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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!!!! 💗

✶ ┄ 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.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #stranger things x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #stevie oneshot #st oneshots #punchy x steve

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percervall · 3 months

Text

I'm not a woman (I'm a god)

Pairing: Toto Wolff x Horner!reader Words: 3194 Warnings: Greek Mythology AU, descriptions of misogyny and sexism, Christian Horner is painted the villain, implied age gap (both are legal adults), smut, masturbation, p in v, loss of virginity, no beta we die like my sanity during f1 silly season

In which you claim what's rightfully yours

---

As the meeting progresses, you can’t fight the urge to speak up any longer. Had you still been at RedBull, you would’ve; you would have bitten your tongue until it bled because your father didn’t much care for your opinions, as he called it, despite the fact you had spent years on getting your Masters and then spent another three years on studying all the strategy calls the team had ever made to see where things could improve. No, your father allowed you to sit in those meetings just so he could keep an eye on you. But you are no longer under his watchful eye and scrutiny; Toto Wolff made sure of that. Oh, people like to say that you were stolen from the RedBull garage, your father playing the role of victim like he was born to do so, but nothing could be farther from the truth. You weren’t stolen like the 2021 Abu Dhabi Grand Prix; no, you chose to be claimed by Mercedes and their team principal. Thus, here you are, part of Lewis’ team as a strategy engineer, about to do the one thing your father always reprimanded you for: speaking out against a figure of authority.

“Are you going to say what’s on your mind or do I have to make do with your facial expressions?” Toto drawls, making your decision for you. You can feel your heart beating against your ribs as nerves flutter in the hollow of your chest.

“With all due respect, sir,” you start, the room breaking out in a mocking chuckle but you will not let that deter you, “With all due respect, but this strategy will cost you points. You are all so sure that this race will lead to a safety car while experience tells us that the chances of that happening this weekend are 2% at most, and all safety cars deployed in the last six years have been due to car malfunctions. If you want to end up in the points, I would propose a two stop strategy, allocating at least two sets of mediums for the race on Sunday and forgoing softs all together seeing as how much they suffer from tyre deg at this circuit.” The room is dead silent when you finish. Toto’s eyes remain on you, his face a stoic mask.

“Check my numbers if you want,” you add, growing in your confidence the longer this staring contest continues. Toto looks at one of the other engineers, eyebrow raised with a silent command. You hear someone frantically typing as they run the numbers. Leaning back in your chair you take a sip of your coffee, willing your hands not to tremble despite how nervous you feel. Whispers of she’s right flitter around the room as more people join in with re-running your calculations. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling smugly at being proven right four times over.

“Very well, Ms Halliwell,” Toto says, silencing the room once more. “We’ll try your set up with Lewis’ car and stick to what was already decided on by the senior members for George.” This is as much of a win as you are going to get right now, and you will gladly take it, but there’s a twinkle in Toto’s eyes that has your stomach in knots. You’re not sure whether it’s pride or awe; either way, it fills you with a feeling you can’t quite place yet you know you will crave it for weeks to come.

When Sunday rolls around, you pray to whoever will listen that your numbers check out. You have gone over the statistics of this grand prix so often that you could probably recite them in your sleep at this point. Had it been any other race, you would have accepted whatever outcome, but this one means more. You need Mercedes to do well here in Austria, but more than anything you need your father’s team to suffer the consequences of their misogyny and ignorance. As you walk into the garage ahead of the race, your heels clicking against the cement, your eyes lock with Toto who gives you a slow smile as his eyes rake over you, taking in the way the stark white fabric of your team issued blouse and your tapered black trousers show off all your assets; you know you look delectable, and you know he knows it too. From the moment you met him for your job interview (which you landed under false pretences, using your mother’s name), there’s been an undercurrent of tension. It should’ve made you cautious, fearful even, of powerful men in powerful places, but Toto has been nothing but gracious, always indulging your retorts and meeting you tit for tat, a flirtatious game of cat and mouse that you’re enjoying immensely.

“I want you next to Bono during the race. You decided on the strategy, it’s only fair you get the recognition –whether it works or not,” Toto tells you. Nodding your head, you put on your headphones and take your place at the centre console. No more hiding in plain view, your father will see exactly what you are capable of –what you could have given him. Fighting the urge to chew the skin around your thumb, you keep your back straight and shoulders back as the race starts. You keep an eye on the weather satellite, scanning for any changes that could mess with the chosen strategy while listening to Lewis’ feedback for Bono, making suggestions for minute corrections to the set up of the car. Bono graciously forwards your ideas to the driver who slowly but surely climbs his way through the field. The RedBulls are still leading the pack, but you’re certain that your father’s confidence will be his downfall. As you had predicted, there is no need for a safety car during the race and, judging by the call to pit by your father’s golden child, they had been betting on one by using the softs at the start of the race.

“You were spot on with the tyre deg stats,” Bono tells you and you can’t help but smile wickedly back at him. There’s five laps left, and both RedBulls are on the hard tyre, which will never warm up in time to benefit from their longevity. George seems to be suffering a similar fate while Lewis is fighting with one of the McLarens for P2. Your eyes remain glued to the feed of Lewis’ on board camera as he begins the final lap. He is quickly gaining on the McLaren and in what can only be described as a masterclass, overtakes it to secure a P2 finish. Lewis’ radio message doesn’t even register; all you can hear is white noise as it dawns on you that you have shown everyone just what you’re capable of. It has whetted your appetite for more –for destruction.

The team is celebrating a podium finish as if it’s a win, and you suppose to them it most definitely feels like one. You’re standing on the edge where the garage meets pit lane, watching them with a smile on your face when Toto comes to stand behind you.

“I want you front and centre when Lewis climbs that podium. You have earned this accolade and should be rewarded as such. Let your father see what he’s done,” he murmurs, voice low. It sends a shiver down your spine but you manage to nod in agreement.

“Good. Oh, and as part of your reward, I think we should celebrate accordingly in private, wouldn’t you agree? The choice is yours, take it or don’t. No hard feelings either way,” he adds, chest brushing against your back as he leans closer. Swallowing thickly, you nod once more, not trusting your voice as heat pools low in your belly at the insinuation. You can feel him slide something into your back pocket and you don’t have to check to know it’s the keycard to his hotel room.

During the podium celebrations you stood front row, eyes steadfast on the podium with a smile so wide, your cheeks ached. You can only imagine the tales Crofty and Martin are spinning about you; no doubt making inferences about how distraught your father was to have his only daughter working for the rival. Let them spin their fairy tales, you had better things to get on with –or, more accurately, a better man. Sliding the key card into the lock, you enter the hotel room of your boss. Once you take this step, there’s no turning back, but you are willing to eat the proverbial pomegranate seeds.

Toto turns around when he hears the lock click and you lean against the door. He looks incredible; sleeves of his shirt rolled up and a few of the top buttons are undone.

“Wine?” he asks, picking up the bottle from the desk.

“Yes, please,” you respond, accepting the glass he hands you. Toto smiles, and it’s so sly, bordering on debauched, that it has you squeezing your thighs together.

“Still some manners left in you. I wonder how long that will last,” he muses, raising his glass at you as he sits down on the edge of the bed.

“They claim you have stolen me from RedBull, much like they claim Hades stole Persephone,” you say, straddling him before taking a sip of your wine. He can’t help but laugh when he sees the twinkle in your eyes, one of his large hands coming to rest on your hip.

“Oh, Meine Liebe, we both know you were not some prize that could be stolen. You saw the hell they created for you and thus you fled so you could set the world ablaze.” His use of a term of endearment is not lost on you, and you crave to hear more of it.

“Stolen or not, I am here. What are you planning on doing to me?” you ask him, holding his gaze.

“Oh, I plan on doing everything, darling. Every depraved fantasy you could think of and more,” Toto says as he puts his glass on the nightstand. You grow hot all over at his words. Despite your sharp wit –and even sharper tongue, if your father’s word is anything to go on–, you are about to enter previously uncharted waters. Of course you heard stories from your female friends while at University, devoured smutty book after smutty book, but actually doing any of it? Your father would dig himself a grave so he could roll in it if he ever knew what his little girl was about to do. The nervousness you felt earlier today is back in full swing as you try to find the words to tell him your biggest secret.

“I-.. I’ve never done this before. I attended Oxford so I could live at home, remain under his watch,” you confess, not even able to say the words out loud. Toto studies your face, filling in the blanks with how your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“No man has ever touched you?” You shake your head as you bite your lip.

“Have you touched yourself, darling?” Toto asks and while he says nothing that could be construed as dirty, you gasp as if he has. Nodding your head, you can’t help but roll your hips against him, inadvertently grinding your pussy against the hardened bulge in his trousers. Toto swears under his breath, gaze darkening as he tightens his grip on you.

“Will you show me, Liebling? Will you show me how you make yourself feel good?”

Even if you wanted to, you’re not sure you could ever deny this man any request; not when he asks so caringly, as if your pleasure is the sole purpose of all of this. Breathlessly, you nod, letting Toto take your wine glass from you while you strip out of your work clothes. As you slide your blouse down your arms, you hear Toto groan as he takes in your figure clad in nothing more than your pale lilac bra and panties. It’s not the sexiest set you own, but it’s one of the few that doesn’t show through the white fabric. Before you lose your nerve, you climb back on the bed, eyes locked on Toto who leans against the footboard of the bed. He gives you a look, so openly full of desire that it makes your head spin and your pussy throb at being the object of his lust. Closing your eyes, you lean back into the pillows while your hand wanders. You can almost pretend you’re alone, your brain quickly supplying all the sordid fantasies you would never dare to say out loud. As your fingers inch under the elastic of your underwear, you can’t help but bite your lip as your hips writhe on the sheets. The tip of your pointer finger rubs against your clit and you gasp at the sensation, head thrown back. You’re already so sensitive, it won’t take much to send you over the edge. Applying the slightest bit more pressure, you begin to rub tight little circles, letting out the neediest whining noise.

“Fuck, you look so good like this,” Toto groans.

“Please,” you whisper, lifting your head so you can look at him. His legs are spread and he palms his bulge while he watches you pleasure yourself, and that sight alone sends your head spinning.

“Let go for me, darling,” Toto orders gently, and who are you to disobey him? Your body arches, head thrown back as you come undone under his watchful eye.

When you open your eyes, you can see movement to your right. Sitting up on your elbows, you watch how Toto strips down to his underwear, and walks into the ensuite. You can feel your cheeks heat up when you spot the foil packets and the bottle of lube in his hands. Toto drops them on the bed before climbing on. Hovering over you, he brushes a strand of your hair back behind your ears.

“I want this to be enjoyable for you. Please tell me when you feel uncomfortable, tell me when something makes you feel good.” You nod, breath caught in your lungs. Toto smiles so tenderly at you that it makes you forget about everything else. He moves his hand from your cheek, down your neck to your bra strap.

“Can I take this off, Liebling?” he asks quietly. You can only nod, too enthralled by him to form words.

“Need to hear you say it, darling. I will always need to hear you,” Toto murmurs.

“Yes,” you whisper, swallowing down your nerves about him seeing you naked. He gently unclasps your bra, moving the straps down your arms before pulling it away completely.

“Beautiful,” he says softly, his eyes taking you in and you fight the urge to cover yourself up. Toto’s hands caress your skin, as if he is trying to commit every line and curve to memory. You arch up into his touch as he cups your breast, his thumb rubbing over your nipple and it sets something alight in your core. Toto’s hands move lower, fingers curling around the elastic of your panties.

“What about these?”

“Yes,” you reply quietly, lifting your hips to help him. He sits back on his knees, hands sliding down your thighs and his fingers are so close to where you’re aching for him, it makes you whine. Toto chuckles, moving his body over yours once more.

“You want it so bad, don’t you Liebling?” he murmurs in your ear, and the only reply you can form is a quiet uhu. He smiles against your skin, pressing a chaste kiss to your jaw before moving away to fully strip. Biting your lip, you watch him tear open one of the foil packets and roll it down his hard cock. Anticipation and nerves flitter low in your stomach; he’s definitely bigger than the vibrator you have hidden away in the back of your closet.

“We’ll take it slow, okay? You decide how far we go, you’re in control,” Toto reassures you, moving closer so he can lean down to kiss you.

“Okay,” you whisper before his lips are on yours. Your fingers tangle in his hair while he drags his cock through your folds and over your clit. Toto moves his lips down your neck, kissing and sucking gently, sure to leave marks. Your body seems to have a mind of its own as your hips grind against him and you feel a desperation taking hold of you.

