#balloon-hem dress

[acorn-library]

A collection of trans* pride balloon-hem dresses.

#acnh #custom designs #trans pride #lgbtq+ #balloon-hem dress

[crossingdesigns]

cloudy nights collection ✿ by nook_by_the_book on ig

#acnh #acnh design #acnh custom design #acnh pattern #animal crossing #type: balloon hem dress #pinafore dress #dress #clothes #type: robe #long dress #type: long sleeve dress #type: short sleeve dress #blue #celestial #type: brimmed hat #brimmed hat #hat

[sturnsdoll]

Matt and Fwb!reader

at a party she decides to flirt with someone else, i mean she is still single after all

Matt doesn’t like that much

BELONG TO ME ੈ♡˳ - M.S

pairing: (fwb!) matt x reader

summary: when you catch your fuck buddy bestfriend flirting with another girl at a party, you decide you need to distract yourself with a different guy. matt doesn't like that at all. you belong to him.

warnings: rough dom!matt, jealousy/possesivness, fingering, thigh riding, p in v, hair pulling, degrading, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, this one's wild so lmk if i missed anything!

word count: 3,137

authors note: i know nobody asked for me to write about thigh riding but i truly dgaf cause it's sexy ash. hope y'all enjoy <3

"pink" - reader speaking "blue" - matt speaking

suggested song while reading:

「 ✦house of balloons/glass table girls by the weeknd ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 ᯤ✦ 」

the walls in the house were vibrating with music. voices rose over one another. alcohol and perfume filled your nostrils and you were wandering around like a headless chicken to find your bestfriend matt, who had brought you here.

there was a good 10 minutes of being caught up in conversation, being pushed and shoved, as well as just pure confusion of the crowds of people that halted you from your search. but alas, through the crowd of people you recognize matt's black hoodie and grey tank. a smile returns to your face. you adjust your dress down from where it had risen as well as fix your hair a little. mouth open, you're about to call for your friend when you realize he wasn't just standing there conversating. there was a girl stood beside him. with the way his arm cradled her while she leaned on him there was practically no space between the two.

you wanted to keep walking up to him. wanted to not care. but something inside you physically ached at her being on the guy you were so close with. so intimate with. you had been so naked with. your bestfriend. without thinking you turned around, storming off in the other direction.

it took a few minutes, but not many for you to find a guy. handsome, but not matt really your type. it wasn't hard to convince him to come out to the backyard for a little space to have fun. once outside, the strangers hand grazed your thigh as the two of your lips mushed together. he tasted like beer and cigarettes. quite honestly? he kissed like a complete fucking idiot.. nothing like matt

but, he was decent looking. tall with a typically attractive (but douchey) face and damn well good enough to distract yourself from caring about someone else's endeavors. unbeknownst to you though, this would lead to just about anything but 'distracting yourself' from your bestfriend.

when you had seen matt with that girl, it was only as you were walking away that he saw you. matt had not as kindly as possible told the girl he had to go before chasing after you. he had been excited because he hadn't caught sight of you in about an hour or two- or at least he was excited till he watched you drag some random guy outside.

even though it was none of his buisiness, matt followed curiously until you, as well as the stranger, both exited the party. he stayed insde near the window to see what was happening. for two minutes he disgustedly obeserved a heated makeout that made his stomach turn. matt was finding it impossible to decide wether he had a right to go out there and stop it or not.

he wasn't your boyfriend after all. only the friend you fuck... right?

wrong. because the second that guy's hand brushed too close to the hem of your dress, matt was throwing open the back door. he came uncomfortably close to you and the stranger. you caught sight of his enraged features right away. you assumed something had happened and were immedietly concerned "matt hey what's wr-"

through gritted teeth, he interupted "we're leaving now. please." matt's tone was stern but he was trying not to upset you by being irrationally angry. you backed away from the stranger enough to take in matt's whole body language."what? why? the party isn't eve- matt!" matt had firmly but not too aggresively pulled you infront of him by your arm. away from the other guy. the other guy was completely dumbfounded and frozen, no clue what was happening. matt looked down at you with urgency "are you staying here with him.." he eyed the stranger with threat "or are you going with me to your house?" you could tell that whatever was wrong, he was angry enough that he was trying not to have some kind of outburst. although... you'd beg to differ that he already was.

you finally respond "you?" your tone was telling him 'obviously?'. before you can question him further, matt nods as he grabs your hand to drag you through the backgate. the whole way to the car you were asking matt why he was so eager to leave but it just fell on deaf ears.

the entire drive to your apartment his hand aggresively kneaded at your thigh so now you were assuming he left because he was horny. he made it clear that he'd tell you what was happening when you'd get home.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

the second the two of you entered your home you started asking questions while he slid his sweater and shoes off. "if you were horny we could've found a room there matt?" you said, still confused. he didn't respond to you as he undid his shoe laces. now you were concerned. "matt? say something c'mon"

once his shoes were off he stood to face you. he didn't wanna be toxic by yelling at or harassing you about some guy. but he couldn't just let it go either.

"who was that guy?" his voice comes out colder than he means it to. you shrug mindlessly "just some guy" you respond. before he can ask anything else you mutter "not that it's your buisiness". he looks down at you with a million emotions coursing through him, jealousy overcoming most of the others. "excuse me?" he seemed offended and it pissed you off since he started all this. "well since you were busy with some girl i figured i'd keep myself busy too." you stated.

he laughs sarcastically "i had an arm around her because she was drunk and i was physically pointing her in the right direction of where she was going. and yeah, i may have flirted a little" he steps closer to the point where you can feel his breath fan your face "you however- had that guys hand halfway up your fucking dress." even matt's surprised at his own tone. but you both know he'd never intentionally upset or hurt you though. "i was stupid for being jealous but at least i didn't drag you outta there. it's not like i'm your girlfriend matt. i'm not yours" you even hurt yourself with your last few choice of words.

"were you gonna let him touch you?" matt's voice shows that he's desperate for an answer. you roll your eyes. "not your buisiness." the second the words leave your lips he steps forward again, making you back up. he grabs your arm to keep you in place so now your noses brush and lips ghost one anothers. "were you?" he repeats. you can't believe how jealous he seems but something about it makes your thighs clench. "okay, jesus matt, yes. i was." you reply quickly. there's a moment where you can see his mind pool with thoughts. but before any of them come out, his lips smash onto yours. his hand going to the back of your head, in your hair. your lips meld into one anothers, but there's nothing gentle about it. his grip on your hair tightens as he backs you into a nearby dresser.

once he's done with kissing your lips practically raw, he begins to leave marks down your neck. "i don't care if i'm your friend-" he stops to suck at your neck "your bestfriend.." another harsh suck to your collarbone "your fuck buddy.." his free hand pulls your dress up a little "or the biggest pain in your ass ever." he cups your pussy through your underwear as he pulls your head back by your hair, elicting a whine from your throat "you're mine" his hand slithers into your panties and two fingers enter you as he seethes out "you belong to me." into your ear

"matt!" you cry out. he gives you no time to prepare before his long fingers are fucking you faster than you can even think. once he's studied your face and confirmed to himself that you're enjoying this side of him, he uses the leverage of his grip in your hair to pull your face to his, sloppily making out as his fingers abuse your cunt.

a moment later he pulls back again "think he would've known how you like to be touched?" matt questions as he thumb presses down on your clit just the way you like. shaking your head no, you grip his shoulders for support. he answers his own question "no. but i do. so are you his?" his question makes you clench around his fingers because you know where this is going. "n- ngh- no." "well than?"

"liste- uhh mm- i'm sorry i-" he cuts you off "no. i don't care. jus wanna know who you belong to" his thumb circles faster on your clit now, adding more pressure as well. "yo- mm!" he purposefully ruined your chance at speaking by curling his fingers into that one spot. the spongey spot inside you that makes your head spin and stomach turn.

his gives a look of faux sympathy "sorry sweetheart i didn't get that" his tone is convincingly sweet but you know better. giving him a glare, you repeat yourself "you, you asshole". a grin plasters on his face at the satisfaction. you said you belong to him. he also loved the way you mouthed off to him even if he wouldn't admit it "that's how you're gonna talk to me when im knuckles deep in you?" proving his point, he manages to push his fingers just a little deeper. this time when they curl you gasp and moan, gripping his shoulders. you lay your forehead on his chest, embarassed by how your cunt squeezes his fingers at every dirty word and little touch from him. he knows what he's doing. "matt c'mon" you beg.. even though you don't really want him to stop.

"what? you were shamelessly gonna let a stranger finger fuck you but now you're all shy, hm?" he releases your hair so he can pull the top of your dress down, exposing your tits. you only respond to him with a whine as his lips attach to your left nipple. you start to feel the knot in your stomach forming.

his teeth nip and suck making you arch your back, your chest pressing further toward him. your mouth opens, head tilted back. you're getting right to the edge. you're about to tell your bestfriend you need to cum when he slowly pulls his fingers out, hand emerging from under your dress.

you sigh and eye him annoyidly "matt." you complain, clenching around nothing. he releases your tit with a pop. "considering you were gonna let someone else touch you, you clearly don't appreciate how good i am at making you finish" as he talks he's guiding you over to your couch "so i think you should do it yourself so you can learn to appreciate how good i am to you" there's a cocky little smile on his face that he's trying to supress. before you get a chance to respond to him, he sits down and pulls you gently onto his thigh.

your dress bunches around the very tops of your thighs now, underwear still on you, completely drenched from him fingering you. staring at him, you don't process what he's telling you to do until his long fingers come up to grab your jaw, gently forcing eyecontact "ride my thigh." he instructs right before pushing his leg up, the light friction is just enough to effect you.

with how sensitive you already were, the lightest touches have you gone. your hips instinctively began rocking over the rough material of his jeans. your hands find his shoulders to steady yourself once again. his eyes are glued to your frustratedely needy expression. the way your lips part and your lashes flutter as you close your eyes makes his dick throb to be inside you.

although your clits getting some friction, the lack of having his fingers or more disirably his dick inside you is driving you insane. there's already a wet patch on his jeans from you. not surprising considering he has you completely soaked. your hips are already beginning to slow, finding it impossible to chase your orgasm just by fucking yourself on his thigh.

matt notices this. "tired, baby? you need help?" he teases. to add to it his thigh flexes again making you whine his name. it feels good but you need more. "fuck matt, please" you sigh out desperately. his long fingers take hold of your hips and begin rocking you at a steady pace, pushing you down onto his thigh. "this feel better?" he asks. you nod. there's a cockiness to his voice that makes you close your thighs tightly around his.

he looks down to see where you've already soaked his jeans as well as to see how your pussy's desperately grinding on him for whatever pleasure you can get. he looks back up now to see how your eyes are closed, focus in your features. pretty whines and moans spill one after the other. the more needy you get, the higher in pitch your needy little noises get. matt loves when he gets you like this. nothing in your head besides hoping he'll let you cum.

he himself is beginning to find it impossible to ignore the buldge that's straining the fabric of his jeans. for the second time tonight you start to feel your stomach twisting with the familiar ache of an upcoming orgasm. your thighs squeeze around his thigh even harder now.

"can i?" you whine. matt already knows what you want so his grip on your hips tightens bruisingly, forcing you to a sudden stop. your eyes open wide and you stare at him pleadingly, so worked up and out of breath that you can't bring yourself to protest or complain when he lifts you off him and sets you on the couch so that you're on your knee's, hands on the arm rest. he's standing now, removing his clothes. once he's finished, he gets comfortable behind you good thing you have a wide enough couch for the both of you and helps you with getting your panties off. he lines himself up, his tip teasing your hole.

your hips push back toward him needily but he grips them again to force them back into place. there's a long moment of nothing. you open your mouth to ask him what the hell's taking so long but it's replaced by a nearly pornographic noise at the feeling of his length filling you completely with 0 warning.

he pulls out with only the tip in before filling you completely again. "matt!" you cry out in pleasure (and a little pain from the stretch.) loving the way his name sounds from you, he wants to hear it again. he pulls out then fucks back into you. just like he wanted, his name falls from your lips.

his pace is on the slower side but every thrust is deep, hitting all the right spots. your nails are threatning to pierce the fabric of your couch. his name mixed with moans of pleasure come over and over again. matt's not a huge egotistical asshole or anything but he'd be lying if he didn't say that the control he has over you right now wasn't getting him off. he loves that you only become such a mess for him.

he loves that you belong to him

his hips are twitching and his thrusts are faster, needier. his hand finds your hair and he pulls you up so your back is against his chest. he knows he's close but he needs to make sure his girl his bestfriend comes first, so his other hand leaves your hip to come to your clit, rubbing fast circles that make you see stars.

he feels you clenching, hears your choked moans but decides to ask anyway. he wants to hear you say it. "you wanna cum for me baby?" he asks right in your ear, his voice goes straight to your cunt making you impossibly more turned on. you nod your head but that's not enough for him.

"use your words" "n-need to cum f- mph fuck!- for you" at the sound of your begging he nearly finishes but there's one more thing he needs to hear before he's done with you. "i'll let you cum if you- mmph- tell me who you belong to, y-yeah?" you can hear it in his voice, he's desperate too. but he wants needs the satisfaction of hearing that you're his. you groan with frustration "you, matt." your spit out at him. you don't care for his antics right now, just wanting to cum.

he uses his grip on your hair to tug your head to the side so he can make eyecontact with you. he can hear the ingenuity in your voice and he needs you to say it like you mean it. "say it again sweetheart." he demands, landing a light slap to your clit that elicts a whine from you. you can't take much more of this. "matt i need to cum pl-" "say. it. again." between each word he slams inside of you. you feel your legs begin to shake and mind going fuzzy.

"i'm yours, m-matt. i'm all yours"

"good girl. now go ahead and cum for me"

the words aren't even fully out of his lips when you coat his dick with your cum. your legs shake, mind a complete haze as he's fucking you through it. it doesn't take long before your body is basically limp. his grip on your hair and arm around you keeping you up.

he thrusts into you harshly just one more time before stilling, then you feel his seed fill and spill out of you. he stays there for a few seconds before pulling out, releasing his hold on you and gently guiding you to lay on the couch. he drops down behind you to hold you close, pulling a blanket from the top of the couch over the two of you.

for the next ten minutes your "bestfriend" lays behind you, his mouth peppering kisses along your shoulder silently, soothingly. you're the first to speak. "matt?" your voice comes quiet. "mhm?". "i'm assuming that meant you don't want me seeing other people?"

he pulls you closer against him "yea- well.. not unless you want us to be seeing other people??" there's a hint of concern in his voice. "absaloutely not." you say with no hesitation. you hear him let out a sigh of relief. there's a pause before you speak again "and matt?"

no response. "matt??" nothing.

you turn your head to see him fast asleep like a little baby.

idiot.

tags: @mattsrod @sturncakez

#matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets fanfic #sturnsdoll

[astralnymphh]

⤹ okay but on the topic of vampire!ellie, which one do you guys personally like?? has nothing to do with what i'll write next, just a curiosity + headcanons. MDNI 18+ enjoy this free vamp!ellie brainstorming content with a random side of nipple fixation!

