" You hissed, harsher than you intended.
He faltered, his excitement visibly fading, "Is something wrong?"
"What do you want, Ace?" You asked, trying to be gentler but still speaking coldly. You couldn't help it, you were hurt.
He held out the flower, looking hopeful. He could see you were upset for some reason, and he wanted to know why, but first he wanted to give you the thing he searched the whole island for. Your favourite flower. It was a routine thing for him, the reason he requested to stop here. But he always forgot where the flowers were, or ended up falling asleep in the meadow, so he usually came back late. He never once thought you'd assume he was seeing someone else.
Because truth was, Ace was head-over-heels in love with you. And yes, he felt ridiculous for falling for his best friend, but he couldn't help it when you were the one person who understood him better than anyone else. The one person who made his life brighter and happier just by existing.
"No," you shook your head, "I don't want it this time."
His heart sank at your words. A frown fell on his lips, unusual for the typically cheerful man. He felt hurt by your response, and an awkwardness he'd never felt before fell over the two of you. He slowly dropped his hand, and even the flower seemed to droop like you'd broken its heart as well.
"Go give it to your girlfriend." Then you slammed the door shut.
Ace blinked.
Wait, what?
You thought he...oh no. He face-palmed, cursing at how stupid this situation suddenly became. You really thought he was out on the island meeting up with some girl? Is that how clueless you were to his affections, how naive you were to his advances? Did you really not get any of his hints?
He suddenly laughed out loud, feeling relieved. This was easily fixable. He thought you hated him, or at least just didn't feel about him the same way he felt about you.
You ripped the door open, "What's so funny?!"
"You," he chuckled. "You're an idiot."
You were used to his insults, but your eyes narrowed at this one, "And why is that, exactly?"
"Because you think I'd be out chasing some other girl when you're here," he answered honestly, genuinely. "You're so naive."
Your jaw dropped at his confession, then your expression hardened again and you crossed your arms, "Hey you're always on that island so long, what else do you expect me to think??"
He laughed even more, "Cute. The answer to that is simple. I'm stupid too." He held up the flower again. "I can never remember where that meadow is, and it takes me the whole day to find it again. And I remember you said it only grows here. I also...fall asleep in the grass sometimes." He laughed nervously, blushing.
You had no idea what to say. This whole time...he had been wanting to go to this island for your sake. To find a flower he knows you like. Your heartbeat sped up, a strong blush coming over your cheeks.
"Ace-"
"You know, you're quite mean," he pouted, "I thought you hated me. So my feelings are hurt."
You blushed in embarrassment, "I-I'm sorry! I just thought-"
"Kiss me and we'll call it even," he smirked, then his eyes widened, "Wait wait no, date me and we'll call it even."
You laughed and took the flower from him, "I can do both."
Cue the poor blushing, flustered boy bursting into flames.
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balanceingrace · 8 months
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Lovers and Friends
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Minors: DNI! Sometimes, the best stories involve some classic tropes, suspension of disbelief, and a good shower scene. Requested and inspired by all my nasty lil' friends who have been asking for Shower Joe!
Thirsty Tag: @katelyn102 @dandelionwrites8 @jordyn14 @hummusxx @alitheamateur @morgan108 @fandomqueen5994 @burreaux-drys @ann288 @asphaltmeadowws @joeburreauxsworld @natalielakes @mrsshiesty @wickedfun9 @countryday @theflawedwriter @burrow-ix @unhingedfangirl @tigertales9 @haylorillie @schumacherburrow @louisianadaisy @burrowstyles5 @idyllicbarb @marvelislove10 @kmc1989 @burrowsobx @onedirectionluver123 @murrylove @erinmartin1987 @arielmarlin @stainednailpolishremover
You honestly weren’t sure when the change happened. That subtle shift from acquaintances to friends to coworkers had been stealth and seemingly overnight, but over time, Joe had gone from someone you saw every couple of months back home to someone you spent more time with than anyone else in your life.
He’d helped you to get a job with the Bengals when you moved down to Cincinnati with nothing but your dog and an updated resume, and after you’d outgrown the marketing position, he hired you on as his executive assistant. You two joked about the title since what you did went far beyond the scope of a regular assistant but you were appreciative of the opportunity nonetheless. 
The endless hours you spent with him were filled with meaningful work for his foundation and dozens of new experiences that you would have never been a part of without Joe’s help. It made work fun again, and in doing so it had allowed you to thrive. Regularly, the team would reach out every few months, begging you to come back while dangling a new, bigger job title, and every time, Joe gave you another raise and another new project to keep you engaged.
Still, despite all of that, there was something else brewing beneath the surface that made each call from the personnel office more enticing. It started with a warm feeling anytime Joe laughed at your jokes that spread from your cheeks to your toes. Then it evolved into an odd burst of happiness when, after you finally dropped your boyfriend, Joe ended things with his girlfriend. Soon, you felt a giddiness every time you were near him, in a way that you’d never felt about another boss in the past. 
It was becoming hard for you to deny these evolving feelings about Joe, and as you sat with him after a team dinner he’d asked you to tag along to, they rang like drumbeats in your ears. “Hey. Did I lose you?” Joe slurred, bumping your knee with his and subsequently setting your body on fire. Both of you were well on your way to drunk, although Joe was further along than you were, and he was asking your opinion on something from the game earlier that you’d drowned out as you fell transfixed by the way his quads poked through his faded jeans. 
“Sorry, I zoned out a bit. I don’t think it was a big deal. Collapses in coverage happen all the time. I don’t need to tell you that,” you responded. Joe looked at you through narrowed eyes, and for a split second, you were worried that you’d been staring a little too long or too obviously. That was the problem with slowly falling for your friend. Every move, every comment had to be carefully calculated; the fear of your true feelings being revealed looming over you daily. 
“Hmm,” Joe shrugged, “I guess I’m just being paranoid. Ted seemed upset.” You’re not the only paranoid one here, you thought to yourself. “He seemed fine to me but if you’re that worried, just, you know. Text him?”
Rolling his eyes at your reasonable suggestion, Joe flagged down the waitress and ordered two more shots. “If we keep this up, I’m going to have to pour you into bed tonight. It’s a bye week Joe, not spring break,” you grimaced, holding your breath as you downed the shot and tried not to let the taste register in your brain. 
“I think I’ve earned one night of partying. You look like you could use one too,” Joe teased. You teasingly flipped him off before leaning against the booth while you chugged a water. The restaurant had cleared out and though the staff would be more than happy to stay past closing for Cincinnati’s favorite son, you knew it would be a good idea to get out of there. 
“Let me leave my car here and I’ll drive you home in yours. I’m about three shots behind you,” you offered. Joe brushed you off and was muttering something about being fine to drive as he tripped trying to stand up. “Yeah, like I said. I’ll drive you home Burrow,” you chuckled.
You’d be lying if you said that the way Joe’s muscular arm wrapped around your waist for support didn’t make your scalp tingle, or that when Joe lightly dozed off on your shoulder during the drive home, you had a brief flash of desire. It had been a miracle that you’d made it this long without saying or doing something stupid that revealed how you felt, and the pent up one-sided tension kept ticking away.
When you eventually pulled into Joe’s garage, you hated having to wake him up, ending the brief physical touch you’d shared with him for 15 minutes. “Come on Burrow. Let me help you inside so I don’t worry about you hitting your head,” you mumbled. That ended up being easier said than done, for Joe was still unsteady on his feet when you stuck him in a chair and dug around for some advil. 
“Take these and drink both of these,” you ordered, tossing two water bottles to him. Joe responded with something incoherent and you ignored him, instead turning your attention to making him a sandwich in an attempt to sober him up. Despite the upcoming bye week, you knew that Joe had a team meeting at 7:30 the next morning, and you wanted him fairly coherent by the time dawn rolled around. 
30 minutes later, his eyes looked less glassy and he was yawning loudly. “Go take a shower so I can leave. I want to go to bed and my babysitting rate doubles after midnight,” you teased. Saluting you, Joe bounded up the stairs faster than a man with 12 shots in his system should be able to, and you scrolled through your iPad mindlessly for a moment before realizing it was about to die.
Remembering that you’d left a charging cord in the small guest room Joe had converted into an office space for you, you made your way upstairs and subsequently got distracted with a tax form you had forgotten to fill out when you thought you heard Joe calling your name. You ignored it at first, thinking it was a mistake, until suddenly it got louder and was followed by a loud crash. 
Rushing down the hallway into the master, you were worried Joe had drunkenly slipped in the shower when you noticed that both the door to his room and the bathroom were wide open, giving you a clear glance inside. The years of platonic familiarity you two had meant that you didn’t think anything of walking into his room until you saw that he was clearly upright and still in the shower.
You knew you should have turned around and given Joe his privacy, but in the split second between deciding between a good decision and a bad one, you went left and quietly watched instead. 
Your mouth hung open when you realized that Joe had called your name, only now he was moaning it loudly instead. There was no mistaking it now that you were closer, and you were about to knock on the frame of the door when your eyes widened once you caught what he was doing. 
Joe had one hand on the shower wall to support himself and another wrapped around his dick, pumping over and over again. The prominent veins that traveled down his bicep to his hands flexed as he stroked himself; your name being repeated like a mantra while he tried to get himself off. Water dripped down his back and hair, droplets catching on every muscle on his back and highlighting the curves of his body. 
You could practically feel his body tense and release as he chased his high, and the ache between your own legs became unbearable while you watched. Is he…thinking about me? you asked yourself, incredulous at what was unfolding in front of you. Almost as if on cue, Joe practically shouted your name, egging the imaginary you on as he sped up his motions. The way his forearm moved was hypnotizing, and you didn’t even realize that your own hand had slipped under your skirt until your elbow went a little too wide to the right and you knocked something off of Joe’s dresser.
His eyes snapped open immediately and locked with yours, both of you frozen with shock. Joe’s face was at once both beet red and pale as a ghost as he went to turn the water off and stumbled out of the shower, snatching his towel off the hook. Your feet felt glued to the floor as he walked towards you, and you knew that not only had you just lost your job, you’d more likely than not lost your best friend too. 
“Joe, I-I’m so sorry,” you stammered. “How long were you standing there?” You couldn’t read his face in the moment—was it anger? Embarrassment? Shock? “I was in the office and I thought I heard you calling me and then I heard a crash and then, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn’t see anything, I swear,” you lied, praying that maybe the situation was salvageable. 
Joe opened and closed his mouth to respond but only inaudible squeaks came out. You were about to apologize again when you both realized that his fully erect penis was visible through his towel; a tented reminder of what you had caught him doing. 
“Look, I can explain,” Joe blushed, pointing at the shower. “You don’t have to explain!” You insisted, accidentally motioning towards his dick and almost dropping dead when you brushed against it with your hand in the process. The silence in the room was deafening as the two of you stared at each other, unsure of how to proceed.
“Did you…mean to do that?” Joe asked cautiously. “Did you mean to do that?” You whispered, waving your hand towards the shower. “Yes,” Joe said emphatically, his eyes boring holes into yours. You felt your heart stop at his answer, and without a second thought about your friendship or career, you closed the gap between the two of you and placed a hand on his damp chest. 
You didn’t know what came over you as you pulled Joe down by his neck and kissed him; snaking your tongue past his bottom lip and brushing it against his. Joe stood there in shock momentarily before his hands drew you in closer to his body, moaning as his dick brushed against your leg. Steering you backwards towards his bed, he didn’t break your kiss until the back of your knees hit his mattress and he pulled away. 
“Are you sure about this? Because once I start, I’m not stopping,” Joe growled, his hands now cupping your ass. “I’m positive,” you panted. Crawling onto the bed, you made quick work of stripping off your clothes, suddenly feeling a little exposed. Being naked for the first time in front of a new hookup was always a little awkward, but add to that said hookup being your best friend of 20 years? You felt like you were under a microscope. 
Joe smirked as he took in the sight of you, his eyes wild like he’d just come across water in the desert. Placing a kiss on the inside of your ankle, Joe nibbled and licked his way to your core, pulling your thighs around his ears as he nestled between your legs. You held your breath as you watched his tongue dip between your folds; your body practically levitating off the mattress.
Joe teased you a bit with tiny laps of his tongue starting at your entrance before slowly making his way to your clit. You frowned when he sat up for a minute, smirking as he ran a hand through his still-wet hair. “Someone must have liked what she saw in that shower. You’re soaking,” Joe grinned, running his thumb over your clit. “Stop teasing me or I’ll just do it myself,” you huffed.
He chuckled to himself as he made his way back down to your core, his thumb working in tandem with his tongue as you squirmed. Joe held you down with one hand while he moaned against your clit, the vibrations adding another layer of stimulation for your already shot senses.  You couldn’t stop yourself from gently tracing over the veins in the hand that gripped your hip, each one telling a different story. 
It took no time for Joe to bring you to your climax, and he laughed as he carefully unwound your legs from around his neck. Your arousal coated his chin and you could taste yourself on his lips when he dipped down to kiss you; a million unspoken words sitting between the two of you. 
Joe almost seemed a little unsure of what to do next, almost as if he wanted to provide you an out. You decided to take charge in that moment, and rolled the two of you over so you were straddling him, hovering just above his cock. Joe attached his lips to your neck as you sank down onto him, gasping at the feeling of him stretching you out. His hands encouragingly rubbed your back as he waited for you to get comfortable, and he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth as he watched you start to ride him.
Placing your hands on his chest for stability, you felt your eyes roll back as another orgasm crept up on you; the angle and fullness of his cock arousing you more than you’d ever been. You paused to shift to your feet and Joe had to close his eyes momentarily to stop himself from finishing right then, bringing his hand between the two of you and circling your clit rapidly. 
Soon you felt your whole body convulse as you climaxed; wetness seeping onto Joe’s legs as you came. Collapsing on his chest, you let him place soft kisses on the crown of your head while you struggled to regulate your breathing; the room and your brain spinning. Joe was just about to offer to get you a water when you wincingly hopped off and pushed him back onto his feet, stretching out across the bed on your stomach. Joe started to protest momentarily until he felt your lips wrap around his dick, taking him in your mouth and gagging as his tip teased the back of your throat. 
You bobbed up and down, tracing each vein and ridge with your tongue, memorizing every inch of his member. Once again, your name was on Joe’s lips as it had been in the shower, only this time, whatever restraint he’d been maintaining was gone as he gripped your head and began to fuck your face. 
Mascara ran down your cheeks as Joe took control, and you eventually dropped your hand to your core as he continued to pump into your face. A small part of you prayed this wasn’t a hallucination or dream, but the second you felt his hips buck one last time and his release coat your throat, you knew it was real.
The two of you were silent once again as you lay side by side, unsure of how to proceed. You had so much you wanted to say but couldn’t, and a small part of you was worried that you’d just experienced the best goodbye fuck of your life. 
“I’ve wanted to tell you how I felt for months,” Joe said, shocking you out of your thoughts, “but every time I wanted to say something, I panicked that it was going to come off as creepy or weird. I guess fucking you wasn’t exactly not creepy or weird, but I—I don’t regret it. And I hope you don’t either.”
“I don’t,” you quickly responded, sitting up so you were facing him, “I’ve been struggling with how I felt for months too, but then there was always some excuse not to say something and, I don’t know, I was afraid I had been relegated to sister-status.”
“I don’t know anyone who does that with their sister,” Joe laughed hoarsely. “Yeah. I suppose you’re right,” you admitted. “Where do we go from here?”
You stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, thinking. “I think I should quit. Accept a job with the team, come clean about the nature of our relationship—er, whatever we are now. That way there’s some space between us and we can… figure out whatever this is,” you answered. 
Reaching for your hand, Joe absentmindedly brought it to his lips and placed a kiss on the center of your palm before resting it on his chest. “I hate the idea of not working with you daily. But I also hate the idea of not figuring out whatever this,” Joe motioned between you guys, “is. And I don’t think we can explore that if you’re working directly beneath me.”
“Well, I’ll still be working beneath you, hopefully,” you joked, dodging the pillow Joe tossed on your face, “I agree though. Let’s take it slow, see how we’re feeling.” Turning so your chin was now resting on his shoulder, you pecked Joe’s cheek and nuzzled into his side, still in disbelief that this was how your day was ending. 
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heartfullofleeches · 1 year
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What if all of the staff are yandere for sea creature reader except 1 person, and that person is the reader's favorite, just them being the only one able to feed them and all the other staff watching in absolute envy
Fucking. Mitch.
You click softly and open your mouth wide as the staff member feeds you another spoon full of their famed tuna salad, rubbing your head against their chest out of appreciation and a sly attempt at snatching the container from them. They hold it out of reach and you whine.
"H-hey! Some of this is for me too, Y/n. I'll ask dad for an extra helping tomorrow, okay?"
You redirect your attack to their spoon, nabbling it and licking the stray bits of fish before shoving the utensil in the direction of their mouth as you point at the tubberware.
"Oh, you wanna feed me? Sorry about that."
Mitchell gives the container to you and happily allows you to feed them. They had never been ashamed of the family business, but they couldn't be more happier than now that fishing was in their bloodline. The first time they came up to your tank, you were too hungry and homsick from the lingering smells of the sea on the coat their mother lent them to lash out like you did with others. They fed you half of the breaded fish their folks gave them for lunch and the rest was history. You two were each others closest companion in this strange world, but not everyone was happy about your kinship.
The breakroom breaks out in a sea of complains and cries as the crew watches the scene unfold. It was one of the cutest things ever filmed, but it was hard to celebrate the moment when it wasn't one of them. Everyone in the room had a dislike for each other due to one common denominator, yet they all agreed on one thing. Mitch was a home-wrecker and needed to be removed from the picture.
The end of the group points at the whiteboard with the tip of their marker. "Alright. We need ideas to get rid of Mitch. As I've said before - murder is not what we should look too first.
A few hands go down - but one remains.
"Why not just try to get them fired?"
Another chimes in. "I mean, yeah that would be the best option. No body to deal with, but they could still visit."
The door to the breakroom opens. Mitch walks in just in time to see the drawings on the whiteboard fade into obscurity.
"Hey, guys. Y/n was extra friendly today... What are you up to?"
Looks are shared around the room.
"Hangman."
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Steve, Gareth and Chrissy are cousins AU (sad edition) [prologue] [part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Final Part]
The saving grace for Steve here is that all eyes are on Eddie, so no one witnesses how he freezes, just for a moment, when Eddie tells them who the 'she' is he's been referring to. How he just wanted to help her. Help Chrissy. Whatever Eddie has been saying has turned to buzzing, to white noise, to nonsense in the background of his mind.
He has to be wrong. Mistaking some other girl for Chrissy. Because it can't be Chrissy. It can't. Steve has worked so hard to keep his family away from the Upside Down shit. She couldn't be- there's no way she somehow got caught up in it. There's too many questions and not enough answers and when did the air get too thick to fit in his lungs?
Does Gareth know?
Gareth, who Steve knows is one of Eddie's friends and here Eddie sits before him, a witness to Upside Down shit. A witness to a murder they have no clue how to solve. Gareth, who isn't exactly friends with Mike, Dustin, and Lucas, but who is in the same club as them and on friendly terms. That's too many people connected to the Upside Down in Gareth's personal circle for Steve to be okay with.
He thought this was done. That they wouldn't ever have to deal with this shit again.
Eddie is still talking as the pounding in Steve's ears fades and he listens as Eddie swears, he just wanted to help, that she seemed so freaked out by something, and Steve's insides twist and churn. Why hadn't Chrissy come to him? Just last week he was at her house, hanging out and catching up. She never mentioned an issue. A problem. Something that would cause her to seek out heavier drugs than weed.
They used to tell each other everything. What changed?
His stomach drops as the answer comes to him.
He did.
He'd changed. He started keeping secrets first. Pushed Chrissy and Gareth away after that first incident and hadn't really started to let them back in until after Starcourt. He'd just wanted to keep them safe. Keep them as far away from this horror as possible. He'd ended the weekend sleepovers because of his nightmares, stopped inviting them over to hang out by the pool because he can't look at it without thinking about Barb, started avoiding them at school when he'd ended up beat to shit by Billy because he knew they'd dig for more answers than he could give.
No wonder Chrissy didn't tell him anything was wrong.
There's no way for Steve to know if he could have helped or not, even if Chrissy had talked to him. Eddie doesn't have answers; just a story.
Steve hates him a little bit. It's irrational. Eddie didn't do this Chrissy, (even if he had been arguing that point at Family Video) but it doesn't stop the anger inside him from boiling up. He doesn't act on it, of course he doesn't, he's not that person anymore.
Plus, acting on it would kind of negate everything Dustin just convinced Eddie of, such as he's not crazy and they do believe him, and Steve's not about to undo what Dustin's accomplished by taking Eddie by the vest and shoving him against the wall in a reverse of earlier. It wouldn't do any good, not now that they're all sure it's a new, unknown threat from the Upside Down that they'll have to figure out on their own.
No. Taking his anger out on Eddie won't solve anything.
He can be mad about this later.
It does sit heavy on him, though, that he doesn't think anyone in this boathouse knows Chrissy was his cousin. That the Upside Down has taken someone from Steve this time. He can't tell them. Robin wouldn't take it well, and Dustin might not either. They'll be sad for him, and he can't handle that right now.
He can mourn later.
-
Remember the fun lil fic of Gareth not wanting his cousins, Chrissy Cunningham and Steve Harrington, to ruin his street cred in high school? Well, the fun is done. Have some angst. More parts will follow but it's not really a fic? Just... disjointed scenes, rewritten from canon to fit the cousin AU.
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isagiiis · 5 months
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after a long while. [itoshi rin x reader]
notes: i'm crying for so many reasons, but rin is back. is this where bad luck got followed by good luck? anyway, a celebratory fic because otherwise i might act up. warning: none. reader's gender unspecified, established relationship, cohabitation, a fluff. rin is tired (and a bit of a tsundere) but he is still cute. i miss him so much.
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“If I run to you now,” you began in a very serious and grim manner, “will you catch me?”
“Don’t try to be funny,” Rin said, shutting you down immediately. The expression he wore was more scrunched up than usual. With two suitcases beside him and another two traveling bags still carried in his hand, it was as clear as the sky on a sunny day that he was tired.
A part in your brain instinctively told you to be a sweetheart and help him with the bags, just give him a light kiss on the cheek, then maybe also untie his shoes. Meanwhile, another part told you to throw your whole weight and cling to him first before doing all that. The latter sounded really tempting, really.
After all, spending three months away from him felt ridiculous.
Who knew that his short replies and odd brand of affection would make you miss him so much. There was no way video calls and messages would be enough. The only thing you wanted at that moment was to morph into some affectionate koala and fish out every possible reaction you could get out of him.
But in the end, no matter how adorable his scowling face had become to you, you prefer a comfortable Rin more than a tired Rin.
“Pity,” you replied shortly. Walking to him and taking his indoor sandals with you when you passed by the shoe racks. “So, how was your trip?”
“A fucking hell,” Rin answered as he put down the heavy luggage in his hands. “Some brats wouldn’t shut up in the plane.”
You chuckled at his complaint. He probably means his teammates. “But you win right? Like, three goals in your name, wasn’t it, in the final?”
Rin’s frown deepened. You tried not to wince as you helped him unbutton his jacket. Seemed like you stepped on a landmine.
“Two. The last one is a joke dragged straight out of Isagi and that shitty brother’s ass,” Rin gritted his teeth. “I’m not taking that one.”
You grimaced awkwardly at that. In the end, no matter how many years passed, whatever was going on between him and those two would never change much in the field. You made a note to send a thank you text to Isagi later. It must be an experience to deal with a pissed Rin while rooming with him. You sincerely hoped Sae’s hotel room was nowhere near theirs this time.
As you reached the last button and wondered whether you should continue talking to him or not, Rin heaved out a heavy sigh. Once again, you let yourself eye his handsome face. Eighteen hours flight must had been rough, especially if he was beating himself up over the third goal.
Trying hard not to imagine what sort of debriefing transpired afterward, you decided to just lean your forehead against him. “Well, still, I'm happy you are here now, Rin baby.”
“Don’t call me baby,” Rin said, softly as he pressed his forehead back against yours. Closing his eyes slowly whilst the furrow in between his eyes faded.
You chuckled, then decidedly opted to ignore that meaningless protest. “You are home and need to rest, so now just fill your brain with what sort of food you want to eat. Do you need me to prepare your bath too?”
Rin scoffed, pulling away from you as he looked at you. But as he opened his mouth, you found yourself looking at him letting it hang open, as if the words he was about to say disappeared in his throat before he could let them out. And then it repeated for a few times, before Rin finally closed his mouth and looked away from you.
“What’s wrong?” you asked, leaning towards him slightly to peer at his face. Yet, without a response or a glance, Rin continued to glare at the floor, resembling an upset toddler. Confused, you raised an eyebrow.
Tired Rin really is a bit of a homework sometimes, especially when he gets baggage in that tough head of his.
You kept your stare on his face, trying to understand what sort of thing he wanted to say through his very Rin language. At that, Rin finally gave you a quick side eye, chiding you, “What are you looking at?”
“My boyfriend’s bad communication skills,” you replied to him easily, earning a click of his tongue as a reply. “What’s wrong? Did your stomach hurt suddenly?”
“I’m not a kid,” Rin snapped his head back to you. Oddly enough, there was no glare directed at you as he did so. If anything, there was a more gentle turn in the way his eyes looked back at you.
And after a few moments of silence, that was when it made sense.
You tried to hold back a loud laugh and wide grin, settling for a more dotting smile instead. “…I miss you too.”
Almost instantly, Rin glared at you with a red burst blooming over his cheeks and ears. But, as he was about to bark out a denial, his mouth once again hung open as no sound came out of it. In the end, he merely stared at you with many things written in his eyes.
Then, seconds later, he sighed loudly, almost groaning, before opening his hands. You blinked at his gesture, not quite getting what he meant.
“Just come here,” Rin said, in a tone that sounded like it was saying that he didn’t want to elaborate more of the previous topic. “I will catch you.”
In a way, you knew it was a bait. A very obvious and poor bait. Still, though, who were you to refuse him, if he brought up that offer out of all things by his own will?
So, happily, you threw your hands around him.
“Rin! Welcome home!”
Like a clockwork and a magnet to iron, Rin clasped his hands around you just as tightly, with many words and promises remaining unsaid, yet undeniably felt and there, lacing his affection.
“Hm—yeah, I’m home.”
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thank you for reading! if you enjoyed it, more on here.
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sunnylovespickles · 7 months
Text
Pixel Lust
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K. Soonyoung x Reader
↳ Genre | Smut, Online gamer friends
↳ Summary | Leaving your mic on, your online friend Soonyoung hears it all. Not all mistakes lead to worst circumstances. In this case, your mistake was probably the best one yet.