“Please,” you sigh.

“Tell me Liebling, what do you want?” Toto murmurs.

“Please.. Need you- need you in me,” you all but whimper, “Fill me Toto, please..” He groans against the skin of your neck at your request. Toto fumbles blindly for the lube and applies a generous amount to his cock and your pussy. Biting your lip, you lean up and watch as he slowly, so very slowly, sinks himself inside of you. The stretch has you panting and you feel how you clench around him. He holds you close, letting you adjust to the sensation of being filled completely.

“Need you to move, Toto,” you moan, fingers clawing at his back.

“Doing so good for me, darling. Taking me so well, fuck..” he groans against your skin as he sets a languid pace, and while it’s slow, his thrusts are so deep.

“Ha-harder.. I can take it.. Please..” you whine, Toto eagerly complying with your demand. The only thing you’re able to do is cling to him as he keeps fucking you, whimpering every time he hits a spot inside of you that brings you just that teeny bit closer to the edge.

“Need you to cum, darling. Can you do that for me?” he asks as rubs his thumb over your clit.

“Uhu,” you whisper meekly, unable to form a single coherent thought as you feel your orgasm approaching.

“Close.. Toto… Please.. Need.. Need to-..”

“That’s it. God, you look so beautiful, just taking my cock like this. Come for me, darling.” And with that something snaps, your body arching as you feel your pussy clenching around him in waves. Toto keeps fucking you through it, chasing his own release, but you’re too far gone to pay attention. He keeps pressing kisses to your temple and hairline as he carefully pulls out, making sure the condom stays on. The loss has you whimpering.

“I know, I know,” Toto coos, “I’ll be right back. Did so good for me, so proud of you.” He gives you one last kiss before getting up to dispose of the condom and returns with a flannel to clean you up best he can. He throws it down by the side of the bed, and takes you in his arms. Your body feels completely boneless and you try to stifle a yawn.

“Take a nap, Liebling. We’ll get properly cleaned up in a bit.” Nodding you allow sleep to pull you under as Toto whispers sweet nothings against your hair.

written as part of @footballffbarbiex’s kink bingo challenge

It's not the 10k fic I joked about, but I finally managed to write the Greek Mythology AU I've been thinking about since early last year. Wanted to get this done and up before more information comes out during this delayed silly season, so if things feel rushed, it's because they are. This fic was heavily influenced by Bea Fitzgerald's Girl, Goddess, Queen; if you love retellings of Greek mythology, please check it out

Please let me know what you think; you comments, tags and likes mean the absolute world to me! 💜

#f1 fanfic #toto wolff smut #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff x you #kink bingo challenge

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thestorycomesalive · 6 months

Text

And I Would Do it Again

George Weasley x Reader

Summary: When you stick up for George in front of your whole Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Professor Umbridge has a certain consequence in mind for you.

Angst and Fluff, Hurt/Comfort.

TW: Mentions of Blood

****

“Eh hem, Mr. Weasley,” hummed a trilling voice from behind the tall red head next to you.

“Professor?” George raised an eyebrow to the pink clad woman behind him, wondering what in the world the small, angry lady could possibly want. Afterall, he hadn’t done anything wrong. And he knew better than to test her at this point. Or at least he knew his limits. Ron had told him of the tragic events that took place in Harry’s detention. Ever since then, he and his twin brother had gotten quieter and cleverer about pulling their tricks around school. Of course, they hadn’t stopped altogether. George wouldn’t be George without his pranks. But George knew he couldn’t get detention. Not out of a kindness for himself, but rather for your sake. He knew you’d worry too much.

But this time, he hadn’t done anything to provoke Professor Umbridge. He racked his brain for a moment, but he couldn’t think of one thing that would call her attention to him.

“You have received a generous amount of our class time today to complete your writing assignment, and while even Ms. L/N next to you has come up with a few paragraphs, you seem to have nearly nothing on your page. Care to explain what you’ve been up to all of this time?” The woman teetered to the front of your table, peering down at George.

He gave her a look of disbelief. “Well, it is not for lack of trying. I just have a hard time learning on paper. And you don’t let us use our wands,” he pointed out.

She giggled a single, ugly giggle. “Mr. Weasley… I can’t say I’m surprised. Afterall, I have come to expect less than from you. You shouldn’t need your wand to learn. Perhaps it is time for you to accept the fact that your own stupidity is to blame for your shortcomings. I really do my very best, but some students are just purely unteachable.” She hummed the last part to herself, shaking her head.

Your eyes shot up to her instantly. You had been watching her for some time, but in this instance, your eyes had been on the boy next to you, offering looks of kindness and sympathy without words. But now you were angry. Practically fuming. “Excuse me,” you muttered sharply, grabbing her attention with a whip of her head. “That is not, in any way, fair or warranted. George is one of the smartest people I know.” Your eyes were shooting darts at her as a piercing, condescending smile crept up to her ears.

“Ms. L/N. Talking out of turn will not be tolerated in my classroom. Especially not when it is used to talk back to your superiors,” she huffed.

You felt the smallest sensation of George’s pinky finger entwining with yours, as he tried to simmer down some of the anger, he knew was bubbling within you. You sighed and decided to leave the subject, having said your piece.

“You shall not question my knowledge and wisdom in any sense. If I say he is stupid, he is stupid, and if I say you are a flying Niffler, well then, you must be a flying Niffler. Do you understand, young lady?” she grinned, clearly having been satisfied with what she thought was winning the argument. You feel the heat and anger rising even higher than before at the mention of the sweet boy next to you. And then you finally realized what it is she was asking of you. She was asking you to agree with her cruel assumption about your George in front of the whole class. She cocks an eyebrow in the air with a wild smirk on her face. The rage pools over as you finally let it escape your mouth.

“No. I do not. I do not understand how you can call someone so bright and creative stupid, simply because you lack the skills and empathy to teach them what you would like them to know. Or because their knowledge simply extends beyond concepts that you can understand. You might not agree with me, Professor, but not everyone is like you. Not everyone wants to sit in a dark room and just pretend to learn for the rest of their lives. You want to give me detention, Professor? Fine. But I will not stand by while you abuse really great wizards, let alone, the ones that I love.” You cock your eyebrows back at her, knowing she has you right where she wants you. You don’t have a care in the world as the steam almost rises from your ears. It is now you notice that George’s hand had moved from your pinky to your wrist, gently trying to stop you from making the decision you had just made, his eyes pleading with yours with a gentle sadness and slight shock. However, for the briefest moment, you thought you could make out the tiniest glimpse of pride pass his eyes at the same time.

“Detention, Ms. L/N. I will not have anyone tell me how to teach in my classroom or question my abilities and judgement as a witch. Let alone someone so new to magic, as yourself.” She smiled smugly as she returned to the front of the classroom continuing her lesson immediately, not giving George or you a chance to respond to her. It was this act that left George hunting her down with a glare that could kill for the rest of the class, hand still in yours.

****

George spent every moment away from you that day, skipping his classes, trying in every way to get himself detention with Umbridge as well. However, every attempt ended with a quiet humph and scolding from her filled with cruel and nasty words. It was clear that even though she dreadfully wanted to, she was not going to give in and give George the detention he so desperately desired. She knew his punishment would be far more effective if she let you suffer and put him in a position where he would not be able to do anything about it whatsoever. It was the only time that he had the freedom to do nearly anything he wanted at Hogwarts, to break almost any rule he wanted to break, and get away with it. The painful irony is, he hated every second of it.

*****

Your detention arrived quickly that night when the corridors of the castles quieted. You had spent all day since your class with Umbridge quiet by George’s side. On the moments that you would be separated, you would go find a place in the Gryffindor Common Room to sit and wait for him to return from his classes or what you thought must be prank trials with Fred. But you weren’t worried about your detention like most people probably assumed you had been. Hell, you probably should’ve been. No. You were furious. Furious at Umbridge for targeting George, furious at her for backing you into a corner until you couldn’t take it anymore, furious at her for hurting Harry, furious at her for getting away with all of the terrible things she has done… furious.

When darkness befell the Common Room, only George, Fred, Lee, and you remained. You hadn’t told Harry or anyone else about your detention. You didn’t want him to worry. However, Fred and Lee, of course, had known of your soon-to-be punishment, considering they had been in the class when you received it. When you left the classroom, George pulled you into his side protectively and Lee had given you proud pat on the shoulder. With an exaggerated wink, Fred had run up and exclaimed, “Blimey, that was amazing, L/N! Nice craftsmanship, excellent execution.” Fred had tried to wipe some of the anger from your face throughout the day with a few, “don’t mess with that one, she’s fiery” and “Oi, Lee, careful. Catch yourself even looking at ol’ Georgie too long, and you might have to answer to that one,” with a point in your direction. These usually earned a genuine, soft smile from you as you chuckled to yourself. Freddie was the one person in the world who could make any person laugh no matter the circumstances. George would blush, and if he saw you laughing, he would also laugh to himself at the mention of the last joke from Fred. Part of you wondered if he may have enjoyed feeling your protectiveness over him. And you didn’t mind. You liked that he liked it. Even now.

But as the four of you sat late in the quiet Common Room, you felt the jokes wash away as George twiddled with his fingers, your head on his chest. You could tell he was feeling worried and helpless as you waited for your time to leave for detention. When that time came, you gave them a gentle smile and said, “Alright, I’m off. I’ll see you guys in the morning. Don’t go worrying about me too much.” You gave Fred and Lee a wink and kissed the top of George’s head.

As if on instinct, George grabbed your hand, pleading with his face, as if he were trying to keep you from going. But he knew that if you did not show up tonight, it would only earn you an even bigger punishment with the nasty, pink-shoed woman later. You took his hand and held it to your cheek as you gave him a little smile and whispered, “I love you. Goodnight.” And off you went, George watching your back as you left.

*****

As you creaked through the half open door of Umbridge’s office, you heard her squeal in delight. She toned out, “Do come in, Ms. L/N.”

You walked in without a word, eyes piercing through the small woman as she continued. “I do hope tonight will serve you nicely. You will be writing lines for me, dear.” You nodded your head, eyes still shooting at the Professor. This is what you had expected to hear from her. “Take a seat. There is a quill and parchment already for you at the desk there.”

You took a seat at the desk she pointed to as she tutted. “Hmm… What lesson is to be learned tonight, do you think?” You, of course, didn’t answer. “There are many lessons I believe you could benefit from learning, Ms. L/N, but I have chosen to be generous to you, for reasons unbeknownst to me. I believe the lines, ‘I will learn my place and be respectful to my superiors’, will do just fine.”

Your mouth dropped. You were expecting to write lines, and you knew the pain that would come with that, but you had not expected the number of words she would give you to write to be so extensive. You only prayed that the number of lines she would have you complete would be less, to even out your sentence to compare to the stories you had heard from others, including Harry. You dared to ask. “How many- “

“One hundred,” she interrupted without hesitation.

You nodded, eyes still a bit wide from shock. You assumed that you had really struck a nerve with your defiance towards Umbridge. Afterall, why else would your sentence be nearly double that of any other student you have heard from so far? You figured that you also were being used as punishment towards those you loved as well. Those who have also unmeaningly struck a nerve of Umbridge’s too: Harry and George. But you wouldn’t be used as bait. No, you quite refused to be used as such.

As you dared to hover the dry quill over the paper, you prepared yourself for the pain that would inevitably begin once you touched them down to meet. And when it did, the pain was one hundred times more unbearable than you had even begun to imagine, just like the number of lines you were to complete.

By the time you had arrived halfway through your assignment, blood was dripping down your fingertips, drenching your parchment along with the tears crawling down your face. Finally, soft whimpers that you had tried to hold back for so long, began to escape.

The clock ticking echoed in your ears, taunting your brain with the idea of freedom. After what felt like an eternity, you had finished the lines, and you were a both dry and wet bloodied mess. You sat up from your seat and handed the now quiet professor your scarlet stained parchment full of scratches reading, “I will learn my place and be respectful to my superiors”, front and back.

“May I leave now?” you uttered.

She simply nodded with a conniving grin plastered on her face as she watched you walk out the door.