¨༺ ♱ ༻¨

teenage dirtbag vampire!ellie in a modern realm who can't stand being in her parents suburban hell born house, tired of their cockalorum and urging for her to engage more in the vampiric branch of her family. attend the parties, go human–hunting with the other blood–ingesting addicts, try this, do that. it all irked ellie the wrong way, made her psyche boil, cause all she wanted to fucking do was you. she craves only your blood, your taste, the metallic ribbons pumping your lifeline was like a goddamn nectar to her. and you let her feed, because you loved her. you let your meat sack of a body replace her breakfast, lunch, dinner– first and final meal.

that's why you let her move in with you. cause you fucking can. now, every itty–bitty token of her life tangles with yours on the walls. pictures and awards, a manifold of knickknacks cluttering the window sills, even her clothes tend to blend with yours– an illusive invitation for you to wear her clothes without the question ever pressing her lips apart. you both are madly besotted in each other. no denial objects to that.

and, fuck, this version of ellie is hot. fitted tanks absent of a bra– pale brown pierced nipples erecting the thin fabric into a small mound. gray wash skinny jeans that fit her lean legs well, waistband cruising nicely under that peek of a v–line, fraying at the ankle hems that contrasts into those battered up converse of a similar hue. oh, and usually cloaks her shoulders up in a sable leather jacket– with your name patched in. a jacket, so prized, alwaaays winds up hurled to some isolated and cimmerian corner of your room, purely cause she lacks the care to hang it up whenever she returns home in a scramble, fangs unsheathing for blood. her knees would find themselves pressing hard into the mattress beneath both of you, centering a large gully of weight where her half–unzipped crotch and your butt meet, thirstily rutting to the point of numbing your clit through the hard denim of your pants. her zinc button just kept pounding that shit, keeping you spread wide. while dry humping you, she'd moan and groan hot on your earlobe, fangs partial hooking on the rim, "mhh– fuck n' suck, babe– can i? fuuck.." 'fuck n' suck' was just some made–up code for, well, it should be obvious. times like those, where she intends to fuck her pussy rough on you without remorse, whilst drying your organs of blood.

ohh, but i'll write that in detail one day~

gothic vampire!ellie who lodges high on a hill, deep in the mighty fathomage of her grandoise palace, steeples scaping high into the howling sky– torn asunder by a network of lightning above. you're nothing but meat and blood, princess, a feast inside regalia. every freshwater pearl, every satiny reflection of light off your dress, only made your flesh more supple in her fluorescent fern eyes. those lucifer–damned pupils though, well, let's just say you can't even measure the green pool of her eyes anymore. dilating, big black saucers, ballooning the milken white away whenever she snags a glimpse of your blood. that phantom heartbeat of hers races madly, mad of love for that color. for that glisten of liquid. so divine, she thinks. a gulp bolts down her gullet when within a measly foot of you, or, more specifically, a mere gate between the two of your noses. how else is she supposed to store her cache of sustenance?

yes, that's precisely what i'm hinting at. a holding cell. dusty and decrepit, rats abundant skittering the stone ground, and you swore cobwebs began to web themselves in your hair– now loose and unbraided. that brute of a girl would crouch on the opposing side, dangling keys on a loop sat upon her finger, ploddingly wagging like a swinging great axe. taunt, taunt taunt taunt.. is all she would skip about and do. slip into your cell quickly and play with you. kitty–cornering you and blocking you in her arms, cooing how terribly sorry she feigns to be, for jailing you up and treating you like meat. however, tides turn, and so do emotions. could it be, the dracula upon the misty cliff– has fallen in love?

turns out, witty princesses with a snakish tongue and spit to spare really turned her on. fuck, even you cursed yourself for rending your guard and feeling a magnetic pull to that hunk of a beast, clad in her midnight black, puffed sleeves and collar drawstring shirt. finely sewn black trousers and shiny black boots, curse you, for finding something about that hellishly horrid outfit so handsome on her. there's– oh, this particularly noticeable asset tp her garb as well. the black dye was nearing translucency, and if you loitered your vision directly on her chest long enough, caught in the right cosmic light, you could see that waxen bosom and her nipples, light brown contrary to her vampiric skin. haha, how humiliating it was when she caught you staring at them as she stood in front of your sat stature, being so brazen enough to ask, "something caught your eye princess? shall i strip myself of this, then?" whilst her hands mindlessly tucked under the loose hem anyway, wringing the fabric over her head and banishing it aside. "here, feel my dead heart–" swirled her voice, thrusting her hand out to grasp yours, cold as the ice age, her mitts froze your wrists and yanked them forth, pressing them flat against her breast and swiping her thumb across your contrasting warm skin, leavening with excitement as you fondle. she stows her knee on the bed adjacent to your thigh, whispering, so.. so, hauntingly, "feel that? no pulse, no life, not a spark lives within me, dear." and it was nothing vastly far from the truth. beneath her erect nipple, was no beat. eyes widening to a moon, and lips parting to steal simply too much air, you shudder. was it fear, you shuddered for, or arousal? that's a tale, for another day.

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #⤹𓍢ִ໋aestras thoughts #vampire!ellie #lesbian #sapphic #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #ellie williams x fem!reader #ellie williams fic #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams blurb #ellie williams drabble #ellie williams x reader smut #tlou smut #ellie smut

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [18.7k] prompt: "Can I kiss you?" Childhood friends to lovers, growing up together, that damn garden gate, a slow burn like summer.

1979. Fever dream high in the quiet of the night. 

When you were twelve years old, you moved to Hawkins, Indiana: population twelve thousand. 

It had cedar lined streets, an old town hall, an outdoor pool behind a chain link fence, one supermarket and a boy next door called Steve Harrington. 

You saw him from your bedroom window, his across from yours, the house your parents bought only a stone's throw away from his. He waved at you through the glass, smile wide, hair messy and wild. He had a scrape on his cheek from falling off his bike, a poster above his bed for a band you’d never heard of. 

The next morning, he knocked on your front door and asked you if you wanted to go to the arcade with him. You rode on the back of his bike, hands clutching his shoulders, eyes bright and wide and Steve shared a slushie with you, tongues raspberry blue, cheeks sticky and sun kissed. 

He taught you how to play pac man, hands already so much bigger than yours when he slid them over your own, joystick between your fingers, laughter bubbling in your chest when you won. 

Steve came back the next morning, and the next, the days bleeding into one long summer in a new town that was all wheat fields and quarries, dust roads and white picket fences. 

Then a year later, a week after your thirteenth birthday, you came home from your grandparents in the new dress your parents bought you, a pretty, sunflower yellow thing that fell to your knees and fluttered when you spun. 

You ran straight to the Harrington’s house, one hand knocking impatiently on the door, the other holding the box of sugar cookies you had insisted on saving and taking home to Steve. 

You weren’t sure when it had happened, not really. But at some point over the course of twelve months, Steve Harrington had become your best friend. It happened the way summer did, a slow roll into warmth and blue skies, the familiarity of seeing him every day, the same way the sun slipped through the cracks in your bedroom window shutters. 

He was bike rides, fresh banana muffins from the bakery on Main Street, water balloon fights when you were supposed to be in bed, running in the back yard as your parents shared wine and barbecue dinners. He got taller, his hair got wilder and you both got closer. 

Steve opened the door, smile wide, eyes bright, just for you. He took a cookie and your hand, leading you to his bedroom as his parents yelled out their greetings from the kitchen and you tumbled into his room, chest bursting with how happy you were ‘cause the entire car ride home, you had been so excited to see Steve. 

Steve had too many pillows on his too big bed, a guitar in the corner, a basketball shirt in a frame above his desk. There were books lining shelves, a stereo on his dresser and towers of cassette tapes. His room always smelled like fresh air and boy, something minty, the summer sneaking in from his always open window, the chlorine from the pool below. 

He’d turned to you then, eyes wide and cheeks blushing, taking in your bare shins with their new bruises, one from falling in your skates, the other from tripping outside the library. Steve was yet to turn fourteen but he decided then that yellow was his favourite colour, buttercup bright, that deep rich shade that was painted on your dress. 

“You look like a princess,” he said earnestly, voice soft with embarrassment ‘cause Kyle from school said it wasn’t cool to be best friends with a girl. 

Steve had told him to shut up, brows knitted together, cheeks blushing and he’d spent that rest of recess so confused, ‘cause the boy thought you were the coolest person he knew. 

You flushed at his words, nose scrunched and you picked at the hem of your dress, dipping into a clumsy curtsy, the way all the Disney princess did on the tapes your mom let you watch. 

“Thanks,” you beamed, all teeth and sore cheeks ‘cause Steve always made you smile real hard. 

You felt nervous then, wondering where you and your yellow sundress fit into Steve’s room, but the moment broke, that unfamiliar jitter in your stomach disappeared Steve tugged you down onto his navy blue carpet, NES console beeping as it came to life and he handed you the extra controller, smile bright. 

The day turned to night too quickly, the way it always did when you were with Steve, and soon enough the Harrington’s phone was ringing and Steve’s mom was yelling up the stairs, telling you it was time to go home for dinner. 

Steve walked you out like he always did, shoulders touching as you both hurried down the stairs, eyes tired from the TV screen, fingers sticky from sugar cookies. The sun was just starting to set, the world outside was hazy and peach coloured, lavender clouds low in the sky and everything smelled like cut grass and your mom’s lemon trees. 

Steve walked you to where his lawn met yours, the streets tired and empty ‘cause the summer heat was still lingering, making the air heavy and sweet. You watched as the boy chewed his lip, uncharacteristically nervous, backs of hands brushing as you walked across the grass, damp blades brushing your bare ankles and you wondered why your best friend's cheeks were so pink. 

“Paul Matthews kissed Gemma Kennedy under the bleachers,” he suddenly blurted out, and you frowned, lips twisting. 

“He did?” You asked, unsure of why this news was being shared. You didn’t like Paul Matthews, he was annoying and never gave anyone else a shot of the swings at recess. “What’d he say?”

Steve shrugged, all boyish and innocent. “He said it was kinda gross.”

“Gross,” you repeated, features scrunched. “Why’d Gemma wanna kiss him anyways? Paul smells like gym socks.”

Steve snorted, a shoulder bumping into yours. You could smell your dad’s pasta from the open kitchen window, the pop of a bottle being opened, soft music from one of your mom’s favourite bands. 

“Do I smell like gym socks?” The boy asked, suddenly self conscious and you poked at his ribs, head shaking. 

“No,” you told him earnestly, voice all quiet and sweet ‘cause it was like you were both the only two in Hawkins at that moment. “You smell nice. Like cookies and bubblegum.”

He grinned, too pleased with your assessment and before you hopped over the flowerbed that split your home with Steve’s, he caught your hand, palm a little clammy. 

He murmured your name, voice shy and it made your tummy tumble in a way that you still didn’t understand, not properly, not yet. 

You turned, eyes wide ‘cause you were both reaching an age where boys and girls didn’t really hold hands playing in the street anymore, and if they did, it meant something else. It made kids whisper in the playground, pass notes in the classroom and suddenly watching the older students kiss each other at their lockers didn’t seem as icky. 

“Have you kissed anyone?” Steve asked you, voice laced with curiosity. 

You flushed, heart raging, pulse picking up ‘cause you hadn’t and suddenly it felt like the most embarrassing thing in the world. But Steve still had his hand over yours and he squeezed your fingers a little tighter, and something about it felt so reassuring, like he’d keep every secret you gifted him. 

“No.” A pause, a worry, a flutter of nerves. “Have you?”

Were you supposed to? Was a boy meant to like you now? Has Steve kissed a girl? Have you missed something monumental? 

“No.”

Oh. A beat of silence that seemed to stretch an age. 

“Can I kiss you?”

Oh. 

“You wanna kiss me?” You asked, lashes blinking slow, mouth parted. You could taste the sugar cookies you’d shared with Steve still melting on your tongue. “Me?”

Steve stumbled over his words, cheeks flushed rose and he licked at his lips, unsure of what to say ‘cause Jesus Christ he was thirteen years old and had no idea what he was doing. But he remembered something that Paul had said to him, legs kicking as they sat on the swings together, sun beating down on their backs.

“Wish I had kissed Kimmy Cheng instead,” the boy had said, somewhat thoughtful, brows scrunched. “I really like Kimmy, maybe that would’ve made it better.”

It had made Steve think then, chewing at his cheek ‘cause the only girl he really liked was you, his best friend. You didn’t make him nervous, and when the movies you watched with him got too scary, you held his hand, face behind a pillow and he didn’t hate that. Not at all. 

“I mean, I guess?” Steve mumbled and god, he didn’t understand why his stomach was flipping over, that same feeling he got when he decided he was gonna climb that old oak tree over by Fifth, the one that was too high, that had thick branches that swallowed the world below your feet. “Would be easier if our first kiss was with each other. Might be less embarrassin’, y’know?”

That made sense, you thought, ‘cause you really didn’t want another boy telling everyone your kisses were gross and Steve wouldn’t make fun of you if you were bad at it, would he?

“Okay.” You said decisively, and you took a deep breath, wondering why your heart was beating so fast, the same way it did when Steve went too fast on his bike, your fingers digging crescent moons into his shoulders, eyes tearing up at the whipping find, hair covering your face and his. “Now?”

“Now?” He repeated eyes wide and then he swore, quiet, ‘cause he wasn’t supposed to and his hand readjusted his grip on yours, palms clammy and fingers linking. 

You hadn’t held hands like that before. It felt different, a little funny, closer.

But before you could comment on it, the boy was leading you between the two houses, the air warm and trapped between bricks and he opened his garden gate, feet clumsy as you both half ran down the skinny strip of yard at the side of his home. 

It was overgrown there, the little hidden patch of long grass and wildflowers that grew underneath Steve’s bedroom window and it smelled like honeysuckle and lavender. You could hear the trickle of the pool, your mom’s music and the setting sun cut through the slats in the fences in stripes, lighting you both up with gold and bronze. 