↳ Word Count | 2.6k
↳ Warnings! lowkey perverted hoshi, a bit of a praise kink, mutual masturbation, some pet names, fingering, language, overstimulation, etc.
↳ Sun’s notes | It's no reason it should've took me this long to publish this. also thank you jj for helping me @rubyreduji (ily) and @dido-of-the-endless (ilyt)for the title! not proofread
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You reclined in your gaming chair, slipping your hands underneath your cotton shirt as you bit your lower lip, in a certain type of neediness. Caressing your already hardened nipples, you thought of him. Most(sane) people would think you're absolutely deranged for getting off to a man you never even seen in person. Some would say he's probably even a creepy old man, which is definitely a slight possibility.
You just couldn't help but imagine though.
His voice was attractive, you've been playing online games with him long enough to pinpoint a voice to him. When chatting in party online he would send a picture of his jet black hair, that's it. In response, you would send a similar one back because ultimately you weren't going to show yourself until he did. His stupid username was "Tigerhohoshi43"
If you didn't know any better you'd think he was a fucking 10 year old that was obsessed with...furry things. He kept up with his hair like he was some type of celebrity. It wasn't much to go on but it was enough to imagine what his facial features were like.
You can’t necessarily say you have feelings for the guy-- because you barely know him, but you’re heavily horny. The human mind is simple, you want something bad enough you work for it.
God, and you're working for a damn orgasm.
After your weekly game marathon with Soonyoung, it's approximately 3 a.m. and it's late enough for you to let your dirty thoughts come to light. You had said your goodbyes to your pouty, digital friend(even though he kept convincing you to play more) and turned off your mic.
Or so you thought.
Rookie mistake on your part, always double check if the mic is truly off. These lewd things that you were doing, moaning this guy's name and pretending he was touching your breasts--he heard it.
He heard every single bit of it, from the moment you sighed saying 'That Soonyoung is so hard to deal with' to suddenly spitting on your fingers and embrace your nipples. He was taken aback that you had such a mind but it stirred up his insides, like unwanted butterflies straight to his dick.
If he knew better he would've ended the party call with you, respecting your privacy.
He didn't know any better and he definitely didn't want to.
Given the benefit of the doubt, he did try to tell you your mic was still on. When you set down the headphones and deeply sighed he said 'Y/n- I can still hear you'
Maybe you were too focused on other things that you didn't hear him, so he let it be. He was just sitting in his chair minding his business, blankly scrolling on Instagram.
'Mmph.. Soonyo-...'
What the hell was that, he thought. If he was a dog and his ears were capable of moving in animalistic ways, they definitely perked up in a instant. The way his eyes widen and he slowly moved up to his big screen to check if you were in the still in the party, and your mic was on.
Okay so maybe he's not crazy. Even though you were there he still blamed himself for hearing things. There was just a slight and very slight possibility thats just something he wanted to hear.
However, there it was again, that pretty whimper ringing through his ears.
Yeah, he wasn't drunk nor high and he definitely wasn't delusional. The safer and more acceptable route would be to interrupt you, possibly embarrass you, but at least you weren't full on masturbating where he could hear it. All those thoughts faded away when he felt his sweat tightening a bit at the crotch area, and his ears feeling a little hot.
While your fingers continue to touch your nipples, teasing them, gently rubbing circles around them until they protrude erect and begging for more. Soonyoung glued his eyes shut, letting his head fall back as he deliciously rubbed his bulge through the thick fabric.
Your hands slowly slide up to roll your tank top all the way up exposing most of your body. The smoothness of your skin being greeted to the chill of the room.
Your hands then move to the waistband of your shorts, slowly sliding them down your body. Even tough you were doing these actions yourself, you liked to think that Soonyoung was doing it for you.
Soonyoung is sitting with his headphones on, listening to you indulging in your acts. More than he would like to admit, the sound of your panting and your moans are driving him insane.
Once you've slid your shorts off, you move your attention to the fabric of your green underwear. You can't help but slide your fingers over your clit, rubbing and teasing until you can feel puddle through the cotton.
It felt extra sensitive because you havent done this since peanut-butter was invented it seems, and it felt so good. So good to the point you had to repeat this man's name in a plea, like he was actually teasing you.
Suddenly you hear his voice through your headphone's speakers, responding to your call.
"Yes, baby?" he says.
You jerk in surprise, panic rising. If this wasn't a valid moment to say your fucking life flashed before your eyes, then what was?! No, no you actually have to be dreaming.
 But then he speaks again.
"You're having fun aren't you? Don't let me stop you, keep going."
His offer was intriguing, but you weren't too focused on the fact he said that. Your mind was on the fact you were caught masturbating to him.
"S-Soonyoung?" Maybe you were losing it bit by bit, you just had to make sure it's really him.
"That's me," ugh, you hated that unusual cockiness in his voice like he won a damn Oscar tonight. It was cute though, even though you hated it more than dying in a game.
"H-how-...how," you couldn't even finish your damn sentence because you were stumbling on your words so much. He let out a low chuckle like he voice got ten times deeper and he continued, "Don't be mean y/n, I'm already riled up...keep going."
Already riled up? Even though it was clear as day what he meant, you didn’t process it—you didn’t want to. You should be obviously turned on that he’s trying to engage with you, but you’re shriveling in embarrassment.
This was probably the worst situation that’s happened to you. You thought that one time you peed yourself in the second grade playground was bad? No, this was bad.
Soonyoung probably caught on to your defying and ongoing silence, “Y/n, it’s okay.”
It’s literally not okay.
“H-hey look I can touch myself to make you feel better. Okay?”
Well, maybe it was okay.
You could hear items falling off of Soonyoung’s desk you believe as he scrambled to compose himself, what a dork.
“Y/n, could you give me your number?” He was serious for a second you thought he wasn’t being serious, he’s dead serious.
“My what?”
“Your number,” he said blankly again and if he could see your face somehow, he would’ve retracted his words. “It’s no fun if you have no picture of me, so…” He continued.
It wasn’t totally a bad idea, you guys have known each other online for some time and he was offering to show himself first. So you slowly but surely said your phone digits, allowing him to gain access to it. It was more a self benefit ordeal though, you needed to see him to get off. It's way too hard to try to masturbate to a faceless man--but thinking of it kinda sounds stupid that you intended to do that anyways.
You waited for that stupid ding and a light up on your phone, for him to give you some type of leverage.
You were confident that Soonyoung was cute but you were expecting him to be conventionally attractive. When you finally heard the long awaited notification sound and a unrecognizable number you never clicked something faster. What you weren't expecting was the devastatingly handsome face that had suddenly appeared on your screen. You widened your eyes in shock as you took in the sight of him and you felt speechless in the moment.
Soonyoung was freaking out, most likely because of the lack of response from you. You heard his voice from headphones still laying on your desk and he asked, “Do I look bad, baby?”
You felt yourself tremble at the way he emphasized the word ‘baby’ and you felt your heart skip a beat. You stumbled over your words as you blindly replied, “N-no not at all.” You could practically feel Soonyoung grin as he heard your response and he knew he wasn't so bad after all.
He wasnt bad, not one bit. He looed like he was picked straight out of a magazine with that delicious undercut of his. His black hair brought out more of his mature features. In the photo he was shirtless with a nice sliver chain glistening on his slightly tan skin. He positioned the phone under his face to emphasize his jawline, and it worked.
Despite having corresponded for several months, you couldn't help but ask him, "Are you catfishing me?" Despite no one else being in the room, you swear his chuckle sounded oddly close and he said, "Really, catfishing?" you rolled your eyes and replied, "You never know."
Soonyoung sighed, "You're making my dick go down. Do I get to see that pretty face of yours or what?"
The boldness of his statement hit you like as bulldozer knocking down an old building. You wanted to snap back at him for treating you like a toy, but nevertheless, you replied "sure."
You pulled off your shirt and followed it with your hard to get off bra. You grabbed your cold phone from the wooden desk, facing the camera slightly backwards so that he could just make out the outline of your breasts.
If anyone was going to win the thirst trapping game, it'd be you.
When you snapped the picture you heard Soonyoung hum in approval at the sound, waiting in delight. You rolled your eyes, just imaging how he looked, all cocky and geeked to see your photo. Teasing him a bit you drew out pressing send, you know he could see the three dots of you typing on the phone. "Please," he whined and you snickered.
Finally pressing send, there was a long pause before Soonyoung inhaled tightly. His response came a few minutes later. His voice sounded low and attractive, as he asked, "Should I be more grateful at the fact you're gorgeous, or that you're teasing me?"
"Be happy at my face."
"Oh, I am--more than happy."
You blush as Soonyoung voice reverberates in your room. He continues, "Now will you let me help you with...your dirty thoughts?" Your stomach flutters as you take a deep breath, trying to settle your rising nerves. You stutter, "I suppose."
You hear Soonyoung chuckle before his voice becomes softer and louder all at once as he leans even closer to the microphone, "Then be a good girl and slip your hand in your underwear."
Doing as told you guide your hand down your stomach then halting at your underwear. With a quick closing of your eyes you lean back in your gaming chair once more, and rest your head on the material. You then allow you hands to trickle into your underwear, surprising yourself at how wet you were.
Soonyoung's voice guides you through the air. His smooth and soothing voice could put you to sleep if it wasn't in this circumstance.
His instructions are precise and you can't help but feel a bit taken aback by his experience.
He tells you to place two fingers to your clitoris and begin to circle in gentle motions. He asks you to imagine that it's him, breathing into your ear, telling you how wet you are for him.
A soft moan escapes your lips, and Soonyoung responds with an approving voice. "That's what I like to hear," he says.
Soonyoung lets him drown in your sounds as you itch to be given permission to touch your sweet spot. He enjoys the control but he also cant help but to fight his urge to stroke himself. You moaned with every slight touch you gave yourself, he could only imagine ow sensitive you'd be on his dick.
"Soonyoung...are you gonna touch yourself too? Please," you cooed. He could hear the yearning in your voice and he let out a soft laugh.
"I am baby, I am," he answered, and he followed your slow rhythm.
"Do you want to go faster love bug?"
You shook your head frantically, but internally slapped yourself when you remembered that he couldn't see you and you say, "Yes, can I?"
"Go ahead," he encouraged her, his body shaking when he hears the squelch of your fingers entering yourself. As your breathing got more erratic, your fingers moved faster and he felt his skin getting warmer and hotter. At this point, Soonyoung was bucking up into his hand as he wished he was just there with you.
He wish he could just have you all to himself, just to devour like a starving animal. Whenever you dragged out his name he replied with a 'I know, I know." especially when you claimed it was too much.
He would just reassure you 'I know, you can take it baby."
Fuck, it was the most heavenly thing ever to have him reassure you in that way. You guys just seemed so far but were so close the exact same time. Soonyoung was losing himself in the bliss as well, he would occasionally let out his manly grunts.
You bit your plush lip and put your free hand on your flesh thigh, squeezing at it as you inserted a third finger into your pussy. Your breathing became labored and you struggled to obey as Soonyoung commanded you to keep fingering yourself whilst screaming out loudly. Taking a deep breath, you croaked out the words “Yes, Sir”, your cheeks burning as Soonyoung grunted in apparent approval at the use of the honorific.
You felt your walls squeeze against your own fingers knowing you were about to cum all over them. You tried to savor it but it was too much, and when Soonyoung said "let it out," you groaned his name in a long, drawn-out moan, whole body shaking as you climaxed against her fingers.
"Dont stop--until I cum," Soonyoung was spewing his own words in between heavy breaths. Even when you responded "It's too much-," he didn't let you stop just reassuring you thank you could take it.
"Cum for me, sir. I want you to cum all for me, every last drop," you relayed because if he was going to urge you to a orgasm you were going to make sure he practically milked himself.
Soonyoung cursed under his breath, muttering that you were such a slut as he increased the speed of his undulations. His cum bubbled up, erupting from his tip and panting his hands. He let out a strong "shit," when he threw his head back. His body bucked and jerked in rhythm, more rapidly now than before.
You wanted a piece of him, wishing you were there to make him cum by yourself. But all you could do was admire his sweet cussing and moans.  
Also, to plan about the next time you 'accidentally' leave your mic on tease him.
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lovebugism · 1 year
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hi hello "love you on purpose" absolutely devasted me with it's cuteness and i cannot wait for part two!!!! 💗
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✶ ┄ LOVE YOU, ON PURPOSE (ii)
part one | part two
summary: steve can't seem to stay away from the local freaks. he's more surprised to find himself falling for one of them. you have trouble believing that someone like him could want you in the first place. he wants to prove to you that he's not king steve anymore. (18k)
pairing: steve harrington / eddie's bff!reader
tags: strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, idiots in love, slight angst, hurt to comfort (sorta), fem!reader TW smut 18+, lots of intimacy and affection and awkwardness, p in v sex, talks of insecurities, reader has an allison reynolds-esque transformation but with a better ending (outfit inspo x, x), probable typos
a/n: welp. here it is. the final part of this 30k+ word fic. it was very fun and very painful to write and i'm very glad it's finally done and out in the world! thanks for all the love on the first part btw reading all the feedback has easily been my favorite part of writing this <3 with that being said, get comfy, get a snack, and enjoy! xoxo
˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗
Falling over you is the news of the day.
If yearning had a shape, you’re pretty sure it’d look an awful lot like you. 
The clumsiest of humans, fresh into her adulthood but still feeling like a child most days. Soaking wet, born yesterday. A caterpillar weaving her cocoon and trying to figure out where she fits in the world. The girl who decides she belongs right next to this big, boisterous, multi-colored butterfly she couldn’t stand a year or more ago.
And Steve Harrington, he was… Well, he was the kind of poem people spend their entire lives trying to write. 
He was the perfect mixture of beauty and warmth, of mystery and obscurity — the line where the pink of a sunset meets the purple of a starry night. He was all of this rolled up into a twenty-something-year-old boy. A fumbling butterfly that’s getting used to his new wings.
Maybe if you were talented enough, you could write the thing yourself. There’s something powerful in knowing that you could compose some dainty requiem so much bigger than yourself. A beautiful thing that would stand the test of time because there would never be anything else like it. 
It wouldn’t be because of you, though. You passed Ms. O’Donnell’s English class by the skin of your teeth, so your writing leaves much to be desired. It would be your muse that would enamor the masses come the next several centuries, because there will never, ever be another Steve Harrington.
At the very core of this poem would read a universal truth: I have fallen in love with his enigmatic being, and now I’m dealing with the consequences.
Well, you’re trying to deal with them, at least. You’re not having a very easy go at it.
Most of the time, you feel like a thousand bricks have piled on top of you. The jagged edges scrape up your arms and press varying shades of purple into your skin. They crush you underneath their weight, but you don’t try too hard to climb out from under them. You couldn’t even if you wanted to.
You feel a little stuck underneath all the feelings you have for Steve. 
You’re not quite sure what to do with them all. They’re too heavy to lift; there’s too much of them to crawl out. It all leaves you feeling a bit trapped. 
It’s a good kind of trapped, though. 
Once the hurt passes, the weight starts to feel like you’re being swaddled in a blanket. Or a cocoon. 
As scared as it makes you, as overwhelmed as you feel, you don’t want this puppy-like adoration to end.
But sometimes, the scrapes sting more than they usually do. The scabs split and start to weep. The faded bruises turn purple again, then to blue and black, and they ache all over. They remind you that girls like you don’t end up with guys like Steve, and the harsh realization turns the comforting weight of being in love into feeling like you’re being buried alive.
Steve is a pretty boy. He’s a rich, prettyboy who wears vintage jeans and drives a new Beemer and has never wanted for anything in his life.
And you’re… whatever the total opposite of that is.
You wear whatever’s cheapest at the thrift store or what Eddie lets you steal from his closet. You drive a rust bucket that belonged to your dad until he lost his license, so the thing practically rotted in the backyard until you got yours. And all you’ve ever done is want for things because you’ve never had anything.
And the one thing you want the most is something you’ve never been able to admit to anyone. Not even Eddie. Not even yourself. 
Screw new clothes or a car fresh off the lot. You don’t want popularity — you don’t even want money (though it certainly wouldn’t hurt). You want so desperately to be loved that it makes your bones ache.
All you want is someone to hold your wrists and kiss your palms, to cradle you when the thunder is too loud and the cracks of lightning make you shake, to be a hiding place where you can keep every secret and be certain it stays safe.
You want someone to smile at you the way Steve smiles at you. You want to feel held the way he makes you feel held — without ever touching you. You want to feel wanted the way he makes you feel wanted.
You want Steve. 
And you’re not sure how long silly love songs will substitute your yearning.
“What do you think about Steve?” you ask Eddie out of the blue.
He was in the middle of a rant about his latest campaign, but you hadn’t heard a single word of it if you’re honest. The butterflies in your stomach were too loud.
The boy sits across the room at his desk, back hunched, while he scribbles ideas into his tattered Dungeons and Dragons composition journal. You’re sprawled out in the middle of his bed like you have been for the past hour, making constellations of Steve’s face from the marks on his ceiling.
“I think he’s an asshole,” Eddie answers without missing a beat.
It makes you roll your eyes. You shouldn’t have expected anything less out of him, really. You toy with the frayed hem of your crop top and rephrase. “Okay, but do you think he likes me?”
“I know he likes you,” he scoffs. “That’s the problem.”
You smile widely to yourself, then purse your lips to the side to keep it hidden. There’s no one looking to see you grinning like an idiot, but it doesn’t make you feel any less like one.
“He wants to take me on a date tonight,” you confess out loud for the first time.
It wasn’t like you to keep something like that from Eddie. Or anything. At all. But you found yourself hiding it like some kind of dark secret. A distant part of you was terrified that it was all in your head, but it’s been three days since Steve asked you now. Which means you’ve spent three days pinching yourself.
You haven’t woken up yet.
“Like, a date date,” you clarify and rise on your elbows to study the boy across the room. 
You feel the need to explain yourself because movie nights and rides around town and hanging out in the break room after closing don’t feel nearly as serious as Steve wining and dining you. It feels much more official now, as though the line between liking someone and like-liking them has been drawn.
“And I’ve never been on a date date before—”
“What about the one time you went out with, uh…” Eddie trails off as he aggressively erases something on his paper. He stills and squints over his shoulder at you. “What was his name? Matt? Marcus?”
“Mason,” you correct and try not to shudder at the memory. “And I left him at the restaurant because he asked me how big my boobs were within the first ten minutes, so he doesn’t count.”
A grin pulls at the boy’s face. He chuckles to himself. “Oh, yeah.”
“And I know I shouldn’t be so nervous about it ‘cause it’s just a dumb date, like… We’ve been alone together a billion times now, you know? It’s just…” you ramble in one breath, then trail off with a huff. You flop back onto the mattress rather dramatically. “Steve Harrington doesn’t date girls like me. He dates girls like Nancy Wheeler. And, as far as I’m concerned, they were a matching made in fucking heaven— I mean, I didn’t know them back then or anything—”
“Obviously,” Eddie murmurs. “That was a train wreck.”
“—But they looked fucking perfect together, Eds!”
The image of them walking the hallways of Hawkins High isn’t hard to picture. You can still see Nancy in her pretty pleated skirt and pink manicured nails and Steve with his stupid hair and brand new Ray-Bans. They owned the school like their parents owned Hawkins — it was practically kismet. 
You try to picture him and you together, and it doesn’t come as effortlessly. 
It’s like trying to wedge pieces from opposites puzzles together; it just doesn’t work. 
And it’s different from anyone Steve’s ever dated. It’s different from anyone you’ve ever dated. People look at him and his pretty girlfriend and gush, “oh, wow, they look good together.” People look at you and a guy with smudged eyeliner and heeled boots and whisper in disgust, “oh god, they deserve each other.”
You won’t get any of the kindness that Steve is used to, only stares from strangers as they try hopelessly to figure out whether or not you’re dating — because surely, he wouldn’t stoop low enough to date someone like you.
“And I don’t wanna…” you waver, trying and failing to put your fears into words. “I don’t know, I guess I’m just scared.”
Eddie shakes his head to himself. “You don’t need to be scared, okay?” he mumbles, his attention still turned down to his notebook.
“Oh, thanks, Eds. I’m cured,” you monotone.
“I just mean that—” he cuts himself off with a deep sigh and swivels in his chair to face you completely. “Steve’s a douchebag, alright? But he’s a good douchebag.”
Your brows furrow. “…What?”
“He used to be an asshole and everything, but… I don’t know, I guess he turned out to be a pretty good guy— and if you tell him I told you that, I will kill you,” Eddie explains in one breath. The half-hearted threat spills from his mouth,and he goes suddenly soft. “He’s not gonna hurt you, okay? I promise. I mean, the guy’s practically a fucking teddy bear.”
A smile pulls slow at your lips. 
It’s the nicest thing you’ve ever heard him say about Steve, despite having been friends with him for nearly a year now. The foreign kindness comforts you well enough. If Eddie didn’t think Steve was every bit the good douchebag he says he is, there’s no way he’d let you go anywhere near him.
“Yeah?” you mutter.
“Yeah,” he echoes with a huff, obviously upset about having to admit such a truth. Then he shrugs. “And if he does hurt you, I’ll beat him up. Which, with his track record, I’m guessing it wouldn’t be too difficult.”
A laugh tumbles from your mouth. “Thanks for looking out, Eds.”
He only grumbles in response.
And even though he complains the entire time, he drops you back off at your place and helps you agonize over what to wear. He sits on your bathroom counter to keep you company while you shower, then holds your makeup bag in his lap while you get ready. He only comments once about how differently you’re doing it.
Then the boy lounges on your bed, legs crossed and back propped on the headboard while you rifle through your closet. In true Eddie Munson fashion, he’s got something to say about everything you pick out.
Your white sweater is too tight, he tells you, and the fuzzy texture feels too weird. The plaid skirt you pull from the depths of your closet is too “christmas-y” and “totally not your color.” He tells you he likes your boots better as he helps you with the finicky buckle of your Mary Janes, then snaps the band of your knee-highs when he stands again.
Eddie tells you all of this because it’s easier to tease you than to say what he really thinks — that it feels like you’re in high school again and trying out styles that don’t suit you.
He loved you the way you were, in black and leather and silver chains and fishnets, because he knew that’s what you felt good in. You found your identity in your unconventional style and you sparkled in it.
And you were still pretty like this, dressed in brighter colors and looking like the girls that used to bully you in high school, but it’s so obviously not you. More than anything, it irks him that you’re doing all of this for Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.
But Eddie knows that you’re nervous — he can tell by the way you’re talking a thousand miles a minute and checking your appearance in the mirror every couple seconds like something might’ve changed. He also knows that you’re still skeptical about this whole thing. Because you have no idea that Steve looks at you like the whole world could crumble around him, and he wouldn’t even blink.
You don’t know that you have nothing to worry about.
So Eddie figures he’ll wait to make fun of you. Save all his teasing remarks for when you’re gushing about the date the next day.
But you’re already aware of all this — how different you look. You hardly recognize yourself when you look in the mirror. You’ve traded in your shades of black for something brighter. Your blowsy hair is clipped back out of your face. Your makeup is more conventional and modest than you’re used to.
You look less like the freak you usually are and more like a wild thing that’s been tamed.
You feel pretty. 
Or, at the very least, the idea that Steve will think you’re pretty makes you feel pretty.
It makes all the imposter syndrome worth it. 
You stand in front of the full-length mirror and tug the scratchy socks up and over your knee when they start to slip down. You rise once more, giving yourself another once over, then nod in approval — pleased with the costume you’ve put on.
A fleeting through with a mean, green, bleeding heart and a mind of its own scratches bitterly at the confines of your skull.
Eat your heart out, Nancy Wheeler.
˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗
The ghost in you, she don't fade.
Steve, riddled with chronic feelings of inadequacy, overcooks the chicken and spritzes too much cologne on himself.
He had always been the kind of boy that loved things a little harder than he should’ve. 
Ask any plant he’s ever owned that he accidentally killed with every leaf he overwatered, frightened that anything less would be neglectful. He was always so scared of them dying that he suffocated them until they wilted anyway.
He thought he might’ve grown out of all that until he realized he did the same thing with Nancy. 
He squeezed her too tight and she squirmed at his smothering, called him bullshit and pushed him away so she could breathe again, then stomped on his heart until she was certain it stopped beating for her.
And therein lies the state of limbo Steve Harrington has lived in all his life — between loving something too much and not enough. He hasn’t yet found that balance that stops plants from dying and people from running away.
He isn’t quite sure how to be anything other than the man he is now. 
His conscious clings to your every move. He thinks about when he’s awake, and when he isn’t, he hopes he’ll be lucky enough to dream about you. He bothers you at work all day, then asks if you want to go for a ride when you’re off because he hates being away from you. The nights get too cold when you stray too far. And even though he’s never been much of a chef, he offers to cook for you because he wants to show you he cares enough to try.
Steve’s the kind of guy that overcooks his chicken because he’s terrified that you’ll get sick if it’s not done enough. He’s the kind of guy that douses himself in cologne, then breaks the bottle because he’s terrified of not smelling good enough. He wants everything to be enough for you. 
Steve Harrington, for once in his life, wants to be enough for somebody. 
But now all he is, is a stupid boy that never learns, who smells like he’s trying to overcompensate for being a terrible, terrible chef. 
When Nancy broke his heart, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to be this person again. Steve was scared he’d become someone he didn’t recognize — someone who didn’t care enough to water plants because, hey, they’re gonna die anyway, right? Because he gave and gave and gave, and had nothing to show for it but a stupid wilting flower.
Steve made a dark room of his broken heart. A boogeyman lived there, too. It made him scared that he’d never be able to love someone like he loved Nancy.
But then you came out of nowhere — this beautiful, loud, and mysterious thing that exudes every color of the rainbow when she laughs, despite her blacker-than-black wardrobe. You smile at him like you’ve never been hurt, like a sun that’s never known the night. It makes him feel like he can be that too.
The two of you seek a similar solace in one another. You fill each other’s voids without effort and without trying, like puzzle pieces or halves of an orange.
Steve met you and he realized that he didn’t get his ability to love from Nancy. He had always been a lover, a boy who could love something deeply, and that didn’t go away when she broke his heart.
And sometimes it was awful. It was painful and frightening more than it was anything else — love. It was doubtful and envious and distant. 
Love makes you selfish and creepy and uncharacteristically overbearing. Love makes you worry about your hair and overcook your chicken and drench yourself in cologne. Love takes a hell of a lot of hope, and that’s what he feels like when he’s with you — hopeful. Like he’s never been hurt before.
