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peterplanet · 18 days
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Your Remus x reader fics have melted my cold, cold heart and now I’m a mess. They’re so soft! And I’m so soft for gentleness! Please write more if you feel like it. Maybe something where reader is exhausted mentally and a wee bit teary, and Remus is his lovely, comforting self. Regardless, all the air kisses for you!!
thank you so so much lovely!! this is one of the most beautiful asks i’ve had in a while. i hope this is what you were looking for, so many air kisses back at you!! this is a continuation of this and this but doesn’t have to be! || remus lupin x fem!reader, 1.4k words, cw pet names and a teary, tired reader
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Remus is not having a good day because it’s abundantly clear to him that you’re not having a good day.
He’s spending the day working at yours, because his wifi is fucked and for once it isn’t just an excuse to spend time with you. Although he supposes he could have turned to Sirius who lives far closer to him than you do, so it’s a bit of an excuse to see you after all.
His wifi is fucked though.
So he sits at your tiny dining room table that can only fit two chairs and spends the day trying not to look at you too much opposite him. He fails miserably, and it’s not usually miserable to look at you but each time he does, you look thoroughly despondent.
“Another cuppa, lovely?”
You startle as you look at him over your laptop like you’d forgotten he was there. You have to blink from your screen and back to him a couple of times before you can finally process what he’d said to you.
“Thank you.”
He slips away to the kitchen, socked feet quiet on wooden floors because now he’s terrified of startling you. It’s 3pm in the afternoon and the third cuppa he’s made you today, but he wonders if he should have made you more. He begged you to stop for lunch multiple times but you very gently argued that you’d just got too much to do today, that he could take whatever he wanted from the fridge.
He should have just made you a sandwich without asking. Now he’ll interfere with your dinner if he does. He’s really struggling to know what to do here. As he carries two fresh cups of tea back to the dining room table, he feels a little bit breathless.
”Tea for the pretty lady,” he flirts, because it usually makes you smile this bashful smile that he really likes. But as he places the cup next to you, he notices your watery eyes just as you turn away to hide them.
“Thank you,” you say quietly, all scratchy. Remus feels like he’s about to cry just looking at you, so he makes an effort to pull himself together as he crouches next to your chair.
”Dove?”
You’re still staring at the wall rather than him. He isn’t going to rush you, though, or force you to look at him if you don’t want to. He’ll stay hovering by your side for as long as you’ll let him, but he places a tentative hand on your shin after a few seconds so you know he’s with you.
When you turn to face him, sniffling, the first tear has fallen. You were clearly holding them in, and it feels like a physical ache in his chest.
”Sorry,” you say through an empty laugh as more tears fall and you hurry to wipe them away. He squeezes your shin for lack of what to do. He is totally helpless, but there’s also this instinct deep within him that kicks in and tells him to do whatever it takes to fix this.
”It’s okay,” he assures gently, “You want to talk about it?”
”I hate crying,” you say instead, looking upwards to try to stop the tears falling again. He takes a second to kneel down rather than crouch, however much his knees hate it, so that he can reach up and wipe your tears himself. The pads of his thumbs swipe across your cheeks and he hopes you feel at least a little loved.
”I know, lovely.”
He doesn’t say much else, because he’s invited you to speak and you will, when you’re ready. He really really doesn’t want to rush you. Another swipe of his thumb removes another traitorous tear. He keeps his other hand as a steady pressure on your shin even though he doesn’t know if that’s even helpful.
”I don’t even know why I’m crying,” you say, another halfhearted laugh accompanied by more tears, “Nothing’s happened. I’ve just got so much on, and so many emails and texts I haven’t replied to and I saw another one pop up on my phone and I just…”
He nods sympathetically as you trail off and immediately bury your face in your hands as the real sobs start. It’s instinct once again that takes over as he strains upwards to put his arms around you as best he can, one over your shoulders and the other bringing your head to his chest. You go willingly.
He presses his forehead to the top of your head and murmurs into your ear.
”Oh, my girl. You’re alright. I’ve got you, you can cry.”
His words seem to make you cry harder and it only makes him pull you in closer, as close as he can.
You apologise yet again after a few minutes and he just strokes your hair and says nothing. He thinks it helps. You begin to calm down after a little while longer, he can feel you try to pull away and he lets you go easily, shifting until he’s kneeling beside you again.
”God, what a mess I’ve made,” you laugh again, a defence mechanism if he’s ever seen one. You wipe the wet patch you’ve left on his shirt in vain and he catches your hand in his. Brave, he thinks.
”None of that,” he insists softly, “This shirt’s all special now. The day you finally let me see you cry, immortalised in the fabric.”
Your laugh is far more genuine this time and he’s very proud of himself.
“Been wanting to see me cry for a while, have you?”
”All my life, dove. I was beginning to think I’d just have to mean to you and get it over with.”
You gasp dramatically, but it’s all for show.
”I don’t think you have it in you, Remus.”
”Maybe not,” he hums wistfully, “Seeing you cry has just now made the top five of things that make me cry. But I’m glad you trusted me with it.
You soften, visibly, he can see it in your eyes as you tilt your head at him. You press your lips together and wipe your eyes again, but there’s no more tears to be found.
”I suppose if I had to cry, I’m glad you were here for it too,” you say with a small grin and it isn’t like your usual one, but it’s a start. Your face grows a lot more serious as you say, “You make pretty much everything a bit better.”
And he doesn’t know what to do with that at all. If you’d said that to him back when the two of you were sixteen, he might have told you he was in love with you then and there. But he’s not sixteen anymore, and he has enough sense to know this is far from the time for that. So he hopes he isn’t blushing too much and goes back to what he knows.
”Only a bit better?”
You shove him, and he’s on his knees, so he’s quick to lose his balance and go toppling to the floor. It finally brings out your real laugh, loud and giggly, as you wriggle about in your chair.
His knees hurt but all he can feel is delighted.
Soon enough, he heaves himself to standing, pretending to glare at you as he returns to his chair and you’re still giggling.
”Your tea will go cold. I made that for you ages ago, you know.”
”I was crying!”
”I know. It was very annoying,” he says, grinning at you so you know he doesn’t mean a word. You laugh yet again, which is exactly what he was going for, “Seriously, lovely. Please say something when you’re feeling overwhelmed, I can’t bear for all that to be happening in your pretty little head without me knowing.”
He sees you react to the word pretty this time; you preen.
”I don’t want you feeling left out,” you agree teasingly, with a little sigh, “Alright, I’ll tell you. Only if you reply to all my texts for me.
”If you order Chinese for dinner, we can sit on the sofa and reply to them together?”
You look like you could run round the table and hug him again, and he considers his job complete. That little instinct that urged him to fix it calms down and the big instinct he usually has to kiss you senseless returns full force. He sips his tea instead of listening to it, for now.
- - -
if you have a request of your own (esp for more of this universe or more soft!marauders, i would love to hear from you sunflower <3
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peterplanet · 20 days
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hi my fic for steve harrington is going to be long is that okay
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peterplanet · 23 days
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hi mae !!! i’ve been resding ur stuff for forever & if this request doesnt strike ur fancy i just wanted to at least say that!!! but i would love love love anything you have to say about steve harrington comforting his s/o (maybe shy!reader?? but no pressure on that) after a very tough emotional few weeks? like yknow those weeks that just knock you down & then stomp on you a little & have you saying “it’ll get better if i can just get through the week” but then the next week comes and it’s just as 🕳️🤸 as the last ? idk if this makes sense but ik u wanted more requests w our other boyfriends !!
Hi lovely, thank you for requesting!
Steve Harrington x shy!reader ♡ 791 words
You’ve been trying not to cry for about a month now, and this stupid movie is going to do you in. Steve’s got his arm splayed across the top of the couch, his features lit in the colors of the TV screen and revealing only a vague sympathy for the characters in the movie as opposed to the steady crescendo of emotion that’s building behind your eyes. 
You turn from him so he won’t see your heating complexion and do your best to hold it in. You hold it until you can feel your heart beating in your sinuses. Steve’s fingers start toying with your hair, and it feels so ridiculously casual and tender that it only makes matters worse. 
You must make some sort of sound, because then he’s shifting beside you. His eyes burn into the side of your head. 
“Hey.” His voice is quiet, unsure. “You okay?” 
You breathe in through your nose, swallowing hard. “Yeah.” 
“Are you crying?” 
“No,” you say. But you are now, properly, and your denial is completely undermined by the wobble in its delivery. 
“You are,” Steve accuses, letting his hand drop onto your shoulder just as it gives its first great hitch. He tenses. “Hey, it’s okay. We can change the channel.” 
You let loose a horrid laugh, wet and pitchy. “No,” you tell him, finally breaking and wiping underneath your eyes. “No, it’s fine. I’m sorry.” 
“I don’t want to upset you.” He grabs the remote. His tone has gone serious and a bit panicky. “We’ll find something lighter to watch.” 
“It’s not the movie.” You turn towards him and he pauses, frozen like a rabbit in the forest. “It’s just…it’s a lot of things, you know?” 
Everything about Steve melts. His shoulder sag, the hand with the remote dropping into his lap, his lips part, he slouches towards you a bit, his eyebrows pull up and to the middle. “Yeah,” he says, soft and smooth as butter. “Yeah, I get that.” 
You try to smile, making fun of your own ill-timed meltdown, but another sob breaks free from you again. Steve slumps further. If you keep going like this, you’ll shatter into a million pieces and he’ll liquefy into a stain on the couch and that’s all Robin will find of either of you when she inevitably comes looking. 
“It’s okay.” Steve’s hand makes its way from his lap into yours, taking your hand and squeezing your fingers lightly. “You’re okay, you’re good.” 
And you know you are, but it feels nice to hear him say it. Your shoulders shake, and you tilt your head downwards, salty tears dripping off your nose. 
“Sorry,” you croak out, but he only brings his other hand to your face, angling you up where he can see you. 
“I don’t mind,” he promises. When his thumb sweeps an arc from the side of your nose nearly to your ear, you shudder. 
Steve’s brows twitch together, but he doesn’t alter his grip. 
“What?” 
“Nothing.” 
“No, what is it?” 
“It’s just…” Just that you short-circuit anytime he touches you, and right now your body doesn’t know where to put the excess emotion. You think if he pays you any more attention you’ll have a heart attack. Cause of death: Steve Harrington’s tender ministrations. “Sorry, nothing.” 
His forehead creases as his thumb brushes once more, feather light, under your eye, and then his expression clears. Because though intuitive Steve is not, he’s perceptive enough to catch your unintentional glance to where his hand rests upon your cheek. 
“Oh, sorry.” He stills, eyes flickering back to yours. “Hey, if you want me to stop, I’ll stop. Just say the word.” 
And you have to think, because it is torment, and it might actually kill you. But at least this way you’ll die happy. 
“That’s okay,” you murmur. “It’s nice.” 
A little smile curves Steve’s lips before he remembers you’re sad and tries to squash it. You feel something similar tugging at your mouth anyway. 
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.
You sniffle. “I don’t think so. I’m just kind of tired of it, you know?” He looks like he does. “Maybe we could just keep watching the movie?” 
“Yeah, sure honey.” The endearment slips out as if it’s something he says every day, and Steve’s demeanor doesn’t reflect anything different. For your part, you feel a buzzing in your chest so intense you wonder if you’ll disintegrate into tiny pieces. He scoots closer to you on the couch, settling an arm around your shoulders and leaning you into his side. “Let me know if it’s too much, okay?” he asks quietly, like it’s a secret. 
You rest your head on his shoulder and say nothing. 
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peterplanet · 24 days
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oh! maybe this is too headcanony (?) but i see steve choosing physical therapy as his major! or something like communication
omg wait physical therapy is perfect !!!!
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peterplanet · 24 days
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what do we think steve harrington's college major would be if he went to college
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peterplanet · 24 days
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hello im writing a steve harrington fic & want to check tags rn & also see if ppl would read it!
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peterplanet · 29 days
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hoping aaron bushnell's sacrifice won't be swept under the rug by politicians/media and forgotten about in another fucking week as the genocide on palestinians continues
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peterplanet · 2 months
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If it interests you, could you maybe do poly!marauders smut surrounding how they would react when reader gives one of the boys a blowjob? If this isn’t comfy for you I apologize immensely. I double checked your rules so hopefully I didn’t overstep or anything. Love your work! Also my middle name is Mae:)))
Honestly babe when I read this I didn’t know if I was comfy with it either (not because of you, just because I didn’t know if I’d be able to write it) but I decided to give it a go and somehow it turned into over 2k words? So thanks!
cw: smut mdni, oral (m receiving), praise, this might be horrible? I can't decide if I hate it
poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 2.1k words
Sirius’ kisses have turned sloppy, one of his hands wrapped loosely around your neck while the other wiggles its fingers below the waistband of your jeans, taking greedy handfuls of hip. His hard length presses into your thigh through his pants. You tilt your head, slanting your mouth against his so you can kiss him more deeply, and a low groan rumbles through him. 