It smelled like summer, you decided, the perfect July day and when Steve spun to face you, you let out a noise of surprise. You were happy to notice that he seemed nervous too, teeth pulling at his bottom lip, hand tugging through his already wild hair.

But you were both hidden there, in the edges of the garden, stolen away from the rest of the town and out of sight of your parents. It felt like the biggest secret of all, one to lock away in the depths of your journal and this felt so much more than giving away the last cookie, more than backseat bike rides and a handmade friendship bracelet, more than sleepovers on Steve’s living room floor, heads touching when you fell asleep.

“What do we do?” you asked, nothing more than a soft whisper. 

Steve shrugged, heart rattling against his ribcage and he licked his bottom lip and stumbled a little closer. The toes of his trainers touched your sandals and he was already a little taller than you but he blinked, gaze settling on you from underneath thick, dark lashes and you gulped.

“I don’t really know,” Steve murmured, hands flexing by his sides ‘cause he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hold yours, or place them on your sides, your shoulders. 

He shoved them in his pockets instead, hiding the way they shook a little with nerves and he gasped when you moved closer still, knees bumping clumsy against his own and he could count the freckles on your nose, and he wondered if they matched the ones on his skin, a present from long summer days outside.

“Will I just-?” Steve’s voice cracked and he flushed but you didn’t mention it, you didn’t laugh, you never did. “Should I?”

You weren’t sure what possessed you, maybe all the sugar you’d consumed, maybe it was the heat of sun on your shoulders, maybe it was the way your tummy was rolling with nerves and worry but you grasped at Steve’s shoulders, pushing yourself up onto your toes and pressed your lips to the boy’s without any sort of announcement. 

Another gasp, warm skin, nails digging into arms, two pairs of eyes wide, noses bumping. 

It lasted a few seconds, maybe less. But your lips were tingling when you pulled away, cheeks a new kind of hot and Steve looked a little shellshocked. You both rocked on your heels into the grass, too tall lavender brushing against your shins and then the boy smiled, a burst of sunshine in the shadows, and he looked delighted.

You were sure your ears were burning, the tips feeling hot and when you looked at Steves, you found his were pink too. You beamed, a nervous giggle, a laugh that got caught in your chest and when you heard your mom’s voice call from the back door - so close to where you were both still standing - you jumped, two kids trying not to be caught doing something they shouldn't.

The garden gate squeaked when you ran back through it, the hinges calling after you and you smelled like a bouquet of flowers as you ran across both lawns, feet tripping over your front porch as you ran inside. 

Something pretty bloomed in between the spaces of your bones that day, when Steve Harrington decided that you were both going to be each other's first kiss. It stayed there, for so much longer than you thought it would. You’d always remember it as brown sugar and vanilla, lavender and honeysuckle, feeling brave, honey coloured eyes and complete and utter innocence. 

1981. Devils roll their dice, angels roll their eyes, what doesn’t kill me makes me want you more.

You didn’t even want to go to the party, you didn’t even like Karen Vincent and you were damn sure she didn’t like you. You knew you were only invited because of Steve, a slip of pink paper passed to you after Karen and her friend Shauna slid between you and the boy at his locker, hands on his chest, on his arm.

You’d wrinkled your nose at it all, fingertips gripping the invite like a ticking time bomb but the girls had learnt the hard way that Steve wouldn’t show if you weren’t welcomed too. 

It’s how you found yourself crammed into the Vincent’s basement with too many other fifteen year olds, the music making the walls vibrate, the punch bowl spiked with something that shouldn’t have been mixed with fruit juice and god, it was too warm. 

It was just past ten o’clock and your parents wanted you home for eleven, which meant that, by default, that was Steve’s curfew too. You’d both been allowed to walk home on the condition that you stuck together and kept to the main roads, the summer months making the nights light enough that you could see both the sun and the moon in the sky, the clouds a hazy orange as they sunk into the horizon. 

You’d spoke to a few kids you shared some classes with, avoided the snack table and its fizzing punch bowl, the concoction no longer the same colour it was when Karen’s mom poured it. And then there was a pop of a bottle cork, splashes of spilled liquid on the already sticky floors, some cheers and a circle was made. 

Fuck. 

“Seven minutes in heaven!” Yelled a boy you didn’t really know, some kid from the same basketball team as Steve, “let’s go losers!”

There was a symphony of wolf whistles and giggles as kids piled into the middle of the room, coffee tables and armchairs pushed out of the way in favour of a seat on the floor, knee to knee and shoulder to shoulder with their classmates, eyes wide and searching for their next possible date to the arcade. 

“Harrington!” the same boy called out, “get in here!” 

Steve appeared beside you, hand brushing gently on your elbow and you frowned without meaning to, wondering why it’d taken him so long to return from the bathroom. But then you saw Karen by his other side, lips glossy and smacking blue bubblegum, eyes sharp on you as she grinned.

“Are you playing Steve?” she asked, lashes blinking, voice coy. 

You grimaced, already taking a step back from the ever growing circle. Someone was placing the now empty bottle in the middle and you eyed the closet door across the room like an old nemesis. Your stomach was twirling, and it wasn’t from all the pizza rolls but the smell of chocolate pretzels and red vines wasn’t helping. 

But Steve’s hand curled around your arm, still gentle, but he could read you like a book. He tsked, his smile playful but eyes gentle, as if he could feel the nerves radiate off of you. Maybe he could, maybe he could hear the way your heart rattled inside your chest, louder than the music, deeper than the bass.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he admonished, crowding into you a little so he could find your ear with his mouth. He was so much taller than you now, the top of your head barely reaching his chin and you scowled, knowing what was coming. “Where you goin’ princess?”

“Home,” you told him stubbornly and you suddenly hated the way your denim skirt was sticking to your thighs, too constricting, too warm. 

You heard him sigh, making a noise that only a best friend could, the sound of someone being done with your shit but loving you nonetheless. You moved backwards, hips bumping into the table that was piled high with empty red cups and the boy followed, a puppy at your feet, the same way it had been for three years now. 

“Aw c’mon,” Steve groaned, “if you go home, I gotta leave too and you promised me you’d stay until curfew.”

You huffed, arms crossed protectively over your chest, ‘cause you hated the way people were starting to stare. They always did with you and Steve, especially when he touched you like, so casually, so gently. 

“I can leave on my own, Steve, I’m a big girl.”

No you weren’t. You were fifteen and still scared of the dark after Steve made you watch Day Of The Dead when both of your parents were out late at the new Italian restaurant just outside of town. 

But then, a poke to your arm, your cheek, the end of your nose. You swatted at him, hiding your smile between a press of your lips.

“You know my mom would kill me if I let you walk home alone,” he grumbled but it was soft, still gentle. “Fuck, your mom would kill me after.”

“You can’t be killed twice, stupid,” you said but it lacked heat, an excuse to say something other than agreeing to a game you didn’t wanna play. 

He still knew you too well, scoffing at your evasion, hand curling warm around your wrist and pulling you back to the party, back to him, bodies bumping in a too close proximity that became more tense with every year that you got older. 

It was becoming harder to ignore that your best friend was pretty. You were sure he’d wrinkle his nose at your choice of adjective but Steve grew up and missed the awkward stage, shoulders broad at the same time he grew a foot, wild hair becoming only a little tamer, more product in it and eyes still warm and brown, a new dimple in his cheek you loved to press your finger into. 

You’d heard the other girls in your year call him hot, a total babe, whispered through giggles in the locker room. But your best friend still looked at you all soft, the same way he did before he gave you his first kiss and he took yours, pressed against the honeysuckle in his backyard. He teased gently, took your hand when the streets got too dark and you were both late for curfew, pressed a foot over yours under the dinner table when your mom started talking about test results and extra curriculars. 

Steve was still your best friend. But he was really, really pretty. 

“There he is! Harrington!” Another boy -  Jake someone, from your English class - had forced his way through the crowd to clap a hand on each of your shoulders, pushing you both into the circle. “And you brought your princess, how ‘bout that, huh?”

You flushed, with both annoyance and embarrassment, ‘cause one day when you were all still twelve, Steve spotted you across the park, hands twisting around a basketball as he took in another new dress you wore and called you a princess again. It just so happened that his friends had heard it too. 

His nickname for you never left, but neither did your classmate's memory of the incident. 

And then Steve’s hand was ripped from your arm, bodies separating you both and he was manhandled to the one side of the circle, you to the other, shoulders squished between a boy and a girl you vaguely recognised from gym class, maybe biology too. It was warmer on the floor, heat and teenage hormones gathering sticky between too close bodies, the smell of cheap aftershave and someone’s mom’s perfume mixing with Kool-Aid and sprite. 

“Okay so! You guys know the rules!” Karen was standing from her spot in the circle, suspiciously opposite to Steve, eyes wide and hands animated as she gestured to the closet door on the other side of the room. “Spin the bottle and whoever it lands on is all yours for a whole seven minutes.”

The group giggled, excitement rippling through the circle, bodies shuffling, overflowing cups spilling. 

You panicked, scanning the line of faces until you found Steve’s, his eyes already on yours, knowing and soft. He was mouthing something to you, silent underneath the music and chatter. 

“It’s okay.”

But then Jake was shoving a hand to Steve’s shoulder, urging him into the middle of the circle with a raucous cheer that only teenage boys could make, the rest of the basketball team joining in and Steve bowed his head, lips twisting into an almost smile that he couldn’t really hide. 

You watched as every girl perked up like a meerkat, backs straight, hair twisted around fingers, elbows digging into competitors that tried to make their space in the circle more known. 

Your stomach rolled again and it only got worse when Steve spun the bottle and the glass flashed green in the centre, bodies bowing forward to see where it would land. 

It sounded like you were underwater, excited voices and yells sounding far away, dulled with the thump of the music. The bottle had spun and  spun and spun, landing on you with such precise finality that Karen audibly groaned. 

You looked up, Steve’s eyes wide on yours, lips parted and cheeks pink. Before either of you could speak, before you could shake your head or grab your jacket from the sofa and run up the basement stairs, your hand was grabbed by Jake, lips stretched wide and voice booming. 

“King Steve and the princess!” He cheered and his excitement was echoed by your classmates, hollers and whoops following you as the boy grabbed Steve with his other hand and the three of you were tripping over stretched legs and forgotten bottles, heading for that fucking closet door. 

“Wait!” You said, voice sharp and god, you could hear the panic there. 

You couldn’t kiss Steve. You didn’t want to kiss Steve. You shouldn’t kiss Steve. 

But Jake ignored you and the music was turned up a little louder again as the rest of the party lounged on their spaces on the floor, heads turned and tilted to watch you both with interest, and your arms only found Steve’s chest when the door was yanked open and a few sets of strange hands shoved you both in. 

The door closed, a gust of air, a click, the muffled sounds of the party locked away behind wood. It was dark, musty and your foot hit a shoe rack, your back against a bundle of winter coats that had been retired for the summer. 

“M’sorry,” Steve whispered and you knew he was referring to making you stay. You could’ve been half way home by now, trainers scuffing the edges of the sidewalk, fresh air kissing your cheeks. “Didn’t think it would land on you.”

You grunted an unladylike response as your eyes adjusted to the low light, a sliver of warm white coming in from the cracks on the door hinges, letting you see the way the boy was looking at you guiltily. 

“Whatever,” you grumbled ‘cause you really didn’t want to kiss your best friend but you hated the way Steve sounded disappointed at the idea. 

You weren’t sure how long you could keep lying to yourself, but you were certain you had another few years in you. 

“We don’t have to do anything,” he said, voice still soft, as if anyone outside of the closet could possibly hear the music and yelling. “S’not like we have to kiss.”

You snorted, chest sore in a way that felt like rejection and you hated how it stung. You looked at Steve, his eyes still on you as he shoved a hand into his jeans pocket, another raking through his hair in a way you knew all too well. He was nervous, agitated. 

“Sorry I’m not Karen Vincent,” you snarked and god, you hated the way you sounded jealous, you hated the way the words burned your tongue but Steve didn’t pick up on it. There was nothing to pick up. “Promise this wasn’t some sort of elaborate cockblocking plan.”

It was Steve’s turn to laugh, a huff of air that hit your cheek ‘cause he was so close and he was all cheap beer, gummy worms and hair gel. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” the boy mumbled but there was a teasing to his voice, a not so serious lilt. 

You pressed your fist into his arm anyway, a hardly there punch that packed no heat and he poked his finger into your side in retaliation. You swatted at him, glaring ‘cause he knew you were ticklish and all the movement sent an empty shoe box hurtling down from a shelf above you both. 

“I do not cockblock you,” you pouted, almost offended. 

“Not on purpose.” Steve snorted, “Took me all of freshman year to get everyone to believe you weren’t my girlfriend.”

You scrunched your nose at the memory of it, boy’s catcalling you from afar, whispers when you and Steve walked to school together every morning, the unappreciative glares from the girls who wanted him instead. 

“Whatever,” you mumbled again. “How long left?”

“It’s only been like, a minute, jeez, that bad being stuck with me princess?” Steve’s voice was teasing and his hand snuck out to grab at your waist again, touch familiar, but his fingers were tickling, poking gently at the spaces between your ribs and you wriggled against him, knees bumping off of skis and old bikes. 

“Yes,” you lied and the boy knew, ‘cause you could see the way the light through the crack lit up the curve of his grin. 

“Besides, we’ve kissed before,” Steve suddenly said, cautious and soft. His hand was still on you, cupping your elbow to hold you near and it slid down to grasp your wrist. He shrugged, eyes on the floor. “Remember?”

You warmed at the memory, wondering why on earth Steve had to bring it up now when you had both never mentioned it since.

“Of course I do,” you huffed, hating the way you sounded bothered. “It wasn’t that long ago. And it hardly even counted.”

Steve scowled, his hurt puppy expression painted across his features. Big, brown eyes set you in place with a stare. “It did so count,” he grumbled, “you were my first kiss.”

“And you were mine,” you fired back, as if this was suddenly an argument that you had to win. Steve always let you win.

“Have you kissed anyone else?” His voice was full of curiosity, void of any embarrassment, not like the way you felt when he asked you such questions. 

It made you flush, eyes wide and lips parting, as if you weren’t supposed to say, as if you weren’t supposed to let him know. Steve had told you about his kiss with Lucy Greeves, behind the bike shed, a few months back. 

He’d told you it was wet and she tasted like the chocolate milk she’d had at lunch. You remembered how he’d thrown himself into your pile of teddies and pillows at the foot of your bed, expression thoughtful as he told you he didn’t really like chocolate milk all that much. 