A surge of optimism and apprehension hits him like a bolt of purple lightning just behind his ribcage when the doorbell rings. Mostly because he knows you’re waiting on the other side of it. His hands shake when he opens the door, but not because he’s scared. He’s just full of hope and buzzing with its foreign intensity.
Steve finds the rest of his life standing on his front porch, dressed in all the trappings of his past.
You’re smiling wide when you see him, the same whizzing ball of hope that he is now, and clutching a bottle of wine. You’ve traded your usual grocery store alcohol for something bottom shelf from an actual liquor store. The sunshine grin you’re wearing is about the only thing familiar about you now.
With your hair pulled back, brows combed neatly to match the pretty makeup you’ve spotted gingerly on your features, dressed in foreign colors with knee-high socks and kitten heels — you look nothing like yourself. It’s a costume you’ve got on, still so pretty but pretending in some way.
It has Steve startled for a moment, thinking Halloween came a whole six months earlier and he never got the memo. Then he realizes you must’ve gotten all dressed up for him, even though you never had to. Just like he didn’t have to try and play chef to impress you.
Both of you are just stupid idiots who care too much, making it painfully obvious despite your best efforts to keep it hidden.
“Hi,” you grin sheepishly through a foreign, pale pink, and glossy mouth.
Steve’s too busy gaping at you to respond in a timely fashion.
The wind billows through your hair and sends strands of it flying in your face. And even though he can’t remember a time when you’ve ever worried about the wild halo on your head, you’re quick to tuck them back into place again. 
With most of it pulled back and combed with obvious intent, your face is left unhidden. Your neck and shoulders and collarbones are too. And you’ve got on this tight sweater and pretty skirt and tall socks that make your legs look longer. All of your usually concealed features are heightened. 
The dainty swipes of mascara, eyeshadow, and blush only accentuate them further, though your spots are attentively covered with foundation that isn’t exactly your shade. It’s a bit lighter than your skin tone, like you’d gotten it some time ago when you were still a bit paler.
You look less like the loud, plucky girl he’s come to know and someone more timid, delicate, and polished.
You’re so pretty he damn near forgets how to speak. His tongue swells and every word he could use loses meaning at the sight of you. But it isn’t you, and that only confounds him further.
It’s like you’ve covered yourself in body paint. The real version of you is hidden somewhere underneath it all, glimmering somehow more golden than the flaxen you’re playing pretend in.
When Steve realizes he hasn’t yet answered you, it feels like it’s been ten minutes or more. In reality, no longer than five seconds have gone by.
“Hey,” he greets finally, in an exhale that gets caught in his throat halfway through. He clears it and smiles shakily. “Hi.”
He steps to the side of the doorway and ushers you inside. He wipes his sweaty palms on his slacks when he thinks you aren’t looking, but you catch him in the act when you turn to face him again. Your grin widens and you trap it between your teeth.
“Smells good in here,” you compliment, walking slowly backward with your hands clasped behind your back.
“Thanks,” he accepts your flattery with an awkward hand on his neck. “Yeah, uh— I kinda burnt the chicken a little bit, but everything else should be good. At least, I hope it’s good. It’s kinda hard to mess up a salad, right?”
He laughs under his breath, then starts to ramble without realizing it.
“I’m not the best cook, as it turns out. I mean, I thought I could at least fake it, you know? Fake it ’til you make it, or whatever that bullshit saying is — but there is no faking the tornado I just had in the kitchen. I don’t think I’ve made a bigger mess in my life. But, uh, yeah… And don’t worry! I didn’t put tomatoes in the pasta. Or the salad. Or the sauce. I know you don’t think them, so…”
You’re in the middle of beaming and trying very hard not to laugh when he hits you with that one. 
Steve, like you, is having a very hard time shutting up just now. He’s in the same web of nervousness that you’re spun up in too. He’s all tangled and trying to weave words that make sense, though everything things his mouth in half-thoughts.
But then he says something so strangely profound out of nowhere, and it makes your pounding heart stop without warning. He’s just talking about fucking tomatoes, but you understand that — in some weird, roundabout way — that it’s much deeper than that.
You’d told him the mundane little detail in passing some time ago. At the diner, when you picked the fruit from your burger with a grimace on your face. You said it tasted like battery acid and tainted everything it touched. He took it back to the counter when you weren’t brave enough to. 
“Here you go, Punchy. Your battery-acid-free burger,” he’d joked when he set the fresh plate in front of you.
And he remembered all that. He tucked that tiny piece of information about you into the very back of his mind so that he could use it to make you happy later on.
That’s adoration at its core, you figure. Somewhere in all those minuscule remember-ings.
“You remembered that?” you wonder aloud in a bemused sort of whisper.
Steve has already moved on. He’s rambling about the broken spout of his cologne bottle but stops the second he realizes he’s doing it.
Of course, I did, scoffs the little voice in his head. I’m sorta obsessed with you, as it turns out.
He doesn’t tell you that, though, for reasons he finds are quite obvious — the most significant of which would be running you off entirely. So instead, he just shrugs and tries to be cool, despite having already established how terribly uncool he is.
“Yeah. I remember everything.”
When the two of you settle at the dining table, Steve realizes he’s eaten most of his dinners alone until now.
His parents stopped caring sometime around middle school. His dad got too busy with work, started staying after-hours to catch up on paperwork or screw his secretary. And his mom didn’t care because she was too busy getting wine-drunk on the phone with whatever book club friend that was just as miserable as she was. 
Steve would fork at his cold pad thai while he listened to his mother’s muffled rant about who went where and who wore a hat.
He couldn’t find it in himself to eat in his room. The empty dinner table was the only sort of stable routine he had in the swirling uncertainty of being a teenage boy.
But now he’s got you. 
He hopes he never stops having you. He doesn’t want to go back to being alone like that again, not after he’s found someone that can fill an entire room with their laugh.
The cackle you let out at Steve’s terrible, terrible cheese pun — “yeah, I guess you could say I cooked this all on my provol-own — echoes through the dining room. Even though he knows you’re laughing at him and not exactly with him, he figures it’s a small price to pay to keep hearing such a heavenly sound.
It reminds him of the real you, the one underneath all the foreign regalia. 
The rays of your usual sunshine peek from the clouds you hide behind. You’re way too bright to stay hidden.
Steve can tell you’re watching his every move. You eye him from across the table with the intent of doing everything he’s doing, lest you might do something wrong. He puts his napkin in his lap, so you put your napkin your lap. He cuts his chicken with his fork and knife, so you cut your chicken with a fork and knife — though you quickly realize you’re not quite as dexterous as he is for all that.
It’s endearing. The kind of cute that makes his heart hurt just a little bit. He hides his smile and happily abandons the conventional things he’d been taught to do. He eats with his fingers and then licks the pads of them, grinning when you giggle and do the same. 
It’s not something he’s used to — grabbing pieces of cut chicken with bare fingers and slurping noodles without having cut them first — especially not when he’s trying to impress a girl. But he can tell the lack of etiquette makes you more comfortable, and that’s all he really cares about.
He offers you another serving once you’ve finished your first. You decline politely with the mutters of “oh, no, I couldn’t,” but he’s seen your appetite. You could down five burgers at the diner and not break a sweat if you’re feeling hungry enough.
It’s one of those little heart-wrenchingly adorable things you do that both shock and enamor him. But, for a reason he can’t name, you’ve decided that part of yourself was too deplorable to add to your costume.
Steve only scoffs at you in response. He scoops more chicken and pasta onto your scrapped-clean plate despite your refusal.
You’re grateful he doesn’t let you get away with your stubbornness. Truth be told, you were still sort of starving.
He’s just grateful you don’t think his mediocre cooking skills total a complete dealbreaker.
Steve tries to fight you when you offer to help him clean up the kitchen. He tells you to make yourself at home on the couch while he tidies up, ushers you to pour yourself a glass of wine and pick out a record while you wait for him. 
But you have issues with authority and take little fondness in being told what to do. So, in true Punchy fashion, you do the exact opposite of what he tells you to do.
You roll up the sleeves of your pretty sweater and stand next to him at the deeply set sink in his kitchen island. “You wash, I’ll dry?” you offer.
He doesn’t argue, only nods. 
He’ll let you take the blame for not wanting to be too far away from him. It’s easier than admitting his own guilt in the matter. ‘Cause sometimes his heart breaks when he blinks and he has to miss you for the faintest fraction of a second. 
“You seriously don’t have to, you know—”
“Stop saying that,” you scold and snatch the dripping plate from his hands. You swipe a towel over the ceramic with a meticulous ease. “I actually like doing dishes, okay? I do them at all time. I’m practically a professional at this point.”
“Yeah?” Steve laughs, shooting you a grin as he dunks his hand into the warm, sudsy water.
You love that stupid smile so much you’ve started to hate it. 
It’s soft and so sincere, just wide enough to reveal the dimple in his left cheek. The gentle grin drips with so much honey you can practically taste it. It’s so tender it makes you feel unworthy, so full of love it fills you with a distant rage that he might’ve looked at someone else with it.
You have to duck away from his gaze before he can catch you blushing. 
“Yeah. That’s, like, my one chore when I’m over at Eddie’s,” you respond with a shrug. “Because, you know, Wayne’s always working and Eddie’s… Eddie, and he really shouldn’t be trusted with anything remotely sharp or breakable, so…”
“What about when you’re home?” he wonders, simply for the sake of keeping the conversation going, but noting how the mention of home makes you tense.
“Uh, yeah. I mean, considering every time I go back, it looks like there’s been a tornado, doing dishes is just one part of the shit pile that I need to clean up, you know? My parents are usually on some bender — or still passed out from said bender — to take care of the place while I’m gone.”
Steve sees how distracted you’ve gotten as you keep wiping down a bone-dry plate.
“But, uh, anyway. Point is, I think I’m destined to have a career as a professional dishwasher.”
When your gaze flits back to Steve’s, he forces a smile at you.
He’s noticed how you always seem to talk about your best friend and his uncle without ever mentioning your parents. He understands now that it’s because they weren’t your family, not like Eddie and Wayne were. The small Munson clan was your home, it seems, and he fights to steer you back that way.
“So, you stay with them most of the time, then?” he redirects innocently as he hands you a freshly washed wine glass.
“Yeah. I think I’m pretty much Eddie’s personal caretaker these days.”
“Wow,” he marvels playfully, wide-eyed and grinning. “On top of being a professional dishwasher? You’re really doin’ it all, aren’t ya, Punchy?”
“Mm-hmm. I am a real jack of all trades, Harrington,” you joke back with a commendable finesse and flash a teasing smile up at him. The pastel-colored lipstick has mostly disappeared from your mouth now. You look more like yourself.
“And Eddie— he’s got this crazy scar on his hand from when he was a kid, and he was helping Wayne wash the dishes. He, like, blindly reached into the water or something and stabbed himself. Knife went straight through his palm.”
Steve winces.
“Yep. Now he says he’s too traumatized to help do the chores,” you reminisce with a distant laugh and set the glass upside down on the drying rack. “I don’t mind, though. I like doing them on my own. Gives me time to think, you know?”
“I’m standing right here,” the boy beside you scoffs, feigning offense.
“You can be the exception, Stevie,” you assure with a grin.
Maybe it’s the look you give him. Maybe it’s the nickname he used to hate, but now makes his heart skip a beat or two — or three. Maybe it’s all those things and the way your fingers brush his wrist when you move to take the pot from his hands. Either way, something shifts and he forgets how to use his fine motor skills.
The pan slips from his fumbling hands and yours and plops back into the water. The metal bangs loudly when it hits the bottom of the sink. Both of you jump back to avoid the splash.
“Shit. Sorry,” he apologizes, eyes scanning your form to make sure he didn’t make a total mess of you.
“It’s okay,” you promise with a gentle laugh and swipe the towel in your hand over your sweater to remove the droplets clinging there.
Steve scrunches his nose. “I feel like I might’ve just ruined my co-dishwashing privileges.”
“Just a little,” you quip.
You give him no warning before bringing the waffle-patterned nettle up to his cheek to dry him off, too. He flinches at the suddenness of the action but melts into your touch without thinking twice.
“You know, you have a pretty cool scar, too,” you tell him, mostly out of the blue, while you dab at the stubble on his jaw.
Steve’s gotten used to all your abrupt mannerisms and the way you flip-flop between topics with an expertise only you seem to possess. He likes that about you, though. There’s never a quiet or still moment when he’s with you.
“Yeah?” he hums back.
You nod and move down to his neck. “I felt it a while ago, during our Night of the Living Dead marathon—” of which Steve has no recollection. He can’t remember a damn thing from those movies, but can still feel the tingle of your mouth against his own. 
“—On the back of your head. Felt pretty gnarly.”
You switch the towel to your other hand and use your free one to swipe through his hair. Your fingers muss at his hour or more of hard work, but your touch is a far better reward than nearly quaffed hair. You weave through the chocolate strands until you reach a marred, barren line.
“Right… there.”
Steve, still buzzing with your touch, manages a breathy chuckle. “Uh, yeah. It’s a… It’s a really long, really stupid story.”
“Wanna give me the short version?”
The grin you give him is impossible to say no to.
“I’m a super klutz,” he summarizes with a shrug and a sloppy grin. 
He mourns the loss of your touch when your hand slips from his hair. “Well, now I have to hear the story.”
“It’s dumb. Like, seriously—”
“I like dumb,” you assure quickly to stop whatever self-loathing he was about to spew. “I’m best friends with Eddie Munson. I think I can take it.”
“Touché,” he chuckles under his breath. The remaining dishes are left forgotten in the depths of the soapy water when he turns his back to him. He leans his weight on the countertop and grips the edges of it in his hands. “You see, I did this really smart thing when I was a baby where I’d, you know, crawl backwards—”
“Crawl backwards?” you repeat with an incredulous laugh.
“Yeah. I’d push with my hands — beep, beep, beep,” he flattens his palms and presses them against thin air to demonstrate it for you. “Always in reverse. I mean, it makes sense, right? You gotta push to move.”
“Sure,” you shrug. A laugh tumbles from your mouth shortly after.
“Did that until I reversed my way down a flight of stairs and hit my head pretty damn good,” he concludes with a wince. It’s like he can still feel the pain sometimes.
“Wow,” you marvel. “So, like… When people ask if you were dropped on your head as a kid, the answer would be—”
“Yep…” he sighs, then laughs when it makes you laugh. He looks over at you with sparkling cinnamon eyes. “It explains a lot, doesn’t it? I think, like, right out of the gate, I’m super confident, you know? But I’m also a total idiot, which is just a brutal combination.”
“I have noticed that, actually,” you confess with a gentle sort of smile.
“Yeah?” he winces.
“Yeah. You do this thing sometimes where you get all… suave and cool,” you tell him, squinting and lowering your voice a few octaves for effect. “Like you’re trying to be King Steve all over again. And then you, like, trip over a stack of DVDs or something because the universe is trying to humble you.”
“That is a… really good way of putting it, actually,” Steve confesses with a laugh.
“I think it’s sweet.”
“Well, the good thing is, I get a big enough thump on my head, I can change, you know? I can learn. So, I guess I’m pretty glad somebody bumped my head before we met. ‘Cause things probably would’ve turned out… a whole lot differently.”
Steve watches your face contort from understanding to confusion. Your manicured brows pinch together and your doe eyes squint over at him. He watches you break down his words in real time. 
“Somebody…” you murmur under your breath. “You mean… Are you talking about Nancy?”
“Yeah, uh… She gave me a— a pretty big thump, you know? Worse than the one I got falling down those stupid stairs,” he tells you with a reminiscent smile. 
It makes you feel like a total idiot, standing in front of him like this — a carbon copy of the girl that tore his heart to shreds.
“I deserved it, though. I mean, you knew me back then, I was a… a total asshole. And sometimes, I think I still would be if she didn’t, you know… if she didn’t… totally rip my fucking heart out,” he concludes with a sad sort of laugh. “Now I’m kinda grateful she did. As bad as it hurt — as angry as it made me — I think, in a lotta ways, it made me better.”
“Better?” you echo quietly.
“Yeah… If she didn’t break up with me when she did — if I didn’t get that dumb thump on my head — I wouldn’t have changed. I wouldn’t be… here right now. With you,” he confesses, revealing more of himself than he ever has before, to a girl he wouldn’t have been caught dead with a couple of years ago.
He looks beside him at this costumed girl — at you — and he sees someone he probably would’ve given the time of day back in high school. The lack of dark, baggy clothing makes you look approachable — like you won’t actually bite him for coming near you like the rumors always said.
And Steve’s self-aware enough to know he probably would’ve treated you like shit back then. He would’ve fucked you just to fuck you, then only talk to you when he needed you to do his homework for him. And you wouldn’t have been the first girl he did that to either, and the thought makes him want to puke.
He’s glad he’s found you when he did. He’s even happier you met him where he was at, in that awkward in-between stage of growing up where you’re trying to be someone different while still finding comfort in staying the same. You never complained even once when he reverted back to his old ways.
And even though you’re standing right next to him, your chest nearly brushing his arm with every heavy breath you take, he finds himself missing you. 
You’re not you — not without the fun outfits and the crazy hair and all your rings that clink together every time you move. He misses how the metal felt against his skin and the way they’d get caught in his hair.
You’re still beautiful like this, but it’s a strange type of beauty. One that both of you know doesn’t belong to you. You fit into it like baggy jeans or a too tight shirt. You’ve squeezed yourself into a ball to try to fit into a world far too small for you, because you thought that’s what Steve wanted.
“I’d still be that King Steve douchebag… Partying every night, getting drunk out of my mind, never settling down like I…” The words get trapped in his throat. He clears it to force them out. “Like I always wanted to, you know?”
“Right,” you murmur, voice not strong enough to be any louder than that.
“So, yeah, I don’t know. I guess, in some weird, roundabout way, I’m just to tell you that I’m not that guy anymore. King Steve,” he admits and presses his hip into the counter to face you fully.
When you gather the strength to look up at him, you find his gaze already dripping with honey and staring down at you. He’s all soft and mushy and twinkling with the adoration he’s got for you. And when he smiles, it’s so terribly sincere and coated with a distant sadness that’s been playing on the edge of his voice this whole time.
“And I know you might still see me as that guy. I don’t blame you. Honestly, I don’t really deserve to be looked at any differently, not after how I acted towards you—”
“Steve,” you breathe out in a tender sigh. “It’s okay—”
He shakes his head to himself. His eyes squeeze shut when his chin falls to his chest.
“It’s not. It’s… It’s really not. I just—” he inhales sharply, chest deflating on the exhale when his gaze turns back to you. He looks sterner now, but still so tender. “I just want you to know that I’ve changed, okay? I am changing. And I don’t want you to think I’m the kinda guy you have to change yourself for.”
When the weight of his words finally hits you, it feels a bit like being punched in the stomach.
It knocks all the wind out of you and makes it hard to think about anything other than the sudden loss of breath. Like a kid who’s fallen off the monkey bars and flat onto their back, you can’t do anything but writhe through the ache and hope you’ll be back to normal soon.
You got dressed that evening thinking you were the master of deception. You perfected your subterfuge and awaited Steve’s inevitable swooning because you looked like all the other girls he’d fallen in love with. 
But he sees through every inch of your pretending with his secret x-ray powers, and now you’re just a stupid girl standing in front of him, soaking wet with embarrassment.
It’s a little like when he and Tommy and all his basketball goons would make fun of you. They’d talk about you like you weren’t there while they tossed tiny crumbled up pieces of paper into your hair so they could watch you struggle to get them out. But, at the same time, it’s not like that at all. Because now he’s apologizing, and telling you that he likes you, and that you never had to change a single damn thing for him at all.
You’re equally as self-conscious, though, and feeling like a total idiot for thinking you could even pretend to be halfway normal.
“Oh…” is the only thing that leaves your mouth in that moment. Your mind is still going a million miles a minute. You want to blurt out an apology and an explanation all at once, while simultaneously turning into a puddle at his feet and disappearing entirely.
But rather than break down, you stay standing. Too stuck in your head to feel all there.
Steve seems to notice your trepidation almost immediately. His eyes widen and his brows raise and his pretty mouth falls open to let all of his reassurances spill out. 
“And it’s not that I don’t think you’re pretty! You’re— You’re perfect like this too, but I just…” he inhales and takes the tiniest step closer to you, putting an unsure hand on your waist. “I like you the way you were before. And this isn’t… This isn’t you.”
You blink back stinging tears and turn your gaze to where you toe your Mary Jane’s into the kitchen tile. You go to twist your rings like you always did when you were nervous before realizing you’d left them all at home.
“I just wanted to be like the girls you like,” you confess quietly.
“You are like the girls I like,” Steve corrects with a gentle laugh. “‘Cause I like you.”
Your eyes are all glassy when they flit back up to his. 
Even though you don’t look quite like yourself, the way you look at him hasn’t changed. You still gaze at him like you can see right through the nice hair and the dumb smirks and the stupid persona he puts on when he doesn’t feel good enough the way he is. You look at him like you’re in love with the boy he tries like hell to keep hidden.
The exact same way he looks at you.
“I think I just got a little spooked. Girls like me aren’t supposed to end up with guys like you.”
“I stopped believing in that shit a long time ago,” he admits with the shake of his head. “The whole soulmates-love-at-first-sight thing, it’s all… bullshit. If I’m gonna love someone, I’m gonna do it on purpose.”
Steve watches the lingering sadness in your eyes ebb to something sunnier. Your gaze sparkles and suddenly you’re beaming at him, not bothering to conceal the effect his words have on you. You don’t think you could even if you wanted to.
“I like that,” you murmur in approval, then more loudly proclaim: “Screw soulmates! Let’s start loving people on purpose!”
The two of you laugh about this promise you’ve just made to each other without really saying it to each other. It sort of goes unsaid — if I’m gonna love you, I’m gonna do it on purpose and let’s love each other on purpose. That’s what you mean, and neither of you has to say it out loud because you get it. 
It’s that exact realization that makes Steve’s heart flutter something fierce. Suddenly, the urge to touch you becomes too great to bear. He wants to feel you like he did on the couch of his theater room, when a film he could barely recall crackled in the background because the feel of you was too loud for him to hear anything else.
He needs you like that again, on him and all over him. The ache is a palpable one.
The boy squeezes your waist again, as though to remind you he was still there. Or, perhaps, to remind himself that you were still there —the real thing and not something his brain conjured up.
“It’s not totally insane how bad I want to kiss you right now, is it?” he wonders quietly to you. The low, sultry nature of his voice is not at all forced like it usually is when he’s trying most desperately to flirt with you. His words are just naturally weighed down by his desire for you.
You shake your head in a silent promise, then command through a grin, “Kiss me stupid, Harrington.”
Steve doesn’t waste a second.
He’s been anxiously awaiting his chance to touch you all night. He does so now with a vigor that makes you feel all of that anticipation. With one hand on your waist and the other cupping your jaw, you can feel his buzzing skin as it presses against your own — like the static of a television screen. His fingers settle between the strands of your hair while his thumb absentmindedly rubs along your cheekbone. 
The softness of his touch makes you hum against his mouth.
His lips are familiar like home — more than, because sometimes you think you’ve never really had one. 
There’s never been a cozy, warm, and tender place where you could rest your tired bones. Eddie’s trailer, maybe, but it wasn’t yours. No matter how often you slept within the four walls of his bedroom, no matter how hard you pretended like you’d lived there all your life, it would never belong to you.
But Steve could. 
Steve could be yours.
And you wouldn’t even have to pretend either. It would be for real this time.
His mouth was welcoming and pleasant and gentle, far more than you’ve ever gotten out of four walls and a roof. The plush pink of his lips — the cushion of his bottom one you like to dig your teeth into and the rough pad of his tongue that explores your mouth like undiscovered territory — is perhaps the softest thing you’ve ever known.
Even when he kisses you harder and guides you until your back is pressed against the edge of the countertop, it’s still so, so tender.
Steve’s hands migrate to your hips. His fingers clutch the fabric of your skirt as he cages you against his weight and the counter, as though out of fear you might slip away.
Your touch mirrors his desperate one. You cling to him with a similar intensity, balling the fabric of his navy blue Henley in one hand while you waltz through the pretty strands of his neatly styled hair with the other. You let him kiss you the way he wants to kiss you, keeping your obedient mouth plaint for him while he opens your mouth wider with his tongue.
His touches turn bruising, and yours go soft like summer rain.
Steve holds desperately onto you, like any moment he could wake up and none of this could be real. He kisses you like he won’t ever get to kiss you again, having no idea that you’ve already started to build a home in him. 
Meanwhile, your fingers tips trail like drops of water down his chest and stomach. They settle at his waist, on the top of his belt, and linger along the leather edge of it. You’re not quite sure what to do next — if you should wait for Steve to say something or if you should go ahead and take the lead.
Your sudden hesitation makes him nervous.
Steve’s lips click wetly as they part from yours. He peers down at you through heavy lids, amber eyes swimming with honeyed desire. His lips are pinker now, and swollen from being kissed so ardently. His brows pinch in concern. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t w—”
You barely let him get the words out before you press your mouth to his again. Your hands twist at the collar of his shirt to bring him back down to you. You stand on the tips of your toes to meet him halfway. 
“I want to,” you mumble, practically slurring from being so drunk on his touch.
“I wanna treat you right—” he tries to tell you. Some of his words are muffled against your mouth because you find yourself totally unable to stop kissing him now. “—Take things slow with you.” 
You smack a final kiss to his lips. When his honey eyes flutter open again, he finds you wearing a mischievous sort of smirk. There’s an accompanying teasing glint in your glazed over eyes.
“You can do all that when you’re inside of me,” you promise lowly, bold in a way neither of you are used to. The brazen nature of your dirty words is foreign but no less exciting.
They make Steve’s head get all swimmy and his cock tightens as it stiffens in his slacks. His spine tingles with his borderline overwhelming desire for you.
“Have mercy…” he murmurs within a heavy breath, more to himself than to you.
˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗
And love, is only heaven away...
Steve’s curtains match his wallpaper.
It’s a questionable blue and gray plaid that you doubt he picked out himself. The framed pictures of sports cars only add to the boyish flair of his bedroom. It doesn’t look like him, though. None of it does.
The only real trace of Steve The Hair Harrington is the poster of Christie Brinkley hanging beside his window, diligently placed right next to his bed. It’s a blown-up Sports Illustrated cover — a beautiful, soaking wet woman posing less than effortlessly against a palm tree in all her blonde-haired, blue-eyed, perfected-bodied glory. It’s the most King Steve you’ve ever seen.
All the minute details of his bedroom make you giggle.