He plants a chaste kiss on your lips before starting to mark a path downwards. 
You know where this is going, and you like where this is going, but still a breathless “wait” slips past your lips. 
Sirius pauses, his face hovering over your middle. Next to you on the bed, your boyfriends continue making out, but you can see you’ve caught James’ attention. His eyes open to slits, peeking from beneath his lashes to check on you. 
“What’s up?” Sirius asks, rubbing your hip. “Don’t feel like it?” 
“No, I just…” you rub your lips together nervously, and you see his eyes drop to the motion. Already large pupils growing larger. “I wanted to know if I can ask you something.” 
Sirius’ eyes skim over you, a slow perusal that’s probably meant to deduce the cause of your anxiety but only serves to worsen it. “Sure you can,” he says, tone somewhat gentler than usual. “What is it, sweetness?” 
“Could you maybe,” you ask hesitantly, wishing you could lean away from him, as if some distance between you would make this any less embarrassing, “teach me to give you a blowjob?” 
Sirius’ lips part in surprise. This time it’s Remus who you catch looking over, a second before James breaks their kiss, sitting up over Remus’ torso. 
“You wanna learn?” James asks, lips bitten red and swollen. 
You glance between him and Sirius, not quite sure who to look at. “Yeah?” you say, hating the way your voice crawls up into a question. 
Sirius’ eyebrows twitch together. “You know you don’t have to,” he says, “right?” 
“I know.” You give him a little smile. “I’m just curious, I guess.” 
“Okay,” he says. His thumb sweeps over your hip like he knows you need the reassurance. “Yeah, we can show you, gorgeous. Wanna do it sitting down?” 
You take a breath, nodding before crawling out from under him and kneeling on the floor by the bed. Sirius follows you, sitting on the edge of the mattress and spreading his legs wide. Your brain buzzes in response to the erection you can see bulging through his pants. 
You glance towards the other boys. “Are you guys just going to…watch?” 
They’ve both been staring at you, but now James grins sheepishly. “If you don’t mind.” 
“We can help, if you’re alright with that,” Remus offers. “Give you tips.” 
You can feel your face growing warm at the prospect of them being witness to your bumbling first attempt, but you don’t hate the idea of them coaching you through it. 
“M’kay,” you say. “Um, what do I do?” 
“Try taking it out, sweetheart.” There’s a bit of laughter in Remus’ voice, but his hand is gentle as he reaches over the edge of the bed, brushing your hair behind your ear. 
Your eyes flit up to Sirius’ face. He gives you a smile, and you undo his pants, pulling down the waistband of his underwear so that his length springs free. For a few moments you just look at it, wetting your lips before looking to the boys for direction. 
“Here.” James gets down on the floor beside you and takes your hand in his, guiding it to Sirius’ shaft. “You’re probably gonna want to start by holding it like this, okay?” He wraps your fingers around the base. “Good. Now be careful to cover your teeth, and just try putting it in your mouth.” 
Just? You glance up at Sirius again, and a bit of pride swells in you at the undisguised lust in his expression.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” you tell him softly. 
“Me neither,” he jokes, reaching down to thumb affectionately at your cheek. “You won’t hurt me, baby. And you can stop anytime you want, you know that. If you don’t like it, just stop.” 
You bob your head, wrap your lips around your teeth, and take him into your mouth before you can think too hard about it. His cock feels odd and weighty on your tongue. You lean forward a bit, seeing how far you can go. 
“Breathe through your nose,” Remus instructs. “Try sucking on it, whenever you’re ready.” 
You let your jaw relax, sucking experimentally, like you might on a popsicle. Sirius moans. 
“Just like that,” he says, voice taking on a thick quality. “Fuck, good job, baby.” 
Warmth unfurls in your gut at the praise. You suckle a bit longer, getting used to the feel of him in your mouth before you begin moving slowly forward and backward. After a few tries, your lips are making contact with the curled O of your thumb and forefinger each time. Sirius’ cock twitches in your mouth. 
“You’ve got it, angel.” James’ big hand roves the curves of your side, his touch steadying your nerves and stirring that heat in your core. “Don’t rush yourself, but if you wanna take him deeper you can take your hand off.” 
You do it without little hesitation, high on praise and the rush of what you’ve already accomplished, and ease more of Sirius’ shaft into your mouth. He puts a hand in your hair to help you along, but then all of a sudden it’s too deep, too big, too much. You gag, choking. 
Sirius’ hand disappears instantly, but you’re not so ready to give up. Your throat spasms around the intrusion, vision blurring as you try to breathe through your nose. 
“Easy,” Remus murmurs.
You finally can’t stand it anymore, pulling away and drawing in a gasping breath. 
“Shit,” Sirius says, and you lift your teary eyes to his embarrassedly while James rubs your back. “You alright?” 
“Yeah,” you manage, swallowing. “Sorry.” 
His eyes go soft. “Don’t be sorry, you did great. Do you wanna stop now?” 
You shake your head. “I think I just need a second.” 
He nods, and there’s a few seconds of quiet, James' hand coasting up and down your spine. “Do you think a demonstration would help?’ he asks. 
You swipe under your lashes, looking over at him curiously. “Um, maybe? I’m not sure.” 
He exchanges a quick look with Remus before grinning, shuffling closer to where he sits at the edge of the bed and taking off his glasses. “Here. Sirius, talk her through what I’m doing, yeah?” 
Sirius seems about as transfixed by what’s about to happen as you are, but he nods. James does as you had, taking Remus’ cock out of his pants, and there’s no need to get it warmed up after the show you’ve been giving them. He feeds it right into his mouth. Remus groans as James takes his entire length expertly, fisting a hand in the other boy’s curly hair. 
“Right. Um, see how he’s breathing deep through his nose?” Sirius clears his throat, voice noticeably rough as he watches James’ lips move over Remus’ shaft. “He’s keeping his throat relaxed, not moving back and forth too much.” 
You watch as James’ mouth grows wet with spit and slick, his eyes watering a bit as he fights his gag reflex. His throat bobs, and Remus swears, his grip tightening on James’ hair. 
“And when he swallows,” Sirius manages, “his throat tightens, which is…uh, nice.” 
Remus lets out a breathy, half-delirious laugh at Sirius’ commentary. His cheeks are flushed red from pleasure and the attention, and it’s not long before curses start to spew from his mouth and he goes rigid, cuming down James’ throat. James swallows, grinning up at him. Lips and eyes shiny.
You and Sirius watch them for a few seconds longer, entranced by the sight of your boyfriends. 
“Okay.” You clear your throat. “Um, thanks.” 
“Yeah, thanks,” Remus says weakly, and you have to swallow a laugh. 
You turn to Sirius. “I think I’m ready to try.” 
He gestures as if to say Go right ahead, and you take his shaft in your hand, guiding it back into your mouth. Once again, it takes time to adjust to the feeling, but this time when his head hits the back of your throat you’re ready for it. You breathe steadily through your mouth, focussing on staying relaxed as you suck gently. 
“There you go, angel,” James praises, putting his glasses back on to watch you. “You’re taking him so well.” 
“Fucking yeah she is,” Sirius agrees, voice growing reedy as he starts to pant. You take one of his legs to steady yourself, hand wrapping around a tattoo on his thigh. “Look at me, baby.” 
You lift your watery eyes to his, finding the stormcloud gray nearly eclipsed by dark pupil. The raw want in them makes your cunt throb. Sirius must find your face nearly as arousing, because he mutters another quiet, Fuck.
You’re distantly conscious of Remus shuffling back to the edge of the bed, and then he’s laying his head on his arms, gazing down at you. “Look at you, such a quick learner,” he hums. “You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart. Making him feel so good.” 
“Look at her eyes,” James says, just loud enough so you can hear. You know they’re aware of what their words are doing to you, of the wetness pooling in your underwear. “She looks so pretty like this, doesn’t she?” 
“She does,” Remus agrees. “Our pretty girl.” 
You move a bit more surely over Sirius’ length, constricting your throat tentatively. Sirius moans loudly, his hand twitching toward you before he stops it. You take it in yours, setting it on the back of your head so he can guide you the way he wants. 
“Fuck, that’s my girl,” he pants, tangling his hand in your hair. “So good f’me.” 
You make a small, pleasurable sound, and another moan slips from between his lips, his hand urging you closer. You breathe through it when his cock sponges against the back of your throat, starting to enjoy the odd sensation of your mouth and throat being so deliciously full—and, if you’re being honest with yourself, the feeling of knowing you’re doing well. And if Sirius’ increasingly loud curses and the other boys’ murmured praise are anything to go by, you’re doing rather well. 
“God, I wish you could see how you look right now,” James says, voice smooth as velvet as he drops a kiss on your shoulder. “You’re so lovely.” 
“Fucking hot, s’what she is,” Sirius insists, brows coming together so urgently you wonder for a second if he’s in pain. “Fuck. Shit, where can I cum?” 
You don’t take your mouth off his cock, doing your best to communicate with your eyes. Sirius seems to get the message, his grip on your hair tightening, pulling at your scalp as his thigh tenses under your hand. You swallow hurriedly, and the sounds that leave him will echo in your dreams for the rest of the week, loud, pleady moans interspersed with mangled curses. Your mouth fills with warm wetness, and you ease him out of your throat before swallowing again. 
“There we are.” James tugs you gently away when he realizes neither you or Sirius are moving, pulling you half into his lap. “You did it, sweetheart, great job.” 
He strokes his thumb under your eyes for you, wiping away the wetness there as Remus watches you move your tongue around in your mouth funnily. 
“You alright?” he asks you.
You nod. “Tastes different than I thought it would,” you say. 
James laughs, the sound bright and clear. He plants a smacking kiss on your cheek. 
“Not bad, I hope,” Sirius says, voice still a bit stringy. He leans back on his elbows, watching you from the bed. 
You feel color rise to your cheeks. “No. Not bad.” 
His lips quirk up, eyes steady on yours. “That was fucking killer,” he tells you, “especially for your first time. Thanks for that, gorgeous.” 
You grin bashfully, dropping your eyes. James clears his throat loudly. 
“Right, right, and thank you for the demonstration,” Sirius adds. “Very instructive.” 
James beams, but Sirius only pats the bed next to him. 
“Why don’t you hop up here so I can give you a real thanks?” 
Impossibly, James’ smile widens. He’s quick to obey, Sirius moving to take his place on the floor. Your lips part, and you hear Remus chuckle. You turn to find his amber eyes watching you. They linger on your lips, still glossy and swollen. 
“Y’want me to help you out too, sweetheart?” He juts his chin toward the bed, a silent request for you to lie down. “Seems only fair, doesn’t it.” 
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peterplanet · 2 months
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Steve Harrington x shy fem!reader [4.7K] no one's ever gone down on you before and you're feeling a little shy about it. luckily, boyfriend steve is happy to show you what it's like. 18+
“I’ve never—” you swallowed, unsure of your words, hardly able to make sense of them when Steve Harrington was on his knees in front of you. “I mean, no one’s ever done this to me before.”
Steve Harrington. The Steve Harrington - as if he hadn’t officially been your boyfriend for almost two months now. Sometimes it was difficult to remind yourself of that, that the prettiest boy in town was all yours. 
He’d changed since high school, was a little softer around the edges now, if you had the patience to look for the signs. Less cocky, still confident, but he’d dropped the title of ‘King’ like it stung him, taking on a gentlemanly demeanour that was much more princely. His hair wasn’t as styled, he didn’t care whatever other people said - not as much, anyway. 
It suited him, this smaller crown. Less showy but still just as golden. 
“Oh,” Steve replied, eyes wide with surprise but not judgement. “Shit, honey— I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… assume.”
Steve took his hands from your bare knees like he’d been burned, his cheeks heated and his gaze apologetic. You couldn’t say anything in response fast enough before the boy was pushing himself up from the footwell of the BMW and back onto the seat with you. He looked panicked, like he’d done something wrong, like he’d done something terrible. 