Then there was Samantha Duncan the year before, a game of truth or dare at the skatepark when the sun started to set and your curfews got a little later. You didn’t watch when Steve leaned into the middle of the circle, friends giggling as he pressed his lips quick to the other girls. 

“Just Miles Campbell,” you muttered, gaze lowered and set on the floor because you could feel the mischief bristle off of the boy as you spoke.

“Miles Campbell?!” He crowed, voice boisterous and no longer quiet. “He’s a giant, what did you do, climb a step ladder- ow!”

You pushed at Steve’s shoulder, face aflame. “Shut up! If you have to know, Harrington, we were sitting down.” You sounded haughty, but you didn’t care, ‘cause the boy was still laughing. 

Steve settled down, a dopey smile just on his lips and despite his teasing, his eyes were fond. Your sides bumped as he shifted, too close and not enough space in the small closet and you were so, so aware that your gaze was level with the bottom half of his face. 

His lips looked really soft. 

“Was he a good kisser?”

“Why d’you wanna know?”

He shrugged. 

“Thinking about asking him out?” You smirked. “Don’t think you're his type, Stevie.”

“Shut up.” 

There was a knock on the door, a sudden sharp sound that had you both jumping apart and you weren’t even sure when you had wandered that close. 

“Five minutes left, lovebirds!” Jake, voice muffled by the door and the music, called out, sounding way too pleased. 

Steve stared at the door, bottom lip tucked between his teeth and you knew he was thinking about something. He only hesitated a little before he knocked a foot into yours, catching your gaze and he spoke as if he wanted to get the words out fast, before he could stop himself. 

“Was he, though?” Steve asked again, voice quieter this time, almost unsure. He looked nervous, “Miles?”

You stared at him, maybe for a beat too long ‘cause the tips of his ears were turning red and he coughed, a little awkward. You made the same strangled noise, shoulders shrugging.

“I mean, sure,” you whispered, “I guess? He was… it was fine.”

You weren’t overly sure if the darkness was playing tricks on you or not, but you could’ve sworn you saw the boy smile.

“He tried to stick his tongue in my mouth,” you continued, face warm from embarrassment, ‘cause you suddenly felt like you were sharing too much, even with Steve. “It felt weird, like a dead fish. I didn’t really know what to do.”

“You’ve never made out with someone?” Steve asked and god, you were almost positive he was the only person who could’ve asked you that question without sounding like he was making fun of you. His voice was soft, all fond affection for you that he’d collected over the years and he moved closer, toes touching yours like he knew exactly how to handle you. “Kissed someone like that before?”

“That was the first time,” you squirmed under his gaze, feeling much younger than you were. Were you supposed to have that much experience in making out with someone at fifteen? Did Steve? “I don’t really know if I did it right.”

“Oh,” he breathed and he didn’t sound like he was judging you at all. There was another slow silence, warm and not at all uncomfortable because it was still Steve, and it wrapped around you both like a question. “I could show you. If you wanted.”

The music bled underneath the gap in the door, vibrated against your skin and the drums made your heart drop and stop, thundering to the beat quickly after. You were sure it was the music. You were positive it was the music.

But then Steve mistook your silence for hesitation, a silent ‘no’ and he was already opening his mouth to cover his tracks, to take back the statement, to tell you he was stupid, that he was only kidding.

“I didn’t mean-, we don’t have to… shit, I-”

Four minutes left. 

“Okay.”

You could hear the rush of your blood in your ears, skin warm, cheeks hot, tongue sneaking out to peek between your lips and you wondered if he’d still be able to taste the lipgloss you put on before you left the house. 

“What?”

“Show me.”

He took a step towards you and you watched as the boy tried to keep cool but his ever expressive face gave him away, brown eyes all wide, jaw a little slack and his hand found your waist, a sliver of skin between your shirt and skirt, a place he’d not really touched before.

“Is this alright?” His voice cracked, and he blushed but you didn’t laugh. You never laughed, but you did nod. “Just do what I do, ‘kay? Can I kiss you?”

Was it really that simple, you wondered? But you didn’t get a lot of time to think it over, because as soon as you nodded, Steve was crowding into you more, pressing you into the coats and you still had to press up on your toes to let his mouth meet yours.

It was so different from last time and it was almost the same.

Steve Harrington still tasted like sugar and vanilla, hidden under cheap beer and you gasped when his lips touched yours, the same way you did when you were thirteen. But your hands grasped at his neck, steadying yourself, and he clutched at your waist to help, as if you had both gotten a little older and suddenly knew where to touch.

His mouth was soft over yours, a little hesitant at first, but then coaxing. Your lips slid over his once, twice, three times and then you felt the soft lick of his tongue at the seam of your lips and you remembered the way he’d told you to copy him.

So you did.

Your tongue touched his and your breath hitched with how nice it felt and the kiss moved soft and slow. You grabbed Steve a little harder, body swaying into his in the dark ‘cause your stomach was swooping and your heart was hammering and it felt like you were on the front seat of a rollercoaster, hanging off the edge. 

Maybe Steve felt the same way, despite having more experience, because he gripped you the same way, fingernails leaving little half moon marks on your hips. 

It felt strange, it felt good, it felt warm and it made everything tingle, breath stuck in your throat and a sigh leaving your chest and you felt like you should’ve been embarrassed. But you weren’t, because it was Steve. 

But then voices outside were counting down from ten and they got louder and louder, hands hammering on the door and you both ripped apart before the door swung open, harsh strip lights and the smell of artificial strawberry and natty light swimming back into the closet with you. 

The walk home wasn’t as awkward as it should’ve been considering you and your best friend had had your tongues in each other's mouths. Maybe it’s ‘cause you were still too young, maybe it was because you didn’t realise it yet, but there wasn’t much about yours and Steve’s friendship that would ever be awkward. 

So you followed the yellow lines on the edge of the road home, footsteps a little behind Steve’s and every now and then, the boy would look back over his shoulder to make sure you were still there. It smelled like nighttime and summer and everything you associated with the boy, damp grass and leftover smoke from someone's barbecue, chlorine from the pools and you could hear sprinklers in backyards, hissing in the still warm air. 

You were a little late, just over curfew and the television was making your living room glow, the flicker of light coming out from the window. So Steve took your hand and led you through the back garden gate, pool lights leading you both to your patio doors, the rest of the house dark and you could smell lavender and honeysuckle from Steve’s yard.

He helped you find the key to the door, the spare hidden in a plant pot filled with pebbles and moss, one lone rose sprouting from the dirt. Both of your hands fumbled together as your fingers touched, all sudden pink cheeks and lowered gazes and Steve whispered a ‘good night, princess,’ before sneaking back down the lane, hopping over the lower part of the fence and into his own yard.

By the time you had tiptoed upstairs, past your dad who was dozing in the living room arm chair, Steve was in his room, bedroom window across from yours and the lights were still on as he lounged on his bed, shirt off and a baseball clutched in his fist. 

He was throwing it from his hand, watching it fall up and down in the air before catching it again, one arm thrown underneath his head and you couldn’t help but gaze at the muscles there, all new and never really seen before. 

You swallowed, suddenly too warm, the heat from the day trapped in your bedroom and sticking to your skin but you didn’t want to open the window, you didn’t want to alert the boy to your staring. You and Steve had spent nights, weeks, months and years hanging out from the sills, talking over the trailing ivy and flowers and growing below. 

But this felt like something you shouldn't have been doing, especially since you could still taste him on your lips, feel where his hands had burned against your sides, so you pulled your curtains and trapped all these brand new thoughts inside your room with you.

You took them to bed, slipped between the sheets with them and everything smelled like brown sugar and honey, gummy bears and Steve Harrington. 

1984. Killing me slow, out the window, I’ll always be waiting for you to be waiting below.

“Princess, c’mon, every time.”

Steve’s voice was exasperated, laced with something softer and it made swinging your leg over your bedroom window sill a little easier.

You peered down at him, long grass brushing his shins ‘cause no one but you two used that little path that took you out of the back garden gate. He was gazing back up, setting sun brushing his face with gold and caramel, peachy pink clouds in the sky and Steve held his arms out, beckoning.

“You’ll catch me?” You murmured, still unsure, despite this being a well practised escape. 

“Don’t I always?” the boy scoffed, almost offended, but the small edge below your window didn’t offer a lot of footing and you swore the drainpipe was becoming more loose than it used to be. 

“Harrington, I swear,” the threat was empty and it fell idle on your lips when you pushed yourself over the edge, hands gripping at the window frame and feet finding their footing. 

“Don’t second name me,” Steve grumbled and you sensed him moving closer, buttercups and daisy crushed under his sneakers as he kept his arms outstretched towards you. “You good?”

You mumbled some noise of confirmation, knees bent and ready to drop. You hated this part, and weirdly, it got harder as you got older, limbs stretched, body heavier, no longer small and quick to scramble up tree branches and out of windows.

“Steve?” You couldn’t really see behind you, the soft summer breeze picking at your hair and blocking your view of the ground below but you lowered yourself as much as you could, fingers too warm and slipping against the window frame.

“Yeah, I’ve got you.”

So you let go, the short drop softened by the boy’s hand catching at your waist and pulling you against him, your back to his front and he held you there, ankles swishing in the damp grass. 

Steve was all hard muscle and cologne, arms stronger than they had ever been, tanned from the summer and wrapped tight around you, hands pressed into the skin underneath your breasts. He let you go when you found your feet, white chucks soaked by the evening dew and you blew out a breath and set the boy with a stare. 

“We have front doors, you know,” you watched him grin at you, wide and bright and so familiar. “Why do we have to do this?”

“S’more fun,” the boy answered and he landed a firm smack to your ass when you bent over, fingers tugging at your laces. “Nice shorts princess.”

“Fuck you,” you squeaked, cheeks warm and you reached out to do the same, plan connecting with the denim of his jeans and Steve laughed before groaning a little dirty and exaggerated. “You’re such a dick.”

He spun you both, feet leading you backwards towards the garden gate, clumsy between the flowers and he grinned, wolfishly. 

“You know I love it when you talk dirty.”

“Steve,” you tried to sound huffy, as if you weren’t impressed by his jokes but you sounded flustered instead and you hated how the boy knew it.

But he never said anything, never commented on the flush across your chest or the way your tongue snuck out to wet at your lips, he never poked fun. He just always watched with knowing eyes and a soft smile you could never discern, and kept on teasing you. 

“Y’know it’s better if my dad doesn’t see me leave,” he finally answered, fingers bullying the lock, almost rusted shut from years of only being used by both of you. “I get asked too many questions and I give answers he doesn’t like and suddenly I’m back in my room filling out fuckin’ college applications for the eighteenth day in a row.“

A pang of sympathy hit your chest and before you could tell your friend that you understood, you sympathised, he was placing a warm hand on the space between your shorts and your shirt, guiding you out the gate. 

“Doesn’t mean I have to do the same,” you grumbled good naturedly, “I could meet you out front like a normal person.”

“Fuck off, we both know you love jumping into my arms as much as I love catching you.”

You couldn’t remember when you started flirting with your best friend, or when he started flirting with you. You couldn’t pick a place or time when it began, or who did it first. But you were both eighteen and more appreciative of all the strong lines and muscles, the soft curves and different ways you looked at each other. 

It would be a comment, a sly remark, a hand touching too close to areas yet to be discovered, a wink, a hug that went on for a beat too long. 

Nothing had happened, not really, not since the closet at Karen Vincent’s party, but everyone at school called you Steve Harrington’s girl and the boys you hooked up with in the backs of cars always pulled away mid kiss to ask if you were definitely single. 

It was all fun and teasing, familiar touches with a familiar boy, sprawled together in the same bed you’d shared with him since you were twelve years old. Except now there wasn’t as much space between you both, limbs longer, bodies taller, leftover alcohol soaking into your heads in the mornings that you woke up wrapped around each other. 

You would pretend you didn’t feel how hard he was, morning wood pressed into the small of your back, the curve of your ass and Steve wouldn’t comment when your shirt had rucked itself up your ribs in the middle of the night, too much showing to be decent. 

It was enough to keep you both on your toes, the close friendship teetering over the question of what if? Could we? Should we? Will we?

Steve didn’t hide the way he looked at you, affection always strong in his brown eyes, hands soft and face fond when he picked a wildflower off the garden wall, tucking it behind your ear but there was always a linger over your bare legs, the way the hem of your shorts cut high on your thighs, the way they pinched in at your waist and made your shirt ride up your ribs. 

The roller rink was busy as expected, ten o’clock on a Saturday night and filled with teenagers looking for something and someone to do. The kids of the day had long left and the lights were dimmer, the whole hall darker with flashes of red and aquamarine, bubble gum pink and candied lilac that flashed across the floor and faces. 

The disco ball twisted in the middle and it sent rainbows and reflections across the walls, painted Steve’s face in technicolour and you gave his cheek a little pat as you took off, wheels spinning you backwards, music thumping in your chest. 

He smiled at you, knowing, brows raised as he took a seat on the tables that lined the roller rink, crowded by the friends you’d found from school, flasks pulled from pockets, clear liquid dumped into red and blue slurpees.  

“Where you goin’ princess?”

You did a little spin, already warm from the sticky air, summer leaking in and slipping between the people skating and dancing, bodies too close. Your foot found the rink, hands leaning on the barrier wall as you sent Steve a wink, your cherry glossed lips widening in a smile that was borderline salacious. 

“To find someone to play with.”

The boys surrounding Steve whooped and hollered, cat calls ringing out underneath the music and you could hear the comments directed to Steve, playful intones about how his girl was nothin’ but trouble, and wasn’t he gonna get a pretty thing like you locked down?

But Steve just shook his head at you, playful and exasperated, while he leant back on the bench, waving away his friends remarks with quiet whatever’s and it’s not like that. 

He had nothing to say when you dropped yourself into his lap half an hour later, body warm from skating, face flushed and eyes a little too wide and bright. 

He ignored the whistles from his friends, the knowing glances, the nudges to ribs. ‘Cause you were wrapping your hands around his neck, fingers playing with his hair and your lips were at his ear. 

“There’s some creep followin’ me around,” you whispered, body tense and Steve’s hands, where they’d dropped to on instinct when you sat on him, tightened on the space above your knee. 

“Who?” Steve asked immediately, voice low and it rumbled through you, you could feel it in his chest and his eyes were scanning the crowds, brows pinched together. 