*****

You held your breath until you arrived back past the portrait into the Gryffindor Common Room, not wanting that evil woman to hear you cry. When you stepped into the room, you pressed your back to the cold wall next to you and grabbed your wrist, blood flow never-ending, and finally let the tears and sobs escape you, as your back fell down the wall. You were so blinded by the pain that you didn’t even notice there was someone in the room with you. They ran up from the couch, over to your place by the wall, and sat right next to you, pulling you into their lap. From the moment you discovered the figure, your brain and your heart knew it would be your George. Part of you had a feeling he wouldn’t sleep until you were back, and you didn’t want him to see you like this. You fought your brain which told you that you were allowing yourself to be the live weapon that Umbridge wanted you to be. You just hadn’t expected the pain to be so much. You hadn’t expected that you would collapse right in front of George. You so desperately wanted to be strong. To stay strong for him. For yourself. But, oh merlin, did it hurt.

His big arms wrapped around your shoulders and brought his hand to pull your bloodied one into his line of sight. His breathing hitched and he felt his blood run to his cheeks and his ears as his other hand clenched into a fist. He was seeing red at the extra bloodied hand you fostered, much worse than he had ever seen, even on Harry. But the rage he felt was nothing compared to the crunch of his heart splitting in two as your cries of pain reached his ears. He didn’t know what to do, he felt so helpless, just as he had all day, but a million times worse.

“Darling, I know. I’m so sorry. I’m- I’m so sorry. Please. Please, I have to wrap this. You have to let me wrap this,” he struggled, pleading with you.

Your head heard his words, and it told you to move, to stop crying, to say something. But your skin was on fire, and the roar of the flames outspoke the language of your brain trying to reason with your body. You were able to lean your head into his shoulder, as you tried to compose yourself as best as you could, but the best you could do was quiet your sobs ever so slightly, as any and all words fell silent in the back of your throat. Your tears soaked through his shirt and coated his upper arm that still held you. He began to take his arms and pull himself up, untangling himself from you. He moved to sit on his knees in front of you, eyes searching for yours as he tilted your chin up to look at him.

“My love. Please. I need to wrap your hand. Can I bring you to the couch?” he asked, peering through your eyes for an answer.

You slightly nodded your head, barely noticeable. But George, he saw it. He always saw it. He could read you better than anyone in the world. The moment he saw your head move, he scooped his arm under your bent legs and placed his other one across your back and under your arms. You turned your head into his shoulder as he gently move to place you on the couch, your back pressed to the arm of the chair. You pulled your knees up on the couch, moving your heels to touch your bottom. Splayed out across the table in front of you were bandages and a wrap for your hand. As the tears began finding themselves more and more scarce at the hope of relief, the smaller of the words at the back of your throat began to find their way out.

“Georgie?” you asked, coming out in a high-pitched whimper.

His deep, worrying eyes looked to you, hands finding your cheeks. He followed your eyes to the table and the equipment laying on it. An embarrassed blush came to his cheeks as his brows furrowed. Supplies. It was pathetic, he thought. He should’ve been the one being punished. But instead, it was you and there was absolutely nothing he could do except for find some simple supplies. Unable to even think about sleeping, he had snuck his way over to Madame Pomfrey in the medical wing as soon as you had exited the Common Room. He asked her for some supplies and after more than a lot of convincing that everything was okay and that he wasn’t up to anything that would get her in trouble, she suspiciously obliged. He knew you would refuse to see her anyways, not wanting to take up her time. And deep down, he too knew that there was not much she would be able to do for you, no matter how much he begged. Afterall, this was a punishment enacted by Umbridge herself, and no matter how much she wanted to, Pomfrey could not disregard the rules set in place by the self-proclaimed headmaster and inquisitor.

He turns back to you quickly trying to cover the look of shame and guilt on his face.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” his voice breaks, tears of his own forming.

You could see him fighting with his own mind over something that you were sure would split your heart right down the middle.

“George?” you squeaked out once more.

“I’m so sorry…It’s my fault. I was behind in class. It should’ve been me. Not you. I should’ve protected you, I-,” he finally lets it all come rushing out.

You cut him off by placing your good hand on his cheek, giving him a difficult and very broken smile. Your voice comes out raspy from the sobs you had forced down but determined now, as soon as you hear the pain in George's own voice. “No. This decision was mine, George. All mine…” you give the faintest of laughs, almost in disbelief. “And yet, I can’t find the mind to regret it… I would do it again… and again.”

He leaned into your touch, eyes wincing as you revealed to him that you would take this punishment and this pain for him once again.

“Look at me?” you whispered.

He brought his eyes up to meet yours. Your voice was a little bit clearer now, although wavering ever so slightly.

“My decision. Please do not take that away from me, Georgie. It was my decision to make, and I am so glad that I did. You are so smart. You know that, right?” You looked up at him from under your eyelashes through the now silent and mild tears that streamed down your face.

He shook his head. He couldn’t bring himself to even begin to describe himself as smart. If that were true, he thought, he would’ve found a way to be there with you. If that were true, you wouldn’t have been there at all. He couldn’t understand, how through all of the terror and pain, you were the one to comfort him. He simply began to unwrap the bandages from their place on the table and started to wrap them tightly around your hand to stop the blood from dripping any longer, a lot of it starting to dry already. When he was finished, you took your good hand and placed it on his cheek once again. You pulled him into a sweet, soft, salty kiss.

“Smart. Clever. Kind. Brave. Gentle,” you muttered these words in his ear as you rested your head on his shoulder, and he once again pulled you into his lap, this time, towards him.

“The strongest girl I know, so beautiful, so loving…,” he muttered back, caressing your hair, trailing off into magical, sweet nothings that mean quite everything to both of you.

“I love you, Georgie,” you whisper.

“I love you, darling,” he says.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” you ask the beautiful, ginger boy that you love so dearly.

“I will always stay with you, my love,” he says as he begins to lift your body from the couch to carry to your dorm. There the two of you find comfort in each other’s embrace, finally drifting off into a deep sleep.

#george weasly x reader #george weasley #harry potter #fluff #hurt/comfort #angst #angst with a happy ending

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illubean · 3 months

Note

Can I request soul or black star x witch reader?

Soul and BlackStar with a Witch!S/o

Characters: Soul "Eater" Evans, BlackStar Type: Headcanons, Gn!reader

Soul's is really long and BlackStar's is really short oops

Warnings: a teeny tiny bit angsty but it gets resolved

Soul Eater Evans

he met you when you first joined the DWMA and treated you like he would any normal person

well, aside from the fact he offered to show you around because he thought you were cute

he was your first friend at the school and he introduced you to the rest of the group

he really liked you but Maka was super weary around you and he had no clue why

when she tells him it's because she can't see your soul he's probably like "So little ms perfect with some crazy power isn't so perfect after all, huh?"

so yeah he ignores her and then you guys get together yaayyy

he is a great boyfriend and makes you feel more at home than you ever have before

the way he finds out is when you were hanging out in his room, Maka kicked open the door and pointed at you

"I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE Get away from them Soul, they're a witch!"

he looks at you and by the terrified expression on your face he realizes what Maka just said is true

he glares at you, mad that you kept such a huge secret from him

"What the hell, you didn't tell me you were a witch!"

if you try to touch him he pushes you off with a "Get away from me, you disgusting liar!"

he sees your heart shatter through your eyes and immediately regrets what he said but before he could say anything more you made a run for it out of the apartment

Soul is distraught, he's upset you kept something so important from him but also mad at himself for saying something that hurt your feelings

Soul is dumb but he's not that dumb, he knows if your intentions we're to harm him or the DWMA you would've done it way sooner and wouldn't have looked so heartbroken

so he runs after you and finds you...uh wherever you went

he hugs you before you can run off again and reassures you that he didn't mean it when he called you disgusting and that he still loves you even if you're a witch

BlackStar

he knows what it's like to be patronized because of the group of people you were born into :(

just because you were born a witch doesn't mean you're anything like the witches order and BlackStar knows deep in his heart you would never do anything to hurt him

so no matter how he finds out it doesn't change anything between the two of you

"Seriously? You're not mad?" "Why would I be? It's not like you're helping feed kishins or something, right?"

witch or not, BlackStar loves you and wouldn't trade you for the world

especially when you put up with his shit all the time

he defends you with his life and is not afraid to beat up anyone who talks badly about you and does not care about the consequences

#soul eater x reader #soul x reader #soul eater evans #soul eater #soul evans #soul eater black star #black star #black star soul eater #blackstar #black star x reader #blackstar x reader

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rachetmath · 3 months

Text

Pyrrha: Hi you must be Alyx.

Alyx: Yes.

Pyrrha: Well I just want to talk to you about something.

Alyx: I mean sure but what-

Pyrrha: Not what. It’s who. You know Jaune Arc?

Alyx: I mean y-

Pyrrha: You know the Rustud Knight? The one you betrayed? Who you poisoned?

Alyx: Well I can- *attempts to run*

Penny: *blocks her path*Nope. All attempts of escape are at zero right now.

Alyx: You can’t be serious.

Penny: As the current generation would say," Oh yes bitch. Try me."

Alyx: Okay I may have wronged him a little bit.

Lewis: A little? You completely poisoned him.

Alyx: Lewis you are not helping.

Lewis: At least like Jaune I was trying. But you never listen.

Alyx: Look I understand but what’s the big deal? He got back to Remnant.

Pyrrha: Why?! Why did you do it?

Alyx: I mean… well… I… um….

Pyrrha: Alyx, understand, you have two deadly women on both sides of you. If you don’t give us a good explanation well…. I guess we’ll finally see if you can fall from heaven.

Alyx: Well I saw this vision and I didn’t like it.

Penny: Understood, what was the vision?

Alyx: Um… I *whisper* don’t remember.

Penny: You what?!

Alyx: I don’t remember okay?!

Pyrrha: What vision? Who’s vision?

Alyx: I don’t know. The writers didn’t give me anything. I saved him though. That counts, right?

Pyrrha: No. He just survived.

Penny: Plus your ‘help’ could give him problems down the road.

Alyx: Like what?

Me: I mean the fan base speaks for itself. I mean the guy hasn’t been in Remnant for years it’s going to be kind of hard for him to readjust. Not only that he has to recover from years of isolation, PTSD, trauma, and because of you he might as well also be having trust issues. Not only that he had to leave another friend behind. You and the Ever After might as have shattered him

Alyx: Oh Oum.

Pyrrha: Yeah. Oum can’t save you. Penny.

Penny: Way ahead of you.

Alyx: Wait you wouldn’t hurt an innocent black child right?

Pyrrha and Penny: ………..

Me: Alyx you heard the saying, “Equal rights equal fights.”

Alyx: Let’s say I don’t.

Me: No matter your race. No matter your sexuality. No more matter your gender or age. You made a choice to do what you do. And as a result of said choice you must face said consequences. Weither they be good or bad. Basically you may be a kid but you were grown enough commit murder. And as such-

Pyrrha: You have this coming.

Alyx: *crying* I’m sorry. I just wanted to home. Jaune had no idea how. So I did what ever took. And then the Cat betrayed me and I died. Please? Don’t hurt me!

Summer: Come now ladies. I know you’re both upset but-

Pyrrha: Ms. Rose! Shut up!

Summer: I’m sorry? Who are you talking to?

Pyrrha: You are a nobody. You have been irrelevant for a while now. You left your daughters and died. Your daughter ain’t shit. Your team is still disbanded even after you died. You might as well be an afterthought at this point.

Summer: Said the girl who’s only job was to run away.

Pyrrha: I went out in a blaze of glory. I proved myself. What the fuck have you done?

Summer: Um.

Penny: Friend Pyrrha I know I have no rights to talk.

Pyrrha: Damn straight. You suffered more than myself. All you had to do was live. Instead, you traumatized my man. He just got over me too. Why would you do that?

Penny: Okay, I’m sorry. But, he’s going to be fine now. Let’s just let her go. And we pray he gets better.

Pyrrha: Fine. You're lucky Alyx.

Alyx: Thank you. But I am sorry.

Pyrrha: Shut up. Oum damn. If this story continues he better get stronger and kill Cinder. Because this is stupid. I mean how much trauma does one guy need? How he is not a villain? I mean, come on, he can’t be like Yuji, he doesn’t have skills like that.

Penny: Well friend W-

Pyrrha: If you say her name I will end you.

Summer: Okay woah, it’s been nine volumes why are you mad about this?

Pyrrha: One; he deserves better. Two; I prefer your daughter or anyone else than her. Three; she’s fucking useless. And four; it took him being an old man for her to start liking him. Fuck that bitch.