“Steve—”
“I’m so sorry, I should’ve asked, I didn’t even think— well, I just thought—”
“It’s not like I’ve not done anything,” you were rambling. Panicked. “I’m not a virgin, I would’ve told you— it’s just, I haven’t— no guy has ever wanted to do that and—“
“No, no, it’s okay!” Steve still looked wide eyed, like you were going to hate him, like you were going to break up with him. “I mean, that part isn’t okay— the guys you’ve been with should’ve definitely wanted to do that for you— but it’s, it’s… just should’ve asked before—”
He hadn’t done anything wrong, you needed him to know that. It had been a typical end to your night, first dates leading to second dates and more - fancy dinners and planned nights to the cinema and turning into comfier and more casual outings as you grew closer. So he’d picked you up after his shift and you clambered into the front seat of his car in a pair of comfy sweats and a t-shirt that was far too old. Steve had driven you both to a burger joint, shared fries and a strawberry milkshake in the front seats of the BMW as the sun went down and before it was time to go home, he parked up somewhere quiet enough for talking to turn into kissing. 
He was always sweet about it, letting you call the shots and set the pace and you’d grown bolder, learned what he’d liked — learned what you’d liked. 
But it had stayed relatively tame, a few hickeys and Steve’s hair a mess but nothing too below the waistline, not yet. 
It was why he’d been so surprised when you’d pushed him back into the seat, his head falling back in shock onto the headrest, the back windows already steaming up from the heat of it all. Steve’s lips had parted when you’d swung a leg over his lap, dropping yourself on top of him with a held breath, your chest tight enough to burn. And without any other preamble, you’d launched yourself forward again, sweet and teasing kisses turning into something hotter, more desperate, now that you could feel the hard length of him pressed against the cotton of your underwear. 
His hands had flown to your bare thighs, gripping you there as you licked over his tongue and when you let out a quiet moan, Steve felt like he was going to lose it. His hands wandered higher, skimming along bare skin and underneath your skirt until his palms found purchase on your ass, squeezing at the fat there, helping your hips move against him until you were panting into his mouth and he thought he’d died and gone to heaven. 
Everything he’d done wrong in his life, everything he’d tried to right, everything he’d tried to fix - you were his reward, he just knew it. 
He got ahead of himself then, panicked at the feeling of you rutting along his cock, the length of it pressed under his jeans and you. He could feel how warm you were, the beginnings of a wet spot on the front of your underwear and you were holding his face in your hands as you kissed him like you were scared he’d stop. 
It was enough to make his dick jump, twitching and leaking at every pretty sound you made, every graze of your teeth over his bottom lip as you kissed him more and more feverishly. 
He was going to come, he could feel it. He knew it. The warm, tightening sensation at the base of his spine was blooming, his cheeks turning pink, his hips bucking into yours helplessly. He wasn’t going to come in his pants, not in the backseat of his car, not like this, not with you. You deserved more than that. 
That’s when he nudged you back onto the bench and dropped to his knees between the seats, crammed down into the footwell but your legs were spread and he could see that little damp spot on the crotch of your underwear. 
He wanted to lick over the cotton, tease himself as much as you before peeling the underwear down your legs and pocketing the material.
And then you’d stopped him. 
“I want to,” you told him earnestly, your voice a nervous whisper. He watched you lick your bottom lips, eyes wide and trained on his. “I do. I wanna do everything with you,” you admitted shyly. 
You paused and Steve waited, kneeling up between your legs so his attention wasn’t as trained on the space between your thighs anymore. He leaned in, hands pushing at your cheeks, your jaw, fingers skimming soothingly over the skin there.
“It’s okay,” Steve assured you, his voice just as soft. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, nose bumping yours as he dropped another to the opposite side. “It’s okay to wait. I don’t mind-- at all, actually. You’re in charge here, okay?”
You leaned into him in lieu of an answer, lips searching for his and brows knitted together because he was just too fucking sweet to handle. Embarrassment still bloomed in your chest at the situation, at your own admission and you wanted to hide your face against Steve’s but the boy wasn’t having any of it. 
He pulled away, chin tilting up to where you couldn’t quite reach him and he frowned at your saddened expression. 
“Hey,” Steve tsked softly. “C’mon, you’re in charge, yeah?” He waited, looking at you with earnest, expectant eyes. 
You nodded and cleared your throat, nerves and embarrassment swallowed with it because this was Steve. Your Steve. And he was looking at you like he’d give you the sun. 
“Yeah,” you agreed and Steve smiled so you did too. “I’m in charge.”
It was only then that the boy leaned back into you, letting you press your lips to his for a kiss. He made it soft and sweet, languid and still tasting like the cherry you’d gifted him from the top of your strawberry shake. 
——————
It took a few weeks to end back up in the same situation, this time in Steve’s bed. 
There’d been a movie, you think, something that was supposed to be new and funny but you barely made it past the opening scene before you kicked away the remote control and moved into the boy. On your knees, weight pressed into the mattress and your mouth pushed to Steve’s because ever since that night in the back of his car, the sight of him on his knees for you hadn’t left your mind. 
If Steve had been surprised at your sudden attack, he didn’t say. In fact, he welcomed it greedily, just as starved for you as you were for him and he pulled you down to meet him without much fanfare. 
It was easier now, you were less shy, more willing to show your boyfriend how much you wanted him too. You showed him with greedy kisses, feverish and desperate, your hands sinking into his hair as Steve coaxed you onto his waiting lap, his hands skimming over your waist and your hips and the swell of your ass. You pushed him into his pillows without much thought, Steve’s hands taking you with him, lips never parting as he groaned into your open mouth and your tongue traced over his. 
He was already hard, you’d noticed, the feeling of him in his sweats pressed between your thighs sparking the similar feeling in your tummy, the one you always seemed to get the minute the boy got his hands on you. Steve never seemed embarrassed either, always eager to show you exactly what you did to him and apart from a few fumbles in the dark, Steve’s hands slipping under your shirt to flirt with your pebbled nipples over your bra, there hadn’t been much else but kissing. 
Tonight felt different. 
You wanted tonight to be different. 
So you did as you’d done on the car the week before, rolling your hips over Steve’s as you kissed him harder, nose pressed to his cheek as you pulled at his hair and hoped he’d fall apart for you. He did, or almost did, groaning louder than before and gripping your waist almost too tightly as he tried not to jerk up into you. 
He lost it a little, hands slipping to your ass to palm at the bare skin peeking out from beneath your shorts, blunt nails scratching nicely over your upper thighs. Steve heaved out a breath, pulling back just enough to look up at you. He was all pink, flushed cheeks and messy hair pushed to his pillows, lips shiny from your kisses as he tried to slow his breathing. 
“You’re gonna kill me,” he rasped, trying to sound authoritative but his fingers were trailing inside the legs of your shorts to play with the elastic edge of your underwear and he couldn’t take his eyes off of your heaving chest. “I swear, you’re actually trying to kill me.”
You grinned, still shy, still a little embarrassed at the effect Steve had on you, the effect you seemed to have on him. But despite your boyfriend’s suggestive touch, he didn’t stray any further. You remembered what he’d told you that night, eyes locked on yours, filled with sincerity. 
‘You’re in charge.’
You swallowed, throat tight, trying your best to conjure up some bravery from the pit of your stomach. “Hey, Steve?”
Steve was busying himself at your neck, lips pressing kisses to the sensitive skin underneath your jaw and chin. He hummed, a silent question, a barely there answer and you almost forgot what you wanted to say when he nipped at your neck. 
“Yeah, honey?”
“Remember— remember the other night? When you said… that I was in charge?” You asked quietly, head ripping back to let Steve do what he wanted, his lips still on your throat. “When you were gonna— uh, gonna go down on me?”
Steve paused but only for a second, seemingly deciding that reacting too strongly to your words would be a bad move. So he placed one last kiss underneath your jaw and then pulled back to meet your gaze. He was soft and warm, his eyes searching yours to make sure you were comfortable and when he found what he was looking for, he nodded. 
“Yeah, yeah I remember.” He pushed you from his lap and back onto the bed, gentle and soft with it, easing you back into the pillows so he could lean over you and place a reassuring hand on your waist. “You been thinkin’ about that?”
You were grateful to be off of him, too pent up with being on top and feeling how hard you’d made Steve, finding it easier now to look up at him, your hands playing with the hem of his t-shirt. “A little,” you murmured. And then you corrected yourself. “A lot.”
Steve grinned, unable to help it and you were adorably shy even when talking about him putting his mouth on you but it just made him all the more wild at the thought. He moved his hand to your tummy, fingers moving over the soft pudge of it, his thumb stroking close to the waistband of your shorts. 
“Yeah?” He asked again, sounding eager now, sounding hopeful. “What about it, babe? Steve watched you stall, lips moving without words coming out and he smiled, making it easier for you when he said, “you wanna try it?”
You could feel yourself burning, a little in embarrassment but mostly at the idea of it. You’d spent many nights since it was first brought up lying in bed and picturing your boyfriend between your legs. You’d thought about his hands on your thighs, pushing them apart so he could lean in and press his lips to you. You wondered what his tongue would feel like there, if he’d be soft, if you’d like it hard, slow, gentle, teasing. Would he use his fingers? Would he look up at you while he did it? Would he make the same noises he did when you kissed him? When you rocked your hips over his lap and grinded against him?
You nodded, the breath sucked from your lungs. Suddenly, the room was too warm and it only got hotter when Steve grinned and moved to kiss you, peppering little touches of his lips over your cheeks, your nose and jaw. 
“You gotta tell me then, honey, yeah?” Steve murmured softly. “Just so I know you’re okay with it. I don’t want to make you feel like it’s something you have to do—”
“I know,” you interrupted. You sat up a little, back to Steve’s headboard as you made sure to keep eye contact with him. He needed to know how okay with it you were. “You’re not making me do anything, I promise. I want to. I really want to.” You smiled then, nervous and excited and with your skin rippling with anticipation. 
“Okay,” Steve smiled back. “You’ll tell me if you don’t like it? We can stop whenever you want, alright?”
You nodded again and before Steve needed to prompt you once more, you promised him, “I will, I swear.” Your cheeks warmed again at the memory of your nightly scenarios. “I think I’ll like it though.”
Steve laughed then, not at all meanly. “Yeah? Well, that’s a good start.” He caught your wrist with his hand, pressed a kiss to your palm like a promise. “I’ll try my best, yeah? We can find out what you like together.”
And didn’t that sound really fucking nice? 
His hand moved to your waistband again, fingers skimming over the denim before finding the button and zip. Steve tapped it, eyes on yours. He raised his brows and asked, “can I?”
You answered by lifting your hips, falling back into his pillows once more as you sucked in a breath, buzzing with anticipation. Steve fumbled with the metal once, twice, before it popped open and he took his time tugging the denim from your hips. You panicked a little as you tried to remember what underwear you were wearing but you didn’t have much time to dwell on the thought before your shorts were at your ankles and then on Steve’s bedroom floor. 
He smiled at your cotton boy shorts, plain and white. Nothing sexy but certainly nothing embarrassing either. But then he was moving, just like you’d imagined, up onto his knees before laying down between your own on his stomach. 
“You okay for me to be like this?” Steve asked you quietly, a reassuring hand squeezing at the outside of one thigh. 
 Your brows rose at that and you suddenly felt horribly naive. “There’s other ways to do it?”
Steve laughed again, soothing away the sting of his amusement by kissing your knee. “Well, yeah, babe. Loads of ways.” His voice lowered a little, his hands trailing upupup until they were close to the elastic edge of your underwear. “I could have you on your hands and knees for me. Could bend you over, y’know?”
Your body lit up, flames licking at the inside of  your stomach until they were crawling past your ribs. The idea of it made you squirm, hips twitching under Steve’s touch and he looked delighted at your reaction. 
“Or I could get you to sit on my face,” another kiss, this time on the inside of your thigh as he moved closer, your legs over his shoulders. The tip of his nose pushed at the edge of your underwear and your toes curled into the sheets. “Really let you take charge. Would you like that? Wanna ride my face, honey?”
“I—” you didn’t know what to say to that and Steve buried his smile in the side of your thigh. 
“S’okay,” he whispered. “We’ll work up to that, yeah? How ‘bout for now, I just—” Steve pressed a kiss just under your belly button, lips flirting lower until you felt his mouth just above your folds. Something in your stomach flipped. “—find out what you like best, hm?”
And he did. 