“You have great taste, Steve Harrington.”
He grumbles in annoyance at your teasing as he clicks his door shut behind you.
“Well, you can thank my mom for my great taste, okay? She decorated the place when we moved in, like, forever ago. I just haven’t, you know, gotten around to changing it yet.”
“I can tell,” you laugh and turn to him with a smirk. “Really cool bedsheets, by the way. I mean, seriously. This is state-of-the-art design here, Stevie.”
It isn’t until he’s being pelted with your relentless teasing that he remembers he’s got dinosaur-patterned linens spread out on his mattress.
Steve typically likes to alternate bedsheets in between washing them. His plain gray ones would’ve perhaps been more appropriate for times like this, but they were in his hamper along with another set of plaid ones. His dino sheets may be immature, but they’re no less comfortable. It’s not his fault they just happened to fall on the week you were coming over.
“Alright, Punchy—” The boy rolls his eyes and splays two wide hands on your sides, pressing himself into you rather shamelessly. You wonder if the clothed stiffness against your lower stomach is just your imagination. Any other teasing remarks dissipate from the tip of your tongue as your eyes widen.
Steve notices your silence and smiles. “—You wanna keep making fun of me, or do you wanna make out some more?”
“I think we can do both,” you answer with a shrug, resting your hands along his waist. “I’m quite the multitasker, Harrington.”
“Yeah?”
You nod.
“Wanna show me?”
You nod again, smiling wider now.
He smashes his lips into yours again. You meet him halfway. It’s all too easy to fall back into the swings of things — the desperate mouths and longing touches. Maybe because you’re always desperate and longing for him. And, with the way he’s clinging to you now, you figure he must always be those things for you, too.
You relish in all of his little touches, in the duality of them. He cups your jaw so tenderly yet clutches your hip like he’s still trying to discern whether you’re real or not. Then his palms slide around your waist and up your back until he’s all but hugging you. It’s too sweet a gesture for how he’s prying your lips open with his mouth to slip his tongue inside. 
His hands settle, finally, at the very bottom of your sweater. They linger at them hem, not pressuring you to do anything, just waiting for you to make a move. 
You part from him to abide by his unspoken want. Your trembling hands work together to free you from your top. You’re more than grateful to pry the itchy thing off of you.
Steve doesn’t get the chance to admire the bra you wear. He catches a glimpse of frilly lace, but there’s little time to praise your topless form before you’re pulling him into another searing kiss. It’s full of tongue and teeth now, far more hungry that just moments ago. Your fingers slither through his hair and curl in the strands. You keep him firmly locked against you as his lips trail down your neck.
He finds your most sensitive spot in record time — the one just under your jaw, right beside your racing pulse. Your legs nearly give out when his tongue runs over it. A breathy moan exhales from your mouth before you can stop it and you feel him smile against your neck. He doesn’t comment on it, just keeps kissing you there in the hopes that you’ll do it for him again.
You do.
Steve sucks and nips at your delicate skin, and you revel in the feeling of his mouth. Head thrown back, you let him paint your neck in varying shades of red. Some will disappear come morning; others will darken into souvenirs for you to admire for the next few days.
The thought of him marking you drives you nearly as crazy as the feeling of his lips against you. 
You stopped trying to hold back your whines somewhere around ten of them ago. It was easier, you found, for him to kiss you and to let yourself enjoy it than be hyperaware of all the sounds you were or weren’t making. Steve seems to like it when you moan for him, anyway. Every time you do, he kisses you harder, holds you tighter, and hums out his own subtle moans against you.
He digs his teeth into your skin. It makes you whimper. The desperate, high-pitched noise fades into a lower moan when the rough pad of his tongue rushes out to soothe the bite. He moves on to kiss you elsewhere. You shiver when your spit-slicked skin meets the cool air.
You don’t notice that you’ve hitched your leg up his hip until you feel his warm hand on your thigh to hold it up for you. His fingers inch up until the tips of them rest beneath the hem of your skirt.
You don’t bother to hide how much you want him.
He doesn’t bother to hide how badly he needs you close.
“Wanna make you feel good,” he mumbles into your neck, smiling when his words make you whine. “Can I make you feel good?”
You nod when the words get stuck in your throat.
He parts from you for the first time in several minutes. His heavy gaze meets your own. “Can you say it for me?” he asks, not teasing you, just wanting to make sure you want this. Him.
“Want you to…” you start, then swallow when your voice is tighter than expected. You manage the rest through bated breaths. “…to make me feel good.”
Steve kisses you again, a long and thorough stamp on your lips, followed by several tinier pecks. Then his mouth starts its journey down, down, down your body, stopping only to admire your exposed chest. He’s more than pleased to find that what you’re wearing is hardly a bra at all.
It’s a sheer thing with dainty lace detailing. He figures it’s more for decoration than to push up your breasts. There’s no padding at all. Just a pretty tulle number that leaves very little to the imagination.
You watch him intently with a smile, enamored by how enamored he seems to be by a pair of boobs. You never thought yours were much to ogle over, but Steve presses tender, wet kisses to them anyway. He takes the plush between his teeth, sucking on the delicate skin to leave a blossoming bruise there. He only trails further down when he’s satisfied with the mark he’s branded you with.
Steve falls to his knees with a soft thud upon the carpeted floor. The faint sound is much more obvious in the quiet of his bedroom. He looks somehow prettier below you — soft and delicate and sweet like chocolate syrup or marshmallow fluff. But he’s still got this air about him, something stern and domineering, that tells you he’s still got all the power.
He presses a kiss to your thigh, just above the top of your sock, then several more further up. His fingers raise the fabric of your skirt the higher his lips travel. And, strangely, you’re not all that nervous about being half-naked in front of him. It’s hard to be when he’s kissing you like you’re a beautiful thing that deserves to be touched so tenderly.
Steve keeps pushing up your skirt and stills when he reaches the apex of your thigh, right where the top of it meets the joint of your hip.
Your underwear doesn’t match the bra you’re wearing, he finds. It’s orange all over and spotted with bats — the color has faded slightly, like you’d bought them some number of Halloweens ago.
It’s endearing. Everything about you is endearing. Even when you aren’t trying.
“Hold it up for me, yeah?” he asks you with your skirt in his hands.
It shouldn’t surprise him when you do the exact opposite. You step back from him to shove the thing down your legs, then leave it in a pool of forgotten fabric on his bedroom floor when you gravitate towards him all over again. 
His hands rise to your outer thigh and rub soothingly along the warmed skin. You wonder if he can feel the goosebumps pebbling there. The smirk he flashes up at you tells you that he does.
He’s got a twinkle in his eye when he teases you. “Really cute underwear, by the way.”
“I was obviously very prepared for this,” you retort with ease, making fun of yourself just as effortlessly as you can make fun of him.
“I like them,” the boy assures. “I really like them. Very on brand, Punchy.”
“Would you like me better out of them?”
Your arched brow and knowing smirk, kept caged between your teeth, is met with a bemused gaze. Steve’s eyes go wide at your forwardness.
“Uh, yeah— I mean… yeah,” he nods with a breathless chuckle. Then, more sincerely says, “Only if you still want to.”
You scoff at his timidity, though it’s more at yourself than him. “Look at me, Steve,” you answer plainly, motioning to your half-naked form and the damp spot forming in your underwear. “If I didn’t want this, you’d know by now.”
Steve huffs out a laugh, just before pressing a chaste kiss to the black bow of your panties. He noses at the softness of your stomach while his fingers curl around the hem. He tugs them slowly downward, giving you ample time to stop him if you wanted. 
A part of him is still convinced that none of this is real — you, namely. Truth be told, he’s waiting for a smack to the face and a rant about how all of this was just bullshit.
It never comes, though.
Instead, he gets a sheepish grin and a sparkling gaze as you hold onto his shoulder to step out of your underwear. The giggle that spills from your mouth when he tosses them over his shoulder makes him smile. 
Your pussy is as pretty as the rest of you. It’s more manicured than he imagined for a girl as wild as you. There’s a tuft of hair on your pubic bone, cut down and shaved around the edges. It leaves your lips bare and glistening with your accumulating slick.
Steve’s all but salivating at the sight of you.
“You wanna put that mouth to work, Harrington, or do you wanna ogle some m— oh,” you try to tease him, all amused at how he looks like he’s never seen a naked girl before, knowing full well he’s seen plenty. But your taunts evaporate from your tongue when he finally puts his mouth on you. They ebb into a breathy, high-pitched moan.
The tip of his chiseled nose smushes against you while he licks at the rest of your pussy with a practiced tongue. 
It’s more than obvious he’s done this before. Enough to have become a borderline professional at it. He finds your sensitive button within seconds and with minimal effort. Your legs are already buckling, practically turning to jelly, and he’s only just started. 
He latches onto your lips with a swollen pink mouth. His warm, wide hands wrap around the backs of your thighs to keep you steady and anchored against him.
Steve kisses your cunt like he’s making out with you. He opens and closes his mouth in slow, rhythmic motions, rutting his tongue along your glistening skin all the while. He’s sloppy with intention. Every touch is meticulous. He’s trying to figure you out, trying to learn what you like the most and what makes you moan the loudest for him.
Steve’s attentive. He’s ambitious and ardent. It’s like he enjoys kissing you down there, and not like he’s doing you a favor so he can get something in return. He moans against you like it’s every bit as pleasurable for him, as it is for you.
He alternates his efforts while he discovers you like unexplored territory.
You giggled like it tickled you when he stuck his tongue into your cunt the first time, then moaned when his nose nudged your clit. “Your mouth is so good,” you’d praised through bated breaths, but your whines had gotten too quiet for his liking. He opted to give his tongue a break and latch his slick lips to your swelling clit.
You liked it most when he sucked you there. At least, he figures you must, with the way your mouth parts in a silent cry and your hands dart to his hair to push him further into you.
“You like that?” Steve asks you, just to be sure. He pulls enough away so the words are intelligible, but still close for you to feel the vibrations of them against your skin.
“Yes,” you answer in a broken sigh.
Steve barely lets you answer before he’s licking a flat stripe up the length of your pussy. He slows methodically when the tip of his tongue catches your puffy clit, just so he can see your legs tremble. They do, rather intensely so, and he revels in the way your thighs quiver at his temples.
He wishes he’d laid you down before putting his mouth on you. He regrets not getting to spread you open, to part your soft folds with his thumbs, and admire you the way you deserve to be admired. 
But to be under you this way is a reward in itself. To get on his knees for you, to let you grind your hips against his face, it’s heaven. He never wants to stop feeling you this way.
“Please, Steve…” you moan breathlessly. “Please, please, please.”
You plea like it’s a mantra. Your voice grows tighter and tighter the closer you get to your peak. 
Steve’s not entirely what you’re begging for. You’re not either, really. You just know that the pleasure is swelling. The wringing knot in your stomach is close to snapping. The thought alone is borderline overwhelming. You want to run away from the crescendoing feeling and keep it locked against your pussy all at once.
“Steve… Steve, please. I’m— fuck.”
“You can take it,” he promises, speaking the words into your cunt. His lips smack when he pulls away from you, just for a moment to catch his breath. His chest heaves and his tongue darts to graze his bottom lip. “It’s yours, baby. Just take it—”
You’re a goner the second he wraps his lips around your clit again. He suckles there like his life depends on it. Your hips twitch and you tug at his hair when you come, perhaps a bit rougher than you realize. Steve delights in the burn at his scalp. He groans shamelessly into you, a hearty grumble that rolls over every inch of your body.
You make the mistake of looking down at him in the midst of your undoing. You bring your chin down to your chest and open your fluttering eyes to peer down at the boy below you. He’s already looking up at you, you find, with his own bleary gaze. His cinnamon eyes glitter up at you and you melt for him.
Something about the sight of Steve on his knees for you, face snug against your cunt, and gaze lidded with desire makes you keen. Your hips flex, then still against his mouth while you gush for him.
“There you go,” he murmurs against your cunt. “There you go, baby.”
A high moan gets hung in your throat at his praise. It escapes in a delicate cry when your orgasm pummels into you full throttle. You’re whining and terribly sensitive when the buzzing feeling starts to ebb.
Steve laps at your weeping cunt while you writhe. 
He knows to leave your throbbing clit alone now, but seeks to prolong your pleasure in other ways. He gathers the honey you leak from your pulsating hole with an eager tongue and doesn’t relent until you’re twitching away from him. Only when you’re tugging him off by his hair is he satisfied.
Then he goes effortlessly soft again.
He presses little kisses to the burning flesh of your thighs and runs his palms along the backs of them to coax you back to the earth again.
When your cries fade to more contented sighs and your eyes find his again, he smiles sweetly up at you. Too sweetly. He shouldn’t be grinning so tenderly, not when his lips and chin and nose glisten with your slick.
Steve wipes his mouth with the back of his hands as he rises to his full height in front of you.
“Was that… Was that good for you?” he wonders, suddenly sheepish like he wasn’t lapping at your pussy a minute or more ago.
“Are you kidding?” you retort, trying to laugh at him. All that comes out is a fatigued scoff. Your hands twist in the fabric of his shirt and you lean heavily against him when his arms wrap around you again. “I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life.”
That nearly does him in right then.
He leans to press a languid kiss to your mouth. There’s a foreign musk to his tongue now that wasn’t there before. You hum a moan against him when you realize it’s you that you’re tasting.
“Can I suck you off?” you blurt.
Steve freezes. 
There’s hardly a thing he wants more than to feel your warm mouth on his cock. He’s been hard and aching since the second he got you into his bedroom. And that’s exactly why he knows he won’t last.
He usually jerks off before dates for that exact reason. At least, King Steve did because King Steve knew wherever he was going, he was getting laid. He wouldn’t have the reputation he did if he only lasted eight seconds.
He would’ve gotten himself off before you came around, made sure he was able to last as long as you needed him to if he’d expected you to need him at all. But he wasn’t expecting any of this to happen — especially not for you to come against his mouth and ask to give him a blowjob minutes later. 
He didn’t invite you to dinner in the hopes you’d put out after. Call him old-fashioned, but he enjoys spending innocent time with you. He would’ve been more than happy to cook you dinner and kiss you on the cheek before you left.
But here you are, wanting more.
You never stop surprising him.
“I mean, it’s only fair, right?” you shrug at his silence. “You deserve to get off too.”
“You don’t have to. Not just because I did it for you—”
“I’ve been hearing about your dick since the tenth grade. I’m pretty sure I’m the only girl in the class of ’85 that hasn’t seen it. The least you can do is let me give you a measly blowjob,” you confess lowly.
Steve, knocked senseless at your words, starts working his belt off without a second thought. His hands fumble with the buckle while he smirks at you. “Yeah? What have you heard?”
“Oh, you know. The usual,” you answer vaguely and saunter the short distance to his bed. You plop down on the edge of it and lean your weight on your palms. “Just that you have a monster-sized dick and that Marianne from Soc nearly broke it when you took her virginity.”
“That was a rumor!” he defends as he steps out of his jeans. His shirt goes next. He pulls the thing up and over his head with an admirable sort of finesse, leaving his toned torso and hairy chest on display for you. 
“The monster-sized dick or the Marianne from Soc thing?”
He doesn’t entertain with an answer, just drops his boxers and lets you figure it out for yourself. 
His cock is already hard and glowing a faint strawberry color at the tip with neglect. It curves to his right hip and hangs there, weighed down by its own size. The hair upon his pubic bone rises to meet the happy trail on his lean stomach, trimmed slightly but still a bit wild. Tanned skin, heavy balls, and a singular vein that trails like a river from the base to the head — Steve Harrington’s got the prettiest dick you’ve ever seen.
You don’t even realize you’re gawking at him because you’re too busy trying to figure out how either could be rumors. You’re looking at beast right now, a wild thing that tiny, little Marianne from Soc certainly couldn’t handle. You’re not even entirely sure if you can.
Steve blanches at your hesitation. He sees you retreat into your head and rushes to bring you back. “Hey, we don’t have to… We don’t have to do this if you do want to. We don’t have to do any of this if—”
“I want to,” you assure quickly, eyes widening when you realize how quiet you’d gone. You can imagine how mortifying it must’ve been, for him to get naked in front of you and be met with total silence. “You just… have the biggest dick I’ve ever seen.”
His concern ebbs to a relieved smile. “Well, thanks for stroking my ego, princess.”
“I would love to stroke something else,” you quip with a playful grin that’s far too proud of such a dumb joke.
Steve rolls his eyes but doesn’t bother to hide his smile. 
He wants it on record, though, that he’s not grinning at your mindless innuendo. It wreaks too much of Eddie. You both seem to possess a similar sort of humor in that way, in how you can make anything into a joke — particularly a dirty one.
“Thanks for stroking my ego,” Steve would say and Munson would joke, “Well, we both know nothing else of yours is getting stroked, Harrington, so it’s the least I can do.” And Eddie would’ve been right. But Steve would never let him know that.
The boy settles in the middle of his bed and watches with a glittering gaze as Eddie’s best friend climbs between his legs. She spits into her palm and starts tugging at his hard cock with it. Steve isn’t sure of what to do — if he should rub it in this boy’s face or keep this piece of heaven to himself. He decides on that latter when your lips wrap around his leaking tip.
You’ll tell Eddie about all this tomorrow. He’s your best friend, after all — Steve will be doing the same with Robin, no doubt. And that alone is a reward in and of itself.
Getting him into your mouth was easy in theory, but you quickly find that it’s a harder feat than you realized. Steve’s not just long, he’s wide, and the combination makes it nearly impossible to take him fully. 
You pay extra attention to his strawberry pink tip to make up for what you can’t reach. He seems to like that more than anything else. Pearly pre-come leaks from there and you happily lap up his dribbling honey. Steve shudders every time your tongue meets his mushroom tip. His cock keeps drooling for you, so you keep doing it.
You work the rest of him with your palm, made slippery with your spit. Your free hand anchors around his thigh.
The combined effort isn’t something Steve’s particularly used to. 
Most girls choose one or the other. They either try to swallow him whole or opt to use their hands when they know that they can’t. That is, if they even want to suck him off at all. The foreign attention you give him drives him to the edge embarrassingly quickly.
“Hey, we should, uh— we should maybe stop,” he cautions tightly.
You detach from the head of his dick with a soft pop, but keep working him slowly with your palm. Your brows pinch together with concern. “You okay? Is it not… Is it not good?”
“What? No! It’s not— It’s not that. It’s great. That’s the… That’s sorta the problem,” Steve assures with an awkward laugh. “I’m not gonna… I probably won’t last much longer. And if you wanna… you know…”
“Fuck?” you finish for him with a teasing grin.
“Yeah. Then we should, you know, maybe stop now.”
Your hand stills at the base of his cock. Steve can finally breathe without the worry of bursting entirely.
“I mean, we can stop if you want to. You know, no pressure or anything, but… I don’t mind. I was sorta looking forward to you coming in my mouth.”
And how the hell was Steve ever going to say no to that — to you? He’s never denied you of anything before, and with that godawful track record, he wasn’t exactly equipped to start now.
Your mouth wraps around him again. You kitten lick at his tip and moan at the musky taste before sucking at his blushing head.
It feels good — it feels great — but he’s plagued with a lingering worry. 
He wants so desperately to fuck you, more than he needs to breathe, it feels like. But your mouth is too perfect a thing to deprive himself of. He’s scared it’ll take him too long to get hard again, or worse, that he won’t be able to at all. 
The thought of embarrassing himself in front of you, of not making you feel as good as he wants to make you feel, is an unbearable one.
There’s no way he’s stopping you, though. How can he when you’re sucking him off like your life depends on it? Your hand tugs and squeezes at the base of his cock while your tongue laps at his drooling tip. And on top of all that, you moan against him like making him feel good is making you feel good, too.
“Holy shit,” Steve forces through a tightening throat when your tongue dips just below his head to lick where the pale blue vein fades. His neck stretches as he digs the crown of his head into the pillow, revealing all of the pretty tendons you want to sink your teeth into.
“Your mouth is— fuck… Your mouth is fucking perfect, babe, shit.”
All of his little reactions spur you forward. 
You want him to keep praising you. You want to keep making his legs shudder and his hips twitch and his cock jerk in your mouth. So you double your efforts, just to hear more of his pretty whines that get stuck in his throat.
When you duck your head to pay the same amount of attention to his balls, Steve’s a total fucking goner.
His hands, both of which were obediently fisting the bedsheets, immediately dart to your hair when you suck his sack into your mouth. One warm palm cradles your jaw while the other clings to the back of your hand. He doesn’t push you or force you to take him further — he just holds you.
“I’m gonna come,” he grunts before a groan climbs out from his throat. His head falls back again, but he forces it upright a moment later so he can keep on watching you.
His hips stutter when you hum a moan against him.
“Yeah? Is that what you want?” he manages through heavy pants. “You want my come?”
You nod with his balls still in your mouth, then pull off of them with a pop to put his cock back in your mouth. 
Steve gives you exactly what you want no more than ten seconds later, spitting several loads of his come onto your tongue. It tastes like what had been leaking from his tip, just a bit saltier and far more potent with so much of it in your mouth at one time.
Steve’s thighs tremble around you and hips buck wildly despite himself until he’s given you everything he can possibly give to you. 
He allows himself only a few moments to relish in the aftermath of his swirling pleasure before reaching for the box of tissues on his bedside table. He rises to his elbows to hand you the napkin when his dick slips from your mouth. 
“Here, you can—” he says, trying to offer you something to spit into. It’s a habit he’d developed after the tenth or so girl refused to swallow.
You’ve already wolfed down his come, though, and wiped the excess at the corners of your mouth with the tips of your fingers. You don’t let a single drop of him go to waste.
All this time, Steve assumed he just tasted bad. He figured that must’ve been why no girl ever swallowed for him — not even Nancy, the only other girl he was ever really serious about. And they were together for two years. On the off chance she ever actually wanted to give him a blowjob, he knew her swallowing his come was totally out of the question.
Steve never minded, though. He was a giver more than he was anything else and he preferred most to finish inside. But now, with you, he sees just how much he’d missed out on. It feels a bit strange and unearthly levels of gratifying.
The boy breathes out a laugh and falls back against the mattress. The tissue falls from his limp hand onto the carpeted floor as he revels in his post-orgasmic haze. With his head still swimming and his legs still tingling, his glassy eyes find the speckled ceiling above him but don’t focus on anything in particular.
“Was that—”
“Don’t even finish that sentence,” he interjects softly. 
There’s no use in asking if you were good or not. Surely, you could answer the question just by looking at him. He’s a puddle of a man in the middle of his bed, pliant and at your mercy.
You giggle and slither in beside him, pressing your mostly bare body into his side. One leg wraps over his own. The warmth of your slick pussy lingers at his hip. You prop your head up with your fist while your other settles along his chest, busying itself with the tufts of hair there.
“That was, like, really good,” you praise with a sheepish beam. You wish you knew bigger words that might be able to describe it better. Really good doesn’t come close to explaining how heavenly it felt to come in his mouth, for him to come in yours. “You certainly lived up to all the rumors, Harrington.”
“You say that like we’re done,” he chuckles at your conclusive tone.
Your eyes flit from his face to his softening cock lying limb on his thigh, then back to his face again. You arch a skeptical brow. “No?”
“Not even close,” he shakes his head defiantly. His honey eyes flit between the both of yours. “I need to fuck you, babe, I just… I need a few minutes. If that, you know— If that’s okay with you…”
“You just give me life-changing head. So, yeah, I think I can give you a couple minutes,” you promise with a playful, but not insincere smile.
Even after having his mouth on you, and your mouth on him, you still like kissing him the most.
No amount of pleasure can sate the feeling of having him so close in this way. There’s nothing equally gratifying as sucking his bottom lip into your mouth or feeling the wet muscle of his tongue running itself over your own. You’d be more than happy to kiss him like this until sunrise.
Steve’s hands stay locked on either side of your head while he pries your mouth open with his own. He’ll occasionally pull back to admire your spit-slick, kiss-bitten lips for a moment or two. Then he’ll flash you a smile, like you’re a piece of finished artwork he’s happy with, before pulling you back down again.
You lean just over him, elbow digging into the pillow beside his head as you rest your weight on your arm. That hand twists itself within the strands of his hair, fingers lazing in the chestnut halo on his head. Your other migrates down his body, touching him with feather-light grazes to coax him hard again. 
His stomach tightens when your nails sweep over the thin trail of hair there. His stiffening cock twitches where it lazes along his inner thigh.
“Top or bottom?” the boy mumbles between languid kisses. His eyes flutter open long enough to catch the brief flash of confusion on your face. You don’t stop pressing your lips to his, even amid your uncertainty.
“Like bunks?”
Steve sputters a laugh against your mouth. He pulls away so he can look at you. “No, like— I meant, do you wanna ride me? Or would you rather lay down?”
“Oh. Shit. Sorry,” you stammer quickly. You figure the question must’ve puzzled you because no guy has ever asked before. This kindness is still a tad bit foreign. “I just— I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s okay. It was cute,” Steve assures with a smile so soft it has to be sincere.
“Um… I don’t— I mean, I don’t know. Is that, like, something you want me to do?”
His right hand leaves your face to find his cock. He wraps his fist around himself, pumping slowly to keep himself hard for you. “It’s whatever you want, okay? Promise. I just thought it might be easier for you if you were on top. So you can take things at your own pace and everything.”
“Yeah,” you affirm within a heavy exhale. You feel yourself growing wetter at the mere thought of being on top of him like that. You nod until the words catch up with you. “Yeah. Okay.”
It isn’t your first time being in this position, but something about straddling Steve’s hips feels foreign. You’re starting to notice that most things you do with him feels that way — new and strange and alarming. Even the most innocent things, the mundane shit you’ve done a thousand times before, it’s all brand new with him.
You twist your hand behind your back to unclip your bra. Steve watches you with wide eyes like you’re doing some sort of magic trick. When you toss the piece of fabric somewhere on his bedroom floor, he spits into his palm to wet his cock.
His eyes flit from his hand, to your glistening pussy hovering just above his lap, to your face. “You can, uh— You can rub yourself on me, if you want. You know, to get it wetter. I don’t have lube or anything. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, I’m…” you trail off. I’m more than wet, you’d almost said. That felt a little too overzealous, though, so you settle on telling him: “I’m okay.”
“You’re still on the, um, the pill, right?” he wonders, feeling a bit lame for remembering something you’d said in passing so long ago.
You complained once that birth control made you feel crazy. You said it affected your mood so drastically sometimes that it didn’t feel worth it to take. That was weeks ago. A brief conversation you’d left in the Family Video parking lot. 
You nod wordlessly in reply.