Summer: Well like said, if you stayed alive then-

Pyrrha: If you stayed alive maybe Qrow would have stopped drinking. If you stayed alive maybe your baby daddy wouldn’t be in a state of depression. Maybe if you stayed alive you could help your daughter learn how to control her eyes and be less useless in fighting the Queen of Grimm.

Summer: That was uncalled for.

Pyrrha: Move along side character.

#rwby #jaune arc #rwby alyx #penny polendina #pyrrha nikos #summer rose #qrow branwen #weiss x jaune #weiss schnee

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wc-confessions · 17 days

Note

My hottest Warriors take is if you wouldn't blame Longtail for Briarlight getting paralyzed, you shouldn't blame Mousefur for Longtail getting killed. I'd even dare say the question, "Is Mousefur at fault for Longtail dying?" is entirely irrelevant. First off, Warriors fans keep pushing the idea that Mousefur "asked Longtail to retrieve the mouse" when that isn't the case. Feel free to check chapter 11 of Fading Echoes to verify what I'm saying. What actually happened was:

Mousefur, too stubborn to let the mouse go, was about to run back to camp and get herself killed.

Longtail, without any input from Mousefur, decides to get the mouse for her.

Briarlight went after Longtail to get him back to safety.

You probably know what happens next. Stating Mousefur told Longtail to get the mouse seems like an accurate summary, but in reality, it completely changes the scene. In the book, his death is a consequence of him reasonably not wanting Mousefur, his friend, to die. She was going to get killed if he didn't do anything, and he prevented it. Not that it was an Uber Eats order gone wrong. As for, "Is Mousefur at fault for Longtail dying?" this debate is always framed as a critique of Longtail's death, which I find odd. Mousefur has survivor's guilt and guilt for Briarlight's injury. Ultimately this question is leading towards, "Should Mousefur be narratively punished for Longtail's death?" when she has already been narratively punished. It's a biased opinion I'm sure is partially influenced by people being upset Longtail died at all and not about the actual quality of the writing. This isn't to say I find Longtail's absolutely perfect. My personal big issue with it is Longtail died due to an extreme narrative contrivance. Mousefur randomly becoming senile so Longtail would have an excuse to dive head first into danger is pretty inorganic. If I were to rewrite it, I would change it so his reason to protect her comes more naturally. To end this, I'll say I both like Longtail and Mousefur. I'm sorry about the world Mr. Longtail and Ms. Mousefur.

#text #confession #anonymous #warrior cats #mousefur #longtail

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twistedwonderlandshenanigans · 4 months

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Random HC's That I Probably Overexplain - Cater Edition 1!

TW: Angst heavy, using kids for profit via social media, emotional/physical abuse (nothing explicit/gory) His mom was a family life vlogger. I've dabbled on this topic a few times before, but never got really into it. His mom ran a channel called the "Beloved Diamond Family", in which his mother went by Dreamy Diamond, and his older sisters went by Dazzling and Ditzy Diamond. He was "Daring Diamond" or sometimes just called "Little Gem/Diamond". "Daddy Diamond" was never around, but his mom sometimes went on rants about him on camera. They rarely made it onto the channel though. Part of the reason the Diamonds moved so much is because of his dad's work, but the other part was because of how much information his mom would divulge and put her kids in danger. Cater's dad did his best to protect his kids from the consequences of her actions, but couldn't get ahead of them. Cater was the star of many of the videos, as he was the baby and everyone wanted to see more of him. He hated being made to do everything that his mom said, or repeating the actions a hundred times until he got it "perfect", but the comments of other parents telling him how much their kids loved him and whatnot was enough to keep him going. It's also why he's so attached to his phone now and a big part of why he just keeps up the facade. To be caught at a less than picture perfect moment or with a subpar reaction at this point scares him. Irrationally, he worries about his mothers reaction, and because he's never really been to school for long enough to make friends, he has to act the only way he knows how and hope that people keep liking the show he puts on. A lot of the videos were pretty fluffy, happy videos, but Ms. Diamond would do anything for views, and did put out videos of Cater sobbing over his dead pet, about him breaking his arm on his skateboard, and a lot of her "prank" videos that were mostly just endangering her kids or trying to prove her husband was cheating. (At one point she did a "slip and slide" in the kitchen and called Cater over to try some of her cookies. He couldn't have been more than five or six, so he came running in excited and ended up in urgent care. All the scars and marks he got from his moms wacked out ideas have been carefully hidden under makeup and magic for years now, but sometimes he doesnt have the energy to cover them up on his clones). Obviously, none of the Diamond kids were off very well, but when they were "too big to be cute anymore" his mom kind of let the channel die out and became a more severe alcoholic. However, when her channel started to pick up traction again years later, Ms. Diamond decided to keep her channel going with behind the scenes clips and telling stories about her kids while mildly tipsy. She didn't tell her kids she was going to do this, and now that they're all 18 and over they want to stop her, but don't want to cause more drama from her. Cater's bigger sister wants to take her to court for everything she's done, but Cater and his eldest sister just want to ignore it and sweep it under the rug like nothing is going on because it hurts too much to revisit the things they used to have to do. Cater's mom is...a BoyMom. Like she is Not Normal about her son to a creepy uncomfortable extent and Cater doesn't know how to deal with it, he mostly tries to break contact with her, but she is relentless and a master guilt tripper. He had been looking forward to his 18th birthday to officially disown her or put a restraining order on her, but never had the heart to actually do it, because...it is his mom, and family never abandons each other unless you want to be a piece of shit, right? (This is not serious, please, if you have family that doesn't treat you well don't be afraid to leave if you can)

#v talks #twst #twisted wonderland #twst hcs #twst headcanons #cater diamond #twst cater #my baby boy I'm sorry I do this to all my favourites #I can build on this more if you all Want but like. It'll involve my OC bc they're dating #like I could #fully infodump about Vizzie or something and tie everything together with a little bow #but I probably wont lmao #random hc's I probably overexplain #<- if you want the rest of them and in case I forget to make a masterlist for these....or get too lazy #abuse tw #tw abuse #random hcs i probably overexplain

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storiesofsvu · 5 months

Text

Christmas Admirer

Elizabeth Donnelly x reader warnings: language, argument, minor stalking. Look! I did a thing! Thank you for the ko-fi and the request!! I hope this lives up to expectations lol. Covers the "fight before xmas" square for bingo. I'm slowly getting back into it y'all! I wanted to get a lot more done for bingo but I hate to admit I don't think I'm gonna get much done, which sucks. I still have the creative spurts but I think I'm so wrapped up in NCIS that other characters have fallen down the list lol. I'll do my best to get the more developed ideas out for bingo! Love y'all!

The first time it happened, you didn’t think a thing about it. Liz always had new staff in the early fall, clerks, paralegals, assistants, secretaries, baby prosecutors that you hadn’t met yet. Those who had graduated college and wanted some on the job experience before law school, those who had graduated law school and were killing time before being able to write the Bar. There was never a shortage of strange faces around Hogan Place, so you breezed through the halls with no worries, a handful of files tucked under your arm and two coffees balanced in your hand as you approached her office door.

“I wouldn’t!” The voice rang out from the desk situated outside of Liz’s office and you stalled in your steps, letting out a small laugh.

“I’m sure it’s fine. She’s expecting me.”

“That was probably before she found out Anderson lied about having a warrant.” The man winced slightly and you let out a sigh right before Liz’s voice boomed through the glass, clearly upset and about to tear Anderson a new one.

“Guess so.” You dropped down into a chair opposite the man’s desk, placing the coffees down on it, files on your lap as you tugged out your phone. “This the only headache she’s had to deal with today?”

“Aside from the damage control that’ll go along with it, I think so.”

“Great.” Your head tilted back as you let out a groan, there went your dinner plans.

You didn’t catch it, the way his eyes were lingering on you, examining the folders in your lap, recognizing them as legal ones, an NYPD logo stamped on the second one in the pile just peeking its way out. How he was putting together that you were in the legal field, but no badge or gun meant you weren’t a cop. How casual you were in the space meant you’d been here plenty of times before. His gaze dragged up your body, watching your hand reach out for your coffee cup, nearly frowning that you were using your right, your left hidden under the pile of files and he’d have to resort to a verbal tactic to figure out more.

“How long has Anderson been in there?” You asked, swallowing down your coffee.

“Oh, uh? Only a few minutes before you got here.” He replied, “I could always take a message Mrs…?”

You barked out a laugh, turning toward him with a grin on your face, “please, it’s Ms. Parker.” He stuck his hand out over his desk and you took it, shaking while he smiled.

“Thomas, it’s nice to meet you.”

Your eyes surveyed him for a minute, flicking around the room before you spoke, “you got a nice looking name plate,” you gestured to the desk, “you’ve either been here a while or you’re planning on it.”

“Hoping to be.” He shifted in his chair, sitting more upright, “figured this was the best way to save up for law school.” He laughed awkwardly, “not that I’m freshly graduated or anything, I just didn’t figure things out right away, you know?”

“I do.” You laughed, glancing back towards Liz’s door where you could barely hear Anderson stammering along as she continued to lecture him.

“She always this intense?”

“Depends.” You picked up your coffee, taking another swig, “but Anderson… he’s annoying. He’s one of those ones that has an excuse for literally everything and none of them are valid. He’ll never own up to his actions or accept the consequences and shit like that pisses her off even more. If this case sinks, he’s done for.”

A small pause in the conversation while you both tried to eavesdrop and ignore the argument on the other side of the office wall before he spoke again, “sounds like you’ve known Donnelly a while.”

“Five years, give or take.” You replied, picking up your coffee again.

Though it was the last two that were the most significant, a year of back and fourth flirtation whenever you ran into each other until Melinda practically dragged you to some gala she was forced to attend and one thing led to another and confessions of true feelings were whispered into the night. You’d never expected to fall in love with someone like Liz and you’d definitely never thought someone like her would fall in love with you, yet here you were.

“Bet you know all the best ways to make it into her good books.” Thomas practically teased and you laughed.

“Work hard, pay attention, be ready on your feet and up to date as you can be on any open or upcoming cases. She’s big on loyalty, don’t let her catch you fraternizing with the enemy or sweet talking other departments or firms. If you’re thinking about switching jobs, let her know up front and she’ll give you the glowing recommendation you deserve, but if you do it behind her back, your options will be limited. Don’t be a suck up, but on a really bad day, the shrimp scampi from Forlini’s is a life saver,” you were suddenly cut off as the door flew open and Anderson came scurrying by without bothering to stop and you glanced back to Thomas, “and her coffee order is an Americano or drip with two packets of sweetener.” You picked up the untouched coffee, placing it down directly in front of him as you stood from your seat, “but I have a feeling she doesn’t need any more adrenaline boosts today and you just might.” You shot him a wink before scooping up your own coffee and stepping towards Liz’s ajar door, knocking on the frame.

“What?” She snapped as you pushed it open, offering her a warm smile and she let out a sigh from where she sat behind her desk, “sorry.”

“No need.” You swung the door shut behind you, moving through the room.

“What’re you doing here?” She asked softly, hand reaching out to squeeze at yours as you perched on the side of her desk.

“Had lunch with Sophie.” You shrugged, dropping the pile of files into her inbox, “figured I’d save her the ten minute drive.”

“One of these days you’re going to remember you’re a writer and not my assistant.” She teased as you leant down to steal a kiss.

“Speaking of…” you glanced behind you to the closed door, “you’ve got a new one.”

“He’s competent so far.” She sighed, leaning back in her chair, “unlike fucking Anderson.” You laughed, squeezing at her shoulder.

“He’s been in the hotseat for nearly a year, it’s about time they let him go.” You frowned slightly, “but I am guessing this means our dinner plans are off?”

Liz let out a heavy sigh, pinching at the bridge of her nose as she muttered “this is why I hate this job sometimes.” She glanced up at you, “yes.” Taking both of your hands in hers she smiled at you, “but that doesn’t mean I won’t spoil you. You go home, I’ll send dinner to your place, dessert too, and probably another million little gifts.”

“Liz, you really don’t have to.” You giggled, leaning down to kiss her.

“No sweetheart, I really do. We made these plans a while ago and I know how much you were looking forward to them.”

“Alright,” you slid off her desk, “fine. I’ll accept delicious, free dinner and treats but you better send me a picture of your dinner too, even if it’s in your office. I need you to not forget to eat.”

“And you really think you don’t take care of me?” She grinned up at you and you giggled again when she pulled you back to her for another kiss, “thank you for understanding.”