You were surprised when he didn’t immediately pull off your underwear and the noise that came from your mouth when he put his lips on you was unintelligible. Steve pressed a kiss to the front of your underwear, nose nudging at your folds under the cotton. You let out a gasp, breathy and high, hips twitching up until you were pushing yourself to Steve’s mouth and you could feel his smile. 
“Hey, hey, s’alright, honey,” Steve assured you. “Gonna take my time with you.”
Another kiss, and then another, tiny touches pressed over the front of your underwear before you felt the heat from this mouth opening, his tongue tracing the line of your folds. The cotton grew even more damp as Steve licked at you, pushing his tongue into your pussy, the material moving under his touch, moulding to your skin.  
You were gripping the sheets now, knees falling open on each side of Steve’s face and you didn’t dare look down, not yet. Your eyes shut on their own accord, stars and colours blinking behind your lids and everything felt warm, everything felt fuzzy, like you had cotton balls stuffed in your ears and you were being pulled underwater. 
Except there was a live wire in the pool with you, zaps racing through the current to make your entire body buzz, little electrical shocks every time Steve licked at you. His tongue moved deliberately slow, his eyes watching your face, your body, your chest, your mouth for every reaction you gave him. 
You liked this teasing, this slow build, this lazy burn that was getting hotter and hotter. So Steve kept at it, pressing his mouth to your cunt, open and with his tongue pushed to you, doing his best to find your clit through your underwear and when he finally pulled back, he groaned at the sight. The white fabric had turned a little see through, translucent in the low bedroom light and Steve could see every part of you with your legs spread so obscenely. 
It was a dirty, dirty sight. Something right out of his porno magazines he kept hidden under his bed. The material was stuck to you, showing off your parted folds, the bump of your clit, your little hole, wetter than any other part of you. 
“Oh, honey,” Steve moaned, his voice a broken rasp. You looked down at him then, messy haired and pink cheeked and framed by your thighs. He was staring at your cunt, heavy lidded and with red, pouty lips that were already shining from his hard work. “Wish you could see yourself, you’re so fucking hot.”
You whined, embarrassed but not daring to hide your face from him - to hide Steve from you. He looked up at you then, smiling - no, smirking - looking too pleased with himself and he took his pointer finger and stroked it through your folds. You jumped, an immediate response that Steve cooed at and he didn’t stop until his finger was resting on your clit. It was already throbbing, a hot pulse under his touch and he circled it carefully, slow and gentle and giving it pretty, little nudges. 
Steve watched it move under his finger, watched it become more obvious through the fabric and his lips parted as he looked at you. He couldn’t stay away for too long, moving his face back to you to press a kiss to it. 
“Good?” He asked you, checking in with a kiss to your thigh as well. “You doin’ okay?”
You groaned your answer, your ‘yes’ coming out high and needy. But that’s all Steve needed to hear before he let his tongue drag across you again, the flat of it pushing against your clit, his fingers pulling at the waistband of your underwear so the fabric was pulled even tighter against your pussy. He moaned into you when you whined, nose buried in your folds as he pursed his lips around your clit and sucked a little. 
Again, he moved away, leaving you panting, gasping, his hands tugging at your underwear again, his eyes lighting up at the way the fabric stretched over you. He swore, voice low and dirty. “Fuck, baby, I can see you clenching down for me. That feels good, huh? Getting those cute, little panties soaked for me.”
You weren’t sure where your sweet, soft boyfriend had gone, but you certainly didn’t mind this replacement. Steve looked wild, drunk on the sight of you and you were more than happy to lay back and let him toy with you, his fingers and tongue winding you tight like screw top, ready to be sent spinning. 
Your hands went from the sheets to Steve’s hair, grabbing at the beats strands, in desperate need to anchor yourself to him. You almost wanted  to pull him up your body, having him crawl back up to you so you could claim him for a kiss. The need to have him closer was burning. But then Steve took pity, fingers curling into the sides of your now soaked underwear and you didn’t hesitate to lift your hips for him. 
They were pulled down quickly and they soon joined your shorts on the floor and before the boy could ask, your legs fell open once more, shyness gone in the heady need for the pleasure the boy was giving you. Steve beamed, lying back between your thighs and his eyes greedy, taking in all your slick, bare skin. 
“Oh, there’s a good girl,” he hummed, his hand smoothing up each side of your waist, taking your shirt with it. “Play with your tits, honey, lemme see them, yeah?”
You did as you were told, face burning as you pushed up your t-shirt and wrestled the cups of your bra out of the way, tits spilling out of them. Your hands shook a little as you pressed them together, hard nipples peeking through your fingertips and it was all filth, a lewd, pornographic scene that you wanted to give Steve. 
“Ohh,” the boy moaned in appreciation, the sound rumbling in his chest and he rutted down into the mattress, seeking relief on his hard cock that was straining between his waistband and his stomach. “Look at you, Christ. You’re so damn pretty, you know that? Gonna let me make you feel good, baby?”
You nodded, whining until your words were just noise but they all sounded very much agreeable. So Steve ducked his head back down and used one of his hands to pull your leg out further, spreading you wide as he kissed a line from your entrance to your clit. And just when you thought he’d suck the little bundle past his lip, he let it go in favour of licking over your folds, left and the right - and the right up the centre of you with a wide, flat tongue. 
“Steve, Jesus fucking Christ,” you moaned loudly, jaw unhinged and head hanging back on his pillow even when your back arched for him. “That’s— fuck! Don’t stop.”
Steve soothed you with gentle hands on your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles into the fat there and he hushed you. “M’not gonna stop, honey, don’t worry,” he spoke into you, lips pushing against your pussy with every word and you wanted to cry, you wanted to beg. “You wanna come already?”
It should’ve been a mocking thing to ask, the ‘already,’ holding so much amusement but you didn’t care. You couldn’t. Not when the boy was letting the soft tip of his tongue circle lazily around your clit, dragging it down to your neglected hole until he groaned when it clenched around him, his own hips bucking once more. 
“She’s so needy,” he whispered, in awe. “And so damn wet, Christ baby, you feel good?”
You nodded, head bobbing exuberantly as you propped yourself on your elbows to get a better look. Steve grinned up at you and he nuzzled closer before bringing his hands to your cunt, thumbs spreading you open as he ordered, “keep your legs open, yeah? Good girl.”
And then he was closing his mouth around you, his tongue flattened against you as he sucked gently, the pressure of your clit being pulled into his mouth too much to handle. You keened, a high gasp that left your jaw hanging, eyes clenched shut in euphoria. The colours behind your eyelids turned to explosions, glitter in the air as Steve licked and sucked at you, the same pattern over and over again until you were pressing your heels into the bed and pushing back up to meet his tongue. 
“I’m— Steve? Steve, I’m gonna come—”
His answering groan was almost as loud as you, his hands leaving your folds so they could grab at your ass instead, fingers pressing almost bruisingly into each cheek so he could hold your squirming hips against him. He didn’t let up as you chanted his name, knees locking around his head like a vice and when you let out a high pitched wail, pushing at his forehead, he pulled back with a disbelieving laugh, a half gasp. 
“Holy shit,” he groaned, eyes roaming over how soaked you were, the way your chest heaved, how your heavy lidded eyes were set only on him. “That was so fucking hot, honey, like Jesus Christ—”
He didn’t get to finish as you grabbed him by the collar of his t-shirt, hauling him up until he was frantically crawling over your body, his hands braced on the mattress as you pushed yourself up to meet him. You were both breathing heavily but you stole a kiss anyway, his lips slick and shiny and tasting like you. 
You found you didn’t mind at all, your body burning at the reminder of what he’d just done, the taste of yourself on his tongue and yours, the thrumming pulse of your orgasm still simmering through you. 
“Good?” Steve was grinning into the kiss, grunting and gasping when your teeth nipped at him, your tongue tracing the line of his cupid's bow, chasing your taste. “Fuck, baby—”
You nodded, nose bumping against his and you wanted to sob at how good he’d made you feel. Words didn’t seem enough to be able to express it. “Yeah, yeah, oh my god-- yeah, it was good.”
Steve was still beaming, more happy than smug, because you were elated, glowing from the high of it all and he’d done that for you. But before he could soothe you back down to earth with more kisses and soft hands, you were pushing him off of you and down onto the mattress. His cock was still throbbing and the taste of you still coated his tongue as you straddled him, your shirt falling back down to cover your pretty tits but he could see the shiny slick from your pussy peek out from under the hem of it as you sat on his lap.
He didn’t get a chance to question you. 
“I wanna return the favour,” you said quietly. Soft but determined. “Show me how.”
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peterplanet · 2 months
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hi mae!! i saw ur anon earlier abt which characters u have reqs for rn and u mentioned not having any for tasm!peter, which i think is a crime, so i’m here to change that!
i looooved your marauders fic where reader came out as nonbinary (im enby myself) and i was wondering how that would go with peter? maybe during the stage where they both know they like each other, but haven’t officially started dating yet, and reader comes out to him as what they see as a “warning”. i’m openly enby but still present as very femme, so whenever there’s even an inkling of romance between me and a guy i’m always like “oh they dont know im enby. if i tell them they’re not gonna like me anymore, but also, this is who i am”. of course, no need to write this if you aren’t comfortable/not feeling inspired by it!! thank you love 🫶🏽🫶🏽
Hi gorgeous, thank you for requesting! I'm always a bit worried about these because I can only really try to imagine the enby experience from my outsider's perspective, so please lmk if there are any inaccuracies and/or insensitivities :)
tasm!Peter Parker x gn!reader ♡ 1.1k words
You’re constructing your lego flowers at about half Peter’s pace. Peter’s a whiz with everything, and you thought you were used to it, but the way he’s leaving you in his dust is borderline humiliating. He barely even has to look at the instructions, while you’re turning them over in your hands, glancing repeatedly between the paper and the small plastic pieces strewn between you on the couch. 
It might have something to do with your lack of focus. Which might have something to do with Peter being in especially flirty form today. 
It’s no secret that the two of you have feelings for each other. You have for a while, and you’ve both been aware of it for almost as long. Until today, neither of you seemed prepared to do anything about it. But something feels different. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, quick glances through his lashes as he talks, or the way his friendly touches seem more intentional than usual, or the fact that he’d wanted to build lego flowers with you because he thought you’d like it, despite you never having exhibited any interest in legos in your life. 
None of it is unwelcome. You want to enjoy it, but the escalation makes your palms sweat. It makes it seem like something is going to happen, some change, and you haven’t been honest with him yet. You feel like a time bomb. Or a mirage. Peter thinks he’s getting one thing with you, and then you lift the veil to reveal that you’re something else entirely. You feel like you have an obligation to clue him in before he makes any kind of move. And you’re scared of missing your window, but you have no idea when it’s passing. 
“I think you’re missing this one.” Peter’s hand moves over your lap, depositing a lego piece. 
You look up at him, returning his smile. “Thanks,” you say. “This is super unfair, by the way. You’ve got years of experience on me.” 
“It’s not a competition,” he laughs, looking at you in that way again. Warm, sunny, and something else. He holds his finished product out to you, a plasticky snapdragon. “Here, add it to our bouquet.” 
You take it from him compliantly, picking up the vase you’d dug out from your cabinet to hold the growing selection of plastic flowers. You can feel Peter’s eyes on you, and your hands shake a little as you arrange it among the others. If he puts on smooth jazz and starts lighting candles, you’ll bolt. 
“You’re gonna have a whole collection by the time we’re done here,” he says, and you hum in affirmation. His smile fades a bit. “Are you hungry? I could make us some dinner.” 
You aren’t, really, but you ought to be. You suspect your appetite’s just clogged up with nerves. “Sure, I could eat.”
Peter hops up, seeming happy to have something to do. “Okay, sick.” He starts going through cabinets, energy zinging off him in every direction. “We have frozen pizza! Or, uh, leftover thai food, or mac and cheese. Ooh, and we’ve got breadcrumbs! We could crust up the mac and cheese, if we’re feeling fancy.” He looks at you, raising his eyebrows comically high. 
“We can be fancy,” you say, trying to imitate his teasing tone. 
You don’t think you pull it off very well. Peter frowns and sets the boxed mac and cheese down on the counter. 
“Hey, are you okay?” You must look startled, because he softens the question with a smile. “You just seem a little spacey today. Is…are you having fun?” 
“I am,” you say, perhaps too quickly. Your voice is tinged with desperation. You try again, more sincerely. “I am, Pete. This is fun. I’m sorry, I’m just a little out of it.” 