You didn’t look, didn’t turn away from where you’d pressed your nose to his temple, breathing in his cologne, his shampoo, something minty and like the forest. You caught Candance Peterson’s eye from over Steve’s head and you ignored the way she smirked at you. 

“By the lockers,” you murmured and your breath hitched just a little when Steve wrapped one arm around you, holding you closer to the other hand sliding it’s way between your bare legs, fingers curled around your thigh possessively. “Red shirt, bad hair.”

Steve snickered ‘cause he found him, a guy with an overgrown mullet and beady eyes, hanging by the lockers and benches. He was staring at you, watching the way you draped yourself over your best friend and Steve raised a hand, wiggling his fingers to show that he’d seen him. 

“He didn’t try anythin’, did he?”

You shook your head, tip of your nose brushing against Steve’s cheek ‘cause you refused to move any further away and you knew the boy didn’t mind. His hand was back on your leg, thumb stoking circles on the inside of your thigh and it took everything you had not to squirm in his lap. 

“Nah, just asked too many questions, told me he was wondering why a ‘pretty little girl’ like me wasn’t with her boyfriend,” you scrunched your face as you spoke, lips twisted. “Told him that my boyfriend was right over here.”

It wasn’t the first time you or Steve had used each other to slip away from some unwanted attention. Steve was just tall enough, just broad enough to warrant a second glance, too drunk boys weighing up their options when you snuck under your best friend's arm, wondering if they could take him. 

They usually gave up, watching with a sneer as your pressed your body into Steve’s, his hands taking advantage of your little role play game and he’d let his palm take a slow wander over the curve of your ass, a tight squeeze, a light tap and you’d dig your fingers into the spaces between his ribs for it, his laugh huffing guilty onto your neck. 

You found that you could be just as intimidating, Steve seeking you out at parties when girls from out of town got a little too much, a little too eager and kept trying to touch the hair that he spent too much fucking time styling. The boy would sneak up behind you, arms around your waist as he pulled you back against him and used you as the cutest human shield he’d ever seen. 

The sight of you in Steve’s arms usually stopped his admirers in their tracks, his lips pressed to the top of your head, smile hidden in your hair as you set them with a look that Steve said could make grown men cry. . 

“Oh you did, did you?” Steve drawled, “did you tell him I was the prettiest one out of the bunch?”

You snorted, a sound that always made Steve grin and you loved the way his arms tightened around you. Your position on his knees gave you an inch or two of height on him, a little taller, just for a change. You pulled back enough so you could gaze down at him, lashes lowered and face overly thoughtful. 

“I don’t know, Stevie,” you pondered, all faux heavy sighs, teasing and fluttering lashes. “Danny’s starting to look real cute since joining the team-”

“You shut your damn mouth,” Steve interrupted, voice huffy but he was still smiling despite himself. He took a second to watch the way a refraction of light from the disco ball travelled over your cheek, lighting up the new summer freckles there before it dipped into your Cupid’s bow. He cleared his throat, suddenly shy. “We both know you think I’m the hottest guy he- oh, shit. Your friend is coming over.”

“What?” You barked out and your voice sounded strangled. You turned to see that Steve was right, the guy in the red shirt was making his way through the gathering crowds, weaving through the busy tables towards you both, his gaze set on you and another question posed on his lips. “Oh, Jesus Christ.”

Steve was already shifting underneath you, arms hooking under the backs of your knees and you knew he was ready to deposit you on the chair next to him, eyes searching for a fight. 

“Can I kiss you?” You asked instead. 

“Shit, what?” The boy’s response was garbled, words tumbling over each other as he stopped his movements and looked at you wide eyed. “Princess-”

You sighed, impatient, a hand clutching at Steve’s chin, tilting his face up to you so you could catch his gaze, the question asked again with just your eyes. A silent exchange, a secret language only you two knew. You watched his tongue swipe over his bottom lip, eyes heavy, dropping to your mouth and you waited, a second, maybe two and then fuck, he nodded, barely perceptible. 

You crushed your lips to his, swallowed the moan that Steve immediately gifted you, fingers pushing into his jaw and sighing at the way his  hand on your back dropped to the waistband of your shorts, fingertips desperately seeking the warmth of your bare skin. 

It was different to the kisses you had shared before, ‘cause fuck, now you both knew what you were doing and you had almost as much experience under your belt as Steve had. You knew boys liked it when you got a little bossy, hands on their jaw and thumb on their bottom lip, telling them to part their lips for you. You knew they liked it when you sighed all sweet and pretty, hips squirming in their hands, fingers pulling at their hair. They told you that you tasted like cherries, something sweet and tart and like dirty secrets. 

Steve seemed to like it too, ‘cause his tongue was sweeping past your lips, kissing you dirtier than he should’ve for such a public setting and you could hear your friends rippling in excitement around you. 

You pushed your thumb to the corner of Steve’s mouth and he obeyed like you thought he would, parting his lips between yours and groaning into you. It was all teeth and tongue, hot hands on bare skin, hair between fingers, threading and pulling and you wondered how you could still taste vanilla, hidden in his lips underneath blue raspberry slush. 

You liked the way he held you to him, a little too tight, a little more possessive than he’d ever been with you before. Because growing up with Steve Harrington was all protective hands, glares sent to boys who deemed not good enough, rides home from work and gentle hands taking that one drink too many from you at parties that went on too late. 

This was different, this was personal, this was a touch that screamed mine mine mine and it kinda hated the way you knew you’d think about it later, back flat in your bed, sheets kicked to your ankles and your hand pushed down the front of your shorts. 

Maybe Steve would do the same you thought, maybe he already had, you wondered. And images of Steve with his hand flat to the shower tiles flashed through your head, body wet, hair soaked, lips parted and his other palm fisting himself to the thought of you. 

It was suddenly too much and you needed air more than you needed Steve. Your lips left his and the sounds of the rink came rushing back, like you’d pushed your head out from underwater. There was suddenly music, the score of wheels on wood, the siren of a pinball machine, ice clattering into cups from behind the bar. 

Someone amongst the group let out one, long whistle and people tittered and god, it should’ve made you blush. 

It should’ve. 

It didn’t. 

You simply stood from Steve’s lap, his hands still on your waist and guiding you to your feet until you could push your hair back from your warm cheeks, feeling only slightly scandalised when your friends all started but you kept your eyes on the boy. 

You licked the taste of him from your lips, raspberry and sugar and something that you were now beginning to learn was just Steve. His cheeks were tinted pink, lips glossy from yours and his brown eyes were considerably darker, his finger trailing away from yours in a way that made you think he didn’t wanna let go. 

But you cleared your throat the same time he did, only a little wobbly on the eight wheels that held you up and he grinned when you coughed out a laugh. 

“That worked,” you told him, watching as the guy with the bad hair swung the door open, leaving without looking back. 

“Huh,” Steve murmured, “how ‘bout that.”

—————

He didn’t say anything when the lights started turning back on, when the disco ball stopped spinning and people handed back their skates. Steve just found you on the benches, pressed shoulder to shoulder with your friends and he caught your eye from the door, another secret conversation that started with a quirk of a brow and ended with a tilt of a chin. 

You said your goodbyes and followed the boy out the building, watching as Steve placed his hand behind his back, encouraging you to catch up and grab it. You held hands across the empty parking lot, fingers twisting and playing together until you hit the main road and it was normal, it was familiar, it was Steve. 

He decided he was staying with you that night, mumbling an excuse about not facing his dad in the morning, how your bed was comfier and your mom made the best waffles but you didn’t need any convincing. 

So you snuck into your house, unnecessarily quiet ‘cause your dad was still up watching TV and your mom was in the kitchen with a glass of wine and a book and they barely looked at the boy who was following you up to your bedroom, nothing more than a “night, kids,” called out into the hallway. 

You lay side by side with the boy, half dressed and with too much bare skin on show, Steve’s shirt on the floor, your shorts almost indecent around your thighs. 

It was the first time you thought that something else might happen, legs brushing against legs and hips bumping together as you tried to get comfortable, the burn of the others lips still on your own. 

But nothing did and you were starting to wonder if anything ever would. 

1985. And it’s new, the shape of your body.

It didn’t matter that it had been a Wednesday, it was the first day in weeks that you and Steve had managed to get the day off together and you were both planning on making the most of it. 

It’s why the boy woke you up early, a rucksack already in his hand as he walked through your patio door, left open for that very reason, the rest of the house empty as your parents went to work. 

You’d been surprised at how softly he’d woken you up, fingers prodding gently at the cheek that wasn’t smushed against your pillow, eyes hidden with sleep mussed hair and one leg bare and kicked out from beneath the sheets. He grinned when you grumbled and he took your sleep warmed spot when you finally dragged yourself out of bed and into a shower. 

Steve barely looked away when you reappeared in just a towel, almost too short to be decent and when you turned to your dresser to pull out a swimsuit and clothes, his eyes dipped to the backs of your legs, thighs on show, tanned from the August sun, a small freckle there he’d never seen before. 

“You said you were gonna set an alarm, princess,” Steve teased, head pushed back into your favourite pillow and if he realised it smelled like your shampoo and peach scented body wash, he didn’t say. “Clock’s ticking.”

“Jesus, give me peace, Harrington,” you grumbled, voice still thick with sleep and the summer air was slipping through your open window and it made you move slower than you wanted to. “Turn around.”

Steve did as he was told, face crushed into your sheets and a grin on his lips ‘cause he heard the soft thump of your towel hitting the floor, the shuffle of clothes sliding across your skin. He knew you were winding him up, taking that little game you both blamed to a new level, another limit, because there was no fucking way a girl that looked the way you did, didn’t know what she was doing.

Steve heard the snap of a bikini strap, the rasp of denim shorts over long legs and when you told him he could look once more, he turned around in time to see a flash of cherry red, a swimsuit that hid little, covered by the way you pulled a white shirt over your head. 

You pushed a pair of Ray Bans onto your nose, a little too big and stolen from Steve a few summers before. You grinned, knowing, and held out a hand. 

“C’mon pretty boy, let’s go.”

Steve took the car, drove it to the outskirts of town with the windows cracked, the summer air blowing in sticky and sweet. You had your feet on the dash, a new bracelet around your ankle, woven with blue and orange thread, a matching one around Steve’s wrist that he tried to protest at but his words were weak and his smile was bright. 

He let you pick the song, cassettes spilling out of the glove compartment as you tried to find the perfect mix for a day like this. There wasn’t a cloud above Hawkins and when you drove past the Burick’s farm, the sunflowers were in full bloom, making the world that flashed past your window bright yellow and the strawberry paddocks made everything smell sweet. 

The roads were quiet and the air still, and you couldn’t see another soul as Steve parked up on the roadside, a dirt corner off of the road leading out of town. You both walked into the wheat fields, long grass towering to your waists as you headed for the tree line. The crops brushed your bare legs, scratched softly against your skin and you could feel Steve behind you the whole time, eyes on you, anticipation growing, warming you like the sun. 

When he ran, you did too, feet a little clumsy and neither of you could see where you were stepping but the peels of laughter made it worth it, the rush of the summer air on your face made it better.  You chased after the boy, bag slamming on his back, eyes glancing back at you, looking like the twelve year old with the wild hair you once knew.

Steve didn’t stop running until he hit the patch of trees, legs slowing as the branches became thicker and you slammed into his back with a soft ‘oof,’ cheeks sore from grinning and neither of you thought much of it when the boy took your hand and led you through the thickets.

The trees cleared just before the cliff dropped off, the quarry vast and a pretty green-blue underneath you. The spot was secluded, familiar to you both and a well guarded secret that was kept over the years. You came every summer, secret visits that were just for you and Steve.

You’d been waiting for a day like this for what felt like months. The height of summer, blue skies, the distant buzz of cicadas and your best friend, all to yourself. 

Something told you that Steve felt the same, ‘cause when you chanced a sideways look at him, he was already gazing back, soft smile on his face.c eyes all fond and it made the day seem even warmer. 

It didn’t take long for you both to be stripped to your swimsuits, Steve’s eyes blatantly staring as you slipped the denim shorts down your hips and pulled them down your legs. He didn’t say anything when you stretched yourself out on the blanket beside him, pebbles and grass underneath, the sun beating down from above. 

You liked the way he didn’t shy from you, not like the other boys, like he knew he was yours and you were his, like there wasn’t anyone else to worry about. So neither of you flinched when you pressed yourself to his side, warm bare skin on more warm bare skin, shoulder to shoulder and your feet just reaching where his shins were. 

You tapped a toe to them, snuck a peek at the boy beside you, grinning when you saw him smile despite his closed eyes. His lashes fluttered from behind his sunglasses, waiting for the inevitable. 

“Hey, Stevie?” 

Something in his tummy clenched at the old nickname, usually said with mirth and drag of sarcasm, but your lips were at the shell of his ear and you sounded so soft. 

“Princess.” His voice didn’t hitch at the end like a question, it stayed low, a little hoarse, like a warning. 

‘Cause you were propped onto a elbow now, body leaning into him, your hardly concealed chest pressed into his bicep and he could feel the tickle of your hair on his arm, against his cheek and you were still so close that he could feel the way you smirked against his ear. 

You pushed the button on your nose to his temple, a head butt that was more affectionate than anything else and you moved suddenly, leaning over him to grab the rucksack.  

When Steve opened his eyes he saw red, that almost orange colour that reminded him of summers and pool days, the freckle below your collarbone that not many people got to see. 

He couldn’t not look at your chest, pushed out towards his face as you stretched an arm, grasping for the strap of the bag, making a little grunting noise as you reached for it. 

Red and tiny straps, sun warmed skin that was a little darker than last month, the summer making you glow. A stretch of stomach, taught as you leaned, close enough to his own that he could feel the warmth radiate from you. Long legs pushed up onto your knees, holding you over him like a treat, like a taunt. 

But then you were pushing yourself backwards to sit, gleeful with the bag in your hands and you were already unzipping it , hand delving into its contents as you muttered to him. 

“Perv.”

It was soft and fond, no heat, no accusation but it still made the boy flush ‘cause that meant you caught him looking but Christ, you were both nineteen and full of hormones - what else was new?

“Don’t flatter yourself too much, princess,” he coughed out, trying to sound cooler than he felt. His eyes stayed hooded behind his glasses, wishing the tint of them made him harder for you to read but you knew him better than yourself. Steve knew that too. “You’ll go up a cup size one day.” 

His words hurt no more than your comment had, all light, no sharpness but you smacked at his shoulder all the same, making him grin wide at you. Steve wondered if you knew he thought of you as nothing short of perfect, he wondered if he’d ever get a chance to tell you.