“Always.” You smiled, “and hey, don’t be too hard on that kid out there, he doesn’t seem so bad.”

“As long as he’s not Anderson.” She replied with an eye roll and you pulled the door open with a laugh, shooting a wave and a smile to Thomas as you sped through the office, leaving the room fast enough that you missed the way he ducked his gaze and his cheeks flushed pink.

The second time it happened, you were none the wiser, more focussed on getting your daily tasks done through the first snowfall of the year.

“God it is freezing out there.” You grumbled, letting out a little shiver as you shook the snow off your shoulders, “hope you guys have the heat on.” You reached out, placing a coffee cup down on Thomas’ desk.

“Got a portable one under my desk.” He replied with a slightly bashful smile.

“Good.” You shot him a wink, wrapping your hands around your own coffee and letting out a warm sigh.

“If it’s that cold out you should really have gloves on.”

“I know.” You groaned, rolling your eyes, “my friend’s dog chewed through my last pair this weekend, haven’t gotten around to a shopping trip yet.”

“She doesn’t give you any time off?” He asked with a frown, nodding toward Liz’s door and you laughed.

“She’s not my boss.” You tugged around in your purse for a moment, pulling out a business card, “I write kid’s books… well, primarily. I’ve been known to dabble into true crime too.”

He took the card from you, studying it for a minute before looking back up at you, “oh, that’s really cool. And… wildly different departments.”

You laughed, smiling softly at Thomas, “yeah, I guess they balance each other out well enough. Gotta splash some colour in that drab, cruel world, ya know?”

“Yeah.” He twirled the card around in his fingers, placing it down next to his cup of pens, “I’d love to pick your brain about it.”

“Really?” Your smile widened, taken aback by someone showing genuine interest into what you spent your time doing.

“Yeah. I’ll even buy you a drink, or a coffee, for your time? Tonight?”

“I can’t tonight.” Your nose scrunched and Thomas thought it was the cutest thing he’d seen all month, “got a thing. Friday?”

“Yeah, yeah! That’s perfect.”

“Well,” grinning, you gestured toward the card, “you’ve got my number.”

You scooped up your coffee, briefly knocking on Liz’s door before entering her office, letting the door swing shut behind you as you crossed the room.

“You’re late.” She chastised, half teasing while you leant over to kiss her cheek, your hand resting just past the collar of her shirt and she winced, “and your hands are freezing! What did I tell you about buying new gloves?”

“I’ll get around to it.” You rolled your eyes, laughing softly, “and how am I late if all I’m doing is playing errand boy for you?”

“Cleaners’ only open until three today.” She replied with a shrug pulling a claim ticket out of her desk and passing it to you.

“Good thing it’s only one then.” You replied with a grin, swiping the tag from her and popping it into your purse. “Your dress will be in one piece and ready to go at my place once you’re done here. You’ll have just enough time to go over your speech before we head out.”

“You’re a life saver.” She tugged you back to her to steal a kiss, wincing again at the temperature of your fingers. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

You got home with Liz’s dry cleaning over your arm and take out in your other (still bare) hand to find a gift bag sitting outside of your apartment door. You managed to scoop it up and once you got inside you discovered two pairs of very warm, cozy and luxurious gloves inside. A smile crept onto your cheeks and your body relaxed with warmth at the thought of Liz thinking of you on an already crammed busy day.

The third time you were slowly starting to pick up on it but brushed it off as friendliness. Thomas had agreed to buy you a drink to pick your brain over your work and you were more than excited to have someone who wasn’t your agent or publisher to talk to about the creative thoughts flying through your brain. You spent more than a few hours at a small table in the corner of a bar picking over appetizers and a few cocktails while you got to know each other a bit more. Thomas was new to town, spent the majority of his time working and thus didn’t really have a lot of friends in the city yet. You tried to pay for your half of the tab but he insisted it was his treat and you weren’t about to complain. When he offered to walk you home you figured he was just being friendly, cautious as a man should be about letting their companion go on alone at night in New York. You didn’t have to argue too much as you already had a car coming and assured that you would text once you were home safe.

The fourth time things started to happen you were so wrapped up in the holiday season you wouldn’t have noticed even if you had been looking for it. All of your shopping was done online to avoid crowded stores, there were small piles of packages outside your door daily, more Christmas cards than you could count flowing through your mail box. An array of little gifts from Liz, some signed with her initials, some wrapped with a ‘do not open until Christmas’ warnings, others bare in their Amazon boxes. Some were shipped, some were dropped off and it seemed to change every week.

Flowers, chocolates and candy were frequently left at your work desk, a treat for the entire office, trinkets from fans or avid readers, it was just what happened this time of year. It didn’t matter if it didn’t have a card, it was just a little boost to get through the cold snap and into the new year.

Figuring you should get a start on wrapping the gifts you were giving you started to sort through the boxes littered underneath the tree, finding a surprising amount of things that had been on your public wish list. You were stuck in an internal battle between setting a reminder to thank Liz in the morning or not mention anything considering they were likely supposed to be Christmas gifts and you eventually decided on the latter.

Just as you were finishing up, putting the final bow on the final present there was a knock at your door and you were surprised with dinner from your favourite place. You were a little taken a back with this one, considering it was one of the pricier places you really adored, but hey, it was Christmas time, Liz was working late and cancelled a date night, you weren’t going to complain about a pricey apology.

The fifth time it happened Thomas had been away from his desk when you arrived, you figured he was already gone for the night and headed straight to Liz’s office. That was where you discovered that she was having the utter day from hell, more than one prosecutor getting served thanks to playing out of line during their current cases. Meaning she now had to comb through both of their cases from start to where they were currently to find any violations, possibly take them over herself and help them find the appropriate counsel for the suits being filed.

She apologized profusely, promising that she would make it up to you later that weekend and you simply smiled, nodding gently and pressing a kiss to her cheek. You’d known what level of workload she had when you started dating and you reminded her that you knew this wasn’t exactly work from home over a glass of wine type of work. Reluctantly, you finally left her office, quietly shutting the door on your way out before your eyes flicked up and you spotted Thomas back at his desk beginning to pack things up.

“Figured you’d left already.” You greeted with a small smile.

“Oh, just a few last minute things she needed me to take over. Done now.” His eyes slowly raked up your body, taking in the heels, form fitting dress, jewelry and curled hair and he gulped, “you look… nice.”

“Thanks.” You huffed out a laugh, “dinner plans.”

“You didn’t get roped into this somehow, did you?” He asked, gesturing towards Liz’s office.

“Oh no.” You shook your head, pulling your phone out of your pocket when it pinged to read the text message and let out another sigh, “but my date did cancel on me.”

“Really? It’s practically Christmas.”

“Meh, happens.” You shrugged, pocketing your phone again.

“You know… I was just on my way out; my plan was leftover pizza. If you maybe wanted some company, we could grab a bite?” He offered and you hummed over it for a moment.

“You sure?”

“’Course.”

“That’d honestly be really nice, I’ve been cooped up alone in my home office all week and was looking forward to the company.” You glanced up to him, “but I’m paying this time!”

“Not after you got stood up.” He chuckled and you let out a small laugh.

“I had reservations at Trattoria Dell’Arte, it’s not exactly cheap. Let me get it.”

“Only if I take care of the drinks.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

You likely would have noticed that he was flirting, not just being friendly if you hadn’t been so preoccupied up in your head. Between both of your jobs you and Liz hadn’t managed to see that much of each other recently and you were beginning to second guess yourself, thinking that she was simply just too tired to want to bother seeing you after a long week. That the extra work was a welcomed excuse to have to take a rain check yet again.

Instead you played nice, laughed at most of his jokes and contributed the best you could over dinner. Spending time with him wasn’t bad, he was decent enough company you didn’t mind it, you just would have preferred your girlfriend. He did try to snag the dinner bill but you were quicker, taking care of it on the way back from the restroom, leaving him with the agreed upon bottle of wine to settle up.

He once again offered to walk you home, or at least split a cab and you agreed on the latter considering it was a chillier night and you didn’t want either of you to get caught out in the snow. The heavier the incoming storm got, the fewer cabs there would be out on the streets, so it didn’t even cross your mind. You thought nothing of the rose he presented to you after you flagged down the cab considering the street peddler was pushy, the assertive in your face type that wouldn’t take no for an answer until you’d agreed to buy something from them. You’d even both laughed about it on the way home, talking about how guys like that used to target tourists more than the locals and when you reached your apartment you thanked him for the fun evening and hoped he had a great rest of his weekend.

With your back turned you missed the way his eyes followed you all the way up to the entrance to your building, a small smile on his cheeks as the fantasies began to play through his head, some of which were already playing out in real life right in front of him.

Stepping out of the cab you cautiously jogged up the stairs to Liz’s brownstone, careful to avoid the ice in your heels, coat open and flowing behind you as you briefly stopped to ring the bell before letting yourself in.

“I’ll be five minutes!” Her voice rang through from her upstairs office, “make yourself a drink.”

“Okay.” You called back, wiping off your shoes and shrugging off your coat to be hung on one of the hallway hooks.

Liz’s house was no stranger to you, it was your home away from home, a place you spent many weekends curled in her arms on the couch or tangled in her bedsheets as the sun crept in through the curtains. It felt homier that your apartment, the place you often opted to work from home when you needed to, the long days that she worked that you missed her, wanted to still feel surrounded by her even if she didn’t come home until long after you were asleep.

You crossed the living room to the bar cart, pouring yourself a gin and tonic to pass the time while she finished whatever it was she was doing. Sipping on the beverage you pulled your phone from your pocket, scrolling through a couple of apps and replying to a couple of messages while your gaze was distracted out the window, watching the snowfall start to get thicker, coating the streets with white fluff.

“Well don’t you look absolutely stunning.” Liz’s voice broke through the silence of the room and you turned back to her with a small laugh, the smile staying on your warm cheeks as she approached you. Her hand cupped your cheek, pulling you to her for a tender kiss that you couldn’t help but relax into.

“Thank you.” You smiled across at her, “figured I should look a little extra nice considering how many nights we’ve missed recently.”

“You know you don’t have to dress up for me.” Liz replied with a small smile, kissing your cheek gently as she squeezed at your hand, “but I do deeply appreciate it.” Her fingers tangled with yours, pulling your hand up to her lips to lay a kiss on the back of it.

“With the amount you spoil me it’s the least I could do.” You replied with a quiet laugh, draining your drink before placing the cup down on a side table. Liz hummed, her eyes dropping to your bracelet on the arm she still held up. Her gaze focused on it, eyes narrowing slightly as she examined it, her brow beginning to furrow. “What?” You asked, heart picking up in your chest as you watched her expression harden.

“This bracelet… it’s awfully personal.” Her hand dropped yours before circling your wrist, twisting your arm back and fourth to examine the jewelry.

“It’s my birthstone, yeah.” You laughed awkwardly “surrounded by yours.”

Her eyes examined it for a moment longer, pulling your wrist closer until she let out a small huff, “that’s not blue topaz, those are diamonds. They’re pulling the light from the sapphires, where did you get this?”

“You.” You chuckled again, feeling your heartbeat pick up in your chest, “one of those little secret Santa gifts you’ve been leaving.”

“It’s not from me.”

“Liz, there’ve been so many packages delivered I can’t even keep track of them, you probably ordered it months ago and forgot.”

“That’s Buccellati. I think I would remember spending that much money on you.” She scoffed, dropping your arm as she turned from you with an eye roll. “And half of those gifts were a don’t open until Christmas.”

“I just said I couldn’t keep track.” You retorted, feeling the annoyance beginning to build up through your veins.

“And I know that’s not from me.” She replied, frustration bubbling up inside of her, she’d been dealing with so much already she’d just wanted to have a nice night out and now this was ruining everything. Then again, maybe things had been ruined before she’d even realized, “diamonds mean someone born in April, or someone that likes you an awful lot and you don’t keep in touch with any family and not to offend but none of your friends could afford that.”

“I told you, it’s from you.” Your voice hardened and she laughed, shaking her head.

“Come on y/n, you’re better than that. That’s the oldest lie in the book.” She picked up a bottle of scotch, pouring out a few ounces and taking a swig as she spoke, “go around galivanting with someone else and when you get caught gaslight your partner into thinking it was them all along.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been so distant!” Her voice raised ever so lightly, tensing as she spoke, her mouth tightening in that all too familiar pissed off way. “I’ve barely seen you all month, you always wait until the morning to call me back, your texts are far and few in between and the few times I’ve tried to stop by your apartment you’re out! God.” She shook her head with a heavy laugh, “I don’t know how I didn’t put it together earlier that you were seeing someone else.”