“That’s okay.” He makes his way back over to the couch, folding a leg underneath him as he sits. His eyes are earnest on yours. Reassuring, even though he doesn’t know what there is to reassure yet. “What’s eating you?” 
You try to look casual, make your tone sound offhand. “Have I mentioned that I’m nonbinary?” 
Peter blinks. “Uh, no. I don’t think so.” 
“Oh.” You grin, shrugging. Every move you make feels stilted and embarrassing. “Well, I am. I’ve just been thinking I should make sure you knew, just in case you didn’t.” 
“Okay.” He seems a bit stunned, but he hasn’t broken eye contact with you. And Peter’s not looking at you like he’s seeing through the veil. He’s looking at you the way he always has. “Are you—is this your way of trying to tell me that you want me to use different pronouns for you?” 
“What?” you laugh. “No. I’m not trying to tell you anything, just…I like you, and I didn’t want to, like, trap you in anything if you didn’t know.” The levity saps from your tone as you go on, until your voice is painfully quiet. “I understand if you don’t like me anymore. It’s cool.” 
“What?” Peter repeats you, but the delivery is off. He sounds gutted. “Why would you think that?” 
You shrug. You’re doing your best to look normal, but your face is burning something awful. 
“You’re not—” he shakes his head. “You’re not trapping me in anything. Sweetheart.” Peter surges into your corner of the couch, crowding you as much as hugging you. Mindless of the viscous little plastic pieces biting into his knees. He smells like laundry detergent. “Thank you for telling me,” he says, face an inch from your ear, “but it doesn’t change how I feel about you. Sorry to disappoint.” 
You laugh, the sound embarrassingly choked. He rubs your back roughly. 
“I can tell this is you just trying to get out of things,” he goes on with impressive lightness, “and I really hate to tell you this, but you’re stuck with me. We have a lego bouquet now. Those are binding.” You laugh again, and Peter’s voice drops to a more sincere register. “Thanks for telling me though, really.” He releases you, or partly, hands sliding down your shoulders to rest on the crooks of your elbows. “I like getting to know you. I’ll take whatever new material you want to give me.” 
“Thanks,” you say softly. You muster your confidence, taking his forearms in your hands and giving them a friendly squeeze. “I didn’t realize the lego flowers were a contract, though. I think I may want to renegotiate my terms.” 
Peter blows out a breath, shaking his head. “Sorry, can’t help you. There’s no backing out now.”
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peterplanet · 3 months
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u dont post for months at a time and pornbots have a field day . smh
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peterplanet · 4 months
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feel the magic
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Steve Harrington x Reader 
Seven days before Christmas, you find yourself stuck in a snowstorm in the middle of a city you're still finding your place in. You wait out the weather with a handsome stranger.
This prompt is from @allthingsjoeq & @bettyfrommars ❄️ Holiday Prompt Party ❄️ which was so fun! Thank you ladies for sharing these ♥️
You both rush to find shelter in a bookstore or bar during a snowstorm
Word Count: 6.6k
Contents: Set in 90’s Chicago, reader & Steve are both mid-late twenties. Nothing explicit, some kisses and mentions of arousal. Some talk of Steve’s shitty parents. No physical descriptions of reader. Steve Harrington’s charm comes with its own warning.
Note: Thank you @specialagentmonkey for proofreading and being my hype woman as always ♥️
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Chicago in December was cold. Very fucking cold.
A million miles from the hot and heavy city you moved to in the summer, there was something about that bitter chill of the air, the frosted pavements and the warm glow of the Christmas lights decked across the city that made it feel like something right out of a movie. You never felt like you could relate to those leading ladies in the romantic comedies and the coming-of-age romances you grew up watching, more like some side-friend character who faded into the background, inconsequential to the plot and action.
It was your first winter in the city, your first Christmas too, and it wasn’t long before you realised that your grandma had been right - investing in a good winter coat was a must for the Windy City. Despite the cold, the shininess of your new adventure in a new city still held up, feeling like the city girl you had always dared to dream of being.  
With the holidays too close for comfort - just seven days before you caught a cab to O’Hare to make the journey home - you cashed in some of your overtime and finished work early to hit the city to get the last few presents for friends and family. 
The snow had started just before you left the office, a light dusting that made your shopping trip feel even more magical. You had carefully stowed your camera in your bag to snap shots of the big tree at Civic Centre and the lights around City Hall to show your Mom and friends at home. When the snow started to come down heavier and heavier, the fluffy fat flakes falling in the shot made it feel more magical. 
As you looked around, soaked in the festivity of it all, you thought that maybe for one day you could play pretend and let yourself feel like the glossy, confident main character of the movie in your head. 
By six o’clock the magic of it all had well worn off and you were ready to go home. Your wool winter coat kept you warm-cheeked and overheating as you waited in line in Macy’s to pay for a scarf and fancy hand cream that your Aunt would fake-smile at before tossing it to the side. It felt like years since you had stepped inside the huge store, some sort of liminal purgatory where time didn’t exist and it was far too easy to get lost amongst the shiny Christmas displays and the disorienting overstimulation of the cosmetics and fragrances department. 
Your head was surely going to explode if you heard some poor impression of Bing Crosby crooning another Christmassy jingle over the store’s speakers. You were feeling distinctly less festive and fun now - less merry and bright, more murderous and bad-tempered. 
Over the tinny muzak and the scratch of your scarf on your too-warm neck, you tuned into the conversation going on behind you.
“That snow is really coming down, huh?”
“Didn’t you hear? It’s some sorta weather-bomb - only going to get heavier.” 
You and every other shopper within earshot looked toward the windows, seeing the white flurry instead of the warm glow of Christmas lights. 
You became all too aware of the sheer number of bags you were carrying, weighed down with books and gifts and trinkets, the heft of your camera and the bottle of wine you had bought to sip when you got home. The overheated parts of you longed to be cool again, but this felt like some sort of karmic mockery. The tad-too-short-for-work skirt you had chanced and got away with that day felt minuscule beneath your coat as you imagined how cold a weather-bomb was going to be.
By the time you paid and politely refused gift-wrapping for your purchase, the snowstorm had thrown the city into chaos. Traffic was at a near standstill when you reached the front door on State Street, the sidewalks packed with shoppers and commuters battling through the snow and each other to find a way home. 
The subway entrance was one street away but seeing the pushing and shoving crowd cramming themselves underground made you feel claustrophobic, twisting hot panic in your gut. Maybe the stop before might be less crazy, you thought, hoping for a better chance of getting home sometime before midnight, so you squeezed away from the crowd and braved the worsening blizzard. 
The magic of Christmas had almost fully waned now, despite the snowball fights starting up amongst the gridlocked traffic. You just wanted to get home, feel your fingers and toes again perhaps. You picked your steps through the icy streets, trying not to slip or whack other flustered pedestrians with your bags; they didn’t have the same courtesy or kindness. Patience and Christmas cheer had worn thin, battered by heavy snow.
“Watch it!” one sharp-elbowed woman hissed over her furry coat collar as she shouldered past you, sending you off-balance just as a rogue snowball hit your shoulder. 
Had your feet not been aching so badly, you would have stamped like a toddler.
“Bitch.” Your frustrated whisper went unheard as you continued down the block, squinting to pick out a landmark to orient yourself in the snowy city. 
You tucked yourself into a side street to regroup and take a breath, attempting to condense your too-many shopping bags to protect the preciously picked-out presents inside. The welcoming glow of a bar sign caught your eye, a blinking beacon through the fluster of snow. 
Tucked away down the side street, The Snug appeared like a mirage. Twinkling Christmas lights blurred by the steamed-up windows winked at you, inviting you inside. It was fate.
Surely the snow will stop soon, you thought as you gathered yourself again. One drink and some fries would be plenty of time to let the streets and subways settle.
The cold air made your nose and lungs feel spikey-sore after a few deep steadying breaths. With your bags clutched safely in your hands, you picked your steps toward the almost-hidden bar, dodging patches of ice to get to the door. 
Inside was cosy-calm, with clusters of friends and a few fellow solo drinkers hiding from the heavy snow and chaos. It was quieter than the streets and packed subways, their chatter backed by songs queued up from a jukebox glowing in the corner. 
You squeezed yourself and your bags into a free booth, taking a load off with a sigh that pulled the tension all the way up from the tips of your toes.
Daringly, you chanced a look in your compact to assess the damage of a day of shopping and going head-to-head with the bitter cold front. Mascara smudged beneath your eyes, hair a riot. 
“Shit,” you murmured, pulling the attention from the man at the next table.
He smiled, sympathetic when he saw your flustered state. “You look like you’re in the right place.” 
After blowing hair from your face you returned a tight smile. “Thanks, I think.” 
His brown eyes widened. “Oh no, no... I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, horrified that he had offended you. 
You shook your head, “No, I get it. I look insane. It’s been a day.” Handbag in hand, you looked at him again, smiling a little softer at the flustered stranger. “Could you keep an eye on my bags for a sec? I’m just going to the ladies' room. And the bar.”
The man nodded, sitting back in his chair. “Sure, go for it. I’ll guard them with my life.” 
You didn’t miss his charming smile, or the pink tint of embarrassment that lingered on his cheeks after accidentally telling you the truth about just how crazy you looked. You caught the subtle once-over he gave you after your coat was removed and hoped that your sixty-denier tights hadn’t laddered. Your cheeks felt warm again as you made your way to the ladies' room, purse in hand to wrangle your messy hat-hair and fix your face. 
As you patted rose-tinted balm onto your lips, you quietly hoped that first impressions could be overwritten.
Armed with a glass of red wine and your receipt for a basket of fries,  you returned to your table and tried not to sigh too obnoxiously (or moan) at the relief of sitting down. At the next table, the brown-eyed man was looking over a piece of paper and tapping his pen against his full lower lip. 
“Thanks, Stranger,” you said, looking and feeling at least ten times better.
“Oh. You’re welcome,” he said, smiling distractedly before raising his half-drunk beer to you. 
You raised your glass in return, sharing that little smile with the stranger before plucking one of the new books from your cluster of bags to distract your busy mind.
Wine and a book in a cosy bar? Maybe the day had not entirely gone to shit.
The stranger went back to his list, and you tried not to let your gaze linger too long on his broad shoulders or his sharp jaw. He looked like he had just finished work, a few shirt buttons undone beneath his navy blazer, his coat and scarf bundled on the chair opposite him with one lonely Macy’s bag on top. You watched him push his honeyed hair back, raking his fingers through the strands falling over his forehead. It was easy to forget to even open your book to start reading in favour of being distracted by him.
There was no denying he was attractive. And there was no denying that you were caught looking when his brown eyes met yours and his lips twitched with a charming smile. 
“Steve.” 
“Huh?” Wide-eyed, and flushed-hot with embarrassment, you could not find a quick way to explain away your gazing. 
“You called me ‘stranger’ before. My name’s Steve.”
“Oh. Of course. Steve.” You gave him your name, watching how he smiled when you said it before repeating it as you had done with his.
“Pretty name. Guess we’re not strangers anymore.” 
“I guess not.” 
His mouth curved up as he lifted his glass again, taking a slow sip. Your eyes drifted to two perfect moles on his neck as he swallowed; they matched the twin set on his cheek.
Some sort of alarm started to scream in your head; you had forgotten the feeling of being flirted with. If that’s what this was. 
“Christmas shopping?” he asked, nodding to your bags. 
“Yeah, just about have everything,” you said, “Now I have to wrap it all.” After a steadying sip of wine as your fries arrived, you watched how he twirled his pen between thick fingers, names left uncrossed on the paper in front of him. “Are you stuck?”
Steve slumped back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head before running his fingers through his hair again, making it messy in the most artfully effortless way.   “Yeah, a little.” He rubbed his face before looking at you again. “Um, can I pick your brains? I don’t wanna impose…” 
This was never how your day was supposed to go. As the snowstorm raged on outside, inside the cosiness of the bar felt like a whole other world miles from your planned evening of gift-wrapping and most of a bottle of wine. Instead, surrounded by soggy shopping bags, you found yourself with the attention of an Adonis-like stranger. You felt like it was some sort of fair deal from the universe.
When you made the move to the city, started afresh with this new chapter, you made yourself promise to take life as it came and not be too uptight. Maybe this was all part of the flow you had vowed to go with…
Smiling at Steve, you pushed your unopened book to the side and leaned forward on your arms, “Sure. Go for it.”
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Steve relocated to your booth after a few minutes of chatting. An hour and a half later, he had made himself at home opposite you with his bright smile and dreamy dark eyes. 