Steve holds the base of his cock to keep it steady for you as you pierce yourself with it. 
Taking his blushing head was the easiest part. The sensitive tip slips so effortlessly into you, just bulbous enough for you to feel it but not enough to stretch you out. It’s a Goldilocks just right sort of feeling that has low moans crawling from the depths of your throats.
Down, down, down a couple more inches and that’s when the ache starts to set in.
His girth stretches you in an unfamiliar, but no less satisfying way. As good as it feels, the burning sensation is a hard one to ignore. It’s like a fire, a distant one. It’s sort of like reaching your hand toward a flame while your brain screams at you to not get any closer.
It’s a lot like that, actually.
Your brain cautions you about taking him any deeper than you have now lest he might totally split you in half.
“Sorry— Sorry. I’m sorry,” you sputter suddenly, a little embarrassed that he’s only a couple of inches within you and you’re already having so much trouble. With your chin tilted towards your chest and your eyes squeezed shut, you refuse to meet Steve’s concerned gaze. “It’s just… It’s kind of a lot.”
“It’s okay,” he assures quickly. He rubs two soothing hands along your hips and fights back the urge to thrust further into you. You don’t see the gentle smile he looks at you with your eyes closed. “Take your time.”
A little over a minute and a pep talk later, you finally build up the courage to sit on him fully. Come, you can do it, your inner voice spits at you. Stop being a baby. It’s just a penis, don’t be such a bitch. 
Your face scrunches when you slide slowly down upon him. Steve expects you to stop and take a break for anothera moment like you’d done just before. He’s more than surprised when you try to take him completely.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You don’t have to— holy shit, babe— don’t hurt yourself— fuuuck.”
You breathe out a heavy sigh of relief when he’s finally sheathed within your pulsating pussy. A lazy, lopsided smile makes its way to your lips, delirious with pleasure and pride. 
Both of you exhale faraway moans at the new feeling, heads falling back on their own accord. You’re already more than gratified and you haven’t even moved yet. He’s reaching parts of you that most guys don’t on their best day, making you feel full without trying. Even without his thrusting, the minuscule twitches of his cock are already driving you toward an orgasm.
“Can I tell you a secret?” you ask him suddenly, smiling lazily at the ceiling. 
Steve’s adams apple bobs as he swallows. Then he nods.
“I’m already really fucking close,” you confess with a breathless laugh, face crumbling under the weight of your pleasure halfway through.
Steve chuckles, then groans quietly. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I am, too.”
You laugh together and your coinciding embarrassment fades like an ebbing tide. The intimate confessions affirm what you were already more than aware of — that the both of you are just a couple of lovesick idiots who are head over heels for each other and in so far over your heads that you can barely breathe.
You’re spurred on by the sight below you. Steve’s wild hair and amber eyes and swollen pink mouth make you ravenous. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, looking like the sight of you makes him hungry too, as you start to grind your hips over his lap.
He guides your rhythm with two wide hands on your hips. Your pace is slow, every roll of your hips is experimental, and he revels in every second of it.
You start by rocking back and forth over his lap, then by moving in small circles to add stimulation. When get more confident, you lift yourself up and down over his cock. He’s able to hit your most sensitive spot that way. Steve seems to like it too, because you feel the subtle jerks of his responsive cock.
He accommodates your every move — thrusting his hips in time with your bouncing, then flexing them to reach as deep as he can within you.
“That’s it…” Steve murmurs, mostly to himself. He’s not exactly trying to praise you, but his words send lightning strikes of pleasure to your pussy anyway. He keeps babbling to himself. “That’s it, baby. Take it. Just like that…”
You support yourself with your palms on his hairy chest when you double your efforts on top of him. Steve groans at the lewd sound of your slick thighs clapping over his lap every time you move down on his cock. Your cunt quickly drenches his lower stomach and the small thatch of pubic hair just below it.
You too easily forget that fucking is a marathon and not a sprint. 
You overexert yourself quickly in your attempt to rush toward an orgasm and the effects of your sudden fatigue make your legs feel numb.
“Sorry,” you apologize breathlessly when you’re bouncing slows to a stop. You collapse to your elbows, nose nearly grazing Steve’s, as you swivel your hips slowly over his lap. You try to laugh at yourself. “My legs are just getting a little tired… I haven’t done this in a while if you couldn’t tell.”
Steve smiles sympathetically up at you. His hands leave the plush of your hips to cradle your jaw. He gazes at you with a stern sort of gentleness. “Stop apologizing. You’re good,” he promises, then pulls you softly down to peck your mouth.
He rolls his hips up into you and grunts when it makes you whine. “So fucking good…”
Steve tells you to tuck your knees further up his torso and you obey without thinking. You tuck your face into his shoulder and let him cradle the back of your head with one hand while the other settles on your ass. 
He grips you there rather shamelessly, fingers digging into your plump skin, while he bends his knees behind you. He plants his feet on the mattress and thrusts up into you without warning. 
His pace is already a relentless one, having no need to work himself up to a rapid pass as you had. Being basketball team captain has done wonders for his stamina, it seems. He drills up into you and keeps drilling into you without tiring. 
He keeps you securely pressed against him all the while and you relax into his embrace, happily letting him fuck you in his own delicious rhythm as he’d done for you.
The new position stimulates you from all angles. Steve’s hard cock pounds into your weeping pussy. Your swollen clit catches the coarse hair on his taut stomach with each of his thrusts. Your pebbled nipples drag along his furry chest.
It leaves you a whining, writhing mess on top of him.
“You like this?” he murmurs in your ear through broken pants. 
He’s partly teasing you. He knows you mustlike what he’s doing to some degree because you’re moaning something fierce into his neck, peppering too sweet kisses in between your pretty whines. But he also wants to know that you like it. He wants to hear you say the words.
He feels you nod against his shoulder. “Yes...” You sigh, then whimper. “Yes, yes yes—”
“I knew you did,” he affirms. You can hear the smile on his face. You’re not sure if he’s mocking you or not. You’re not sure if you particularly care either. 
His stubbly jaw grazes your cheek when he turns his head to press a kiss to the burning skin. “Knew you’d like it… Takin’ my dick like a fuckin’ champ, babe.”
“Wanna be good for you,” you confess against his sweat-slicked skin, your voice high and wet like you’re close to crying.
Steve tugs at your hair, not enough to hurt you, just enough to pull you from the refuge you’d sought in the nook of his neck. He finds that your eyes are glassy with unshed tears, brows pinching and swollen lips softly agape. His amber eyes are just as wild, heavy with hunger.
“You are good for me, baby,” he promises and seals it with a searing kiss to your wet mouth. He means it in more ways than one and prays you understand. “You’re so good for me… Fucking perfect, babe— shit—”
His cock twitches in your snug slick when you clench around him. He tightens the grip he’s got on your ass and spreads you wider to pound harder into you. You hope his scorching touch will leave bruises come morning. You want to remember how it felt to have him touching you this way.
“Steve…” you sigh, helpless.
“Hmm?”
“I’m gonna…” you start, then whimper when you feel the familiar pleasure start to crescendo once more. It takes a moment for the words to return to you. “I’m about to come.”
“Touch yourself,” he blurts.
Your lidded gaze widens. You peer down at him, bemused by his sudden request. “Huh?”
“Touch yourself for me,” he repeats, groaning when the request makes you tighten around him. “Want this to be good for you, too.”
He says this like you’re not already in heaven. You listen to him anyway, though, and squeeze your hand between your slick bodies to find your sensitive button. You rub at your clit until your thighs tremble around his waist. You try your best to ride through every bolt of lightning the pleasure shoots down your spine, despite the distant fear that you won’t be able to weather them.
“Yeah, there you go,” he praises lowly. “Keep rubbing your clit for me…”
Your free hand stays locked in his hair. Your grip tightens within the chocolate strands as you near your peak. Steve revels in the ache, groaning into your shoulder when the burn at his scalp spreads. 
You’re already gut-wrenchingly close. You can feel the coil in your belly tightening, a struck chord crescendoing — and then Steve changes the angle of his hips. He flexes them suddenly and his thick cock probes something much deeper inside of you. Something that’s never been touched before — not by another guy or a toy or you.
It’s tender, and much more sensitive than your clit. Your vision strays for a brief moment as a white-hot flame of pleasure makes you jerk against him. You gasp sharply, then forget how to breathe when a moan gets caught in your throat. Your hand stills between your slick bodies as you freeze on top of him.
The wet cry finally spills from your mouth after several long seconds. It’s as long and delicate and wet as the orgasm you gush around Steve’s cock.
The flame burns red hot just before you come, then turns to simmering embers when your cunt numbs from the intense pleasure. You blink, and suddenly the fire is burning blue. The rest of your body becomes a casualty to the inferno.
“Yeah? Is that the spot, baby?” you hear Steve wonder. He murmurs the words in your ear, but you don’t hear them. They sound muffled and far away. 
You hope he doesn’t expect you to answer. You’re not entirely sure if you can form words anymore, or any actual conceivable thoughts. All you can do is suffer through every overwhelming wave of your orgasm that leaves you a crying and convulsing mess on Steve’s lap.
“Holy fuck—”
The boy slams his hips against you with a final, dense clap that sounds deafening in the quiet of his bedroom. Your gushing and fluttering cunt milks his cock. The feeling of your weeping pussy and the sound of your pretty whines throw him headfirst into his own orgasm. His thrusts still as he twitches within you. A moment later, you feel the subtle tingle at the base of your spine when he spits his come inside of you. 
His come paints your welcoming, rippling walls. It’s warm, like the first sip of coffee in the morning or fuzzy socks on cold feet. It blankets you in a sinful comfort.
Steve noses at your cheek while he rides the high of his climax. He rolls his hips slowly into you, much softer now that his cock has grown so sensitive. He clamps his mouth shut between his teeth to stifle his too loud moans and desperate whines. They’re forced to crawl from his throat as suffocated grunts.
You mourn the loss of not seeing his face while you’re tucked so securely into the nape of his neck. It’s a work of art you can imagine so clearly — his pinched brows and scrunched nose and parted lips. But you relish in the searing hold he has on you now, happy to hold and to be held.
The shuddering is slow to subside, especially from you. The aftershocks of your orgasm keep your hips spasming over his lap. Steve groans into your shoulder every time your pussy quivers around his softening cock.
And then the two of you just lay there. You hold onto each other and try to catch your breaths. With the both of you covered in a fine sheen of sweat, your skin sticks together with every tiny movement. The feeling of it makes you smile. You feel like the two of you really are melting together.
Steve’s fingers part from your wild strands of hair and take to tracing the expanse of your damp back. You hum in contentment at the feeling, nuzzling your nose up and down the right side of his neck. 
The moment is melted ice cream and early morning rain and marshmallow fluff. It’s spring mornings on the porch and warm breezes in the fall. It’s a soft and familiar thing that’s still so, so new.
You think you could spend forever here, if you had to. In Steve’s bed and in Steve’s lap and with all of Steve’s languid touches.
But sex is different when you’re an adult. 
When you’re a teenager, you get to be irresponsible. Carelessness sort of comes with the territory. You have sex in a dirty bathroom of a bar you snuck into and don’t think twice about the implications of any it. But as an adult with bills and a nine-to-five and groceries you’ve got to get once a week, all you can think about is how inconvenient a UTI would be.
“I should probably use the bathroom,” you murmur, already grieving the loss of his touch before you’ve even parted from him. 
You leave the safety of his neck to peer down at him. His heavy lids mirror your own. 
“I have this thing where if I don’t piss after sex, I feel like I’m gonna be, like, cursed or something. Kinda like when you break a mirror and you’re stuck with shit luck for seven year— or however that dumb superstition goes,” you ramble, voice heavy with fatigue and lingering pleasure. “Anyway. Yeah. Plus, I should probably clean up, too.”
Steve breathes out a laugh at your sudden prattling but humors you nonetheless.
Somehow you manage to pry yourselves off of each other — you, feeling significantly emptier without him inside you and Steve, already shivering with the lack of your warmth all over him. 
You separate just long enough for him to wet a washcloth in the sink while you piss just a couple feet away from him. The bathroom connected to his bedroom seems to be a foreign sight for you — a least, that’s what he assumes because you rave so enthusiastically about it the entire time. 
It’s all Steve’s ever known, though, so he finds it difficult to do anything but nod along with your rambling. More than anything, he’s glad you’re not as weighed down by the domesticity  of the moment as he is. Because he, for one, feels a little like he’s been hit by a freight train. 
Perhaps spending so many years all alone has made him sensitive to closeness.
You sit on the marble countertop and rest your forehead on his shoulder while he cleans you up. He runs the warm cloth along your delicate folds and wipes away traces of your slick and his come that glisten on your thighs. He pleats the rag and does the same to his softening cock and surrounding skin. 
It feels so strangely intimate, more than the sex somehow.
Steve tugs on a fresh pair of boxers and gives you a faded Hawkins Phys. Ed tee to change into. The loose fabric and baggy fit feels much more familiar than the costume you’d initially arrived in. He might be happier than you are, though, to finally get to see you in your most natural state — makeup sufficiently smudged away and ill-suited clothes forgotten on his floor. 
You crawl beneath the mussed navy comforter of his bed and smush your face into his pillow. “See? The dino sheets aren’t so bad, are they?” the boy teases when you hum in contentment. 
The mattress dips beneath his weight as he settles in beside you.
You smile but don’t open your eyes. “I’m just sleepy… Sue me.”
“It’s barely nine o’clock, grandma.”
“It’s your fault,” you argue, voice dripping with exhaustion. Your skin purrs as he reaches blindly beneath the covers to rub his palm along your forearm.
He grins softly to himself. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. You wore me out, Harrington.”
“I’ll make it up to you in the morning, ‘kay?” he promises, then laughs when you smirk and raise your brows — eyes still shut. “Not like that, you perv. I was talking about breakfast. I make a mean scrambled egg.”
You tell him you’re looking forward to it, to breakfast in bed and breakfast in bed. He falls further for you somehow, despite his lingering disdain for your silly little innuendos. It’s the price you have to pay when you love someone, he figures, like when your crush gets a bad haircut or has shit music taste. 
It’s a quirk he welcomes along with your many others — your rambling and forgetfulness and social unawareness and inability to sit still. All your little idiosyncrasies weren’t obstacles he had to get over to love you, just more reasons for him to.
And it isn’t this one-sided thing, either. Most people would look at the two of you — at the dowager king and local freak — and they’d think he was doing charity work to love you. But Steve’s got peculiarities of his own. 
His best friends are a fourteen-year-old nerd and a closeted lesbian because they were the first two people in his life that didn’t judge him. He chews on the ends of pens and pencils, and his handwriting is shit because he never cared about school. He buys things without ever looking the price tag, then leaves them to collect dust in his room because he never really needed them anyway. He still feels the need to be the center of attention sometimes because the faintest hint of disregard makes him feel neglected.
These are all things you’re aware of. Most of them came with being the wealthy, popular kid from the right side of the tracks. And you liked him anyway — no, you liked him because of them. You adored him through all the heavy shit, and here he was, doing a shit job at pretending to like metal music and horror movies.
“Are you asleep?” Steve wonders after a few moments of velvet silence. He’s still looking at you, one arm propped beneath his hand and the other toying with your fingers splayed on the mattress between you. He hasn’t been able to stop looking at you.
“Almost,” you mumble in response.
“Can I tell you a secret?”
Your heart stops at the innocent question, tired eyes flying immediately open and knocking you out of your fatigued stupor. 
All of a sudden, it’s 1984 again. You’re the weirdo who bites people and Steve’s royalty who’ll fuck anything that walks — and here you are, in bed with the asshole. For a moment, you expect Tommy Hagan to bust out of the closet with a tape recorder and for Steve to tell you this was all just some stupid bet.
It’s a pang of blue lightning, an ice pick to your abdomen, that lasts no more than a couple of seconds. 
Internally, you curse yourself for getting so worked up. You make a promise to yourself to work on all that — the regressing and the disbelief that comes with the not-feeling-good-enough bullshit.
“Yeah?” you finally answer.
“I don’t actually like Dio. Or Def Leppard,” he confesses, finding it hard to meet your gaze  like a child who’s been caught in a lie. He focuses on running his thumb over the irregular pattern of your chipped nailpolish. “And I don’t collect vinyls either, not really. I just… I kinda just said those things so you’d like me.”
And, compared to the web you were just spinning in your head, that’s nothing.
“Ooh,” you wince playfully. “Def Leppard I could take, but Dio? I don’t know… That might be a dealbreaker, Harrington.”
He only smiles because he can tell you’re making fun. “I could learn to like them, you know? If it means that much to you. That’s what we’re doing now, right? Loving things on purpose?”
You capture your smile with your bottom lip between your teeth. Your eyes sparkle at him when you nod. “Yeah… We are.”
“Which means you could learn to like football and Bruce Springsteen,” Steve jokes and shifts on the mattress so he’s closer to you. 
Your feet bump together, then entwine effortlessly. He plops his head on the same pillow you’re using. The proximity leaves your faces no more than a couple inches apart. 
You scrunch your nose, wondering if you should hide your disgust in his playful request or make a joke out of it. You don’t do either. “I could… If it means I get to keep you.”
“Keep me?” he scoffs. “Good luck, getting rid of me, Punchy.”
“Who said I wanted to, huh?”
“You will. When you get sick of me.”
He’s smiling like he’s kidding, but you can tell there’s an edge of self-loathing to his tone. 
Your hand crawls from beneath his own and settles on his stubbly jaw. You run your thumb over the cheek, effectively sealing your promise into the blushing apple of it. “I’m never gonna get sick of you, Steve Harrington.”
His brows raise. “No?”
You shake your head against the pillow, then shove the side of your face further into it when you get nervous. There’s a timid quirk to the corners of your lips and a more sheepish glint in your eye. “You don’t get sick of people you love,” you tell him.
Steve opens his mouth to retort. He wants to tell you that he gets sick of Dustin all the time, but that it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love the little shit. He gets sick of milkshakes and pizza and Cheers re-runs when he consumes too much of them in a single setting, but he loves all those things too. 
You get sick of things because you love them, he reasons, because you love them too hard and you hate how much you need them.
He doesn’t get the chance to argue any of this, though.
“Not when you love them on purpose,” you clarify with a sunshine-coated grin.
That shuts him up real quick.
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jaynovz · 7 months
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In discussions about the finale of Black Sails, one of the things I often see is folks hard-focusing on Flint's fate, in an either-or binary fashion, usually presented as "Which do you believe-- that Silver killed him? or sent him to the plantation?"
Now, for posterity's sake, gonna mention a few things-- first off, that's simply not thinking broadly enough. There are farrrr more than two options here and I've come up with my share of the reallyyyyy bad ones for sure. Whatever your mind chooses, none of those are happy endings anyway, there are bittersweet, bad, and worse endings all the way down. (They are paused, they are in a time loop, and also all endings and no endings are happening simultaneously)
But also, the more cogent point is that, it doesn't actually matter what happened *to Flint* The story is... not actually about him at that point. We have transitioned from Flint as protag to Silver as protag, setting up for (the fanfiction that Black Sails has ended up making of, ugh, king shit) Treasure Island.
And so, I just, don't find it to be of particular interest exploring what we think Flint is actually doing or if he's alive for real. What is EXTREMELY interesting to explore though is how Silver's speech at the end to Madi is sort of giving Thomas back to Flint as a pacifier/comfort object, but how... Silver is giving Flint that thing in his own mind as his own type of pacifier/comfort object.
That's the REALLY chewy bit. What actually happens to Flint is not the purpose of that scene for me, of Silver's recounting of events to Madi. It's more about... projection. It's about how Silver is dealing with whatever happened to Flint/whatever he did.
And I just feel like it's missing the point to focus so hard on if Flint is alive or not.
He is the ghost of the story regardless, that's what's important. He's going to haunt the narrative for the rest of everyone's lives. No one has been untouched or unscarred by coming into contact with Captain Flint; he has a forever legacy. I'm not the first to call him this, but he's Schrödinger's Flint and he's staying that way.
But this?
"No. I did not kill Captain Flint. I unmade him. The man you know could never let go of his war. For if he were to exclude it from himself, he would not be able to understand himself. So I had to return him to an earlier state of being. One in which he could function without the war. Without the violence. Without us. Captain Flint was born out of great tragedy. I found a way to reach into the past... and undo it. There is a place near Savannah... where men unjustly imprisoned in England are sent in secret. An internment far more humane, but no less secure. Men who enter these gates never leave them. To the rest of the world, they simply cease to be. He resisted... at first. But then I told him what else I had heard about this place. I was told prominent families amongst London society made use of it. I was told the governor in Carolina made use of it. So I sent a man to find out if they'd used it to hide away one particular prisoner. He returned with news. Thomas Hamilton was there. He disbelieved me. He continued to resist. And corralling him took great effort. But the closer we got to Savannah, his resistance began to diminish. I couldn't say why. I wasn't expecting it. Perhaps he'd finally reached the limits of his physical ability to fight. Or perhaps as the promise of seeing Thomas got closer... he grew more comfortable letting go of this man he created in response to his loss. The man whose mind I had come to know so well... whose mind I'd in some ways incorporated into my own. It was a strange experience to see something from it... so unexpected. I choose to believe it... because it wasn't the man I had come to know at all... but one who existed beforehand... waking from a long... and terrible nightmare. Reorienting to the daylight... and the world as it existed before he first closed his eyes... letting the memory of the nightmare fade away. You may think what you want of me. I will draw comfort in the knowledge that you're alive to think it. But I'm not the villain you fear I am. I'm not him."
This is the speech of a man who is self-soothing, who is spinning himself a tale, who is projecting, who is coping.
and THAT is just, way chewier, innit?
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ghostsvacuumcleaner · 9 months
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Metamorphose | 2k
my masterlist | ao3 ✦ Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader ✦ Summary: You and Simon deal with the pain of losing a baby. ✦ TW and general warnings: established relationship, angst, fluff, sensitive content (abortion), depression and eating disorder mentions, it's painful but he comforts you
A/N: Hi everyone! Since I'm working hard on some requests I've received and in the next chapter of Shades of Red, I decided to release this kinda old drabble of mine here. I'm not too satisfied with how it ended up but enoughly to post, so enjoy <3
I'd also like to mention that I have a taglist for my longfic Shades of Red but not one for my general writing and drabbles so I'll make a post for it, but till then, if anyone's interested in being tagged in my general posts and drabbles, please let me know <3
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The sky is colored in blue, pink and purple.
Mostly blue.
You stare outside of the window while it changes, a golden yellow sun by the morning that rises; it spent too much time burning bright in the also bright blue sky. You counted the hours till it started descending. Now, the sun was nothing more than a little line by the horizon, and the sky was fading into cold colors, fading into the cold night. 
You feel hungry, but it felt wrong to eat knowing you’d be sick of your stomach the second food hits it. You’re not in town anymore, Simon decided it would be better if the two of you took some time out in the country, where it was safe and you’d have time and space to do the things you loved. Running with your dog, swimming in the lake, breathing the fresh air. Truth is, you don’t feel like doing anything. Your legs are too tired, you’re sleepy, you’re tired. You’re very tired. 
You heard him on the phone earlier. His voice was hoarse and low, he argued you wouldn’t want to receive visits. You could tell whoever it was - was insisting, pushing him too hard into allowing them to visit you. He blatantly denied, and you could feel his mood changing in a bit of seconds, his patience running low and the moment he turned off and let out a huge snort; and it had been perhaps two hours since that happened.
You let out a tired sigh, your empty sad eyes stare down at a small sign of movement under the window you were staring at. A little cocoon, seeming to be still inhabited, was hanging from a little line in there. You knew it was supposed to keep hanging till the moment that little caterpillar metamorphosed into a butterfly, and broke the shell, flying out freely. But for some reason you can’t understand - as well as many things in nature, this one cocoon is about to fall.
Your shaky hands reach out for it and before it hit the ground, you carefully pull it and it detaches without a second guess. You take a small look around the room and grab a small empty cup where the water you were supposed to have drunk evaporated, and place the small thing inside of it.
“There you go.” You mutter, the first time you hear your own voice in days, maybe weeks. 
Some things aren’t supposed to happen. And you’re not supposed to die without being conceived the chance of living, even if only for a day.
You reach for Simon downstairs, minutes later. Looking pale for the lack of food you’ve been putting yourself through, tired for even standing, collateral effects of the strong medication you’re taking for the sake of your life. 
“Baby.” You mutter, and he turns instantly from the alluring stare he was giving the fireplace. Your man’s sitting in a cozy armchair, drinking tea - cold at this point - and dissociating just like yourself. You blame yourself for a second: how can you put him through so much? Isn’t he suffering as much as you, why are you isolating him?
“Yes, my love?” He quickly responds, like he craves for hearing more of you. “Another nightmare?” he asks, standing to come closer to you.
You shook your head. “No… I found this.” you show the cup between your hands; Simon doesn’t seem to get it at first glance. “A butterfly. It’ll come out anytime, the cocoon is moving.” you state.
“Oh.” He raises an eyebrow, and sighs a little. “What a cute thing… Should we put it in the garden?” He asks, so much calm in his voice you feel yourself a little lighter. 
“I want to see it.” You state. “The butterfly, I don’t know what type it will be, I’m curious.” 
Simon looks at you like love would, if love was a person. He’s as tired as you, you can tell. Maybe his legs work a bit more than yours and his hands have the capacity of doing the hard work still, but his mind is as empty as yours.
“Of course.” He nods, and reaches for his own coat, placing it around your shoulders. You feel warm and cozy to the smell of him. “We can watch, come on.” he suggests, and grabs onto your hand. 
His squeeze is light and calm, and your body follows him instinctively, not thinking about anything but the comfort you crave right now.
For the past few days, the only thing you could think of was the void in your belly. The void you haven’t felt in months; when you told him you were pregnant, Simon stared at you in complete despair and horror for at least ten excruciating silent minutes. You weren’t used to the idea as well, you’d have to interrupt your current work, you’d have to dedicate yourself to learn the slightest about being a mother.
It is a lie that every woman is born knowing how to hold a baby. When the two of you would visit some of your friends and their children, you’d try to picture yourself as holding your own baby instead of holding theirs. You couldn’t. They’d tell you that oh, god, don’t hold him like this, while laughing. But for you that was a sinful despairing moment.
Simon knew better than you, as a matter of fact. He held babies correctly, unintentionally - but very correctly. 
You didn’t know if you were supposed to feel envious of his natural ability or proud of having this man as a daddy to your baby. 