“Did you just accuse me of cheating on you?!” Anger jolted through you as you immediately saw red, an offended scoff leaving your lips.

“Well how else would you explain it!?” Her hands flailed in your general direction.

“You’re the one who keeps cancelling fucking dates Liz! I’ve been completely accommodating of your work schedule and how demanding it’s been recently. You’ve barely seen me because you keep blowing me off! Sorry that I’m not at your beck and call, I was trying to give you space and time to regroup from work! I didn’t realize I was supposed to mope around my apartment and wait for you to find a sliver of time for me, sorry that I have other friends to spend time with who actually give a shit.”

“So you admit you’ve been seeing someone?”

“I’m not fucking doing this.” Your hands shot up in surrender, “you’re being insane all over a fucking bracelet.”

“A seven thousand dollar bracelet!” She snapped back, “what would you like to do, go through my bank records?”

“No.” Grabbing your coat you headed for the door, “you can do that yourself and wake up from this fucking delusion where I would cheat on you. I cannot believe you would ever accuse me of something like that, I thought you trusted me!”

The door was pulled open and you were halfway down the steps by the time she called after you, “fine! Walk out on another fucking date, no surprise there!”

Christmas Eve was finally upon you and instead of being out celebrating like you thought you would be, you were curled up in the bay window of your apartment watching the snow coat the city in a thick blanket. The remnants of Chinese takeout splayed across the coffee table while the television blared quietly in the background, some marathon of holiday movies still going.

Letting out a heavy sigh you picked up the bottle of wine from beside you, topping up your glass before taking a sip as your gaze redirected out into the night once again. You hadn’t heard from Liz in nearly two weeks, the two of you no doubt trapped in a game of ‘Say Uncle’, waiting for the other to admit they were wrong before any reconciling could begin. It wasn’t the first time you’d fought and if things started moving forward again you were certain it wouldn’t be the last, she was strong willed and always would be. You were hoping that this time in light of the holiday season maybe you would be getting an apology but it appeared she was digging her heels in, burying herself in work while trying to push the image of you with another woman out of her head rather than talking her way through it.

You’d spent some time thinking about it, imagining the last couple of months from Liz’s point of view and you were starting to maybe see where she was coming from. There had been more time apart than usual, more nights of cancelled dates spent apart rather than her coming home late from work to find you making her home warm and welcoming. You’d been busy, actually accepting the offers for holiday parties and meet ups with friends in town for the season rather than sitting around bored at home. But you reminded yourself that just because she might have had the excuse to be suspicious didn’t mean the argument and her accusation was justified.

Letting out another sigh as you sucked back your wine you were debating reheating some leftover Chinese, your stomach beginning to rumble when your attention was pulled to the door. Your head tilted for a moment, wondering if you were hearing things from the television or not but the second knocking came though loud and clear. A small groan escaped your lips as you untangled yourself from the blanket, stretching out stiff muscles as you padded through your apartment to the door, pulling it open to a very lavish bouquet of poinsettias and red and white roses, it was only after a moment that you realized who was holding it.

“Thomas?” You let out a huff, “seriously, she’s making you do her bidding on Christmas Eve? You deserve a break, and a raise. If she can’t be bothered to drop them off herself I don’t want them.”

“Her?” He asked with a tilt of the head.

“Liz.” You rolled your eyes, “I knew she liked having minions to do shit like this but this is so not cool.”

“Ms. Donnelly?” His nose scrunched, “no, these are from me.”

“Oh.” You stalled in your movement, taking a step back from the door to open it wider, “I guess… come in then.”

“Thanks.” He flashed you a smile, quickly stepping into the apartment, following you so he could place the bouquet down on the kitchen island.

“You know, you really didn’t have to bring me anything.”

“Well, you’re pretty big on Christmas, aren’t you?” He gestured around your apartment, eyes sweeping through the decorations, the large tree in the corner with piles of gifts wrapped underneath it, “everyone deserves a little bit of holiday cheer.”

“Yeah.” You sighed, smiling softly across from him.

“Besides, after I saw you were actually wearing the bracelet the last time you swung through the office I figured I should stop playing secret Santa and reveal myself.” His eyes flicked down to your wrist and a frown took over his face, “but… you’re not wearing it now.”

“Hmph,” you mumbled over a sip of wine, “Liz and I got into a big fight over it, kinda left a bad taste in my mouth.”

“Oh…” He stuttered a moment, wringing his hands while he gathered his words and you took another sip of your drink, “I thought it looked quite nice. You know, my birthday’s in April, always thought diamonds and sapphires complimented each other well.”

The wine glass in your hand paused halfway back to the kitchen island and you did your best to not let it show on your face as ice began to run through your veins. The wheels were spinning in your brain, trying to make it make sense and if there was ever a moment to trust your gut, you knew this was it. Before you could fully process everything Thomas spoke again,

“I like what you did with the shadowboxes,” he gestured to the wall above the television, “they had them in your favourite colour too, but I thought that might clash with the rest of the room. I’m glad the silver looks so nice.”

“Thanks…” The glass finally met the island gently as your fingers slipped off it, gripping the edge of the counter.

“Oh and that blanket!” His eyes lit up with excitement when he saw the one you’d previously been curled up in, “isn’t it the softest thing you’ve ever felt?” You nodded slowly, “bought one for myself when I picked it up.” He was nearly two steps into your living room by the time you found your voice, clearing your throat before you spoke.

“Hey Thomas…”

“Yeah?” He whipped around, a gleam in his eye and wide smile on his face.

“How did you know where I live?” You asked slowly, keeping your tone calm and cool in an attempt to keep him in the same mood he was in currently, completely unaware that the hair on the back of your neck was standing up.

“After our date at Trattoria we shared a cab.” He reminded you, “dropped you off first.”

“Date…” You nodded slowly, an unsure smile on your lips.

“Well,” he laughed, “I guess it would’ve been more of a date if you’d let me pay for dinner, but I’ll take what I can get.”

“Uh-huh.” You picked up your wine glass again, taking another sip as you watched him take in your apartment, “you know, my name’s not on a buzzer. You go knocking on everyone’s doors?”

“Nope.” He smiled brightly over at you, “told the cabbie to wait that night, wanting to make sure you got in alright. I saw your light flick on when you got in, just did my own investigative work to figure out which suite was yours.”

“I’ll add detective to your resume.” You gently teased and he chuckled, his fingers trailing over the back of your couch while his eyes dragged through your living room.

“Chow mein noodles…” he muttered, “I should’ve known.” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head at himself, “hope you didn’t mind the shanghai ones I had sent over.”

“Hmm?” Your brow raised in his direction as your stomach began to churn.

“A couple of weeks ago.” He laughed softly, “you said you were dreading cooking dinner so I thought I’d help out a bit.”

“That was you…” You asked with a breath, feeling your heart starting to thud heavily in your chest.

“Well yeah.” He smiled brightly, “who else would it be?”

“Tell me something… how many times have you sent stuff to my apartment?”

“Food? At least once a week, I mean, you can’t forget to eat, it’s important.”

“Sure is.”

“The other stuff? Depended.” He shrugged, “I figured it’s Christmas so you should get treated a little more than usual, flowers, treats. I went through your Amazon list,” he nodded toward the tree, “though I’m figuring some of that’s still under there.”

“Okay, but why?”

“Because you deserve it.” He stepped toward you and you fought every instinct in your brain to step back, not wanting to get a negative response out of him, “you’re so beautiful, so kind and sweet. I mean, it didn’t take much to fall in love with you.”

“Oh Thomas I—”

“Was I too secretive with my Santa game?” He laughed, “did you not realize they were all from me?”

“No.. no I did not.”

“Well, surprise.” He replied with a sheepish grin, “I was your secret admirer.”

“I didn’t even realize I had one.” You replied with an awkward laugh, praying that he would stay the two feet away from you he currently was.

“What’d you mean?” He asked, his face falling, “who did you think they were from?”

“Well, to be completely honest, Liz.”

“Ms. Donnelly?” His face scrunched, “why would any of them be from her?”

“Because I am her girlfriend.” Liz’s voice growled through the apartment and you jumped, having not realized the door had never been shut behind Thomas. You had no idea how long she had been standing there or how much she had heard but one thing was clear; she was absolutely livid. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

“It’s practically Christmas.” He gestured around, “I thought that was the best time to make romantic declarations.”

“Is that so?” Liz asked, her brow raising before whatever was in her hands found home on the entry way table and a dark gleam took over her eyes. “How about I tell you what the best thing to do is right now?” She stepped towards him and he visibly gulped, “you’re going to get the hell out of here and you’re never going to set foot on this block ever again. If I so much as catch a glimpse of you attempting to nose your way into her life, I’ll sick Stabler on you, understood?”

“Yes Ms. Donnelly.” He nodded, shrinking around himself as he ducked his gaze, attempting to step around her to get over to the door.

“And I think it’s very clear you don’t need to show up at work after the holidays, you’re fired. Don’t expect any good references either.”

She followed him toward the door, making sure he was scurrying his way to the stairs before she swung it shut behind him, flicking the lock for extra security. Her eyes closed for a moment and she took a deep breath before turning to you, noticing the way you were clutching the counter so tight your knuckles were white.

“Are you alright?” She asked, her voice impeccably soft as she cautiously stepped toward you, a hand soothing its way up your arm and you looked up at her, a slight shake in your voice.

“Kinda feel like I’m gonna be sick.” You ran your hand over your face, letting out a low breath, “god I was so stupid, how could I not realize?” You leant back into the counter, “I really did think it was you sending me everything.”

“Everything?” Her brow raised as her arm wound around your waist, pulling you to her so she could leave a soft kiss on your temple. “It wasn’t just the flowers?”

You shook your head, rolling your eyes at the lavish bouquet that you wanted nothing more than to toss in the garbage, “he’s been sending me things for months, and I don’t even know what was him and what was you.”

“Has he been following you?” She asked, worry taking over her voice.

“I dunno.” You shrugged, “we split a cab after drinks one night, dropped me off first but who knows, that was probably part of the plan.”

“I thought I was going overboard mentioning Stabler but now I’m starting to think it may be a good idea.” Her eyes swept through your apartment, taking in all the new trinkets that hadn’t been there the last time she was, “I’m going to get him to run Thomas’ name, do a more thorough background check, and let’s get you out of here, you’re staying at my place until New Years.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She squeezed at your hand.

“You’re not… mad anymore?” You asked and her face fell before she let out a weary sigh, shaking her head.

“Absolutely not. I was over worked and stressed and came to a very wrong conclusion when I should have seen how suspicious that was from a different angle.”

“You know I’d never cheat on you, right?” You couldn’t help the tears swimming into your eyes, both at the question and the fact that you were pretty shaken up considering your evening.

“Oh sweetheart.” Liz stepped forward again, her hands cupping your cheeks as she leant in to kiss you, her lips brushing against yours while she spoke, “of course I do. I know how much you love me and I love you even more than you could imagine. I’m so sorry I said those terrible things. You’re the greatest partner I could ask for, always so understanding when I have to shuffle things around, I should be praising the ground you walk on.”

“Okay well now you’re going overboard.” You let out a watery laugh, smiling as you leant forward to kiss her again.

“Nonsense.” She kissed the tip of your nose, “my girl deserves the absolute best.”

“The absolute best would be getting the fuck out of here; I feel like I need to burn half my belongings.” You shuddered and she squeezed at your shoulders, directing you toward the door.

“Grab what you need. We can come back in a couple of days to sort through everything and figure out what came from that creep and what I had sent over.”

“Okay.” You slipped into your coat, grabbing your bag grabbing Liz quickly before she ushered you out the door “thank you. I love you.”

“I love you more sweetheart.”

You’d fully calmed down a couple of hours later, curled up in Liz’s arms on her couch at her very comfortable and very private brownstone. A warm glow casted from the fully decorated tree in the corner, the main source of light in the room as Christmas movies played on the television and fluffy snowflakes drifted through the air outside. You let out a soft sigh, burrowing further into her embrace and in return her arm squeezed at you, her lips brushing against your hairline as the curved up into a smile. You both knew that no matter what the world threw at you, you had each other, you were safe and loved and there was no one else you’d rather spend the holidays or your lives with.