The bar had become a refuge to a few more bodies seeking shelter from the bitter cold front raging outside. He didn’t need much convincing to share your booth, freeing up the table for a couple huddled together over hot whiskies.
You had insisted on sharing your fries with Steve as you gave suggestions on what he could buy for the last few names on his list. A second basket and another round of drinks had been ordered on his tab when you realised that neither of you would be going home any time soon.
With a greasy-hot fry between your fingers, you tried not to drool over his thick forearms as he rolled up his shirtsleeves, and went back to navigating Steve’s complex network of friends-turned-family.
“So he’s your ex-girlfriend’s little brother? And you stayed friends… because he’s friends with Dustin…? Who��s like your brother?” 
As you figured out who the hell ‘Mike’ was, Steve nodded encouragingly and chewed another fry.
“You got it.” His straight white teeth glinted in the warm light of the bar.
“And his sister - Mike’s sister, your ex-girlfriend, Nancy… Is Robin’s girlfriend now? Robin, your best friend?” 
“Yep. See, told you you’d wrap your head around it eventually.” His smile was proud as he nudged the fries your way again. 
You took two more fries as your reward before nudging the basket back to Steve. You tried not to focus on the way the fries had left his lips shiny, or the pink glow on his cheeks when he caught you staring. Again. 
When you realised that this serendipitous stranger who gave you butterflies wasn’t someone else’s boyfriend, you dropped your shoulders and your guard and relaxed into the booth more. You willed yourself to relax, to go with the flow. It was not difficult to let yourself sink deeper into those warm brown eyes of Steve’s as he slowly upped his flirtations and snuck his own barely subtle glances at your lips. 
He was smooth.
Steve tapped the paper list with his finger, transferring more salt and oil from the fries to the now annotated and doodled-on list. 
“So, any suggestions? He’s the hardest one to buy for, so of course I got him for Secret Santa. Again.” He leaned his head back against the booth. “He’s a little dweeb. Big dweeb now. Taller than me.”
He spoke with such fondness of the kid he swore didn’t like him. It wasn’t difficult to figure out that Steve was maybe one of the most thoughtful people you had ever met. Most of what you had learned about him had been through what he told you about his friends - where he grew up, his collection of poorly paid jobs after high school before going to college in Indianapolis, then onto Chicago. His best friends were never far behind. He would be spending the Holidays with friends and their families instead of his own, which he seemed perfectly fine about. 
He was funny too, heavy-handed with charm and kindness. You were definitely done for.
Steve Harrington seemed like an enigma, one you would happily devote hours and hours to figuring out.
The basket fries were pushed back and forth and you wracked your brains to think of a gift for this random college kid you didn’t know. The barman announced that the snow was still coming down heavily, and to make yourselves at home. You had lost all track of time, cosy in the bubble of the booth with your new friend.
His brown eyes fixed on you as he rested his chin in his hand. “All you wanted was a quiet drink and a place to hide from the snow, and now you’re helping some dork with his shopping list. M’sorry, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. The butterflies in your gut swooped.
Warm-cheeked, you shrugged, “I don’t mind. It’s distracting me from panicking about how I’ll get home, or if I’ll ever get home. I’m still figuring out the subways.” Picking at the crisp ends of the fries, you tried not to get lost looking into his shiny amber eyes. “I was only going home to wrap presents anyway.” 
Steve smiled when you mirrored him, cheek resting on your hand. 
“I think this isn’t such a bad way to spend the evening, Steve.”
A pink glow - not entirely from his beer - warmed Steve’s face and he looked down at his almost empty glass. You would think he was being bashful had there not been a grin spreading on his handsome face. 
“Oh, you’re trouble.” 
You shrugged, attempting to play coy. “What were you supposed to be doing tonight? What are you missing to be here with some strange girl?”
Steve shrugged. “Well, I was Christmas shopping, like you. Killing time. I was supposed to meet my buddy for dinner and drinks, came in to use the phone to cancel when the snow got bad. I’ll catch up with him tomorrow.”
“A buddy on your list?” You asked, nodding to the piece of paper.
“Mhm. Eddie. He didn’t mind too much, I’ll make it up to him.” He sipped his drink again.  “He has a gig tomorrow night, so I’ll see if I can help with lifting amps and shit.”
“He’s the heavy metal guy?” you asked, remembering back to Steve labelling him as so easy to buy for.
Steve had not smiled so much in weeks, maybe months. With you, tucked away in The Snug, he basked in the ache in his cheeks, the way you laughed, how you remembered little things about him and his friends. 
“I hope these friends of yours realise how much you love them, Steve.”
He liked that blunt edge of your delivery too. 
You watched him fluster a little for the second time that evening.
“I do mean that. You’re putting so much of yourself into these presents, not just… I don’t know, throwing money at stuff. There’s so much thought in all of these.” You tapped the paper for emphasis, recognising a little of yourself in the way Steve put thought into his gifts for the ones he loved. 
You knew the sting of that thoughtfulness not being returned, or even noticed. 
Watching Steve flounder, seeing him resonate with your assessment, you felt a sinking stone in your chest. Too much. Too far. He was still a stranger, a stranger you were practically snowed in with and had probably developed some sort of cabin-fever-bond with, and you had to push it. 
“Sorry. Shit. Steve, I should just shut up. I don’t know you, or your friends. I would be so mad if some stranger just-”
His hand, his much bigger, warmer hand, reached for yours and squeezed. 
“Stop. It’s okay.” Steve squeezed again, his palm warm as it curved around your hand. “What you said, it’s true. I.. Shit.” He smiled, a sadness in his eyes you had not seen and blamed yourself for, “Here I am dumping my baggage on you.” 
Steve sighed but didn’t let your hand go. You didn’t mind; you didn’t want him to.
“My parents just threw money at gifts for me. Totally impersonal shit I didn’t need, or want. They didn’t know me or what I liked, all for appearances and shit like that.” You watched soft fondness pull at the corner of his mouth. “So I put thought into stuff for my friends. They’re my family now. They annoy the hell out of me some days, but I want them to know… I dunno, that I listen. That I hear them. And see them, what they like…”
He trailed off when you turned your hand beneath his and squeezed.
“That’s the sweetest, Steve. They’re very lucky to have you.” Your voice was a gentle murmur, loud enough for him to hear.
He shrugged, playing smooth again despite the reality check he had been dealt. “M’the lucky one. They’re buttheads, but they have my back too. Promise.” 
You nodded and tried not to flush when you looked at your joined hands. 
“Tell me something about you then, Steve… I don’t even know your last name. What’s your favourite colour?” 
He smiled again, back on some new track now after that detour to the trauma dump. “I like yellow. I usually say blue, because when I say yellow people look at me like I’m crazy or somethin’. Yellow. Definitely.”
It clicked then, the warmth of his smile and his presence glowed like yellow sunshine and the golden bulbs of Christmas lights that could warm up the most frigid places. Warm like melted butter on toast and the glow of the lamp beside your bed for reading late into the night. It made you feel warm despite the winter cold.  
“And it’s Harrington. Steve Harrington.”
“Yellow suits you, Steve Harrington.” 
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You and Steve moved on to clove-heavy hot whiskies as you traded questions back and forth, learning about each other little by little. You found it hard not to fall a little bit in love with him as he became less of a stranger to you. 
He played basketball in school and swam competitively. His favourite films were Top Gun and Dirty Dancing. He preferred pancakes over waffles and didn’t like bacon on his burgers. You spoke briefly about what you did for work and focused instead on trivial things that showed each other the real you, the real Steve Harrington. 
What’s your middle name? 
Best Halloween costume? 
Most important question ever, crunchy or smooth?
He was as close to perfect as you had ever dreamed someone could be. 
Two middle names, Henry Michael. 
Maverick, or Sandy from Grease - don’t ask, I’m not drunk enough. 
Crunchy, duh. Have you tried it with honey instead of jelly?
A tiny cynical part of you waited for something about him to dislike. You could have kept waiting, kept wondering, but instead you decided to relent to the simple serendipity of it all. Maybe there was nothing to dislike about Steve (Henry Michael) Harrington, and that was perfectly okay.  
You sat alone at the table, watching Steve’s broad back as he leaned against the bar to get change for the jukebox. That golden glow of his made him like the North Star in the business of the bar; simultaneously exciting you and making you deliciously nervous. 
The first couple of people left the bar to bravely trek home through the mean cold streets a little after nine, promising to call to let the bar staff know they got back safe and advise whether others should stay or chance the journey home. Everyone had agreed to a lock-in until morning if the snow didn’t stop or if the conditions got too dangerous. 
You all waited on a collective breath for the phone to ring; drinks flowed, and conversations continued and deepened over strong drinks. Feeling comfortably blurred around the edges, the spirits stayed high despite the less-than-perfect circumstances.
The shrill ringing of the phone behind the bar pulled the air from the room, silence fell. 
Home safe. The barman gave a thumbs up and relayed the message that the streets were walkable, a few taxis were running if you were lucky to catch one. 
Steve’s searching gaze found yours as everyone else cheered. The bubble had burst. 
His smile was a little sad, matching yours despite the good news that you could actually go home. He held up a finger, ‘one sec’, and darted to the jukebox with his handful of change to queue up some songs before you had to say goodbye. 
Goodbye. 
You didn’t want to say goodbye to Steve Harrington. 
A heavy weight settled in your chest as you took stock of your bags, distracting yourself until Steve settled himself across from you again. His hand patted the smooth table top twice, head tilted to look at your face. 
“Y’okay?” he asked. “Guess it’s good that we don’t need to sleep here tonight..?”
“Mhm. Definitely. Just… trying to figure out how long it’s going to take me to get home,” you said, not totally a lie. Your smile didn’t meet your eyes, even though you looked forward to getting into your cosy bed with the brushed cotton bedsheets and your fuzzy flannel pyjamas.
“Me too. What way are you headed?” Steve said, an innocent glimmer of hopefulness in his eyes. 
When you told him where you lived he nodded. “M’not far from there. I’d… really like to walk you home, if that’s okay? Or try to find a cab…We could share?” Steve rambled a little,  his smooth exterior cracking. “Fuck it. I want to make sure you get home safe, and I like talking to you. A little part of me was hoping we’d get snowed in or something so stupid so I could spend more time with you.” 
You looked at him across the table, wide-eyed as your heart hammered in your chest. 
“Is that crazy of me? I’m coming on way too strong, aren’t I?” 
“Steve.”
You smiled, taking his hand. “That would be really great. I kinda hoped the same. I’d like it if you walked me home.”
His smile was blinding as he took your hand between both of his, warm and large. “Okay, great. Cool.” 
“Cool,” you echoed, placing your other hand on top of his like a stack as you tried not to giggle or kick your feet.
The familiar opening chords of Old Time Rock and Roll played from the jukebox, making you both grin wider at each other. 
“It’s a classic, I couldn’t not put it on,” he said.
You threw your head back, laughing happily as Steve murmur-sang along with Bob Seger, bobbing his head as he crooned quietly for you. You knew about the scar on his arm from when he recreated that scene at a party; slid too hard, right into his mother’s second-favourite vase as his friends cheered him on (then drove him to the ER).
“Don’t tell me you put something from Dirty Dancing on next, Steve,” you teased, seeing his eyes sparkle with a sly sweetness. “Steve!”
Your laugh made him feel tingly-warm all over.
“It’s not Time of My Life or She’s Like the Wind, promise,” he said, smirking as he kept his cards close to his chest. “Promise. We can go when it’s over.  If you’re ready to head out?”
You nodded, squeezing his hands before rooting in your bag for your gloves. Knowing that you didn’t have to part ways just yet made the idea of being out in the cold a little more tolerable.
“You been taking photos of the lights?” Steve asked, picking up your camera from the table after taking it out of your bag. 
He remembered that ‘new in town’ excitement, still had the photos of him with Robin in front of the tree at Civic Centre (fresh-faced and pink-cheeked after too much mulled wine). The big tree had been nothing on their own lovably wonky tree in their tiny apartment, decorated with cheap baubles and coloured lights and tinsel that shed so much . 
“Yeah, to show my Mom. Super cheesy, I know,” you rolled your eyes and watched as Steve turned it so carefully in his hands. “Might get some snaps of the snow, to remember tonight.”
As Steve nodded, an idea bobbed to the surface of your mind. 
“Steve? Feel free to say no but… Could I get one of us? To remember…”
As if you would ever forget the night you met Steve Harrington. 