You learnt to love the little thing growing in your belly. He did, too. He would often bring gifts to you - keeping track with your cravings, and also buying things for the baby. Baby’s little room would be full soon enough. This little creature who wasn’t even born yet was everywhere around your house. The worries about conciliating Simon’s work with your pregnancy were starting to catch the two of you off guard, and soon as he asked for a license to take care of his pregnant wife, that day. That night. So much pain, so much blood. He wasn’t a small lifeless fetus anymore, it was a whole baby. It was a girl. She had a name. 
Some things aren’t supposed to happen. 
“Your parents want to visit.” He mutters, the two of you sitting in the swinging chairs by the garden, surrounded by dozens of different kinds of flowers. The weather is fairly cold, but you don’t feel it with his coat around yourself. “Told them you wouldn’t want to.
“I don’t.” You agree. “Tell them I need time.”
“I did.” He fixes the coat you have around yourself, and glares into you as the sky fades into deeper tones of dark blue. “I was a little less polite than that, but I did.”
“If you weren’t, they wouldn’t listen.” You argue, looking at him now, too. Your eyes fall deep into the void of his own. 
For the first time in those two painful weeks, you can feel his pain flowing through his damaged soul. Like yours. 
“I know. Terribly stubborn blood you have, dear.” he mutters, moving your hair off your face. “Did you manage to eat something today?”
“No. I’m sorry.” You mutter, your voice failing for the first time.
“Don’t do this to me.” His voice comes out pained like yours. He closes his eyes, and his jaw clenches in sadness when he sees the tears start gleaming through your eyes. “Don’t apologize. Don’t cry…” he asks in an almost begging voice.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, love, this is all my fault, it’s-” you catch your breath in your throat and suddenly, you’re falling apart. Days of nothing, weeks of not feeling anything but pain in your chest, despair, panic, and now you’re falling apart in front of him. Your tears stream down your face like overflowing rivers. “It’s my fault.” You say, grabbing handfuls of your hair and tugging your face on your knees. 
Simon feels his own eyes get drenched as he can’t hold his own rivers by seeing you like this. He kneels down to the ground in front of you, pulling your hands from your hair, carefully stopping you from hurting yourself; feels excruciating to him to be able to do nothing.
“It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.” He mutters, and you feel your body moving up. He holds you like you’re lightweight and takes his seat where you were sat at, now, holding you like a baby against his lap. You tuck your face on his chest now, the tears wetting his shirt, your painful voice coming out in low groans of pain, a painful cry of a mother who lost her children. The sad dead eyes of a father who watched this happening and couldn’t do nothing about it. The grief of parents, who didn’t have the chance of raising their children.
“Why? It hurts so much, so much.” You say beneath your cry, your eyes drenched, your face red from all of the crying. His hand is caressing the back of your head as he silently cries.
“I know. I know it hurts.” his voice is almost a blow of the wind, a whisper. “I can’t possibly know how it feels for your, my darling, but it feels bloody excruciating to me, everyday. I miss her all of the time.” He admits, his voice like the one of a kid who just lost its parents. “I miss talking to her, feeling her kick in. I miss her.” 
For the past few days, the two of you seemed to be speaking in foreign languages.
Couldn’t understand each other. Couldn’t comprehend. He was in pain, so were you. None of you could see each other, understand each other. The two of you needed space. The fights, the screaming, his complaints about your refusal to get help and your anger for not feeling understood.
Right now, you feel understood.
Who could understand a grieving mother more, than the kid’s grieving father?
You miss moments that didn’t exist. That didn’t even happen.
You shouldn’t have died without even getting the chance of living. Even if for a day.
“I’d give anything to have a day with her. A fucking day, just one.” You mutter in admission, as you hug in his arms and feel his warmth start to make you calmer by the second. Simon closes his eyes in acknowledgement.
“Me too, darling. And I don’t know what can we possibly do so this hurts any less, but I’m pretty sure we can make it easier if we’re together in this.” He affirms, his hand reaching for your face and washing away your tears. You look at his eyes for the very first time in weeks now. “We face it together.” 
The sky is painted in dark blue now as night approaches and the cold finally starts rising completely. You feel it hitting your skin, as Simon has you in his arms and you hum a low lullaby to the air. He runs his hand across your belly like he somehow tries to heal you from the void you’ve been feeling.
If she feels empty, then I’ll fill her with my own love.
You close your eyes and even though in this terribly uncomfortable position, you feel warm, and you feel cared. You rest. You fall asleep in a matter of seconds
None of you had awakened in time to see the cocoon hatch and the butterfly fly out. But for the past months, for the past years - when you were facing the task of emptying your baby’s room along with Simon, or when you were working - and even in other times, when you’d catch yourself thinking about her, you’d see a blue butterfly flying around you. 
Simon was too skeptical to believe, but even so, he’d always catch every butterfly he’d see, and bring it to you. “Look, who’s coming to visit!”
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rest and recovery - c.c
∘°∘♡∘°∘pairing∘°∘♡∘°∘
caitlin clark x fem!reader
˚₊‧✩word count✩‧₊˚
5.1k
˚*•̩̩͙summary•̩̩͙*˚
after tweaking her ankle, what caitlin needs is some r & r.
・゚✧themes✧・゚
comfort fluff explicit language light explicit smut NSFW
。・:*:✧。authors note 。・:*˚:✧。
I got kind of carried away with this one, so it may be a bit chaotic. not a lot of smut, but i thought it worked. thanks for the request. hope yall enjoy! love yall.
Watching Caitlin play always made me unbelievably nervous. It is not that I doubt her skill. I’m not crazy. I mean her constant record breaking, insane scoring, and media attention speak for themselves. I can’t deny that she looks absolutely amazing when she plays the game that she loves, but game day came with so many unknowns. In a perfect world, everyone would play their best every game and the better team would always win. Unfortunately, that wasn’t usually the case. People have off games, refs make bad calls, and sometimes good teams just lose. As nervous as I got, all of that faded when I saw that look on her face. A look of pure joy, passion and excitement. Few things are more beautiful than seeing the person you love accomplish everything that they’ve worked for. I wouldn’t miss one of her games for the world. Every little thing that she did was just more proof of her outstanding talent.There were few things that Caitlin hated more than losing. Those things definitely worried me, but there was another unknown that was worse. Injuries. 
Caitlin had been lucky to avoid major injury during her collegiate career, but that wasn’t the case for other talented players. Hearing about the horrific injuries that other talented players like Paige Bueckers and Azzi Fudd of UCONN and Rori Harmon of Texas and so many others have gone through just reminds you how easily your season could end. It certainly didn’t help knowing the strain that the point guard put on her body. She averages over 30 minutes a game. Her coach has even gone on record to say that she doesn’t take Caitlin out of games when they are winning by a lot. On top of that the brunette is known for selling her fouls as much as possible. She frequently comes to our shared apartment covered in bruises, but that’s just what happens when you are a household name. Defenses are coming after you with the sole goal to shut you down. It didn’t make it any easier on me though. Watching her get shoved and fall to the ground never failed to make my heart stop. Especially when the refs refused to make the obvious call.
When Saturday finally came around, I was pretty nervous. Indiana was typically a tough game for the Hawkeyes  Plus, the game was being streamed on FOX which was a big deal for this team. I vividly remember Caitlin’s buzzer beater against Indiana last year. I don’t think I’d ever seen Caitlin so excited since we started dating. It was moments like those that made up for all the times I held my breath waiting for her to get up or when she would be gone for what felt like weeks at a time. 
We started the day with our normal game day routine. Caitlin had to be at CHA at 1 PM for shoot around before the game at 7 PM. We slept in until about 8:30 which was pretty impressive for Caitlin who typically woke up before the sun. We didn’t actually get out of bed for another hour. I couldn’t bring myself to leave her warm embrace. Once we finally got up, we made breakfast together as the sun shined in through the window of our shared apartment. This had become somewhat of a tradition for the two of us. Intimate moments like this were hard for us to come by during the season. Caitlin had made it a point to spend home game day mornings at home with you. Small domestic things like this helped to calm her nerves and get her in the right mindset. Caitlin was one of the clingiest people I’ve ever met, so it was no surprise that she spent every moment she could with me.
As I cooked our eggs, bacon, and toast, her arms were wrapped around my waist as she stood behind me the entire time. I’d be lying if I said that it wasn’t absolutely adorable the way she followed me around. Once we sat down to eat, her hand was glued to my thigh as we talked about the upcoming game. Caitlin had a habit of rambling about the things that she was passionate about, basketball and occasionally the Chiefs. She explained the whole scouting report and their game plan for the day while we ate. Most of it went over my head, but I just loved to see how invested she got into games.
After we ate, I washed the dishes before helping her straighten her hair. This was probably my favorite tradition. It started the first night I spent at her place back when she was a freshman. We had spent a lot longer in her bed that morning than we did this morning. She eventually had to get up and get ready. That's when I learned that she straightened her hair before every game. I obviously wanted to help in any way that I could, so I did it for her. Of course, she went on to have a 30 point triple double which she insisted was a result of me doing her hair. Now she claimed it was her good luck charm, so I did her hair everyday. I think it was just an excuse for us to spend time together, but she insisted it wasn’t. 
As we made our way to the vanity as she sat down, I grabbed her brush and gently ran it through her brown locks. I plugged her flat iron in before spraying her hair with heat protectant. I quickly traded the brush for my hands as I gently ran my fingers through her hair. My nails lightly scratched her head as she relaxed into me. She leaned back against me. I sectioned her hair into 3 parts. I then started to straighten her relatively straight hair. We sat in a comfortable silence that was occasionally interrupted by her giggles as my touch sent shivers down her body. Once it was straightened to her liking, I brushed it into a perfect ponytail with no bumps. Finally, I slipped on her pre wrap headband. I placed a quick kiss on her head before speaking. “All done sweet girl!” I announce proudly. As much as I pretended to be annoyed by her clinginess, it was actually one of my favorite things about her. I loved to spend time with her as much as she did. 
“It looks perfect. Thank you baby.” She cocked her head to the side to ensure that there were no bumps. She slipped her ponytail to stand up and face me. Her hands found their place on my hips as she connected our lips. I couldn’t help but slightly giggle at her forward approach, but I quickly wrapped my arms around her neck an I kissed her back. Before I realized what was happening, her hand slid under my thighs, so she could pick me up. This only made me giggle again. She walked us back into our room where she set me on the bed. She kept our lips connected as she gently pushed me onto our bed. I pulled back and shook my head at the brunette. 
“Cait, you need to finish getting ready. You need to leave in like 30 minutes . Plus, it’s like a blizzard out there.” I giggled at her as her lips found their way to my neck. I tried to shimmy away from her. 
“Princess, you know I can do a lot in 30 minutes,” she teased as she continued to trail her lips towards my chest. “Plus it’s part of our routine. We can’t just skip it.” I rolled my eyes at her, yet a smile was still glued to my face. She was a really hard person to say no to. It’s not like I didn’t want this to happen. I had been waiting for this all morning, but I still had to attempt to be somewhat responsible. 
“Fine, I’ll give you 15 minutes.” I conceded. I felt her lips form a smirk against my collarbones. My hands rested lightly on the back of her neck as my breaths quickened from her touch. 
“Baby, I only need 10.” Her hands quickly slid under my shirt and she pulled the cloth over my head to expose my bare chest. She clearly wasn’t wasting any time. Her hands found my boobs. She squeezed them gently before wrapping her lips around my nipple and sucking lightly. This immediately elicited a soft moan from my lips as my back arched to bring our bodies closer. She continued to move down my torso, leaving sweet kisses as she went. I grabbed her shirt in an effort to get her to take it off. She giggled against my skin once she got the message. She sat up and pulled her shirt off while maintaining perfect eye contact with me. I bit down on my lip before pulling her back down to meet my lips. My hands cupped her cheeks while her's moved down to the waistband of my pajama pants. I moaned into her mouth. Her fingers quickly found their way under my thong as she softly rubbed circles over my clit. My head fell back to break the kiss as pleasure coursed through my body. Her finger quickly sped up causing me to practically scream. My nails clawed at her back as my hips bucked to meet her movements. 
“Fuck Cait…” I whined as I got extremely close to finishing. Caitlin could clearly sense that, so she gently pushed one of her fingers inside of me with a smirk plastered on her face. It was a smirk that I couldn’t see on account of my eyes being squeezed shut. She speed up her finger as they curved perfectly inside of me
“You look so pretty like this,” she whispered against my lips before placing soft kisses on my cheeks. Her words only made my moans more intense.  My legs slowly spasmed as I finished on her fingers. My breathing was heavy and rapid as the brunette helped me through my orgasm. She slowly pulled her finger out and placed a kiss on my lips. I kissed her back until she pulled back to stand up and change. 
“I told you I only needed 10 minutes.” She had checked the time on her phone.  I laughed at her cocky attitude. 
“What about you?” I asked softly. 
“We don’t have time for that right now, but you can return the favor after the game.” She smirked before starting to get ready.
When she turned around, I noticed the red scratches that I left down her back. I couldn’t hold back the giggle that left my mouth at the sight. Caitlin turned around to look at me with a confused look on her face as she scrunched her eyebrows. 
“Are you laughing at me?” she said with a small smile on her lips.
“No, no, I’m not, I swear!” I protested with a slight smirk still on my face. “It’s uh just…”  I paused as I considered not telling her about the marks on her back. “Um maybe you should go look at your back-” I said quietly. Caitlin finished pulling her sports bra on before heading to the bathroom and turning around to look in the mirror.
“Oh fuck, that’s hot.” She called out to me. “It’s okay. My jersey should cover it.” She said as she walked back into our room. She placed a quick kiss on my lips before she pulled on her Hawkeyes shooting shirt and a pair of shorts. “The girls may have a few questions though,” she winked. I stayed curled up in our bed as I watched her grab her bag. She stood there for a moment as I could tell that she was going over a list of everything she needed. She grinned when she realized that she had everything that she needed. Then, she turned to speak to me before she headed out the door.
“Okay, I’m going to head to Carver-Hawkeye. I’ll see you after the game. Meet me at the tunnel?” 
“Yeah.” I agreed. “Please try and be careful out there, okay? You know how much I worry.” I said sincerely.
“I will. I promise.” Her voice came across soft and sweet. I knew that she wasn’t actually going to do what I asked, but there wasn’t exactly anything I could do about that. “I left you something to wear on the dryer. I love you.” She said as she turned to leave. 
“I love you too, sweet girl! You’re going to do great!” I called out to the point guard. I blew her a kiss as she walked out the door. That was the last part of our routine. She instinctively turned around and grabbed the air as if it was to grab the kiss I blew her. She put her hand over her heart before leaving the apartment. 
I mindlessly scrolled through my phone before I forced myself out of bed to get ready for the game. I found one of Caitlin’s jerseys sitting on the dryer and quietly laughed to myself. I remember the first time I wore her jersey. The look on her face indicated that it really did something for her to see me with her name and number on my back. I got dressed and realized that I was definitely going to need to wear something on account of the blizzard and the bruises on my neck from our earlier activities. I pulled on a pair of jeans and one of Caitlin’s gray hoodies before pulling the jersey over it. I finished getting ready before heading to CHA.
After shoot around in the Hawkeye locker room
The girls were enjoying an hour of down time to change into their jerseys and get ready for the game. Jada, Hannah, Kylie, and Sydney were making a tiktok. Molly and AJ were talking in the corner. Gabbie was braiding Kate’s ponytail. The rest of the girls were getting their hair put up, jerseys on, or looking at their phones. Caitlin had been goofing around for a while before she finally got changed. She pulled her shooting shirt over her head as she grabbed her jersey from her locker when she heard a gasp come from one of the girls and a laugh from another. 
“Oh my god Caitlin, did you get attacked or something?” Taylor asked as she saw the marks on the brunette’s back. Caitlin was confused at first before she remembered the state her back was in. She just laughed at the comment. 
“Holy shit Caitlin…” Kate laughed uncontrollably. “I guess you and your girl had some fun this morning.”
“You’re just mad that I’m getting laid and you're not.” The point guard spoke bluntly as she pulled her jersey over her head. This only caused more laughter to erupt throughout the small room.  Caitlin headed over to the mirror to make sure that they wouldn’t be visible to the thousands of people that would be watching the game. 
Moments before tip off at CHA
My heart was racing as I watched the hawkeye starting 5 take the court. I had a feeling that this was going to be a good game. The first quarter was pretty rough for Caitlin. She missed all 6 of her three point attempts. I could tell that she was frustrated. She was yelling at the refs for not calling fouls which only made me more concerned. Her shot finally fell through the hoop in the second quarter. A wave of relief washed over me. The Hawkeyes were up at the half, so I could finally breathe. It didn’t look like the team was going to have to rely on Caitlin to make another buzzer beater to win the game. Molly was having a great night which made it more fun. Caitlin absolutely loved to watch her teammates do great things. Everything was going well until she went for a layup and got knocked to the ground. I held my breath as I saw her grab her elbow as she layed on the ground for longer than usual. She of course got back up and shot her free throws. This would normally be a good sign, but I knew that she could still be hurt and keep playing. I watched her carefully and she seemed to be doing okay. She made some big shots and some good passes, so I relaxed a bit. 
It wasn’t her best game, but the Hawkeyes had a decent lead of almost 20 going into the 4th quarter. Of course 40 seconds in, Caitin starts limping on her left ankle. Thankfully, she quickly went to the bench and got checked out by the trainers. All I wanted to do was race down to the table and check on her, but before I could move , she was already at the scorer’s table getting ready to check back in. I couldn’t say that I was surprised. There were very few things in this world that could keep her off of the floor. Tweaking her ankle surely wasn’t one of them. She played for about another 6 minutes before coming off of the floor for the rest of the game. Iowa finished the game with a strong win, 84-57, over Indiana. I waited in the tunnel for the girls to come out like I always did. It didn’t take long before I saw Kate. 
“MONEY MARTIN!” I called out playfully which made her look up from her phone. Her lips contorted into a sweet smile when she saw that it was me yelling at her. She walked over and gave me a quick hug. “You guys killed it tonight!” I beamed at the 6 foot blonde. 
“Thanks!” she said through a wide grin. “Cait’s getting checked out by the trainer. You can go and see her if you want.” She spoke softly. 
“Oh okay.” I said as my face turned to one full of worry.
“She’s fine. It’s just a precaution.” She said comfortingly as she rubbed my arm. I nodded as I tried to force a smile. “Besides by the looks of her back. She’s got plans for you…” she teased.
“Oh shut up kate!” I said as I pushed her shoulder. She had started laughing at this point. 
“I’m going to head out. Go get your girl!” She called out as she turned to leave. 
I shook my head as I headed towards the training room. I leaned in the doorway as I watched Caitlin wince in pain as Sarah, one of the athletic training assistants, wrapped her ankle in ice. She roughly ran her hands down her face. 
“Hey…” I called out gently. My voice immediately grabbed her attention as she looked at me. “How’s her ankle?” I asked Sarah. 
“It looks like she just tweaked it, so she should be okay. It’s probably going to be sore for the next couple of days. She needs to take a few days off. I talked to Coach Bluder and we think she should skip practice and rest until Tuesday.”
“Wait what?!” Caitlin interrupted to  protest. “I’m not missing practice. I’m literally fine.” 
“Cait, you are going to do whatever they tell you to do.” I said sternly as I walked over to her. I sat down on the edge of the table she was sitting on. 
“But-” She tried to protest, but I slapped her arm. 
“Stop.” I said before turning back to Sarah to allow her to continue. 
“She needs to take some Advil and ice and elevate it tomorrow. She really should just stay off of it for a day or so. It should feel fine by Tuesday.” Sarah explained. 
“You’ve got it!” I said looking at Caitlin. She took the hint and nodded. Sarah smiled before leaving.
“Alright, let’s get you home, pretty girl.” I said after placing a kiss on her forehead. I reached out my hand to help her down from the training table. 
“I’m fine, you know.” She said as she took my hand and hopped down. She winced slightly when she put weight on the ankle. The adrenalin from the game had come down and caused her to feel the pain in her ankle. 
“Sure,” I said sarcastically as I pulled her arm over my shoulder and picked up her bag. She shifted some of her weight on to me as we walked to the car. 
Once we got home, I helped her up the stairs before sitting her on the couch inside our apartment. I put her bag in our closet before heading to the kitchen to make her something to eat. She tried to get up to be closer to me, but I immediately shut her down.
“Nope. Go sit down.” I pointed as I walked over to her. She begrudgingly sat down. I propped her ankle up on a few pillows and handed her water and Advil that she promptly took. “What are you hungry for?” I asked softly.
“You.” she smirked as she tried to pull me onto her lap. I immediately moved out of her reach and rolled my eyes. I walked back into the kitchen and dug through the freezer. 
“We still have some pasta from Trader Joes?” I called out to the brunette.
“That’s fine.” She said 
“Okay, I started you a bath, so why don’t you go wash up while I finish dinner. I put some epsom salt in the water to help with your ankle.”
“Baby, I’m not some sick puppy. You heard Sarah say that I’ll be fine.”
“Caitlin, why do you have to make everything so difficult? I’m just trying to help.” I sighed as I started the stove. 
“Fine, I’ll take a bath if you get in with me…” 
“I’m finishing dinner right now. Just go take a bath. If you listen to me and let me help you I promise you’ll get what you want. Okay?” 
The thought that you would eventually give in if she just listened to me became intriguing to her as she got up and headed into the bathroom. I headed up the pasta and baked some bread. After about 30 minutes, Caitlin walked out in a USA basketball shirt and a pair of sweats. Her hair was soaking wet. She sat down at the counter and I put her plate in front of her. 
“I’m sorry for being difficult. I really do appreciate you trying to take care of me.” she said sincerely. Her words brought a smile to my face. I sat down next to her. We ate in silence, just enjoying each other's company. A yawn left Caitlin’s mouth after she finished eating which reminded me that she was probably exhausted.
“You ready for bed?” I asked as my hand softly caressed her arm. She nodded and stood up. I followed suit and wrapped my arm around her waist to help her into the room. She headed into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. I headed back to the kitchen to clean up before doing the same. I changed into my own pajamas. Then, we both climbed into bed. Her arm was loosely wrapped around my shoulder as my head laid on her chest. 
“I’m really proud of you, Cait. You played great!” I mumbled into her chest. My fingers played with the hem of her t shirt. 
“Thanks, baby. I really liked seeing you in the stands with my name on your back.” She placed a kiss on my head. Her attention was focused on the brightly colored graphics for numerous new shows as she scrolled through Netflix to find something for us to watch. My hand gradually moved down. “What about this?” Caitlin asked as the cursor landed on some new show. My hand was now fidgeting with the waistband of her sweatpants.
“Sure,” I said, not even bothering to look at the TV. I had a feeling that we wouldn’t be watching the show for long. Caitlin started the first episode. Her focus was captured by the motion on the screen. She hadn’t seemed to notice my hand getting dangerously close to her panties. I took that as an opportunity to take advantage of her lack of attention. I slipped my hand under the waist of her sweats.
“W-what are you doing, baby girl?” Her voice was slightly shaky as she looked down to meet my gaze with a smirk. 
“I’m returning the favor like I said I would.” The brunette immediately relaxed as she heard my words. I took that as a sign to continue. I used my other hand to pull her in for a kiss. Our lips moved perfectly in sync as I leaned over her as my hand traveled to her panties. A soft moan left her mouth as I rubbed her clothed pussy. I quickly pushed my tongue into her mouth. Her hips grind themselves against my hand. I pulled my lips off of hers. I shifted my body lower as I pulled her sweatpants down along with her underwear. My mouth left soft kisses down her muscular thighs. Caitlin was never especially loud when I went down on her. Her breathing would speed up and she would let out a few groans. She wasn’t one to moan or scream out from pleasure. She would mumble words of praise though. 
“Fuck, please baby girl. Stop teasing.” Her voice was desperate, but still had an edge of dominance. Her hands were tangled in my hard. I couldn’t help, but giggle hearing her beg. I slid my hands under her thighs and brought her pussy close to me. I gently dragged my tongue through her folds. Her breath sped up and her grip on my hair grew tighter. She pulled me closer to her which I took as a sign to speed up my tongue. I sucked on her clit which only caused more groans to leave her mouth.
“Good girl. Just like that.” she mumbled. She pushed the stray hair out of my face, so she could see better. Her eyes were fixed on the sight of me between her legs. I pulled back for a moment. My eyes met Caitlin’s brown ones as I put 2 fingers in my mouth. The site only made Caitlin wetter as I sucked on my fingers. Once they were wet enough, I gently pushed them inside of the point guard. The wave of pleasure that washed through her body caused her head to fall back on to the mattress. My fingers gently curled inside of her tight pussy. Her quick breath and soft groans told me that she’d adjusted to the size. I thrusted them into her faster before reconnecting my lips to her clit. The pleasure caused her hips to buck into my face. I used my free hand to hold her down. Her legs shook slightly as she got closer to the edge. I sped my fingers up as they hit her sweet spot.
“Fuck yes,” she moaned quietly as her legs tightened around my face. She finished soon after as cum ran down her thighs. I thrusted a few more times before pulling my finger out. I wiped the mix of saliva and cum of my lips before shifting myself upwards to connect my lips with hers. Her breath was still erratic, but she quickly gave into the kiss. I pulled away and saw her eyes were heavy.
“I love you, Cait.” I whispered into her ear before returning to my place, curled up next to her side. She wrapped her arm around me to pull me closer to her frame. 
“I love you too.” She spoke through a yawn that reaffirmed my decision for us to go to bed. I shut my eyes and we both drifted off to sleep. 
The Next Morning
I woke up as the sun started to pear in through the window. Despite the freezing temperatures outside, I could still feel the warmth as the light shone into our room. I pulled myself out of bed to make some coffee and a light breakfast. I left our bedroom door open, so I would know when Caitlin woke up. Thankfully, she slept the entire time I was cooking. I brought her a cup of coffee and a plate of food into our room and set it on her nightstand. I crawled back under our covers and into her arms. Her eyes slowly opened when she felt my presence return. 
“Morning,” she mumbled against my forehead.
“Good Morning, baby,” I beamed at the sleepy brunette. “I made you breakfast. It’s on your nightstand.”
“Thanks, pretty girl.” She rubbed her eyes in an attempt to wake herself up. She then pulled me closer into her body. I giggled into her chest. She sat up slightly and took a slip of coffee. I had already eaten, so I just stayed in her embrace as she ate. She tried to get up and take our plates to the kitchen, but I quickly stopped her.  
“I got it,” I said as I grabbed her plate and took it into the kitchen. I turned back to the room to speak to my girlfriend. “Don’t even think about getting out of bed. You are on strict rest and recovery.” She rolled her eyes at me, but listened to my request. I came back with an ice pack which only made her roll her eyes harder. 