But you’d found what you’d been looking for, a little plastic bag filled with a few buds and some papers, a new grinder ‘cause Steve had lost the last one at a party. You wiggled it at him, Eddie’s special weed making the air grow a little more heady, a little more sweet. 

“Wanna get high with me, Harrington?“

And god, wasn’t that a question?

Steve knew you, knew you inside out and back to front, better than anyone else did. He knew how you got after a few hits, a little needy, all touchy and full of affection. The boy had been to enough parties with you to know. You’d find him, a few hours in, coming out of seemingly nowhere, face flushed and eyes glassy. 

It didn’t matter who he was talking to, who he was with, what he was doing, you’d me on him in seconds, a ball of heat that smelled like his favourite perfume and the inside of Eddie Munson’s trailer, arms around his neck and face pressed to his chest. 

You’d drop yourself into his lap, press messy kisses to his cheeks and giggle all soft when he tried to question you on your whereabouts, if you felt okay, if you’d drank enough water. 

By now, it wasn’t really a surprise to know the entire town still thought you were dating. But he stopped refuting it as much, almost preferring the way that boys kept their distance from you when he was around. He didn’t mind the way you curled into him, lips glossy and sticky and whispering into his ear. 

He liked the way you hummed happy and whispered a ‘yes’ when you’d had enough - and Steve could always tell - and he told you it was time to go home. It didn’t matter who’s house he took you to, his or yours, both were home. 

So god, wasn’t that a question?

“I’m driving princess,” Steve murmured instead of everything he wanted to say. 

‘Will you hold onto me, if I do? Will you crawl into my lap and look at me in that way that you do? Will you put your hands in my hair and tell me I smell good? Will you touch me like I’m yours? Will you touch me like you’re mine?’

But he didn’t. 

“Not until later, Steve, we’ve got all day,” you told him, all smiles and bright eyes.

And you were right ‘cause the morning was still early, the afternoon barely beginning and there were snacks in the bag, water for when it got too hot, a walkman and some mixtapes for when the day got too quiet. 

Steve just smiled and you shook the baggie at him still, a pour on your lips that he could never really learn how to say no to. 

“Roll for me anyway?” You asked because you hated it and you weren't very good, and maybe there was something about the way Steve’s nimble fingers made quick work of it, maybe it was the way you liked to watch the tip of his tongue slide slick along the edges of the papers. 

Maybe. 

So Steve because he couldn’t say fucking no to you and that’s how you found yourself back on the blanket, legs stretched out under the heat of the sun, smoke in the air and everything a little more hazy than it was before. 

It could’ve been the weed that made you do it, maybe you could’ve even blamed it on the sun, messing with your head and your heart but Steve would never have believed your excuses, ‘cause when you suddenly sat up and swung a leg over his lap, he didn’t look surprised at all. 

His hands fell to your thighs instinctively, more than ready to press his palms onto your bare thighs, the high cut of that damn bikini showing more skin than was necessary and Steve swallowed hard from where he lay under you, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. 

“Princess.”

There it was again, that tone, the low way he said your name, rough like a warning, soft like he was asking for something. 

It almost sounded like please, you realised. 

You placed the joint between your lips instead of answering, the end of it burning amber and you inhaled softly, hating the way the smoke burned your lungs but loving the way it made you feel. But that could’ve been Steve’s hands on your hips, holding you steady as you tilted your head back, neck exposed, blowing smoke to the sky that was still cloudless. 

When you gazed back down at your best friend, his jaw was slack, eyes glassy behind his Ray Bans and you smiled, way too shyly for the stunt you’d just pulled. You took the glasses off his face, wanting to see him, all of him and you held the joint between you, brows raised. 

“Want a hit?” 

The boy nodded. 

He expected you to hold the roll up to his lips, let him take a drag from between your fingers as you sat happily on his lap. 

Steve didn’t expect you to take another draw from it, smoke held between your lips, eyes hooded as you leaned down and into him. Your hands found purchase on the blanket on either side of his head but you were still chest to chest. You didn’t talk, couldn’t talk, didn’t need to talk. You just nudged your nose on Steve’s and he tilted his chin towards you, hands tight on your sides like he was holding on for dear life - and oh my god, he felt like he was - before he parted his lips for you and you let go. 

Smoke blew gently from your lips to his, top lips just grazing, the movement accidental but neither of you apologised, neither complained. And when Steve held the hit there, in his chest, seconds ticked by like a countdown to something dangerous, to something explosive and on his wrecked sounding exhale, he pushed both of you up, a little frantic as your hips settled into the dip of his more. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

You asked it softly, like you were telling a secret, like you didn’t wanna admit it, like you were scared Steve was gonna say no, but the boy didn’t answer you at all, not with words anyway.

His mouth was on yours before you could finish talking and you both groaned at the contact. Blindly, you stubbed out the roach on the ground beside you, ashes rubbing into gravel and sand before your hands found purchase on Steve’s face. 

It was a kiss you hadn’t shared before, a kiss that was messier than the others, a kiss that lacked the control the others had. 

It was a kiss that usually led to something more, hands wandering in someone’s back seat, mouths on necks, voices whispering dirty things in the last row of the cinema. 

It was something you hadn’t felt with your best friend before. 

It was hot and dirty and fast, his hands on your neck, your jaw, fingers splayed into your hair and his thumb tugging greedy at the corner of your bottom lip, desperate for you to open for him, so he could lick into you. 

It didn’t help that you were both lacking so much clothing, too much bare skin pressed against each other, chest to chest and your legs wrapped around his waist. 

It was too easy to roll your hips, to whine into Steve’s mouth at the way he let out the dirtiest, prettiest noise for you. It made you want to do it again, it made you wanna thread your fingers into his hair and tug. 

“Steve.”

He thinks that’s what broke him, the way you said his name like that, soft and whimpered, like you fucking wanted him, like you needed him. The boy was sure he’d never been that hard in his life, your ass pressed into his lap, his hands wandering over the slope of your lower back, sliding over your bikini pants, fingers toying with the tiny sides of them. 

Steve thought about all the things he wished he was brave enough to say to you. ‘Are you mine? Do you know I’m yours? Do you know I always have been?’

But he couldn’t, couldn’t find the courage, couldn’t find the willpower 

 to drag his lips from yours, not unless it was to press his mouth to your neck instead, to suck and bite a little bruise there that said what he couldn’t with words. 

Mine. 

You don’t know how it ended, you barely remembered how it had started but as the night leaked in and made the quarry glitter, Steve was smoothing a hand over your hair, messy from his tugging, as you pulled your shorts back on. 

He’d packed up the bag, shrugged his T-shirt back over his chest, lips as kiss bitten as yours, skin warm from the sun and you. It felt like there was so much to be said, it felt like nothing at all. A natural occurrence, an almost yearly event, something cosmic, something magic, like a meteor strike, like a new planet being discovered. 

You got to kiss your best friend and Steve got to kiss his and it simply felt like you were both one step closer to where you were both going to end up. You were so sure it was with him, but maybe that was just the whispers of your moms, voices hardly quiet as they gushed by the Harrington’s pool summers ago, talking about how their kids were something special together, how sometimes soulmates did exist. 

So it didn’t feel awkward when Steve swiped a stand of hair from your cheek, took your hand in his and pressed one more kiss to the top of it before letting go, stepping back for another summer, until one of you - or both of you - were finally ready to say what needed to be said. 

It wasn’t going to happen that day, but it felt closer than ever. 

And when he drove you both home, Steve didn’t tut at you for putting your feet on the dash, in fact, he smiled all soft the whole drive back into Hawkins, past the same wheat fields, the water tower, the sunflowers and fruit fields that made the night smell sweet. 

It was dark when you both snuck in through the back garden gate, Steve’s patio light still on and there was smoke coming from the little fire pit by the pool, gentle chatter and laughter from where both of your parents sat with glasses of wine. Leftover dinner dishes and empty plates sat on the wooden table and neither couple were surprised to see you both. 

You didn’t know that your parents watched the way Steve stood tall behind you, always in reach, an open hand just hovering by your side as if he was always ready to catch you. You didn’t know that his mom would smile at you, watching the way you watched her son, cheeks sore with a grin she’d never tire of seeing. 

Even Steve’s dad would shake his head, fond, making everyone titter and the pair of you blush as he asked accusingly, “and what have you two been up to all day?”

You wondered if they could see the way you flushed in the dark, if they saw the swell to Steve’s bottom lip from the way you’d been greedy with it, if they noticed the pretty lilac bruise that should’ve hopefully been hidden by your shirt. 

But it was okay. ‘Cause you felt Steve warm and solid at your back, his chest pressed against you and the leftover taste of him and smoke on your lips. The air smelled like honeysuckle and chlorine, fresh lavender and basil from a dinner you’d missed and the back garden gate was still swinging on its hinges. 

1986. And I scream, “For whatever it’s worth, I love you, ain’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”

Steve fucking hated Chris Maxwell. He’d disliked the guy in high school, always running his mouth and exaggerating his lacrosse wins, the girls he got with, the drugs he managed to score. He had the same car as Steve, the same BMW in a shitty puke green colour and he drove it like an idiot.

He hated him even more when you started dating him.

 You’d dated guys before, shit, Steve had had his fair share of girls over the years too. Nothing ever serious, nothing that meant all that much ‘cause the girls he brought to parties and basement hang outs took one look at you and tried to make him choose. 

Steve always chose you.

You’d dated less, Steve had always noticed, shying away from unfamiliar attention, choosing to kiss and run after the party was over, no numbers exchanged, no dates to be had. You’d always scrunched your nose at him and evaded the question when Steve asked, murmuring something about how it wasn’t worth the hassle.

It’s why Steve had been so surprised when you were dropped off one day by Maxwell, in his snot green car with his stupid smarmy smirk. Once became twice, twice became three times and before you both knew it, you were lounging at the bottom of Steve’s bed one day as he sat at his desk and you were shrugging.

“Uh, yeah, I guess? Maybe he is my boyfriend?”

Steve remembered coughing out a laugh, because, how could you not know?

But you were being picked up and dropped off by the boy on numerous occasions and Steve quickly grew tired of watching him try and eat your face in his front seat. But only two months had passed before things seemingly grew tired and sour, your face twisting in a veil of annoyance when you heard his car horn blast from the street.

He never got out of the car to knock on your door, Steve had noted, never walking you up the path at night to see you safely inside. Steve was sure the last straw came on the day he was already in your living room, hands clutching the casserole dish that his mom had sent him to borrow. You’d rolled up, the stupid vomit coloured car catching the curb as it squealed to a stop, music blasting from the inside and your dad mirrored Steve’s expression as the two men stood at the window.

Noses scrunched, lips downturned, eyes narrowed.

“I don’t like that little punk,” your dad had grumbled.

“Same,” Steve had answered and the two of them were oblivious to the way your mother grinned behind their backs. 

But Steve had watched you storm out, car door slamming as Chris leaned over to the open window, yelling something about coming back and let’s talk about this honey!

You’d ignored him and Steve had walked home feeling a little lighter than he had in weeks.

He still didn’t expect Chris to come sneaking into his back yard one evening, when the town was quietening down, when the fireflies came out and the sun made the sky streaky with pink and peach and lilac.

Steve had been propped against the wall of his house, just beside the back garden gate, hidden in that little lane that no one seemed to use. The space that smelled like honeysuckle and lavender, the place that grew a little wild and reminded him of you. There was more ivy on the wall that year, growing more untamed than it ever had and it made Steve smile to see that it was crawling up the side of your house too, almost to your bedroom window. 

A cigarette hung from his lips, a bad habit he hadn’t picked up since he was seventeen and easily persuaded but work was shit, his dad was nagging at him about reapplying for colleges and he hated that he’d hardly seen you in a week. 

And the reason why was creeping through the gate, shoulders hunched and eyes alert. Chris had stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Steve, a scowl on his face as he snarled at him accusingly. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Steve rolled his eyes, cigarette still wet between his lips and it moved as he replied, his words an annoyed mumble. 

“This is my fuckin’ garden, dickwad. You went through the wrong gate.”

It took the boy a moment to realise his mistake and instead of apologising, or admitting to it, he turned and continued to glare at Steve. 

“S’your goddamn fault I’m sneaking around anyway, Harrington,” Chris hissed, his eyes already seeking out your bedroom window across from them. 

It was ever so slightly cracked, curtains shut and blowing in the breeze but Steve knew you kept it open so you could smell the honeysuckle you loved so much, so that you could hear Steve if he opened his window across from you, to whisper into the night. 

It had been a long time since you shared secrets and stories across the garden gates, but old habits die hard and Steve kept his open for the very same reason. 

“My fault?” Steve snorted, an offended and somewhat dramatic hand pressed to his chest. He kicked off of the wall, cigarette throwing smoke into the air and he exhaled, smirking when some of it blew into Chris’ face. “And what the fuck did I do, Maxwell?”

“Everything’s always about you!” The other boy burst out, without much preamble, “whole fuckin’ relationship revolved around you, you’re all she talked about and then she tell has the nerve to tell me that she’s breaking up with me.”

Steve looked at Chris with raised brows, cigarette held lightly between a finger and his thumb, the top of it still burning in the dim light. 

“Is that so?” Steve took a drag, tried to keep his heartbeat steady, tried not to smile. “Had nothin’ to do with the way you spoke to her like shit and was always demanding stuff, no?”

The boy levelled Steve with a stare, nostrils flared and hands shoved in his pockets. “Of course she tells you fucking everything.”

“Of course she tells me fucking everything,” Steve repeated, emphasis on every word as he glowered at your ex, brows furrowed and fist clenched by his side. “And what’s it to you if she does-”

“What the fuck is going on?”

The two boys looked up, one grinning, the other desperate at the sight of you, hanging out your open window. 

Steve held up a hand in a way, features perfectly amicable as he beamed.

“What are you doing here, Chris? There’s a reason I’ve not taken your calls,” you sounded bored, tired and the boy had barely begun to answer before you’d already moved onto Steve. 

“Honey, please, I’m begging you can we just ta-”

“Steve, are you smoking? Again? Really?” You tutted, elbow on the window frame as you looked down at him with a soft pout. 

“My bad, princess,” but the boy was grinning, not looking very sorry at all ‘cause Chris was silently fuming beside him. “Stressful times, y’know?”

He took another long drag, blew the smoke out above the other boy's head and continued smiling that bright grin. Steve looked up at you again, head tilted as he gestured to your ex and squinted against the sun that was starting to set behind your roof. 