Steve watched your teeth sink into your lower lip, let his eyes linger before catching your eyes. You saw the whiskey-brown disappear, swallowed by deep black pupils. 
“Only if you get me a copy of it.”
His voice was low, smooth, and made your thighs squeeze - not for the first time that evening either. Without saying as much, you knew it meant he would like to see you again, that he didn’t want to forget you either.
You kept your voice remarkably cool and calm, despite the urge to squeal and kick your feet. “Yeah. Of course…” 
He winked before leaning over to catch the attention of the woman at the next table, checking with you before he passed your camera to her with that bright charming smile of his.
The woman directed you both to lean in a little across the small booth table, taking her task very seriously. “You two look great! So cute!” she said, beaming behind the camera.
The opening bars of Hungry Eyes started up as she counted down. 
It made the perfect picture; Steve grinning as he watched a giggle burst from your smiling lips. Your head was spinning, your heart beating hard in your chest - when you looked at that photo in years to come, you would never forget that feeling.
He thanked the woman and took the camera back as you soaked the lyrics in, thinking of Steve instead of Swayze. As you tucked the camera away, you realised that the song said more than either of you were brave enough to say out loud.
I feel the magic between you and I…
When your glasses were empty, when the butterflies had settled again, you began to wrap yourselves in your scarves and coats, hats and gloves, and gather your bags and belongings before braving the cold together. 
The warmth in your bones from the bar was quickly extinguished by the bitter air outside, though you couldn’t pretend that the snow was not beautiful. A little post-apocalyptic perhaps, but beautiful nonetheless. 
“Fuck, that’s cold,” Steve hissed, his words turning to vapour as you set off together, leaving footprints side by side in the crunchy snow. 
“No shit,” you teased, giggling at Steve’s scowl.
The combination of frigid air and the alcohol in your blood made you feel delightfully dizzy. Steve’s hair was crushed beneath his beanie hat, the longer ends peeking out beneath between his turned-up coat collar and scarf. Something about how much hair he could squeeze under that fine (expensive) knit hat made you feel terribly fond and giddy about it. 
“Okay, smartass. You were such a nice girl in the bar,” he tutted, teasing you back. 
“Tricked you,” you shrugged, “I was never nice.” Your chattering teeth make your playful quips much less believable - as if Steve couldn’t see right through you. 
“C’mere. Stick by me, we’ll either stay warm or freeze together.” Hooking a hand around your arm, Steve pulled you close to share body heat. Closer than you had been in the bar, body to body, you found that you fit nicely under his arm. Spicy-warm notes of his cologne mixed with whispers of cigarette smoke buried deep in the wool of his coat.
You smiled up at him, a shiver of nervousness down your spine as you realised you were alone together - actually alone now - for the first time.
“This okay?” he asked, pink nose matching his cheeks as he steered you both through the snow. 
“Yeah,” you said, smiling back. With your arm wrapped around the thickness of his torso, you squeezed gently and hoped he could feel it through the winter layers. His grin told you he did. 
You walked in silence for a while, carrying the weight of ‘when can I see you again?’ and ‘please tell me you feel that spark too?’ with all of your shopping bags. 
“Hey, Steve?”
“Yeah?” His eyes shone, sparkled with something when he looked down at you.
“We still haven’t figured out a present for Mike…”
Steve hung his head, eyes squeezed shut as your feet slowed down. “This fuckin’ kid.”
He lifted his head after sighing so hard you swore he was going to turn inside out. 
“Mike Wheeler is going to be the death of me, I swear to god,” he said, speaking up to the sky. “He’s getting a Sam Goody gift card. Done. I don’t care anymore.” 
“Steve Harrington, you can’t pussy-out and get him a gift card,” you tutted, leaning your weight against him to make him swerve.
The way Steve’s laugh echoed through the empty snow-capped streets made your heart flutter. “You did not just accuse me of being a pussy. You’re breaking my heart here, baby.”
When he looked down at you, eyes sparkling with mirth rather than genuine hurt from your playful betrayal, you could not miss how his tongue darted out to wet his pretty pink lips. 
Baby echoed in your ears, warming you from the inside.
“You cannot get him a gift card.” Voice quiet and insistent, you squeezed him again, “Think, Steve.”
“I am.” Played-up-pathetic, Steve’s whiney voice made you double-take and giggle at him. “He’s impossible.” 
“No one is impossible. Tell me what he likes again. Don’t say ‘nerd shit’, Steve.”
Steve rolled his eyes and you poked his ribs, far too cosy and familiar with the man who was a stranger just a few hours ago.
“Dungeons and Dragons, weed,” he listed, “He writes stuff sometimes, films, uh… Taco Bell?” 
“He likes films too?”
“Mm. Studying film. Wants to be a screenwriter or somethin’...”
You hummed and looked up at the clear sky for an answer. “How about… a framed film poster?”
“Say more.” Steve looked down at you, prettier than the stars ever could be. 
You forced yourself not to look at his lips, knowing you were a weak tipsy woman at heart. “Well, what’s his favourite film? Posters are pretty easy to find, a nice-ish frame. Slap a bow on it, Merry Christmas, Mike.” 
Padded fingers tapped your upper arm as Steve thought, wracking his brains. “When they were kids, they dressed up as Ghostbusters for Halloween. Recreated it this year. Oh, you’re a fuckin’ genius!” 
Steve squeezed you tight against his side, and with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, scooped you up with admirable ease to spin around in the snow. 
“Steve!” your voice was an undignified yelp, cracked with laughter. 
“You’ve saved Christmas!” Steve’s smiling face was brighter than any Christmas lights guiding your path home. Still turning with you, slower now and more careful, he rested his forehead against yours and murmured, “You’re some kinda miracle, baby.” 
Steve’s warm whiskey-tinted words whispered over your mouth. Your breath was caught, choked in a gasp in your throat, as he slowed down his spinning to ease you down onto the snowy empty road. Arms still wrapped around each other, shopping bags crushed and be-damned, you stood toe to toe just looking at each other. 
“Can I..?” Quietly smooth and charming, Steve’s eyes dipped to your lips. 
Instead of giving him an answer, using your words like a big girl, you grabbed a handful of his coat to bring your mouths together in a kiss. 
Christmas lights twinkled above you, like movie magic or fairy dust. Lips pressed and lingered, kisses slow and sweet. It was everything you dreamed it would be, better even as Steve hauled you closer still and traced his nose against yours. 
Smiling, breaths warming each other’s faces, you let Steve lead the next kiss - after all he had asked so nicely. One gloved hand on your cheek, his lips slotted with yours before he deepened the kiss with a tenderness that made your bones ache. Had he not been holding you so close, had you not been moored safely in the circle of his arms, you would have surely swooned.
His kisses warmed you, sending sparks through your limbs as his tongue grazed yours with a promise of more. You felt his lips tug and smile in response to the tiny gasping noise that escaped from your throat. Slowly, so sweetly, he kissed the side of your mouth and up to the warm apple of your cheek. 
“Wanted to do that all night,” he murmured, making sure you were steady to stand before peeling away slightly. 
“Me too.” You grinned, a giggle barely held behind your teeth. “Knew you were looking at my lips.”
“Oh yeah? Should’ve kissed you sooner then.” A smiling peck pressed to your lips as your reward, your gold star for being so observant, before you righted and reoriented yourselves for the rest of the walk home.
With most of your bags in Steve’s steady hand (the one that was not keeping you close to his side), you trekked together toward home as more frosty flakes fell from the dark night sky. 
The heat of your kiss had melted something more between you, both relieved that you weren’t the delusional one, that you both felt that same something. 
Without much traffic, meeting only a few other pedestrians trekking home in the snow, it felt like the journey was about to end far too soon. You passed and pointed out the place where you got your photo-film developed, your favourite diner, Steve’s favourite coffee place which happened to be by the bookstore you liked. 
“I don’t wanna be presumptuous,” Steve said, “But I’d love to see you again.” He looked down at your face, feeling his heart beat harder. “I’ve never met someone like you… Y’know, when you click right away?”
“I’d like that, Steve. I’d like that so much.” Butterfly wings fluttered hard in your chest as you watched his smile melt onto his handsome face. “Anyway, I want to know how that Secret Santa goes down.” 
His grin was brighter than the snow. “You have full credit for that, honey.” Smiling lips kissed your forehead, just where your hat ended. He had scribbled his number on a clean napkin back at the bar, tucked it in his pocket to slip to you if (when) you said yes to seeing him again. 
You let yourself lean into him, nuzzling his cologne-and-smoke-spiced arm before sighing. With your door in sight, you took a breath and made yourself be brave. 
“This is me, just up here.” 
You spotted the recognition on Steve’s face. This was goodnight - at least it wasn’t goodbye.
“We’re not so far from each other. I’m like.. Five blocks that way.” He pointed off to the left, somewhere you did not bother to follow in favour of looking up at Steve. 
Now or never. This didn’t have to be goodnight… 
“Hey, so I don't love the idea of you out here on your own in the snow. What if you freeze into an ice cube, or slip and crack your head?” 
As your teeth grazed your lower lip, you watched his cheek pulse as he tried not to smile at your dreamed-up worries. Your own smile was barely hidden, ducked briefly behind your thick scarf. 
“Huh. I didn’t think of that.” Steve bobbed his head, faux-thoughtful as he considered his next steps. “Pretty perilous…”
“Christmas would be cancelled…” You bit the inside of your cheek. 
“Oh shit, you think?” his brows raised beneath his beanie, a knowing smile gave him away. You couldn’t possibly match Steve’s smooth charm. 
You took a little breath in before asking the question you both knew the answer to.
“So, you might… You could stay the night? With me. If you want to.”
Steve measured himself and tried not to be too eager at the thought of more time with you, more kisses. “You sure?” he asked, glancing up at your building before looking right back at you. 
You nodded slowly, smiling when you spotted the fresh snowflakes on his lashes, dusted over his broad shoulders too. “Mmhm. I’m sure.” 
Steve smiled, closing the gap between you to kiss you again as the snow fell. “Then I’ll stay.” 
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peterplanet · 4 months
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i understand why the bisexuals like spencer reid/matthew gray gubler so much. if i wasnt a lesbian i think i’d want to give him a little kiss
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peterplanet · 4 months
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One of the worst parts of current internet culture is that it makes good old fashioned complaining so difficult. I don’t wanna cancel anyone or bully anyone, I’m not trying to form a hate mob I’m not calling anyone out, i just wanna bitch about something. Because complaining is fun, good for you, even. Is that too much to ask? Where is the room for shooting the shit?
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peterplanet · 4 months
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𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 —send me a shy!reader request for any character (with a plot) and I'll write a >1k drabble
sirius/james introducing shy!reader to remus. and shes just like quiet and in awe, but remus loves it.
luveline's 40k party ☆ tysm for requesting! remus x shy fem!reader
James is used to your personality after months of being your lecture neighbour, unperturbed by your quiet. "It's going to be fun," he promises, handing you a cold glass of cranberry vodka. "They're nice, okay? I won't let anyone irritate you." 
He's hosting a party and had the generosity to invite you round early. He's easing you in, so to speak. It took him two weeks of steady Hellos for you to work up the courage to say Hi back, another two weeks for small talk, a month before you felt comfortable speaking to him first. If you're that shy, a party is basically torture.
"It's not about irritating me," you say. 
"I know, I'm messing." James lists his head to the left. A second later, there's a knock at the door. "Aha. Wait here, shortcake, there's someone I want you to meet." 
"James," you say after him, wet from your glass leaking down to your sleeve, "what?" 
"I asked him to come early and say hello! He's quiet and handsome and you'll love him, just don't stare at his nose." 
What's wrong with his nose? you think, alarmed. 
James opens the door. Two new voices emerge, one scratchy and a little high, the other smoother. "I need to pee so bad," the scratchy one declares, followed by bounding footsteps up the stairs. 
"You alright?" the smoother asks.
You think there's patting, a hug, "I'm brilliant! You smell really nice, Remus, like a garden." 
"Lovely."
"In a good way! Come and meet my Y/N, you remember I told you about her nice gel pens?" 
James leads the smooth-voiced Remus into the living room. You hurriedly put down your drink and stand, wiping your wet hands in your shirt. You cringe at the darkening fabric but hide your grimace as they stop in front of you. 
"Remus, Y/N. Y/N, Remus," James introduces you both. 