“Stop with the attitude. You heard Sarah. Besides you can’t tell me that it doesn’t still hurt,” I sat down on Caitlin’s side of the bed, so I could wrap the ice pack around her ankle. “It’s not super swollen, so I think that's a good sign,” I smiled. 
“Yeah, it’s a little tender, but it doesn’t hurt too bad,” she admitted. She winced slightly as the cold pack touched her skin. I murmured a ‘sorry’ before crawling back into her arms. “Thanks for taking such great care of me. I’m sorry for being a pain in the ass.” She laughed.
“It’s fine. I get it, but we are going to spend the rest of the day resting and relaxing, okay?” I said softly as I laid on her chest.
“As long as I get to do it with you.” 
200 notes · View notes
lessi-lover · 3 months
Note
ILYSM- maybe when reader is feeling a bit down and viv makes sure she feels supported and loved? love you!!
you understand me II v.miedema ~
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author note - this is a little bit angsty im ngl. but it's fine you'll deal! tw: indirect panic attack, anxiety
11★ ~ v.miedema
the grass glistened under the floodlights, raindrops blending with beads of sweat, as they traced the curves of exhaustion etched into every player's face.
but there was one face amongst both teams that shone with a fierce focus, a resilience that the torrents of the weather couldn't dampen, - vivianne miedema arsenal's star striker, or better known to you, your girlfriend.
the final whistle blew, signalling another hard-earned victory, another night where your team would travel home scraping out yet another difficult win, another night in which you and your girlfriend would fall into bed with sore muscles, tired eyes, but hearts full. you barely noticed the weight of the rain soaking your kit; the thrill of the tough win lingering heavily on your mind.
you pushed through the stadium's corridors, the sound of your boots against the concrete creating a steady rhythm in your ears, as your head began to space out.
reaching your locker room, you immediately stripped yourself of your rain soaked clothes, immersing yourself in the warmth of the shower. you scrubbed your body clean, a few nasty tackles had resulted in a lot of grass stains, and a few small cuts that you knew your girlfriend would fret over, much to your displeasure.
drying yourself, you dressed yourself in your girlfriends, your plain cream shorts, and an arsenal hoodie you had been gifted by Steph, for secret santa. you brushed your wet hair, neatly braiding it into a plait, before packing away your belongings and heading out of the stadium.
walking out, you were met with a dizzying amount of photographers shouting your name, and yelling out questions. your mind raced, the pounding in your ears unwavering. you pushed your way past begrudgingly, your usually patient persona completely left behind.
as you neared the bus, you pulled your hood over your head, there was only one person you wanted to see right now.
you knew Viv would be waiting for you at the end of the bus, her arms open widely, with a comforting smile adorned on her face, and with the exact words you needed to hear.
walking past the girls seated on the bus, you could feel a swell of emotions cloud your head. the chatter and laughter of your teammates became a distant hum, as you felt tears brim in the corners of your eyes. each step towards the back felt heavier, laden with the weight of the 90 minutes you challenged your body to play for.
despite your best efforts to stay composed, the strong walls you had built up began to crumble, dragging you down in the destruction. you felt your last veneer of strength begin to fade, mirroring the harsh toll of your day. the barrage of flashing cameras, loud speakers, invasive fans and the sheer physical exertion of the game, left you utterly drained and with nothing to do but try and gather the pieces by yourself.
you longed for solitude, for a single moment in which you could just be you. The persona of the calm, enthusiastic, indefatigable athlete was a heavy mask to wear, and in this moment you felt it start to slip.
nearing the end of the bus, your steps became slow, your laboured breaths echoing in your ears. you yearned for viv. her presence was a light in the haze of your crowded head, a promise of comfort and love. she knew the unspoken battles, the silent sacrifices, the relentless push against one's limits that came with the demanding lives you both chose.
finally reaching viv, you saw her sitting down, arms open, a sanctuary in the storm. her smile, so raw and familiar, able to soothe your nerves. she didn't need to speak any words; her presence was comforting enough. in her arms, you found a haven, a safe place, one where you could let the facade you had built fall away, and just be yourself, vulnerable and real.
collapsing into her embrace, the tears that had been threatening to spill finally fell down your cold cheeks. viv held you, her arms wrapped tightly around your body, her heartbeat beating steadily against your own. "you're okay, darling," she whispered into your damp hair, the three words alone enough to mend your heart all over again. "everything is going to be alright, love." she reminded you, her arm rubbing soothingly up and down your back.
"you're safe." you sniffled, air getting caught in your throat. "you're beautiful." your tears began to subside. "you're talented." your breaths returned to their normal pace. "you're loved." she kissed your forehead, her thumb wiping away your dry tears.
"i love you, vivvy."
you nestled your head into the crook of her neck, her comforting arm never leaving you. gazing out the window, you watched as the rain drops traced effortlessly down the glass, the journey seeming aimless yet purposeful, much like the swirl of emotions you felt yourself. the rhythmic pattern of the rain against the roof provided a calming background noise, to the turmoil of thoughts swimming through your head.
you felt yourself become grounded, safe in her arms.
there was nowhere else you had to be, nobody else you needed to be with.
you found your solitude, right there in the arms of your favourite person. right there in the arms of the girl who would be able to mend your broken heart over and over again. right there in the arms of the only girl who truly understood you, and you understood her.
318 notes · View notes
minisugakoobies · 1 year
Text
Paradise | JJK - Thirteen
Pairing: Jungkook x Reader
Genre: smut, neighbors to lovers (not quite friends but not quite strangers), slow burn, love triangle, Stripper!AU
Rating: M (18+)
Warnings: new pov 👀, grinding, fingering, oral sex (m + f receiving), hand job, shower fun, mentions of roleplaying, mentions of biting (always get consent!), a bit of exhibitionism, lots of teasing, texting dirty photos, dirty talk, deepthroating, cum eating, but also a lot of cuddling because Jungkook is pretty whipped y'all and so is reader, Jungkook has to deal with a nasty drunk customer, 2021 AMAs Jungkook is the wedding visual
Word Count: 9.5k
Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me
Summary: That sexy man on stage - the one currently giving your friend the lap dance of her LIFE - is your super shy neighbor, Jeon Jungkook?!
A/N: Fuck, it’s been a while since I updated, huh? Sorry about that! I got busy with holiday fics, and then my life kinda fell apart for a while and writing was the last thing I had time for. And then I had a difficult time with this chapter because I’d decided the story was only going to be 15 chapters and I was trying too hard to wrap things up too quickly… so guess what? Paradise is not ending with chapter 15! I hope you’re still enjoying the story, because it’s gonna go on a bit longer. How long? I don’t know! We’ll find out together! 💕
Song lyrics are from "Notice Me" by SZA
Thanks to @minttangerines for taking a look at this one! Please don’t be a silent reader, I’d love to hear from you! Taglist is open. 💕
Previous Chapter ♦️ Paradise Masterlist ♦️ Next Chapter
************************************************************************
Alarm clocks are such a cruel invention. 
There’s little worse than a tiny machine whose only purpose is to violently jar you from peaceful sleep by means of unholy bleating and throw you directly into your day. Really, whoever invented the alarm clock had to be a sociopath.
These are the sleepy thoughts that run through Jungkook’s head as your alarm clock tears him from his sleep Friday morning. Eyes still closed, he feels you shifting beside him, and then there’s a slapping sound and the annoying beeping ceases. Your heavy sigh makes him smile. 
“You know, I’ve always hated your alarm, too,” he mumbles, remembering your confession about his alarm the other night. 
“It did not occur to me until this moment that you can hear that every day,” you admit, and he laughs, opening his eyes. 
He presses himself forward against your back, burying his face in the nape of your neck to breathe you in. He can smell the faded sweat from last night’s multiple rounds where it still clings to your soft skin. It’s insane to him, how everything about you is wonderful, down to even the smell of your sweat. He hears you sigh again, a happy sound that makes his heart beat faster, and you scoot closer, threading your fingers through his. 
“Mmmhmm,” Jungkook hums. “S’okay, I usually just fall back asleep. But I really hate it today, because it means you’re getting up, right?” Obviously you have to go to work. Or login or whatever it is you do with a work from home gig. He tightens his grip when you start to pull away, whining into your skin. “Noooo, don’t leave me.” 
“Kookie!” you huff amusedly. He gives up when you persist, twisting yourself onto your side so you can peer at him while he pouts. Your fingers pinch his bottom lip playfully as you eye him, an exuberant grin on your face, and he wants to roll you onto your back and cover your face in kisses until you’re breathless with laughter.
You sigh again. “Does anyone ever say ‘no’ to this face?” 
“Nope,” he lies gleefully, lips turning up in a smirk as your arms loop around his neck. “Don’t tell me you’re about to try. You can’t.” 
“Actually, I was about to tell you that I hit the snooze button, so you’ve got me for at least another five minutes.” Lightly, you kiss him. He follows your mouth when you pull away to speak, so that you end up breathing the words onto his lips. “Better make them count.” 
The delighted giggle you let out when he swiftly rolls you onto your back sends him to the moon. He brings himself back down to earth by covering your mouth and body with his own, his hands reaching for your thighs, prompting you to wrap your legs around him and keep him close. 
He feels you start to squirm against him and takes the hint, easily flipping the two of you over so that you’re on top. “Shit, jagi,” he hisses as you roll your hips, grinding your core against his. He can feel how wet you are through where your cunt drags against his naked cock. You’re always so wet for him. He’s definitely getting a big head about it. 
That damn alarm clock of yours goes off again, and you groan, sliding from Jungkook’s lap to reach for the machine. Jungkook remains tangled up in your sheets, one arm behind his head as you climb off the bed. 
“You, uh, you don’t have to get up now, if you don’t want to. I know it’s early for you. I don’t mind if you want to sleep a little more here.”
He watches as you hurriedly drape yourself in a big t-shirt before turning back to face him. You’re so cute like this, when you get shy in front of him, as if he hasn’t seen every inch of you by now. As if he doesn’t want to see every inch of you. There’s nothing you need to hide from him. 
But you seem a little more nervous than usual. Is it because he slept over? He hadn’t intended to, but after the third round last night, you’d fallen asleep on him yet again, this time literally, draped across him, with your head tucked against his neck, and he’d been too enamored to move you. Your soft breathing must’ve lulled him to sleep. 
The offer to let him stay and sleep in is sweet, but he’s wide awake now. “Nah, I’m up.” 
“Okay. Um, just take your time getting up, I guess.” 
Jungkook can’t help but appreciate how awkward you’re being right now. Makes him feel better about his own clumsiness with stuff like this. He always over thinks things when it comes to relationships. Not that this is a relationship. Unless it is, but only if that’s what you want, too. 
Shit. Prime example right there. 
You’re slowly backing towards the door. Jungkook’s not sure if that’s because you don’t want to leave him or because you’re still trying to keep him from seeing your naked ass under that shirt. Seriously, how are you so cute? 
“I’m gonna go shower.” 
He can’t help himself. “Want some company?” 
You bite your lip, contemplating, and he smirks. He’s not a betting man but he’s pretty sure he knows what your answer is going to be, so he rises from the bed, hard cock slapping against his stomach as he crosses the room. Once his arms are around you again, you sigh. “I’m gonna be late, aren’t I?”
Jungkook grins cheekily. “Depends on how you want it.” His hands roam over your backside, squeezing the soft flesh there. It’s an understatement to say he’s a fan of your ass. He drops a smack on one cheek and you let out a cross between a yelp and a laugh. 
“You’re gonna be the death of me, Jeon Jungkook.” 
Stealing your giggles away with a kiss, he shuffles the two of you towards your bathroom, only allowing you to break away long enough to turn on the water. Under the spray, he reclaims your mouth again with needy lips. An electric current runs through him every time you moan, and soon he has you pressing your palms into the tiled wall as he slides his fingers into you from behind.
Jungkook’s shy, but he’s not chaste. He’s never had trouble finding someone on the nights when he’s needed to lose himself in someone else. Especially once he started working at Paradise. At first, he’d tried to resist fucking his patrons. Didn’t want the lines to blur too much. But eventually, he caved, too easily flattered by the women throwing themselves at him - literally, some nights - too easily tempted by the pleasures they promised. 
He’d go home with them and then slip out in the morning, before they woke. Never wanting more than just a memory. He lived this way for the longest time. It was easy, especially for someone like him, someone who used his onstage cockiness to hide his shyness. Required no real thought, no real effort - beyond, of course, what he gave in the bedroom. Or the shower. Or, more than once, in the car. He always made sure they were satisfied. 
So he doesn’t lack experience. But being with you is like nothing he’s ever felt before. Maybe it’s the newness of this physical connection between you that is driving the way he wants you all the time. Like all the time. Or maybe it’s something else. 
Whatever it is, he wants more than the memory of a wild night. 
These thoughts swirl through his mind as he slams a hand on the wall right above yours, steading himself so he can thrust his other hand into you harder, faster. He tries to shut down the thinking part of his brain as he focuses on the moment, letting the sensations take over.
Slick skin slides against slick skin. The warm water rushing over you both gets in his eyes, his mouth as he drops to his knees, but he doesn’t care. 
“Fuck, Kookie.” 
Your words reverberate in the resonant space, a chorus of praise that fills the room. He’s the one kneeling, worshipping, but you’re the one praying. All he feels is you.
“Come on, baby, I know you’re close. Just let go.” He grabs at your waist, making you arch your back a little so your ass sticks out. Once you’re in the right position, he tilts his face up and licks along the wet slit where his fingers just were. 
Jungkook loves eating pussy. He could spend hours between your legs, face buried in your sweetness, coaxing orgasm after orgasm from you. It makes him feel almost powerful, knowing he can make you come apart so quickly. Confident, in a way he’s rarely known off the stage.
He feels that way now, even though he’s in a rather vulnerable position, crouching in your crowded little bathtub with your thighs on either side of his head. You could crush him with those, so easily. And he’d use his last gasping breath to thank you. 
“Kookie, goddamn, that’s - ah - oh, that’s so good!” You press your cheek into the wall, trying to keep your balance as you push your hips back, seeking more of his hot mouth. “Please, oh fuck, please don’t stop!” 
There’s no way he’d stop now. He hums into you, loving the way you shudder in response. As your hips begin to rock, dragging your cunt over his eager tongue, he brings his tattooed hand up to press into your clit, tracing tiny circles into the throbbing nub like he’s drawing a bullseye, aiming oh so carefully for the center.
You cry out so loudly when your climax hits. Jungkook feels his dick twitch just from the way you say his name. Before he’s finished licking you clean, you’re reaching for him, pulling him up to join you. He rises obediently as you wrap your hand around his aching cock and begin to stroke. 
“Jagi,” he grunts, hips jerking erratically into your hand. His eyes fall shut. His mouth blindly finds yours, kissing you desperately as you twist and tug and then he’s painting both your stomachs with his hot seed before the warm water splashing over you washes it away. 
He’s content to let you take the lead when you kiss him this time. Your hands slide into his hair, nails scraping the nape of his neck, and he groans, pulling you closer. He knows you should probably get moving or you’ll be late, but he doesn’t want to stop holding you, and it doesn’t seem like you want to let go, either.
Eventually, though, you climb out, handing Jungkook a towel while wrapping one around yourself. He wrings the water from his long locks before knotting the soft cotton around his waist as he follows you back into your bedroom. When you turn to look at him, something in your eyes makes his pulse race. 
“What are your plans for today?”
Jungkook pulls his sweats back on as you throw on a loose shirt and some shorts. “Don’t really have any, other than work tonight.” He’d traded shifts with Bang Chan so he could have tomorrow night off to attend your friend’s wedding with you. Something he’s equally excited and nervous about, though he’s doing his damnedest trying not to show it. 
He can tell from your stories and from the few times he’s seen you with your friends that you’re incredibly close. And he gets the vibe that your friends are pretty protective of you. Especially Jisoo. Jungkook finds her pretty intimidating. Even if both Taehyung and Jimin swear she’s a sweet little kitten. Hard to trust their judgment when they’re both so lovesick. 
You’re still looking at him, though you seem deep in thought. Finally, you nod. “Okay. I’m taking today off, too.” 
“Really?” 
“Yeah, fuck it, I need a break from that place. And yesterday was so nice…” you shrug, playing with the drawstrings at your waist. “Maybe we could hang out again? Since you’re free?” 
Jungkook’s starting to worry about the effect you have on his heart. Right now, it feels like it might just float straight out of his body and through the ceiling. 
“I mean, if that’s what you want…” he replies, hoping his tone sounds calmer than he feels. How’s he supposed to play it cool when such a simple question makes him so happy like this? 
You slide off the wall, stepping closer until you place your hands on his chest. “It’s what I want,” you confirm, brushing your lips against his. He feels you smile as he tries to deepen the kiss, but you dance away from his grasp. “Let me email my boss quick, and then I’m all yours.” 
It’s amazing how much he wants that to be true. Jungkook watches you walk away, hips swaying, and it hits him suddenly - he’s fallen so, so hard for you. 
Fuck. Whatever he does now, he can’t mess this up. Like he always does. 
“Do you want some breakfast?” Your voice calls to him from your kitchen and he snaps out of his thoughts.He finds you rummaging through your cupboard, grabbing bowls and a box of cereal. 
He munches away happily while you take a seat at your desk. “So you like working from home?” Jungkook loves dancing at Paradise, but he’s thought about camming a few times. It’d be nice to skip the commute. And the grabby customers.
“I fucking love it,” you answer, making him laugh. “I hate it when I have to go into the office. Everyone’s so loud there, all hopped up on stale coffee from the break room. Plus, I really hate having to abide by the dress code. I work better in joggers and comfy t-shirts, but some people aka my boss think that’s unacceptable.” You roll your eyes, scrolling through your email. “Ugh, I need to follow up on some of these. Shouldn’t take long.”
Jungkook tries to picture what you must look like at your office. He imagines you sitting behind a large desk, dressed in a smart suit, something like what he’s seen someone wearing in a movie, with a sharply tailored jacket clinging to your curves and a tight pencil skirt, maybe a little tighter than strictly necessary, and then his reverie shifts. Now you’re standing in front of your desk, palms pressing into the shiny surface as you bend over in that tight little skirt, and - 
Wow, he needs to get a hold of himself. He lowers his bowl a little to cover the half-chub he’s sporting, and remembers something relating to suits. “Hey, for the wedding tomorrow - is it black tie?”
“Shit, I’m sorry, I really haven’t said much about the wedding, have I?” You twist in your chair to glance at him. “It’s not a super fancy ceremony. You can just wear, like, a nice suit, if you have one?”
“All my suits are tearaways.” 
“Oh. Oh.” You blink as you realize what he means, and then he laughs. With your eyes wide like that, you kind of resemble a deer in headlights - an expression he’s come to adore, since he sees it frequently. 
“That was a joke. I have normal suits.” He takes your hand and kisses the back of it. “It’s really too easy sometimes.” Flustering you is his favorite new hobby. He’s kinda proud of how good he is at it. 
“Shut up.” You press your lips together in what looks like annoyance, but he knows you’re fighting back a laugh. He grabs your empty bowl, heading for the kitchen. “Anyway, about tomorrow, I’m gonna get ready with Jennie and the other girls, so I’ll meet you at the hotel before the ceremony. I did tell you where the wedding is, right?” 
“You did. The Black Swan.” 
Another reason Jungkook is rather nervous about tomorrow. The Black Swan is an expensive, high-end luxury hotel in the heart of downtown Seoul. Clearly your friends are doing pretty well if they can afford to get married at the hotel’s famous rooftop venue, overlooking the entire city. He bets they all have prestigious jobs or something, like lawyers and professors and doctors. 
“Right! Okay, good, at least I told you that much. Sorry, my brain’s just been all over the place lately.” 
He just hums sympathetically, lost in his own messy mind. Thinking about the rooftop makes him think of that night at Dionysus, when he’d gotten too drunk, sulking over the fact that you were on a date with someone else…
Oh shit. Jungkook pauses mid-pour of a second bowl of cereal. Are you still seeing that guy? It’s been a while since you’ve said anything about him. Seokjin. Kim Seokjin, the super successful chef. Jungkook had checked out his YouTube channel after seeing the two of you in the hallway that one time. The guy seemed to have it all - talent, good looks, and you in his arms. 
But does he still have you? Does Jungkook, for that matter? Maybe he shouldn’t think in such terms. How can anyone really “have” anyone, anyway? 
It’d be okay for him to ask you about Seokjin. Right? There was that whole competition or whatever… He closes his eyes, trying to calm his thoughts. Relax, dude, you’re spiraling. 
“Oh shit!”
Jungkook pops his head out of the kitchen at your shout. “What? Is there another spider?” 
“You’re not gonna let me live that down, are you?” 
“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ before chomping down on another spoonful, crossing the space to stand beside you. 
“Well, it’s nothing bad. My friend Wendy, the one I told you about, that I used to work with? She said someone quit unexpectedly and her company needs to hire someone immediately for some sort of new project, so she wants to know if I would be interested in coming in for an interview!” 
You beam up at him, and he’s honestly not sure if it’s the sugar rush or just you, but he feels a little lightheaded as he grins back. 
“Jagi! That’s great!”
“Yeah! It’s kinda amazing, actually. I feel like Wendy’s thrown me a life preserver.” You fall silent as you reread the email. Jungkook swallows as quietly as he can, not wanting to disturb your concentration. He notes your brow furrowing as the silence stretches on.
“Everything okay?”
“Hmm? Oh, yeah! This is great! I just…” you trail off, still reading. He waits. “They want me to interview next week, which is… a little quick.” 
“Ah,” he hums. 
Could you be nervous? Although you’ve told him that you’re sick of your company, you strike him as someone who is incredibly surefooted when it comes to your career. It’s honestly pretty sexy. (As if everything about you isn’t sexy, right down to the way your fingers lightly caress the wheel of your mouse and goddamn it, he really needs to stop thinking with his cock.)
But then you bite your lip as your gaze meets his and he realizes that yes, you are nervous. And it’s a feeling he can understand. 
“It doesn’t give me a lot of time to get myself ready. I mean, I’m thrilled that Wendy recommended me for the position, and I’m sure I could handle it, from what she’s saying, but... it’s been ages since I last interviewed for anything.” 
Jungkook nods, chewing on the inside of his cheek. You glance at the computer screen again, and he’s overcome with the urge to do whatever he can to ease your mind. “I know it’s not the same, but when I was preparing for my audition at Paradise, I had Taehyung helping me out. Maybe I could do the same for you?” He lifts a shoulder. “Ask you some questions? Help you ease back into it.” 
“Like… a fake interview or something?”
He nods. “If that would help.” 
“Really?” Your tone is hopeful, making his heart buoyant again. “You wouldn’t mind?” 
He’d have to search the internet for examples of things to ask you, since he doesn’t know the first thing about financial advising or whatever, but Jungkook feels pretty sure that he can do this for you. If you want him to. “Not at all.” 
“That would… be really great, Kookie. Thank you.” This time when you smile, it’s a shy thing, and before he can think he’s bending down to kiss you gently. You giggle into it, eyelashes fluttering when he pulls away. “What was that for?” 
He shrugs again, painfully aware that the tips of his ears are warming, turning red. “Nothing. How many more emails do you need to answer?” 
“Um…” you stare at your laptop. “Let me just respond to Wendy and then I’m done.”
“Cool.” Jungkook stretches. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes roam over his bare torso as he does so. He smirks, enjoying when you look away, knowing you’ve been caught. Wrapping his arms around your shoulders, he lowers his mouth to your ear. “I’m gonna go home and take off these dirty clothes. Come find me when you’re done. I’ll be waiting.” 
“Fuck,” is your breathy response. He laughs. You’re really too good for his ego. But before you can say or do anything else to inflate his head a little more, your phone rings. 
Be still, my heaaaaart…
“Oh god, I bet that’s my boss, wanting to talk me out of taking off.” You frown as you check the screen. “Shit, it’s Jisoo. I gotta take this.” 
Jungkook carries his bowl back into the kitchen, an excuse to give you a little privacy to talk to your friend. But he can still hear your half of the conversation anyway. 
“Ji! What’s going on? Wait, what’s that sound? Is that Jennie? Is she crying?” A brief pause. “Okay, okay, I’m coming over! No, I’m not working today, I - it’s a long story, I’ll explain when I get there.” 
Jungkook reemerges from the kitchen when he hears you say goodbye. “Is everything okay?” he asks again. 
You shake your head. “I don’t know. Jisoo’s at Jennie’s, I need to get over there.” You move hurriedly down the hallway to your room. “I could hear Jennie crying in the background.”
“Jisoo didn’t say what happened?” Jungkook watches you dress, feeling helpless. You’re radiating with a nervous energy that makes him tap his fingers agitatedly against his thigh.
“No, all she said was that Jennie needs me.” You frown, staring into your closet. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. I’m sorry.” 
He doesn’t know what you’re apologizing to him for. “It’s all right. Your friends need you.” He grins when you put on his hoodie. It really does look better on you than him. “Don’t worry about me. Just text me later.” 
“I will.” You give him a playful smile as his fingers grip at your hip, drawing you closer to him. “I’ll try not to keep you waiting too long.” 
“Better not,” Jungkook murmurs, other hand clutching your chin to bring your mouth towards his. 
************************************************************************
You stay on my mind, I can't regret no times spent with you
And I still wonder if you notice me, yes
Jungkook tips his head, staring at the canvas in front of him. Music blares from his stereo and he sings along to it without thinking. It’s like breathing for him sometimes. 
The portrait he’s working on is nearly finished, finally. It’s taken him a bit longer to do this one than usual. He’d like to blame that on being busy the last few weeks, but the truth is that he was having a hard time with the photo his patron provided. It’s not that he can’t paint from a static shot, but he prefers live models or being out in nature. He needs movement, light, even the sounds his subject makes help him to better capture them. 
But he’s pretty happy with his progress on this one. He dips his brush into the mix of yellows on his palette, a sort of sunny shade that he’s using for highlights in the woman’s hair. The gentle tap-tap of his paintbrush against the canvas triggers a tingling sensation down the back of his scalp. 
He doesn’t realize how long he’s been working until his phone buzzes and he glances at the screen. It’s a spam text, so he ignores it, but he’s shocked to see that it’s already past noon. It’s not completely surprising that he lost track of time - that’s usually what happens when he’s in the zone. Everything around him falls away until there’s nothing left but him and the canvas. He learned a long time ago to set timers for himself on the days he has work or other plans or else he’d never stop. 