“Want me to take out the trash for you?”

His words earned him a shove, a bark of laughter leaving his lips as he barely stumbled against the other boy's hands. But before Steve could retaliate, you were calling down in a voice Steve knew you reserved for telling him off when he got too drunk, when he pushed your buttons a little too much. 

“Hey! Chris! Jesus, quit it!” You were leaning out of the window more, sleep shirt hanging off of one shoulder and a pucker between your brows. “Just go, okay? We’ve already spoken about this, I’m not interested.”

“See, this is what I was fuckin’ talking about,” Chris hissed, low enough so only Steve could hear and Steve didn’t know how to reply. 

Quiet wrapped around all three of you, the distant trickle of the pool, the muted buzz of Steve’s television from his living room and eventually, a strangled curse from your ex boyfriend's lips as he shouldered past Steve and swung the garden gate open, the wood hitting the brick. 

Steve tried not to grin as he looked back up at you, tongue pressed to the side of his cheek and his brown eyes glittering. The sunset made you both rosy, a sunbeam stretching across the side of your house, lighting up the bricks and you. 

“He seems touchy.”

“Shut up, Harrington,” you knew Steve heard the smile in your voice, the affection in the roll of your eyes. “You coming up?”

And then you disappeared, ducking back into your room and sliding the window closed with a click. 

Steve didn’t realise your parents were out until he walked over the empty driveway, the sun lowering itself into the line of trees across the street, the sky turning lavender, the moon making an appearance. He didn’t knock, just walked in through your front door, shoes toed off by the porch before he jogged up the stairs. 

Your door was already open and he found you lazing on your bed, sheets ruffled and the lights off, just the leftover sun trickling in through the open curtains and the crystals you hung at the windows sent rainbows scattering across your walls. 

Some of them fell across your bare thighs where you lay, stomach down, legs in the air in a pair of shorts that were hardly seen from underneath the huge shirt that you wore. Another streak of colour landed on your face, fluttering as the crystal spun on their chains, dancing in the last of the light. 

Steve wanted to kiss it, to see if the pretty shades on your cheek made you taste any sweeter than he already knew.

“You didn’t tell me you broke up,” Steve said and there was nothing accusatory in his voice, just genuine curiosity, soft and gentle. 

He fell onto the bed beside you, made the mattress dip as he shelled into your pile of pillows at the opposite end from where you lay. He pushed a socked foot into your side, digging in at the spaces between your ribs and making you squirm. Steve caught a smile, spread on your lips just for him and you twisted to bat him away, not surprised when his hands found yours and tugged. 

You let him pull you beside him, into the mess of sheets and too many cushions, lying so you were facing him, noses a breadth apart, eyes lowered as you spoke, suddenly nervous. 

You shrugged, fingers playing with the edges of a pillow, “just sort of happened, wasn’t a big deal.”

A beat of silence, the boy wondering if that was the truth, if there was something more behind your words, if you were hiding something in the way you refused to meet his gaze. Steve wondered if you could feel his heart pounding against the mattress, if it was echoing loud through your pillow the way he was sure it was his. 

It felt like something was building, like something was coming. Something big, something new, something wild. Like a tropical storm, a bolt of lightning across the town, a flash flood, a hurricane, something to announce that summer was over. 

That time was up. 

“You don’t seem too heartbroken ‘bout it,” Steve hedged, his gaze trained on your hands, the way your fingers picked and played with the cotton between you both. He wanted to take your hand in his, run a thumb across your palm and soothe you. 

“Cant get my heart broken by a guy that never had it.”

“He didn’t?”

“Don’t play dumb, Stevie,” you chided gently, teasing, “it doesn’t suit you.”

“Always thought he wasn’t good enough for you,” the boy responded, keeping what he really wanted to say hidden behind his tongue. 

“You said that about all the guys I got with.”

A gentle nudge, your hand on his chest, a shuffle closer, breathing the same air, the rainbow on your cheekbone flitting to Steve’s lips as the sun moved down. He watched you chase it with your eyes, gaze soft, looking a little longingly, or maybe he was just hopeful. 

“It’s true.”

A soft hum, a pleased noise, a smile that finally reached your eyes and a hand that fell to Steve’s arm, running down the length of it until your fingers found the cuff of his sweater and played with that instead. 

It was the closet Steve had been to holding your hand for a while and it felt like the beginning of summer again, back to bike rides to the arcade, sticky fingers tips and slurpees that were almost too big to hold. 

“Why’d you break up with him?”

You stopped, fingertips brushing over Steve’s wrist, a pause on his pulse point that told you that maybe he was as nervous as you felt. Your knees bumped his, rough denim on soft skin, the day leaking out of your room as the sun fell behind the treetops and suddenly everything was blue. 

Navy tinted shadows, inky skin, indigo lines of barely there light that turned Steve’s skin lilac and you breathed in, held it, let the burn in your chest for a second or two before letting it back out. 

Summer was leaking away, slipping behind the moon and the night, and you suddenly felt too tired to lie anymore, to pretend. 

“He wasn’t all that happy that I was in love with someone else.”

God, you felt brave. 

Bold. 

Blue. 

Steve didn’t look all that surprised, a flicker of soft realisation over his eyes, no shock, just a gentle breath of ‘it’s time?’

“I can’t say I blame the guy,” Steve murmured, chin ducking to meet yours, foreheads pressed together on the same pillow and his hand found yours, fingers twisted together. “Don’t think I’d be very pleased either.”

“I know,” you told him, gaze trained on the way his lips moved when he spoke. “I didn’t mean to, I don’t even know when it happened.”

“No?”

You shook your head, feeling heavier than you had, like you were pulled into the boy and something magic was keeping you there. You could smell lavender and cedar and smoke and Steve. 

“Might’ve been at this party, in someone’s basement. Might’ve been the time I was pushed into a closet and my best friend kissed me.”

“That sounds awful,” Steve mused and the beginnings of a grin were pulling at his lips, “a whole five years, huh?”

“Right? Isn’t that just the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”

He liked the way you said those words, like it was the opposite, your voice all sunshine and warmth and leftover summer. You were blue skies and honeysuckle, wildflowers and long drives, sleepovers on your bedroom carpet and sneaking out through the back gate. 

“Y’know, I think I’ve got you beat,” said the boy, all faux seriousness as he brought his hand to your waist, palm wide and warm as he pushed at your shirt, bunching it up over your ribs until he could touch bare skin.

“You do?” You felt a little breathless at his touch, a feeling you’d craved since last summer at the quarry, a feeling you’d missed despite knowing you’d get it again soon, eventually. Now. 

“Oh yeah,” Steve scoffed, voice teasing, gaze staring at you from between dark lashes. “I once knocked on this girl’s front door, asked her if she wanted to go to the arcade with me and I didn’t even mind when she hogged all the slurpee. I was a goner.”

“I did not!” You laughed, the sound pressed to Steve’s neck ‘cause he was pulling you into him, beaming bright and more carefree than you’d seen him in a while. “Liar.”

“Fell in love with the first girl I ever kissed,” he whispered, cheek pressed against yours as he whispered into your hair, like a secret he was sure you already knew. “How sad is that?”

You shook your head, hands clutched the material of Steve’s shirt, fists to his chest as if he was going to leave. 

“S’not sad at all,” you told him and god your voice was a hush, your lips against the shell of his ear and you felt the breath that he sucked in and held. “Long time to wait though, huh?”

Steve nodded, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip as he pulled back, seeking you out in the dark of your room, noses bumping. 

“Feels worth it, don’t you think?” 

And god, it did. 

It happened the way summer did. Slow and inevitable, like the gradual pick up of warmth through the year, the way you expected the sun in the morning, blue skies through your window, ice cream for lunch. 

It happened like it was supposed to, like it was meant to, like you’d waited all that time just to greet it with a warm shyness, a coy, “oh, I’ve been expecting you.”

It rolled in like a present, like a gift, like a reward. Like something that the world wanted you both to have, like the universe knew you were supposed to be together. So you shared first kisses between the wildflowers, let the seeds of something more bloom between your ribs, the spaces between your chests and your hearts. You let it simmer in the warm afternoons, burn a little stronger on cliff tops over quarry’s, picnic blankets rough under bare knees and hands in hair. 

“It does,” you breathed, closer to the boy than you had been, noses pressed into cheeks and for the last time, your best friend asked you your favourite question, one that tasted like fresh lemonade and smoke, cherry slurpees and fresh flowers in the air. 

“Hey princess?”

You hummed a response, eyes already closed, lashes brushing at the corners, a small smile playing on the curve of your lips. 

“Can I kiss you?”

You were on Steve before he could finish asking, hands on his jaw, tugging him into you, the hand that he had on your waist tightening its grip as your lips met. 

It felt different than last summer. Slower, deeper, lazier, like you both knew that this wasn’t the last kiss, like you both knew you didn’t have to wait until next year, or the year after. 

Like you both knew that this time was it. 

You moved in the dark of your room together, Steve pushing you back into the plush of your bed, moving over you to hold himself there, chest just brushing yours as one hand found purchase in your sheets, careful not to crush you. 

He caught the leg that you brought up to his side on instinct, desperate to feel more of him, wanting to press into him. Steve’s finger curled under the space behind your knee, hooked there so he could hold your thigh against his hip, so he could move into the space you created for him, body rolling into yours. 

He swallowed the gasp you gave him, kissed away the sigh and the blue of the room seemed a little brighter with his lips on yours. You whined against him until the boy caught on, moving back onto his knees only for you to follow, chest pressed against his and only breaking the kiss for him to lift his arms for you. His shirt hit the floor, yours following suit, all bare skin underneath with some new freckles to find, a trail of summer; water fights, sneaking out and greeting the morning together on the hood of Steve’s car. 

Steve ducked down to meet you, to let you kiss him a little deeper, a little dirtier, tongue licking at the seam of your lips, groaning when you opened for him, hand spanning the width of your back, hips pressed together with intent. 

“I’m fucking desperate for you, y’know that right?” Steve groaned, words sinking into your mouth with every push of his lips against yours and you swore you’d never heard anything prettier. “Always have been, totally gone on you, princess.”

“Steve,” you felt hot with the prick of emotion, tears brimming at your lashes ‘cause it was all too much and not enough, want and longing and need building up, years of looking, of touching and just tasting, searching kisses, useless excuses, never talking about it after. 

And then his hands were back on your legs, palms hooked around the backs of your knees and you were falling together, bouncing off of the mattress, pillows falling to the floor and god, you were crashing into each other. 

It was mixtapes on birthdays, fresh strawberries after swimming, a hand held in the dark after a scary movie, sitting in the yard after dark when the night was still warm and you don’t know how to tell your best friend that you thought they were perfect. 

Your shorts slid off too easily, hips raised from the bed and Steve’s fingers curled into the waistband. He kicked off his jeans with the help of your feet, toes pushed into the denim as he shucked them to the floor. 

Suddenly, there was more skin to touch, to taste, to look at, and Steve took note of every curve he hadn’t seen, every little mole and scar, tan lines in places he always tried not to stare at. 

But he kissed them instead, lips trailing hot over your chest, kisses pressed to the dip of your clavicle, the patch of sunburn on your shoulder and you felt like you had caught the entire months of summer in your chest. 

It all felt a little golden.

But night had crawled in and the shadows were darker, making every touch more intense, every kiss feeling like a confession. Your underwear joined his, piled at the foot of your bed with spilled sheets and pushed pillows and the world fell into silence for you both. 

No buzz or insects, no sprinklers in the yard, no screech of brakes from the street, no yelling from a tv. 

Everything was hushed as Steve spread his fingers over you, a choked gasp at the way he made you feel, a kiss to soothe. He kissed you through it, fingers feeling thick as he slid one and then two inside of you, curling up and searching, face pulled back from your own so he could watch you fall apart beneath him. 

“So fuckin’ pretty, so pretty,” Steve told you and you felt it, you believed him, forehead pressed to his as you gasped out his name, hands wrapped around his biceps as he coaxed you over the edge. “Can you come for me princess? Please?”

You did as he asked, as if you had any say in the matter, crashing and tumbling and falling into him, body tight, eyes clenched shut and lips falling apart in the prettiest moan Steve had ever heard. 

“Oh shit, babe, that’s it, ‘atta girl, princess.”

He pulled your hands from his length when you made an eager grasp for him, not cruel, just desperate. Steve shook his head, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly, jaw slack and eyes heavy. 

“Babe, if you touch me s’all gonna be over in a second,” he admitted hoarsely and his voice held no shame. 

So you covered him in kisses, flipped your positions from where you lay on the bed and pushed the boy into the pillows instead. You caught his lips on yours, messier now that you’d had a taste of what was to come, mouth leaving gloss over his jaw, down his throat and you felt the vibrations over your tongue when Steve moaned. 

You moved over him, slick and warm, hips pushing into his as you straddled him, making a mess of his boxers and short circuiting his brain as Steve gripped your thighs, touch almost cruel as he held on for dear life. 

You pressed your palms to his chest, dropped yourself down a little so your lips could graze his own, a new kind of kiss, teasing, a whisper that was barely there. 

It promised more to come, it kept him waiting and wanting, made Steve groan out at the realisation that he was entirely yours and god, maybe, just maybe, you were his too. 

“Fucking hell,” he whispered, and his voice was shot, “princess, please, s’not nice to tease a man like that.”

You grinned, filled with a confidence you only ever gained from being near Steve, bolstered by the way he looked at you - all heavy lidded and slack jade, chest and cheeks flushed underneath you. 

“You’ve never complained before,” you murmured back, mouth parted over his, Cupid’s bows touching but never really pressing your lips to his. 

It made you both think back to all the looks, the gazes, the stares filled with longing and wanting and yearning. That same question, asked with uncertainty, with a tumble of nerves, a burst of wonder, over the years until you knew what each other would taste like, until you knew how their lips felt between your own. 

“Vixen,” Steve mumbled and it should’ve been said like an insult, like a curse but his voice was molten honey, sweet caramel and the start of a summer morning. 

“Can I kiss you, Harrington?” The question wasn’t needed, and you were starting to think it never had been, but you loved the way his lips lifted into a soft smile under yours, noses brushing as he nodded, waiting patiently with his hands smoothing over the backs of your thighs. 

Steve made a pretty noise at the back of his throat, a gasp and a moan, a wrecked, “please,” falling onto your lips. 

You kissed him without any worries, without any thoughts of what does this mean for tomorrow? You kissed him like you were greeting summer, like he was the month of June and blue skies, like you could taste peaches and fresh lemonade on his lips, like he held all your secrets behind his teeth. 