Remus has a scar across his nose that seems cruelly cut. There's another beside it that starts in his upper lip, both of which end in his eyebrow. You know how self-conscious it feels to be looked at, so you manage to smile and offer your hand without too much of it. He's handsome with his scars, a nice nose with a ridge and brown eyes the colour of caramelised sugar.
"Hello," Remus says, shaking your hand. His is big enough to make yours feel small. 
"I invited her early because she's more fun than the rest of our lot," James says, throwing himself down on the sofa and kicking his legs out on the coffee table. 
Remus taps your elbow very gently as if to usher you to sit and sits down beside you, enough space to be casual but too little to stop the rampant nerves that blossom in your stomach. 
Remus asks about your life. What you're studying, where you're from, if James is being nice to you. While James is touchy in the rough older brother way, scrunching your shoulder and shaking you when you're not expecting it. Remus is touchy in a different way, you find, almost as if he doesn't know he's doing it. His shoe bumps your shoe, his hand falls down between his outer thigh and your own, his knuckles touching your jeans very lightly. He spins in his seat to talk to you. 
You don't notice other people arriving, nor the scratchy-voiced friends return. All you can do is look up at Remus with wide eyes. Your nerves meld to something warmer. 
"And what do you do?" you ask him. 
He smiles like you've wandered into a secret. "I'm trying to write a book." 
"He's being a bit much," Sirius says to James, the two now loitering in the doorway with matching beers. You and Remus chatter on, unaware of their running commentary.
"It's a very strong reaction. I knew she'd like him, but I didn't think she'd like him like that." James takes a sip of his drink. Remus asks you a quiet question. You duck your head, playing with your sleeves, and Remus, the bastard, ducks his head to follow your gaze, smiling at you all the while. 
James almost chokes, pointing his bottle toward you both as though Sirius isn't already looking. "He's eating it up. I forgot how flirty he is."
"She'll be nice to him, won't she?" Sirius asks, like it's a done deal. To be fair, Remus seems enthralled with you. 
"Definitely. She's very nice. Oh, look, that's sick, she's gonna pass out." James winces as Remus takes your arm into his hand. 
Remus wouldn't do anything cruel, but James wasn't joking when he told Remus that you were exceedingly, achingly shy. He's about to step in and rescue you, but you turn into Remus' touch and pull your leg up on the sofa to make yourself comfortable. Your voice is animated, if quieter than the average person's.
"Woah," James says, beaming.  
Remus flirts almost as a defence, like he wants to get the rejection over and done with so he can move on. You've yet to reject; you're looking up at him in moderate awe, your lips quirked into an easy smile. 
"Boo!" James calls, flicking his bottle cap at Remus, who brushes it away. "Took me three weeks to get a smile out of her," he mutters. "What a dick." 
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peterplanet · 6 months
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Hi! I absolutely love your page and all of your poly!marauders writing! Could I request a poly!marauders where they’re all flirting with r (like pre relationship) and because she’s never really been noticed/flirted with before she thinks they’re kind of making fun of her like it’s a big joke. Then of course she finds out that’s not the case
Thanks for requesting babe, and thanks for reading! I had no idea how long this had become until I checked the wordcount just now haha, and I feel like it got a bit awkward in some places but I hope you enjoy it :)
poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.8k
As Friday nights go, this one is pretty typical. You’d arrived at the party with all of your friends, and one by one, they’d been pulled away by significant others, flirty strangers, or potential hookups. Now it’s just you, sitting on the couch and trying not to look awkward as the couple on the opposite end endeavors to swallow each other whole. 
“Hey there, gorgeous,” a familiar voice drawls, and Sirius Black sits down next to you. “Having a good time?”
You force a smile, not wanting to insult the party most likely being thrown by Gryffindor’s golden boys. “Yup.” 
“Doesn’t look like it,” he says, not unsympathetically, then nudges the curled-up form behind him. “Moony, you were really going to let this pretty thing sit here all by herself without speaking to her?”
The book they’re holding lowers, revealing Remus Lupin. His eyes start to roll as if it’s an automatic response to Sirius’ interruption, but then they fall on you. “Oh.” He blinks. “Sorry, love, I didn’t see you there.” 
You flush, sheepish and a bit resentful of being party to Sirius’ reprimand, however teasing it might be. You know Remus from the couple of classes you’ve had together, but you wouldn’t expect him to talk to you outside of those contexts. Speaking to someone that’s obligated is so much worse than speaking to no one at all. “It’s fine,” you say quietly, feeling unbearably awkward. 
“See? She’s too sweet to even hold you accountable for it,” Sirius tuts, shaking his head. “I’m sorry about him, dollface. Can I get you a drink?”
“I, um...” You look down at your empty cup, long since drained. “Sure, thanks.” 
He winks. “Be right back.” 
You expect Remus to go back to his book as Sirius struts off, but he folds the corner of his page, setting it down. 
“I really didn’t mean to ignore you,” he says, looking painfully apologetic. “How are your classes this year?”
You give him your most reassuring smile. “They’re good, thanks. And I didn’t think you were ignoring me.” You cringe. “Sorry Sirius made you put away your book on my account.” 
He looks at you with amber eyes full of kindness. “I don’t mind.” 
It’s a conscious effort to quell the ruckus in your stomach. You’d harbored a tiny, secret crush on Remus when you’d had classes together last year, and this is exactly why. He just seemed like such a sweetheart. Soft-spoken but brilliant, he never raised his hand to answer questions but always scored high on assignments, and you’d once caught him feeding answers to the girl next to him so she could win points for her house. You’d become enthralled with the way his smile would tug gently at the scars on his face, making them glint silver in the light that shone through the classroom windows, and how his eyes sparked with quiet amusement even when he wasn’t laughing.
The silence between you is stretching too long. You fumble for something to continue the conversation. “I like your sweater,” you say dumbly. 
“Yeah?” He smiles, scars flashing. “Thanks, lovely.” He lets his gaze roam over you for a moment, and you try not to squirm. “Do you want it? It’s a bit cold in here.” 
You look down, surprised to discover goose bumps covering your arms. “That’s alright,” you say, but Remus is already shrugging off his sweater, revealing the plain t-shirt underneath. “Remus, really, I’m fine.” 
“Don’t worry about it,” he insists, holding the sweater out to you and raising his eyebrows when you won’t take it. “If you don’t put it on, then neither of us will have it.” 
You watch him for a moment, but Remus doesn’t waver. You take it, giving him a look that you hope conveys both admonishment and apology. “Thank you.” 
“No problem,” he replies as you shrug it on. “Considering that this is a school of magic, it does a pretty poor job of regulating its temperature during the winter, don’t you think? Couldn’t let you just sit here and freeze, sweetheart. Sirius would kill me when he got back.” 
You pull Remus’ sleeves over your cold fingers, using the movement to avoid eye contact as your face heats. The way he’s talking to you, the pet names, it’s all so strange. You don’t get it. 
“Not to be rude,” Remus says before you can go deeper into your musings, “but I thought I saw you come in with a bunch of other girls. Where’d they all go?”
Ah. He’s talking to you because he likes one of your friends. “Oh.” You wave your hand about vaguely. “Here and there, pulled aside by various prospects. I’m sure you can find some of them if you go looking.” 
“But they left you by yourself?” He seems to disregard your friends’ whereabouts, his eyebrows coming together just a bit. “That’s not very nice. Lucky for us, though, I suppose.” 
You tilt your head, not quite sure what he means, but then Sirius returns, James Potter in tow. 
“Told you,” Sirius says as he passes you your drink, hand lingering on yours a second too long. James gives one to Remus. “She’s miserable.” 
“Can’t have that,” James replies agreeably, looking for somewhere to sit. His eyes fall on the couple behind you and he leans close to your ear. “Merlin, they’re really going at it, aren’t they?”
You laugh, and he grins at you like that was his aim all along. Meanwhile, Sirius has devised a solution to the problem of seating, making himself comfortable almost entirely in Remus’ lap. He gestures for you to come closer. You comply tentatively, scooting a couple feet towards the two of them. 
“Don’t be shy.” Sirius reaches out and grips your waist, hauling you closer until you’re pressed up against Remus’ leg and Sirius’ side, his arm remaining snugly around your waist. “We don’t bite. Unless you’re into that, of course.” 
“Pads.” Remus’ voice is stern, softened for your benefit. “Take it easy.” 
“Oh, come on,” Sirius scoffs. “I saw you putting the moves on her from over by the punch. You don’t get to have all the fun.” 
Putting the moves on you? Sirius almost makes it sound like Remus had been…flirting. Oh. You suppose maybe he had. But intentionally? Really? Sirius Black will flirt with anything, but Remus is a different story.
It must be a part of some bit they’re all doing, you realize. They are pranksters. Sirius was probably bored and in need of entertainment, and there you were, sitting all by yourself. Practically begging to be the object of his amusement. And then he’d enlisted Remus to go along with it. They’re probably all going to go back to their dorm tonight and laugh about how easily you’d fallen for it. Your face burns.
James has settled into the ample space you’ve made on the couch, allowing you a bit more room that Sirius seems willing to. “You alright, lovely? I’m sorry you haven’t been having a very good time.”
You look at him, finding nothing but sincerity in his warm brown eyes. You don’t suppose he would have been able to get away with so much if he weren’t a good actor. The last thing you’re going to do is give them more to laugh about by making a scene. “No, I’m fine. It’s a good party.” 
“Yeah?” James cocks his head like a puppy. “Well, that’s good, I guess. How’d you end up by yourself though, sweetheart?”
Remus answers for you. “Her friends left her.” 
“They’ll come back eventually,” you say hastily, then realize how pathetic that sounds. It’s all you can do not to shrink in on yourself. 
“I’m sure they are,” James says, and try as you might, you can detect no sarcasm in his tone, “but it’s still not a very considerate thing for friends to do. You seem like excellent company.” 
You scoff, taking a long sip of your drink. “Apparently not.” 
“You are,” Sirius says casually, looking at you over the rim of his cup. “I mean, I’ve only been around you for a little while, but it’s been a delightful experience for me. And Moony seems to like talking to you. That’s high praise.” 
Remus elbows Sirius but gives you one of his soft, kind looks, and it’s too much. It’s all too much. You feel like you’re being eaten alive by shame at how much you’re enjoying their attention, even if it’s all for show. 
“I have an idea,” James says, knee bumping into yours amicably. “We were going to go to Hogsmeade tomorrow to study. Would you come with? We could grab lunch together and convince you of how pleasant you are to have around.” 
You scoff. This charade has gone too far. “Yeah, right. What time should I meet you, at nine in the great hall, where everyone will be watching?” 
Who gets off on this anyway? Flirting is one thing, but all this faux kindness, just to humiliate you? It’s a cruelness beyond what you thought them capable of. 
James hesitates at your tone. “Um, yeah. Nine is good, if that works for you.”
You shake your head, crossing your arms. Sirius gets the message, removing his hand from around your waist. “This isn’t funny.” 
“It’s not supposed to be.” James looks wounded, and Remus leans forward, a concerned set to his brows. “Hey, what’s going through your head?” he asks, all concerned tenderness. 
You look between them, angry and, if you’re being honest with yourself, very hurt. “This is a prank, right? Because I was sitting alone and you were bored? Well, I don’t think it’s funny.” 
“Darling,” Remus breathes, reaching out as if to touch you but hesitating with his hand hovering just above your shoulder, “no one’s pranking you.”
Sirius shakes his head. “That’s not…we would never do something like that, and I’m sorry you think we would. Let me be clear: we want to go on a date with you tomorrow. Obviously you don’t have to, but we’d love it if you came.” 
You feel your eyebrows scrunch up, trying to right your worldview. You feel like you have whiplash. “Wait, are you serious?”
He grins, and it’s half sheepish, half wolfish. “That’s me.” 
You giggle a bit at that, and Remus works up the courage to let his hand land on your shoulder, squeezing gently. “No jokes or catches, lovely girl. I promise.” 
You send him a small smile before turning to James, who still looks like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. “I’m really sorry I accused you guys of that,” you say, guilt replacing shame at the feast of your insides. “I just…I’ve never had someone…notice me in that way before. I thought it was a joke.” 
James’ smile still bears some leftover unease, but there’s no reproach in it. “That’s alright, angel,” he says, earnest as he had been all along. “I’m sorry you thought we didn’t mean it. Let us prove it, yeah? Tomorrow?”
You beam at him, a frisson of excitement going through you. “Yeah, tomorrow.”
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peterplanet · 6 months
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if i start writing marauders fanfics will u guys still like me
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