__________________

@svulife-rl @mickey-gomez @yesterdaysgone @momlifebehard @alexusonfire @alexxavicry @rainbowelshrhian @daddy-heather-dunbar @evilregal2002 @ladysc @dextur @disneyfan624 @kdaghay @svushots @onmykneesformarvel @kalixxh @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @louderfortheback @noahrex @temp0rary-bliss @wittygutsy @imlike-so-gaydude @gay-frogs08 @baubeautyandthegeek

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immaturityofthomasastruc · 11 months

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IOTA Reviews: Transmission and Deflagration (The Kwamis' Choice)

Well, it only took until almost halfway through the fifth season, but we're finally getting a two-part episode that isn't a season finale. There have been a few episodes I think could have benefited from having an extra part, like “Cat Blanc”. So obviously, after all this time, there has to be a reason for putting a two-parter here. The story told here has to be big. It has to be huge. It has to be something that will alter the very way we see the plot and these characters, and—it's more Love Square stuff. God dammit...

Let's get into the tenth and eleventh episodes of Miraculous Ladybug's fifth season: Transmission and Deflagration

“Transmission” starts with Marinette having another depressive episode, which seems to be worse than usual, with her offering her Miraculous to Tikki so she can choose someone else. While Tikki tries to remind her of all the good she's done as Ladybug as footage from earlier episodes plays, Marinette points out how she's a terrible Ladybug, once again referencing how she lost the Miraculous because of her feelings for Adrien.

Tikki: You’re overreacting, Marinette!

Marinette: Really? Then, how come I lost the Miraculous I was entrusted with all because of love? Love only ever causes problems. I’ll never fall in love again! Love is weak! And I can’t be sad about it; otherwise, I might get akumatized!

Okay, this is just getting ridiculous. We're ten episodes into the season, and whenever Marinette brings up her failure at the end of the last season, it's the same song and dance: She feels guilty about it, she needs someone to try and make her feel better, and she doesn't change anything about the way she and Cat Noir operate. If it isn't that, it's a complete strawman or character who we know already hates Ladybug like Chloe or Lila calling out Marinette for her failure specifically so any negative feedback she gets can be easily brushed aside. The whole point of a hero having to comprehend a major failure is to see how they deal with the consequences to their actions and find a way to improve to make sure nothing like that ever happens again. If Marinette came up with new ways to strategize with Cat Noir, or seriously reevaluate the way she sees Adrien that isn't just brushed aside, I'd get it. Instead, all she does is whine about how much her life sucks over and over, which is the same problem I've had with Adrien for the past few seasons.

And once again, for a show with the lyrics “The power of love always so strong” in its opening, it seems like the writers want to make a bigger point in favor of showing how love can only ruin things. Yes, getting emotional can cause someone to make more impulsive decisions, but at the same time, feelings of love and kindness can get good results, like Ellen Ripley's maternal instincts motivating her to save Newt in Aliens. The problem is that we never get a lot of arguments as to how love can benefit the heroes, not only when we see how much it screws up Ladybug and Cat Noir's partnership, but once again, how Marinette's romantic feelings for someone led to her greatest failure. The closest we get to an argument in favor of love is whenever Marinette and Adrien's friends try to make their OTP come together without considering if it would actually make things better or not.

Speaking of which, after the episode's obligatory pointless Chloe line that's only there so Selah Victor can pay her rent that week, Ms. Bustier asks Alya to deliver Marinette's homework to her, only for Nino to convince her to have Adrien do it instead. Somehow, she thinks this minor favor will help Marinette and Adrien realize their true feelings for each other. Because it's not like Alya learned that she shouldn't choose who she thinks Marinette would be best with last episode, right?

Marinette and Adrien talk and it seems like they're starting to grow a little closer, but Tikki and Plagg panic, trying to intervene so they don't know each other's identities. The attempt fails, but Marinette kicks Adrien out anyway. It's a pretty somber scene, so let's cut to something stupid instead, like Marinette and Adrien's classmates throwing a party under the assumption that Adrien simply delivering something to Marinette means they'll get together now.

All of you are really gunning for the Biggest Idiot Award today, aren't you?

Of course, even though she went along with one of these weird “force Marinette to do something she doesn't want to” schemes before in “Crocoduel”, Zoe seems to be the only one with a smidgen of common sense.

Zoe: Alya, did you hear Marinette’s voicemail message?

Alya: Yeah, but that was before, Zoe.

Zoe: “Before”? Before what?

Alya: Before when Marinette was a complete wreck.

Nino: But Alya sends her the perfect mechanic.

Alya: Adrien!

Nino: He’s fixing her up as we speak.

Rose: Wow! When they come back to school, they’ll finally be an item!

Marc: A perfect plan!

Zoe: But... you guys don’t actually know for sure.

Alya: Trust me. This is it this time!

I'm starting to think that maybe Marinette should reconsider who she chooses to be temp heroes once she gets the Miraculous back.

Adrien starts crying as he leaves Marinette's place, which attracts the attention of Monarch... who then immediately backs out as soon as he senses him, transforming back into Gabriel. Meanwhile, Tikki and Plagg discuss Marinette and Adrien's situation.

Plagg: Sugarcube! Having to force them to choose between love and their mission is just awful! Maybe Master Fu was wrong to choose them.

Tikki: No, they’re made for each other. Love is what gives them their strength.

Plagg: But the impossible part of that love is destroying them, and I know a thing or two about destruction.

Tikki: (sighs heavily) What can we do?

Plagg: We must free them of that impossible choice. We must... free them of us.

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Yep. This is the titular Kwamis' choice. They seriously think that Marinette and Adrien's romantic problems are more important than them being superheroes, so their best option is to just take away their Miraculous even though Monarch still has fifteen more of them. I'd be more forgiving if this was towards the beginning of Marinette and Adrien's superhero careers, but this is Season 5, where the stakes have never been higher thanks to Monarch's arsenal. Oh yeah, I also forgot to mention that MARINETTE IS STILL THE FUCKING GUARDIAN, AND TAKING AWAY HER MIRACULOUS DOESN'T CHANGE A THING! IT'S NEVER EVEN MENTIONED IN EITHER EPISODE, SO HOW THE HELL DO YOU FORGET SOMETING THAT IMPORTANT?!?!

It doesn't even make sense that only now are Tikki and Plagg against Marinette and Adrien actually getting together when they were never shown to have any problems with it in earlier seasons, and just last episode, Plagg encouraged Adrien to go after Marinette after doing so as Cat Noir didn't work out. It comes across as the writers struggling to come up with new ways to have opposition to the Love Square, even if this idea somehow leads to a minuscule amount of progress in that department. Yeah, you figure that out...

Also, it's pretty weird how after four and a half seasons of Marinette suffering from the burden of being Ladybug, only now does Tikki decide to relieve her of that responsibility, but only because of how it affects her love life.

We get another scene showing how stupid Marinette and Adrien's friends are as they talk about how happy Marinette and Adrien must be now, interspersed with scenes of Marinette and Adrien crying their eyes out. Just like that one scene in “Evolution”, I don't get the setup. Is this meant to be a joke, or a serious moment? After Nathalie takes a call for Adrien telling Nino that he can't be bothered at the moment, Gabriel comes into the room to comfort him, giving him an Alliance ring in the process.

Tikki and Plagg talk to their respective holders and tell them how they feel that the burden of being heroes is crushing them. Marinette and Adrien obviously bring up the situation with Monarch, but as soon as their Kwamis mention that not being superheroes means that they can pursue their love lives with no stress, they immediately take off their Miraculous and give them back. After five seasons that this episode confirmed happened just under a year, and this is what causes them to give up their Miraculous: a bad case of heartache. We're supposed to see this as the breaking point that causes the two to not want to be superheroes ever again? They don't consider the innocent lives that could be in danger, or the fact that this heavy burden will most likely be forced on two new and inexperienced schmucks who will struggle even more than they did thanks to Monarch possessing powers of the other fifteen Miraculous.

I'm sorry, but I don't see this as an emotional scene. All I see is what I saw with Adrien in “Kuro Neko”: these characters simply giving up because of how much they're prioritizing their personal feelings over the lives of others. If this was something Marinette and Adrien came up with and made an agreement to quit at the same time (even choosing their own replacements), I'd sort of get it, as they'd at least be on the same terms, but neither of them ever learn the other quit until later on in the episode.

After Adrien breaks down even more, we learn that the whole reason Gabriel hesitated to akumatize Adrien the last time was because he didn't have an Alliance ring on, so now that he does, he's taking a mulligan. However, the Akuma is stopped at the last minute when Adrien sees the homework he was supposed to give Marinette, so he runs off as his negative emotions fade. Instead, Monarch chooses to akumatize someone else with five different Alliance rings.

Monarch: Rejoice, dear Kwamis! Five Alliances enables as many Miraculous powers to transfer at the same time! This villain promises to be exceptional! (laughs manically)

Pretty sure you hyped up Style Queen the same way three seasons ago, yet you still didn't get the Miraculous then, so I wouldn't gloat too soon.

The next scene with Marinette and Adrien is actually a really nice one. Marinette starts stuttering as usual when she tries to talk, but Adrien comes up with another idea: He'll ask a series of yes or no questions, and Marinette can raise her right or left hand to answer them. Adrien asks Marinette about her feelings for him, and Marinette accidentally answers no before changing her mind. Before Adrien leaves, he asks Marinette if she wants to spend more time with him in the future, to which she accepts. This scene was handled really well, and nothing really felt forced here.

Back with Alya, she and the others are once again coming up with a plan to get Marinette and Adrien together (because none of them have lives outside of the Love Square, I guess), when Nora suddenly calls.

Nora: Geez, sis! You never pick up the phone when I like, actually need your advice!

Alya: I couldn’t pick up. I’m at school!

Nora: Yeah, right. So, you see, I had no choice but to deal with it myself.

Alya: Oh, no... Nora. I told you before, you gotta talk before you act!

Nora: Yeah, but I did talk, like, I said stuff in front of Kouki's bros.

Alya: Nora! Not “talk” like that!

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Yeah, outside of a few references to Nora trying to call Alya earlier in the episode, I didn't skip anything here. We're just thrown into this plot with little to no explanation as to what's going. What Nora and this Kouki guy were arguing about, much less what Nora said to his friends is never explained. I don't even known if they're supposed to be in a relationship or not. It's not like in “Sandboy” or “Oblivio” where the motivation for how the person got akumatized was only explained near the end of the episode. The episode acts like we're supposed to know who Kouki is and why he and Nora are fighting when this is the first time Kouki has ever appeared on this show.

As the conversation goes on, Tikki chooses Alya to be the new wielder of the Ladybug Miraculous and Plagg chooses Zoe to be the new wielder of the Cat Miraculous. Okay, outside of Zoe being the only one in this episode who isn't a complete idiot, I can see why Plagg would choose her, since she has experience as a superhero, and her identity wasn't exposed. As for Tikki choosing Alya? Yeah, Alya did a good job as Scarabella in “Hack-San”, but she doesn't mention that A) She and Cat Noir still needed Marinette's help to stop Robustus, and B) Alya's already had her identity exposed twice, to the point where she was the one to suggest she not be trusted with one before Marinette lost the other fifteen Miraculous at the end of the last season. Alya's not a bad hero, but these factors don't exactly make her an ideal successor to Ladybug. Also, it's pretty dumb how the whole reason Marinette and Adrien quit was for romantic reasons, yet the whole reason Alya blew her cover last season was for romantic reasons (Rocketear).

Back with Adrien and Marinette, the former plans to leave, but is interrupted by the akumatized form of Kouki, named Kikou.

Kikou's design is... I mean, it's not terrible, I guess? Putting aside the fact that this is the second Akuma in the series to go with the “black boxer” stereotype (who is also a dumb brute like Anansi was), the gold jewelry is a decent touch, and it makes sense that he has the five Alliance rings to show off his wealth. As for his powers, because he has five rings, he has five different powers, the Tiger Miraculous' Clout to power his Gum-Gum Pistol-esque punches, the Turtle Miraculous' Shelter to protect his head where the Akuma is obviously hiding, the Horse Miraculous' Voyage to move around quickly and make up for his size hindering his speed, the Ox Miraculous' Resistance to protect the aforementioned Shelter, and the Mouse Miraculous' Multitude to clone himself with. This is the Akuma that really made me realize that the gimmick of every Akuma this season having the powers of whatever Miraculous Monarch gives them is just an excuse to half-ass writing any new Akuma powers in favor of the same fifteen abilities the other Miraculous have.