But it is a little surprising that he managed to stop thinking about you for a few hours. Not because he’s obsessed with you or anything, but because after he left your apartment this morning, he was too excited at the thought of another full day with you to do anything but think about you. 
And as always, his excitement triggered an avalanche of questions. Just like this morning. What should the two of you do today? There was a new gallery on the east side of town that he’d been meaning to check out - would you want to go with him? He’d love to spend an afternoon just walking around with you, talking about art - or anything, really. Or maybe you’d rather just hang out at your place? 
Or maybe you’d have wedding stuff you’d need to do? He remembered you said that you were the maid of honor. He didn’t quite know what that entailed but figured it was important. Your friend Jennie must really trust you. Made sense to him. You and him had only been doing this… dating… whatever that you had going on only for a short while and yet he felt like he could trust you with anything. 
And speaking of dating, what about Seokjin? Were you still seeing him? You hadn’t mentioned him in a while. Jungkook wasn’t sure if that was because he had won the little competition, or if you just didn’t want to talk about Seokjin with him. He should probably ask. 
Although… there was the other night, in the hallway at Paradise. When you’d asked him for a dance. Fuck, he wished he’d could’ve danced for you. He’d been working on a routine just for you… but that night, you’d pulled him close and confessed that you only wanted him. He wanted to believe it wasn’t the alcohol talking. That you’d meant it. But the thought of asking terrified him a little. What if you didn’t remember your own words? 
His thoughts looped back around to the wedding again. There was this burning desire to impress your friends that was starting to worry him. He already knew which suit he was going to wear tomorrow, wanting to dress to kill. Maybe he’d ask Jimin to do his makeup - Jimin usually did his makeup at Paradise. 
Any time Jungkook’s brain would get overwhelmed, he would slip into what his friends refer to as his “buffering mode.” He’d freeze in place, eyes wide but unseeing as he struggled to sort out his thoughts. This morning, Jungkook realized he’d gone into this mode again when smoke began to sting his nose and he snapped back to reality to discover that he’d burnt the fuck out of his kimchi eggs. Cursing, he threw the ruined second breakfast in the trash, and decided to put on some music and focus on his painting before he burnt down his apartment. 
It worked. All those questions and worries melted away as he’d picked up his brush. But now the day’s half over and he hasn’t heard anything from you. He hopes that doesn’t mean anything bad.
His phone is still in his hand, staring up at him impassively. He debates for a few minutes, the desire to talk to you warring with the fear that he’ll come across as impatient or worse, needy, before finally putting the phone down. 
He can keep waiting. The truth is, he’ll wait as long as it takes. 
So he makes lunch. Checks his mail. Does a load of laundry. The time ticks by.
Until finally, his phone buzzes. He lunges across the pile of boxers he’s folding to grab it.
Jagiya (3:01): Kookie I’m so sorry!
Jagiya (3:01): I completely lost track of time
(3:02): it’s ok jagi
(3:02): everything all right?
It’s a few minutes before the dots on his screen disappear. 
Jagiya (3:04): Yes but no but yes? 
He has no idea what that’s supposed to mean.
Jagiya (3:04): I’ll tell you everything later, but right now, Jennie needs me
Jagiya (3:05): So I’m gonna be here a bit longer. Through dinner, at least
His heart sinks. Those little dots reappear.
Jagiya (3:06): I know we were gonna hang out. Can you forgive me?
(3:06): nothing to forgive
(3:07): do what you gotta do
His reply makes him cringe. It reads back as indifferent. What he meant to say was, you don’t need to apologize for being there for your friends. He understands. He panics a little, thumbs flying, wanting to show that he cares.
(3:07): is there anything i can do?
Jagiya (3:08): You’re so sweet 😘
His heart rebounds a little.
Jagiya (3:08): We’re okay here, thanks
Jagiya (3:09): But I guess I won’t see you before you leave for work 
Jagiya (3:09): 😞
He can picture you wearing the same expression as the emoji you send. A sad little pout. He wants to kiss it away. 
(3:10): it’s ok
(3:10): you’ll have me all day tomorrow
Jagiya (3:10): And all night?
Jagiya (3:11): 😙
(3:11): for as long as you want me, jagi
He hopes you understand just what he means. 
************************************************************************
Like it is any other Friday, Paradise is packed. The club is always stuffed full on weekend nights with patrons wanting to toss off the stress of a hard week and slip into a world of fantasy. And it’s Jungkook’s job to give that to them. After finishing his second stage performance of the night, he makes his way back to the bar, where Jimin slides him a glass of water. Taehyung joins him.
“Two more Dick Suckers, please, Min.” Taehyung sets his tray on the bar. “Nice job with that last lapdance, Kook. Poor thing asked me what her name was when she got back to her seat.” A boxy smile splits his face. “Not my name, her name.” 
Jungkook grins back. He’d been tapped to dance for a woman celebrating her divorce being finalized. At first, she’d refused to get up, but her friend, who had paid for it, had insisted that she needed to embrace her new freedom. Once on stage, she’d sat silently, slack-jawed, with her hands clasped tightly over her chest, until Jungkook finally took them and placed them on his ass. At which point she’d shrieked so loudly, he thought he’d ruptured an eardrum. After that, she didn’t stop screaming for a second.
“Thanks. Been choreographing that one for a while. Guess it works.” Jungkook tips back the rest of his water, wiping his forehead with his tattooed arm. “Is the air busted again? It’s hotter than fuck in here.” His entire torso is dripping with sweat, from the exertion of his performance, and the room feels stifling around him. 
“It’s probably just Hoseok-hyung trying to save a buck again. I’ll talk to him,” Jimin replies, placing two bright blue drinks on Taehyung’s tray. “So what time do you want to stop by tomorrow?” 
“What are you two doing?” Taehyung inquires.
“Nothing involving you,” Jimin shoots back. Jungkook cocks an eyebrow. “Taehyung’s not invited over to my place any more.”
“I said I was sorry,” the other man drawls. “I mean it.”
“Sure you do.” Jimin runs a hand through his pink hair as he rolls his eyes. 
“Do I want to know?” Jungkook asks. 
Taehyung sighs. “After work last night, Jisoo and the two of us were hanging out at Jimin’s and someone,” he flicks his dark eyes towards the bartender, “didn’t appreciate my commitment to the scene we were playing.” 
“The scene you were… ah, shit, is this some roleplaying stuff?” Jungkook knows his friends are into roleplaying. Mostly because they spend a large amount of time working out the details of said scenes. Usually in the form of very annoying arguments.
“Look, I can’t help it if I get too deep into character, okay? That’s what you’re supposed to do! Make it feel real!” 
“Vampires aren’t real, Tae!” Jimin hisses. “But the bite you left on my ass sure is!” He looks at Jungkook. “I’m going to go find Hoseok. Watch the bar, will you? And just text me tomorrow, I’ll be home all morning.” He glares at Taehyung. “Alone!” 
Taehyung sniffs as Jimin disappears towards the back of the club. “He’s just jealous because my vamp was more believable than his werewolf.” 
Jungkook slips behind the bar, shaking his head. “He seems pretty mad, hyung.” 
“He’ll get over it. He usually likes biting. I think my choice of location caught him by surprise.” 
Taehyung wanders off to deliver the drinks to his waiting patrons. The bar gets a little busy while he’s gone, with Jungkook struggling a bit to keep up with the orders coming in. When Taehyung returns, he heads straight for the other side of the bar, to give Jungkook a hand. 
“So what are you and Jimin doing tomorrow? I thought you were going to the wedding with YN.” 
“I am. He’s just helping me get ready, that’s all.”
Taehyung smiles at a patron as he hands her an Adios Motherfucker. “Careful with that, sweetheart, it’s strong.” He looks at Jungkook. “Hair and makeup?” 
“Yeah.” With the smooth flick of a wrist, Jungkook finishes another drink, handing it off with a wink. The DJ calls Namjoon to the stage and the crowd at the bar disperses as another performance begins. Jungkook grabs a towel and starts mopping the counter. He’s a serviceable bartender but he’s pretty messy. 
“Mmm.” Taehyung leans back, watching Jungkook clean. He folds his arms over his bare chest. “Kook-ah. There’s no reason to be nervous.” 
Jungkook doesn’t even ask how he knows, replacing some bottles on the wall behind the bar. “I just want to make a good impression.” 
“You think you won’t?”
Jungkook gazes at the mirror behind the racks of bottles. Wide eyes stare back. He can’t put his fears into words, struggling as usual to communicate what has him so worried. It’s just a feeling, one that’s been growing all day, the more he thinks about the wedding. That you and your friends are from another world, one where everyone is self-assured and in control of their lives. And he’s just out here, barely floating by.
“I’m just making sure I do.” He pauses, finally looking at Taehyung. He sees Jimin approaching out of the corner of his eye. “I really like her, hyung. I-I think this could be something.” 
“Awww, Jungkook-ah!” Jimin coos, pinching Jungkook’s cheeks. “Our little Jungkookie’s in love!” 
“Hyung, stop.” Jungkook smacks his hands away. As the youngest of his group of friends, Jungkook’s used to being babied by his friends. He hates it.  “I didn’t say - it’s not - “
“Kook-ah.” Taehyung places a hand on both of Jungkook’s shoulders, turning him to face him. “What am I always telling you?”
Jungkook sucks in a deep breath, huffs it back out. “Confidence.” He feels a little ridiculous doing this here, behind the bar where patrons can see him getting a motivational speech from his hyungs. But sometimes he needs it. 
“That’s right.” Taehyung squeezes his shoulders reassuringly. “Just be confident. You know who you are. And who you are is amazing.”
“Hyung….” Jungkook is thankful that the pink lighting of the bar hides the deepening blush of his cheeks. Taehyung has been trying to bolster his confidence since the day they met, all those years ago in art school. He always appreciates it, but sometimes the man can get a little cheesy.
“Hey pretty boy!” 
A loud voice disrupts the moment. All three men turn to find a woman leaning over the bar. She’s clearly drunk, head propped on her hand as she smiles at Jungkook. Her head bobs a little as she sways. 
Jungkook recognizes her. The divorcée from earlier. “Can I help you, ahjumma?” 
She curls her finger, beckoning him closer. He leans towards her, careful to still maintain his distance. Drunken patrons have been known to try to get handsy with the dancers. 
“I wan’ a private dance,” she demands, words slurring a bit. 
Jungkook glances at Taehyung and Jimin. They appear to be on the same page as he is, based on their furrowed brows and pursed lips. She’s too drunk. Where is her friend? 
“I believe all of our private rooms are busy at the moment. Can I get you some water while you wait?” Jimin doesn’t wait for an answer as he places a glass in front of her. She just waves him off. 
“Not talking to you. Talking to him.” She points at Jungkook, grinning. Her smile turns Jungkook’s stomach a little. It’s cold. “I want a private dance. If I can’t have it here, maybe I could have it later? At my place?” 
Jungkook’s own smile feels tight. “I’m sorry, I don’t do private dances outside of the club.” 
She tilts forward, and Jungkook can smell the alcohol wafting off her. “Come on, pretty boy, I’ll pay. I have,” she hiccups, covering her mouth, “I have so much money.”
“It’s not a matter of money.” Jungkook scans the floor behind her. Seriously, where the hell is this woman’s friend? Should they call her a ride? 
The woman scoffs at Jungkook’s response. “Oh, come on, of course it is! That’s why you’re here, right? You dance, I give you money. It’s your job, honey.” 
Jimin and Taehyung are having a hushed conversation next to him, but Jungkook isn’t listening. He knows it’s pointless to try to reason with this customer, and yet he keeps trying. 
“It’s not my job. My job is to dance here. Not in private.” He knows what she wants, but he’s not for sale. He used to give it away for free, but he never took money or gifts. But even if he did sex work, he’s not going home with her. Especially not if she refuses to accept it when he says no. “Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll call you a ride? We’ll make sure you get home safely.” 
She seems to finally realize that she’s not going to get her way, and her demeanor changes, countenance warping into an ugly sneer. “Don’t you con-condescend to me! You’re just a pretty boy with a hot body. Good for nothing but a quick fuck.” 
Even though it’s obvious that this woman is totally wasted, her words sting anyway, like a slap in the face. Jungkook recoils slightly, drawing back from the bar. 
“Okay, that’s enough,” Taehyung announces, sliding out from under the bar. “Let’s sit down, shall we?” But as he moves towards the woman, they hear another voice calling out.
“Oh my god, there you are!” It’s the woman’s friend, looking frazzled as she runs up to the bar. “I’m sorry, I thought she’d be okay while I ran to the bathroom. I got back to our table and people next to me said she’d stolen some shots from their table and wandered off!” 
“Well, that explains it,” Taehyung frowns. “I think you should take your friend home.” 
“I will. I’m so sorry, I hope she hasn’t been any trouble. She hasn’t been this drunk in years!” She wraps an arm around the divorcée’s shoulders. “Come on, let’s get you home.” 
The three men watch silently as the woman’s friend steers her towards the door, taking a wobbly path due to her friend’s intoxication. After a moment, Jungkook feels his friends’ eyes on him, but he keeps focused on the two women until they reach the entrance. 
“She was drunk, Kook,” Taehyung murmurs. Again, Jungkook doesn’t even need to ask how he knows what he was thinking. 
“I know.” 
“Don’t let her get to you,” Jimin says in a gentle tone. He lightly pats Jungkook’s arm. “I’ve got the bar covered. Why don’t you go take a break?” 
The locker room is empty when Jungkook enters. He pauses in front of a mirror for a moment, taking the time to wipe away where his eye makeup has smudged from the humidity in the club. He knows that woman was drunk. He knows this. And yet, her words have fed directly into his fears. 
What if he’s not enough? What if all he’s good for is, as those words rattling around in his head angrily declare, “a quick fuck?” 
The drunken woman’s expression while he’d danced for her reminded him of the night he’d danced for your friend Jennie. The way you’d looked at him, like you were seeing him for the first time. How he’d liked it. How, when he told his friends that the neighbor he’d been crushing on for months had shown up, he’d been encouraged to try and make a move. Ugh, that clumsy first attempt at flirting, using your shower - the memory makes his ears turn red. He’d stolen that idea from some cheesy movie he’d seen. But it worked, hadn’t it? It led to here. To whatever the two of you were now. 
If only he knew what that was. 
Suddenly, he needs to talk to you. He rummages through his bag until he finds his phone, grinning when he sees there’s a message waiting for him.
Jagiya (11:05): Hope you’re having a good night 😚
(11:53): it’s better now
(11:53): you still up?
He doesn’t have to wait long. 
Jagiya (11:54): I’m here
He presses the call button. 
“Hey Kookie.” Your voice is so warm, equal parts sleepy and surprised. He imagines you’re lying in bed, can picture the way you looked this morning. Wishes he were there. 
“Hey Jagi.” He leans back against his locker, closing his eyes. “Is it okay that I called?”
“Of course,” you laugh. “What’s up?” 
“Not much. I just… wanted to hear your voice.” He didn’t mean to say that. But it’s the truth. 
You hum, this sweet, soft sound that fills his chest with a happy buzzing. “You okay?”
“I’m okay. Just a long night.” He’ll tell you another time about what happened. He’d rather not relive it right now. “Is everything all right for tomorrow?”
“Yeah, Jennie’s good, and everything’s still set for the wedding. I really can’t wait, it’s gonna be amazing.”
“I can’t wait, either,” Jungkook admits. 
There’s nothing but the gentle sound of your breathing on the other end of the line for a few seconds, and then you ask, “Do you, um, want a sneak peek at my outfit for tomorrow? I took a picture earlier when I was trying it on.” 
“Sure.” He’s not going to turn down the chance to see your beautiful smile right now. 
The image that you send him a few seconds later takes his breath away. 
There’s no bridesmaid gown in sight. Instead, sheer white lace covers your body, the delicate fabric flowing from your breasts down your torso to your hips in a tight-fitting strapless one-piece. Around your waist is a snug garter belt, straps extending down your thighs to where they fasten to silk stockings. And the expression on your face nearly makes him whimper. You’ve one of your hands raised to your mouth, pointer finger dragging your bottom lip down as the edge of your pink tongue licks the tip.
All the blood in his body rushes south. As he stares at his phone, unable to blink, Jungkook exhales loudly. 
“Fuck.” 
You laugh again. “Do you like it?” 
“Jagi, I - “ Words fail him. You’re gorgeous, every inch of you. “I love it. Fuck, you’re so sexy.” 
More giggles. “Noooo, I’m not, stop. I wasn’t planning on wearing this under my dress originally, but I remembered I’d bought it months ago when Jisoo and I were out day drinking and shopping and I - I don’t know.” The words come out in a rush, like you’re embarrassed. “I just want to look good for you, Kookie.” 
Fuck. Why’s he gotta be at work right now? He palms over his erection, wondering if he has the time to lock himself in a bathroom stall and take care of it. While telling you exactly what he wants to do to you in that lingerie tomorrow. 
“You always look so good, baby,” he groans, voice a little husky. “I can’t wait to see this in person. Was it expensive?” 
“No, I don’t think so? I don’t really remember. Did I mention the drunkenness?” 
“Good. Then you don’t mind if it gets a little ripped?” Jungkook grins at your tiny inhale at his words. “Because after the wedding, I’m gonna-”
“Hey Kook-ah, you in here?” Hoseok pokes his head into the locker room. “Ah, there you are. Come on, you and Taehyung are up.”
“Be out in a minute, hyung,” Jungkook nods and the other man leaves. He sighs into the phone. “Shit. I’m sorry, jagiya, but I gotta get back out there.” 
“Wait! Aren’t you going to finish your thought? You can’t leave me hanging like this!” There’s a playfulness to your tone that makes his already hard cock ache. He’s going to have to go stand under an ice-cold shower for a minute before getting back into costume for his double routine with Taehyung. 
“Oh, baby, trust me, you don’t have to worry. You’ll be taken care of. When I see you tomorrow.” Jungkook smirks at his reflection when you whine in his ear.
“Fine.” You sound wounded. “Guess I’ll see you.” 
“You will. Night, jagi.” 
“G’night, Kookie.” With a final exasperated sigh, you hang up. 
Before he puts his phone back into his bag, it buzzes again. Another photo of you, this time just your face, wearing the saddest pout. The message makes him laugh. 
Jagiya (12:04): You’re such a tease
He fires off a response, then heads towards the showers, chuckling to himself the whole time 
(12:04): i know
(12:04): sweet dreams
************************************************************************
There’s not a single cloud in the sky as Jungkook steers his motorcycle down the busy city streets Saturday afternoon. He can see the Black Swan towering over the other highrises as he draws nearer. He tries to ignore the nerves in his stomach, but the swirling is impossible to ignore the closer he gets. 
By the time he’s in the elevator, rising to where the ceremony is being held, the swirling has become a maelstrom. He breathes through his mouth, inhaling and exhaling slowly. It’s gonna be fine. He just needs to walk out there with confidence, like Taehyung said. He can do this. Just pretend like he’s on stage. Too bad there won’t be any actual dancing until the reception. That’s when he feels the most at ease. 
The elevator dings as it arrives at the rooftop. When the doors part, his eyes widen, taking in the gorgeous scenery before him. The elevator opens directly into a lush garden, with flowering bushes and potted maple trees dotting the grounds. To his right, a mirrored wall reflects the greenery, making the open space feel even larger. The reception venue is on the other side of the mirrored wall, but the ceremony will be held in the gardens. 
Chairs have been arranged in rows on either side of a strip of green grass, cut low for the bridal party to walk down. At the end of the green pathway is an arch-shaped trellis covered with flowering vines and tiny string lights. And as his eyes adjust to the brilliant sunlight, he recognizes the group of women talking in front of the arch.
Your dress is identical to the ones worn by the three women standing by you, but he barely acknowledges this fact, too busy focusing on you and you alone. The lavender-colored silk hugs your curves, a small slit cut right at your left knee to reveal the stockings beneath. He tries not to think about what’s holding those stockings up. The straps of the dress rest just off your shoulders, snug against the soft skin there. 
You’ve opted for a fresh-faced natural look, with light makeup just highlighting your features. There’s a pink mugunghwa flower tucked behind your right ear, matching the simple bouquet in your hands. You’re a summer dream, blinding Jungkook with your radiant beauty. 
The tumult in his stomach stills more the longer he admires you. 
He pauses at the edge of the pathway, unsure if he should disturb you and your friends. But Jisoo makes the decision for him, as she turns and catches him watching you. She purses her lips, a loud wolf whistle piercing the air. 
“Holy shit, Bambi’s looking fine!” 
The rest of the group jumps as she grins, pointing to Jungkook. When your gaze meets his, he feels a jolt of electricity. He smirks, emboldened by your eyes on him, and strikes a pose, one hand in the pocket of his charcoal grey suit, cinched tight at his waist with a thick belt. Jimin had swept Jungkook’s hair off his face, showing off his eyebrow piercing, and did an impeccable job with his makeup. Jungkook knows he looks good. 
The expression on your face confirms it. 
As the other girls start whooping in agreement with Jisoo, he takes the opportunity to tease you a little, strutting down the grass pathway like he’s working the stage. He can tell it’s working when you glance away from the heat of his gaze, biting your lip to suppress a grin, before giving in and beaming widely at him. 
“Hey,” you say. 
“Hey,” he replies, matching your smile. “You look beautiful, jagi.” 
There’s some cackling from the other girls, but he ignores it, lost in your eyes. Until Jisoo’s hand appears in front of his face, snapping her fingers. 
“Hi, hello, you two can continue this after the ceremony, okay? Jennie will kill you if we start late because you were too busy eye-fucking at the altar.”
“Ji!” you hiss as the other girls continue to giggle. “Koo- uh, Jungkook, you remember Jisoo, I’m sure.” He nods, shoulders shaking slightly with quiet laughter. “And this is Lisa and Rosé.” 
“Nice to see you again,” Rosé greets him.
“Thanks, you too,” he replies, and then his mind goes blank. Thankfully, you save him from having to make small talk, looping your arm through his. You hand your bouquet to Lisa. 
“Have you seen the setup for the reception? It’s incredible.” And you start to tug him down the pathway, away from your friends.
“Remember, we’re starting in half an hour!” Lisa calls after you. 
Jungkook can’t quite make out what Jisoo says next, but it has the others laughing loudly, and he hears you mumble something about “unhinged freaks,” under your breath. You lead him through the double doors in the mirrored wall, into the rooftop restaurant that’s been converted into a reception space. But before he can get a good look at the room, you’re guiding him out of it and down a hallway. 
“Uh… wasn’t that the room?” 
“Oh, that was just to get you away from my friends before they said or did anything else to humiliate me.” You glance at him, and his heart skips a beat when he sees the heat in your eyes. “I’ve got something else in mind.” 
You stop in front of a door, ushering him inside. The men’s room, he quickly realizes, fingers locked in yours as you pull him into a stall. 
“Jagi? What - “ 
That’s as much as he gets out before you throw your arms around his neck and crush his mouth to yours. There’s an urgent hunger in your kiss that he immediately responds to, sliding his hands along the smooth silk of your dress to hold you close. But just as suddenly as you kissed him, you’re breaking away, dropping to your knees. 
Oh shit. He goes from half-mast and confused to fully erect and excited in a matter of seconds, staring down at you as your fingers make short work of his button and fly. 
“I missed you last night,” you inform him, swiftly yanking his pants down. 
“Jagi,” he breathes, almost lightheaded with want as you nuzzle your face against the outline of his cock through his boxer briefs. It’s strangely sweet and filthy all at once. “Missed you too.” 
“And even though you left me so… unsatisfied… last night,” you continue, fingernails lightly scratching up his thighs, sending a shiver down his spine, “and you are the one who promised me that I’d be taken care of today, seeing you in this suit…” As you trail off, you slide Jungkook’s boxers to the ground. He springs forth, bobbing so close to your mouth that he can feel your hot breath. 
“You like the suit?” he blurts out, earning himself a sweet giggle. Fuck, how are you being so cute right now while you’re this close to his dick? You stare up at him, all innocent doe eyes and angelic smile, and Jungkook thinks that he’d give you the world right now if you asked him to. 
“Can I show you how much I like it?” 
He nods vigorously, and you curl a hand around his cock as you suck the tip into your mouth. 
“Mmmmph,” he moans, pressing his lips together to stifle the sound. Anyone could walk in here at any moment. Even though you’ve hiked your gown up, clutching the hem in one hand to keep it from trailing out of the stall and getting dirty, it’s pretty fucking obvious that there’s someone on their knees in here, sucking the life out of Jungkook’s dick. 
Your mouth is perfect, so warm and wet and tight around his thick length. His hips jerk forward when you hollow your cheeks. He’s going to come embarrassingly fast, he just knows it.
“Baby,” he rasps when you swirl your tongue around the head, coating him in more saliva. His own tongue pokes through his teeth as he tries his best not to whine loudly. “Fuck, you’re making such a mess.” 
You pop off him to inspect his cock. It’s covered in your lipstick. “Oops. Sorry about that.” You swallow him back down, mouth working in tandem with your hand to stroke him off. 
“S’okay,” he murmurs, left hand clutching the top of the stall wall so tightly that his knuckles are turning white. “I-I like it messy.” 
He twitches in your mouth when you hum at his words. Shit, he’s definitely going to come. 
“Jagi, I can’t hold out, ‘m gonna, ah shit!” You take him as deep as you can, choking around him, and he understands what you’re telling him, that it’s okay, that you want him to come down your throat, and with that realization he’s gone, flooding your mouth as he bites down on his tattooed hand to muffle his contented groan. 
You take everything he has to give, gulping it down so lewdly that he grabs your hand, pulling you to your feet so he can kiss you fervently, not caring if he can taste himself on your tongue. 
“You’re amazing,” he whispers against your lips, cupping your face with both hands. You merely sigh, high and sweet, mouth brushing his, laughing as you gently push him away. 
“I better get back out there,” you say, straightening your dress. The flower behind your ear has slipped a little, and Jungkook reaches out to fix it for you. You smile gratefully, pressing one last peck to his cheek. “Give it a few minutes before you come out, okay?”
He nods, but stops you before you can unlock the stall. “I’m still going to take care of you later, you know.”
“I know,” you grin, and then you slip out the door. 
Jungkook takes a minute to clean himself up. It almost seems a shame to wash the lipstick off, but he decides he’ll just ask you to put more on later. God, he can’t wait to get you alone tonight. 
Before he leaves the bathroom, he checks the mirror to make sure he doesn’t look as wrecked as he feels. His earlier jitters have completely disappeared. He feels as confident as he looks. He can do this. 
And then Jungkook emerges from the bathroom, and his world tilts a bit. Because there, standing at the other end, with his arms slung around your back, is Kim Seokjin. 
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