Kikou attacks the city, but Alya transforms into Scarabella, soon being joined by Zoe, AKA, Kitty Noire.

Kitty Noire's design is... pretty weird, all things considered. The green lipsick just doesn't look that good, I don't get the green hair extensions, and why are they eyes like that when even Lady Noire's eyes stayed green? At the very least, the hair looks marginally better than Catwalker's, and I like the detailing on the suit itself.

While Scarabella and Kitty Noire quickly get to know each other, Marinette and Adrien get used to being civilians again pretty quickly as they watch them fight off Kikou, the two new heroes struggling to keep up with Kikou's five Miraculous powers. Of course, Marinette and Adrien only look mildly concerned, not even regretting their choices in the slightest.

Our heroes, ladies and gentlemen.

Scarabella uses her Lucky Charm, getting a parachute, which is totally different from the kind used in the final episode of the first episode. Scarabella and Kitty Noire taunt Kikou, Scarabella drawing Kikou's fire while Kitty Noire recruits a bunch of firefighters, who then get some paint from the art store Socqueline runs. The firefighters then load the paint into their truck's hose, which is then used to fill up the parachute. Kitty Noire cuts the rope, and the paint blinds Kikou, and as soon as he deactivates his shield, Scarabella breaks his headgear, freeing the Akuma.

Scarabella de-evilizes the Akuma, sort of helps Kouki and Nora make up, uses Miraculous Scarabella to fix all the damage, while Marinette and Adrien compliment the new heroes from afar before promising to meet up at school tomorrow.

The first episode ends with Gabriel's Alliance recording the unusual data in two Alliances, meaning that Scarabella and Kitty Noire's identities have already been exposed... even though Tikki should have known this since “Jubiliation”. Yeah, you all know where this is going.

THE BIGGEST IDIOT OF THE EPISODE IS... TIKKI

While the competition was tough, Tikki was able to get the win for going along with this asinine plan in the first place that prioritized the personal feelings of two people over the fact that Monarch was at his most dangerous. Not only that, she forgot Marinette was still the Guardian, she forgot that Alya's identity was already exposed twice, and that even if she didn't know the Alliance rings were a front for Monarch's plan, forgot that these hi-tech rings track the everyday movements of its users, not even telling Plagg this before he chose Zoe.

The second part, “Deflagration”, immediately starts off with Kitty Noire saying that Ladybug and Cat Noir have nothing to feel guilty about even though they essentially abandoned Paris when Ladybug was shown to be getting backlash for her failure, but of course, that isn't mentioned here.

Kitty Noire: We’ll accomplish our mission just like they did, because the goal we all share is to defeat Monarch, isn't it?

News Reporter: Or perhaps Ladybug and Cat Noir renounced their mission so they could finally live their love story?

Scarabella: They were never in love or in a relationship, and neither are we.

Kitty Noire: (in a flirtatious tone) So far anyway!

I'd make a “The Ambiguously Gay Duo” joke here, but we all know Alya is already in a relationship.

Alya and Marinette meet up, the former congratulating her successor on another great job. The two talk about Adrien, and Alya once again encourages Marinette to focus more on pursuing a relationship with him, no doubt planning another stupid party in her mind.

We then get a scene that actually reminds the audience that Chloe and Zoe are supposed to be sisters. I understand if you might have forgotten, but don't worry. I'm pretty sure the writers did too. Of course, I think the writers might be running out of new ways to make Chloe mean to someone, because this time, she just yells at Zoe for being near her and not being in the “half-of-a-sister zone”. In order to appease her sister and make sure she doesn't call their mom, Zoe offers to wash all of Chloe's shoes. Plagg talks to Zoe about possibly standing up to her sister.

Plagg: How about I Catacylsm that sister of yours instead?

Zoe: It’s pointless, Plagg.

Plagg: Zoe, you can't let them treat you that way; no one speaks to me like that! Just ask the T-rexes... That is, if you can find one! Because they're not so smug anymore now, are they?

Zoe: It’s best to stay out of trouble in this family if I'm going to protect my secret identity.

Plagg: You start by giving up cheese, and then you end up giving up on dignity, freedom, and justice!

Zoe: I feel like you like to blow things out of proportion, don't you?

Plagg: Yes... especially when I’m starving.

Talking about standing up to your mean sister, contemplating murder while casually discussing genocide. Same thing, right?

We cut to Gabriel, who's over the moon about the recent revelation regarding Scarabella and Kitty Noire, even dancing a little. He tells Nathalie and heads to his lair to plan his next scheme, but not before chatting with Emilie's body once again. Gabriel transforms into Monarch and gives himself the powers of the Bee, Mouse, Rooster, Ox, and Horse Miraculous, traveling to the school himself.

Meanwhile, we cut to the Resistance, where we see Max has set up a system where, through the use of the Alliance rings and their phones, the members can alert the school to whenever there's an active Akuma... even though one of the features included in the Alliance includes an Akuma alert (Multiplication), and there's also been an Akuma alarm since Season 2 (Riposte). So once again, this brave and totally important Resistance has contributed absolutely nothing. Okay, there are some other parts, like some of the members planning to fight off the Akuma with paintball guns if there's no other option. You know, this is proof that this show takes place in France, because if this was America, they would most likely have actual guns.

At lunch, Marinette and Adrien get closer, to which Lila uses as an opportunity to manipulate Chloe into trying to break up the moment, but not before we get a joke where Chloe needs Alliance to define the word “generous”. Okay, I'm not sure if the joke was that Chloe is so selfish, she doesn't know the meaning of the word, or if the writers are now resorting to using “dumb blonde” jokes for Chloe now, which totally isn't a cliche that was overused twenty years ago to the point where there was an entire movie starring Reese Witherspoon made to subvert it. Either way, NOT FUNNY, DIDN'T LAUGH.

Chloe tries to ruin the moment by telling Adrien Marinette is in love with him, but he's not having any of that. She tries telling jokes that are supposed to be unfunny, they're funny, but it lacks the charm of something like Hank Hill attempting to tell “yo mama” jokes. Zoe stands up to Chloe, which pisses her off so much, she willingly accepts an Akuma from Monarch (currently invisible thanks to the Rooster Miraculous), turning into Sole Destroyer.

Sole Destroyer is... wow... Just... WOW... they didn't even try with this one. At least Miracle Queen made sense as an upgrade to Queen Wasp, but this? They literally just took Sole Crusher, whose design resembling Chloe made sense thematically in that episode, gave her a new pair of sunglasses, some more gemstones and spikes, and made her eyes glow as if she was a character in an episode of The Nostalgia Critic. Why go to this effort to make a new Akuma when so little is done with the new design? Wouldn't it make sense to bring back Antibug, given Chloe has been against Ladybug since the end of Season 3? As for Sole Destroyer's powers, it's just Sole Crusher's magic kicks, only instead of growing bigger in size after absorbing each victim and making her more of a threat, they transform into singing shoes. You know, guys, it just dawned on me how... how weird this show is. Kinda goofy...

Alya and Zoe attempt to transform, but Monarch, using a combination of the Mouse, Bee, and Rooster Miraculous' powers, stuns the two and steals the Ladybug and Cat Miraculous from them. Plagg attempts to Cataclysm Monarch, but Monarch uses Resistance to block it, immediately going to unify. Before the process can be completed, both Tikki and Plagg use Lucky Charm and Cataclysm respectively, Tikki summoning a trash can with the side effect of creating a new Eiffel Tower, and Plagg destroying the Cat Miraculous. Doing so ends up creating an endless cycle of things being created and destroyed, and unlike in “Dearest Family”, they don't reuse footage from “Style Queen”.

Marinette gets the trash can, and realizes what's happening, and while Adrien and Nino plan to have the Resistance try and stop Sole Destroyer, Marinette works on making her own Ladybug costume. Monarch orders Tikki to tell him what the hell's going on, Tikki explains that since Plagg destroyed the Cat Miraculous, he lost his only method of communicating with the physical plane, and all Monarch needs to do to get what he needs is to take back the Lucky Charm Tikki created. Just then, Marinette arrives, dressed up as Ladybug, and seemingly having the Lucky Charm in her hands, only for Monarch to steal it, unifying into Monarbug.

Given how stupid he looked as Shadow Noir last season, it's not exactly surprising to learn that Gabriel looks just as stupid unified with the Ladybug. The red and black polka dots just don't go with the black and purple. The one thing I'll give them credit for is that the eyes look kind of cool.

The Lucky Charm turns out to be a fake, and Nino jumps in to save Marinette from being hit with Venom. The rest of the Resistance also arrives, somehow having beaten up Sole Destroyer off-screen and turning her into a battering ram. Monarbug undoes the Akumatization, but Rose, Ivan, and Kim dogpile Monarbug, leaving Adrien to steal back the Ladybug Miraculous for Marinette.

Marinette transforms back into Ladybug, and uses Miraculous Ladybug to fix the damage and fix the Cat Miraculous. While Ladybug fights Monarch, she learns that he reforged the Miraculous before Monarch uses Multitude and Voyage to make his escape, swearing that he'll beat Ladybug someday, “We'll meet again, Spider-Man”, yadda yadda yadda.

Tikki and Marinette talk about finding new holders, only for Marinette to choose to take back the Miraculous, figuring that since Monarch doesn't know their identities (once again forgetting what the Alliance rings can do), that's the best option. Plagg takes back the Cat Miraculous and goes to say goodbye to Zoe, reassuring her that she was still brave enough to stand up to Chloe, because I guess to hell with the people who somehow managed to restrain Chloe while she was Sole Destroyer. And so this episode, and by extension, this two-parter, ends with Ladybug and Cat Noir talking about how their Kwamis saved the day... even though they were the reason Monarch almost won in the first place.

THE BIGGEST IDIOT OF THE EPISODE IS... CHLOE

In addition to somehow not knowing the definition of the word “generous”, she failed to come up with a good comeback against Marinette, chose to get akumatized to get revenge, failed at that, betrayed Sabrina and Lila, her only allies, for no good reason, and somehow got defeated off-screen by a bunch of civilians with no superpowers, not even getting to fight either of the new heroes, including her sister.

But yeah, in case you can't tell, these episodes were pretty bad. The entire premise of Tikki and Plagg deciding that Marinette and Adrien's love lives were more important than stopping Monarch was a hard pill to swallow, especially since their replacements didn't get to do anything outside of a single Akuma fight. You'd think that with the buildup Zoe got standing up to Chloe, she'd at least play a role in stopping Sole Destroyer, but instead, she and Alya are benched for almost the entirety of “Deflagration”. It's also really dumb that the ending tried to make them out to be the MVP's of the fight, when their idea was what caused Monarch to almost get the Miraculous.

Even Marinette and Adrien didn't really make a lot of progress here. All they did was talk a little, but even after “Deflagration”, not much else happened. Yeah, Adrien stood up for Marinette, but they still haven't officially started dating yet, even when they had every reason to after giving up their Miraculous. It's still better than nothing, but after four and a half seasons, I think we're allowed to want a little more development with the Love Square Wouldn't it have been interesting to see Marinette and Adrien try to start a relationship during their brief retirement, only to struggle to maintain it after becoming superheroes again? We're almost halfway through the season, and the Love Square is still progressing at a snail's pace. Then again, I guess it's better than nothing at this point.

“Transmission” was pretty boring, all things considered. Other than the first act, nothing really happened. The Akuma fight was like the others, just with two new heroes, and Marinette and Adrien got to bond for a few minutes. Nora and Kouki's drama wasn't interesting, and it wasn't even properly explained like the motivations of other Akumas.

I will say that “Deflagration” was the better of the two, if only because Marinette, Adrien, and Gabriel made some smart choices here. Unlike in “Evolution” and “Destruction”, there's no gloating or wasting time. Monarch cuts straight to the chase, and Marinette comes up with a quick plan to trick him with. Also, while I still don't really care about the Resistance, I like the idea of the civilians standing up to Monarch, and think it was executed better than it was in “Heroes' Day”. Even Sole Destroyer got a few reactions out of me for how exaggerated her facial expressions were. I don't know why they decided to give her One Piece levels of weird faces, but kudos to the animators on that front. Of course, Sole Destroyer was still one of the most pointless Akumas in the show's history, as you could take her out of the episode and nothing would have changed.

Overall, while I appreciate the effort to try and tell bigger stories, this was a really weird choice of an episode to make a two-parter.

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