He did.

Your harsh pants and soft moans mixed as you moved together, the boy shuffling underneath you as he rid himself of his underwear, boxers kicked to the end of your bed where they’d eventually be lost. 

He took himself in his hand, hard and long, his breath shaky as you slid down, gasping into his mouth as you got yourself seated, tightening around him for the first time. 

Steve whispered your name, soft, sinful, like a prayer, like a praise. 

“I’m not gonna last long,” he grunted, eyes squeezed shut as he clasped your face in his hands, fingers splayed across the line of your jaw, over the apples of your cheeks. “M’sorry, it’s just- you’re too much, princess-”

You cut him off with a kiss - a silent ‘it’s okay’ -  hips shifting, rolling over him as you moved, whimpering into his mouth. Steve swallowed your noises, gave you back his own and it wasn’t long before he was rolling you both over. 

His hands found the insides of your thighs first, spreading them so he could fit between, length still inside of you, pressing into all the right places. Palms smoothed up your sides, over the ripples of your ribs, calluses catching soft skin and the feel of it all made you sigh, head tilted back. 

Your hands found his, fingers intertwined as he pressed them back into the pillow below you, chest brushing up against your own as he moved, your legs curled around his waist and it was bliss, it was bright white behind your eyes, it was glitter in the dark, it was a electricity in your bones. 

“Steve,” your voice was a whimper, an almost cry, your hands grappling at his shoulders for purchase as he pushed you into the mattress with thrust after thrust. 

It all felt a little wild, gasping into open mouths, lips barely managing to find the other for a kiss, sliding messy over each other as hands pulled hair and fingers squeezed at arms, at thighs, at waists. 

“I know,” the boy said, sounding just as wrecked as you did, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his hands under the small of your back, fingers splayed wide so he could lift your hips into his own. “I know, fuck, you close? Please tell me you’re close.”

You answered with a moan, a pitched keen, your fingers tugging the lengths of hair at the nape of the boys neck and he groaned, a deep dirty sound in response and then you were falling apart, a vice around him, eyes clenched shut and teeth biting down on the muscle in his shoulder. 

Your name tumbled from his lips, a holy sound and Steve moved a little messier, his hips stuttering before he pulled out, both of you sighing at the loss, before he spilled onto your stomach with the help of your hand. 

The air smelled like summer and sex and Steve. 

Your pants filled the air, mixing with the boys and the trickle of the pool in the backyard. You lay together, breathless and skin slick, flyaway hairs sticking to your forehead, eyes a little glassy and lips rosy from greedy kisses. 

Steve pressed another to you then, and you were almost dizzy with it. He didn’t ask, neither did you. You didn’t have to. Not anymore. So he kissed you a little harder, tempting pretty sounds from your chest that he chased with his mouth, body still pressed against yours in a way you were sure you’d never grow tired of. 

No one spoke until you were both cleaned and half dressed, bodies lazy across your sheets, the night still too warm to wear anything more than your underwear, chests bare in the dark and pressed greedily to each other. A slow hand brushed across the small of your back as you lay on your stomach, head on the boy’s chest and your fingers carding through his hair. 

Every now and then you’d press a kiss to wherever you could reach: his palm when it smoothed over your cheek, his sternum where you lay, the sharp line of his jaw when you found the energy to tilt your head up. 

Steve responded in kind, his lips on your forehead, the top of your crown, the end of your nose. 

The silence was filled with the wonder of each touch, both of you bursting at the seams as you pressed your mouths to each other without worrying, without asking. 

But then Steve shifted against the pillows, moved until you were over him, chest to chest and your legs in the space between his. You propped your chin on his chest, eyes sleepy as you looked up at him and you hummed in delight when he smoothed hand over your hair, tucking it behind your ear. 

“You know I’m in love with you, don’t you?”

Heavy words were said so simply, so easily, and you did. You knew. But it still sucked the breath from you, it still made you ache to hear it out loud. 

“Yeah, I do,” you answered, because you did. You knew it from the way Steve looked at you, the way he liked to be near you, to sit a fraction too close. You knew it from the way he shared his slurpees, his car, his bed, his thoughts, his secrets. You felt it in his gaze, his touch, in the way he’d grown with you. “I’m in love with you too.”

“Yeah, princess, I know.”

And it was as easy as that. Simple like summer, inevitable, like the way the month of June rolls in after May. It was expected, like the warmth and the heat, like the sun in the morning and the clear starry skies at night. 

It was an eventuality, a slow burn, a want, a need, a necessity. 

It was Steve and it was summer and they belonged in their entirety to you.

-----

Ko-Fi ♡

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things

[evanchantingpeters]

T(h)rust in me, I’m not over you... (Fanfic - Alex from Adult World)

Pairings ─ Alex (from Adult World) x Y/N (fem reader)

Genre ─ Smut/fluff

Summary ─ Y/N and Alex (aka Evan Peters in Adult World) are exes who haven’t quite let go. A friend’s birthday party turns into a comedy of errors when a black-out drunk Y/N accidentally enters Alex’s postcode as her own for a cab ride home. As Alex finds her at his doorstep and takes her in his place, old feelings resurface and steamy times go down in his bathroom.

Warnings ─ Swearing, smut, unprotected sex p in v, drinking, oral (m receiving), rough sex, nipple teasing, hangover sex, doggy, pretty smutty guys you’re being warned :)

Word count ─ 3.7K

18+ > If you’re a minor, DO NOT read!

The birthday cake of your friend, Beatrice, stands proudly in the centre of her living room, decked out in colourful frosting and flickering candles.

You and the rest of the guests belt out the overdone ‘Happy Birthday’ song in what you think is perfect harmony. But here comes Jerry, Beatrice’s younger brother, who starts hollering the lyrics off-key, stealing the show. 

Snorting, the birthday girl nudges her brother away, leaning over the cake to blow out the candles. Just as she’s mouthing her wish, Jerry, wearing a wicked grin, swoops in and dips his sister’s face right into the cake. 

The room erupts in uproarious laughter as Beatrice’s expression goes from shocked to amused. She taps her cake-covered eyes to remove some chocolate. Then, she turns to Jerry with a look that’s half playful, half ‘I’m plotting revenge.’ 

“You’re in for it now, Jerry!” she barks. And just like that, an all-out frosting war breaks out, turning the room into a sugar-fuelled battlefield. Cake crumbs are flying in every direction, but you manage to dodge most of it with only a few cake-bulleted stains along the hem of your black dress.

You retreat to a corner of the room, sipping your Prosecco like you’re watching sitcom chaos unfold from afar. Suddenly, you notice a stranger in a fancy tux sauntering over, a sly grin playing on his plump lips. 

“Well, looks like you’ve stayed mostly unscathed… or shall I say un-caked?” he chirps, his voice deep and throaty as he nods toward the cake war raging on. 

You just shrug, tossing him a faint, uninterested smile, “Good reflexes, I guess,” you quip, giving him a quick once-over before turning back to the cake madness. You feel his dark green eyes scanning you as if you’re going through airport security. 

He chuckles, and leans in. “If you need someone to scrub the marks off your dress, I’m your guy,” he whoops, playfully thumping his chest. He extends his hand with an inviting smile. “Tony.” 

“Y/N,” you reply bluntly, your energy matching that of a deflated balloon. 

Unfazed by your meh vibes, Tony decides to turn up the heat on the handshake, taking you aback as he begins to stroke your wrist. “You’re drop-dead gorgeous,” he purrs, his eyes never leaving yours.

In a bold move, he lightly kisses the back of your hand, his stubble scratching your skin. 

You instinctively pull away, trying to force a polite smile, but a nervous twitch is all you manage. Your intrusive thoughts kick in, lecturing you (as usual), ‘Give the guy a chance, Y/N. Seriously, after Alex, all you think about is eye-gouging dudes with a spoon? Get a grip and move on!’

“Enjoying the party, Y/N?” he asks, snapping you out of your mental mess.  

“It’s not too bad. I’m here for Beatrice,” you retort, fetching a glass of wine from the buffet. Your eyes drift to the birthday girl, now caked from head to toe and giggling hysterically. You can’t help but crack a smile.

“Sorry, gotta go. Trice’s calling me,” you blurt out and lunge toward your friend, catching a muffled, “No, she didn’t” from behind as you’re practically escaping.

As the night barrels on, your party spirit is like the Energizer Bunny on steroids. You’re all in, downing shots and cocktails like they’re on a liquid clearance sale.

Yet, the question looms in the air: Are you drinking for the sheer fun of it or just drowning sorrows in that cocktail shaker? Alex heartache mode on. 

Before you know it, you’re totally sloshed, messily sprawled on a plush couch, using Tanya’s (another friend of yours) knees as your personal pillow. “Iiiiii reeeeally like your boooody, bodyyy, yeah. I reaaaaally wanna get naughtyyyyy I think you’re such a hottieeeee,” you croak out each word of the pop track with a slur, laughing uncontrollably. Your eyes are shut, lost in your boozy world.  

As you ramble on, Tony, who’s been lurking around, seizes the moment and leaps out from behind the couch. He casually nudges Tanya’s arm, yelling, “You heard that, Tansy?” with theatrical flair. “She thinks I’m a hottie!” His grin spreads wider than a rubber band as he arrogantly points at himself, acting like he’s the main character of your drunken karaoke.

Tanya clicks her tongue in mild annoyance and cuts in with a hiss, “Tony! Behave, man!” She softly kisses the top of your head in a futile attempt to soothe your booze-induced storm. 

“I offered to clean up her dress…” Tony goes on, hovering over the couch. “But, not gonna lie, I’d rather have it crunched up on my bedroom floor as she moans my name,” he murmurs, emphatically banging his fist on the couch before doubling up with laughter. 

“Oh, hush it, Tony,” Tanya roars and waves him away, turning back to you and your delirium, which has hit the roof. “I need to get you home, girl, and none of us is fit to drive…”

Tony, not one to give up easily, chimes in once more. “I volunteer! I’d give her a lift all day, all night.”

“No, we’re all catching a cab,” she declares with a tone that brooks no argument. She lightly pokes your shoulder. “Y/N, my love?” 

Your tipsy babbling starts to fade into a murmur that seems to be lulling you to sleep. “Y/N,” Tanya repeats. “What’s your postcode, sweetie?” 

Your alcohol-soaked brain struggles to register this simple question. “P-postcode? P-o-s-t-d, no. P-p,” you stutter.

“Yes, darling. Confirm your postcode for me, would you? I don’t have it saved,” Tanya says calmly, holding her phone in front of your face. 

With a grunt, you manage to sit up, but the world continues to dance spinning salsa around you. With an unsteady hand, you reach for the device, and your fingers fumble as you try to type out the letters and digits. 

Deep in your drunken haze, you unconsciously punch in a code that matches anything else but your address.

“To the hottieeeeee,” you shout, throwing your fist in the air before dropping yourself back onto your friend’s knees. 

“Ma,am, we’re here,” the taxi driver announces to Tanya that’s sat next to him, his hoarse voice slicing through the quiet of the car. 

Tanya swivels around to face the backseats, where you’re laid down, totally passed out. “Y/N,” she calls softly, giving your leg a gentle rub, but you don’t stir. 

She hops off the car and speed-walks to your side. With great care, she helps you out by wrapping her hands around you. Your arm is looped around her shoulder for stability. “Biyatchhhh, I saiddd whooo I saeee… who da biyaatch? Am da biyatchh,” you hoot, swaying and leaning heavily on your friend as you pinch her cheek with a goofy smile. 

“Y/N, just a sec,” Tanya huffs out as she shoves herself back in to retrieve your purse and coat from the car floor. 

You both stumble your way through the labyrinthine apartment complex. “You got your house key?” she asks, catching her breath. 

It takes a hot minute for the information to hit as you stare at your friend like a deer in headlights. With an unexpected burst of energy, you break free from Tanya’s hold, almost tripping a few steps away. “My Tanoushka, I'm sho happy you haar!” You cry out and lurch back toward her, showering her with enthusiastic smooches on her cheeks.

Then, in a theatrical whirl, you pop open the purse and jangle your keys in her face. “Jiggly, jiggly. Okiee, goooo, go, go!” you cheer in a wobbly dance, urging Tanya to get back into the car.

With an anxious look on her face, Tanya stands by the open car door. “Alright, phone me once you’re indoors,” she insists, her worried eyes laser-focused on you.

You shoo her away absentmindedly as you stagger toward the complex’s main door. You wrestle with the key, wriggling and twisting it into the lock, but miserably fail to get in the building. “Bad key,” you playfully scold, wagging a finger at the stubborn piece of metal before giving it a light slap. 

Soon after, your fingers impulsively begin to clumsily hit the buttons on the intercom, creating a cacophony of buzzing sounds that echo through the entryway. “O-o-o-pen uuup,” your slurred shouting rings through the intercom. “Shtupidd thaang,” you whine, practically bashing the device.

Out of the chorus of tenant voices that crackle through the speaker almost simultaneously, Alex’s familiar voice stands out.

“Y/N? Y/N is that you?” Hearing the shaky and uncertain voice, Alex doesn’t waste a second. He dashes down the stairwell and swings the entrance door wide open, facing a dishevelled Mia, rocking around about to collapse. 

“Y/N,” he gasps and sprints to you. “What happened? Why are you here?” His brows furrow in confusion as he observes your smudged makeup and dress that’s askew.

You look up at him with a lopsided smile, your eyes all bloodshot and half-lidded. “Alex, my hottieee. I mishhhsed you so muschh!” you exclaim, your sentences meandering as you lounge at him for a sloppy hug.

“Shit, you’re hammered,” he mutters, worry spurs him into action. With superhero speed, he scoops you up, your butt facing upwards, hands hanging loosely off his back. 

Your giggles echo as Alex carries you onto his shoulder with ease, making his way to the lift that leads to his place. In a soft, reassuring whisper, he says, “Don’t worry, baby,” and plants a kiss on your thigh that’s now resting on his chest. “I’ll take care of you,” he adds, giving you a playful spank on the ass. 

Once inside, Alex makes a pitstop in the kitchen for a water bottle while you dangle off his shoulder like a ragdoll, humming nonsense. He heads to the bedroom and gently lays you on the bed, making sure your landing is as comfy as a cloud. 

Kneeling beside you, he begins to delicately take off your high heels, rubbing your legs along the way. “Who needs a napkin when your dress can double as a tissue, right?” he chuckles softly, tracing the dry cake marks on your outfit, unaware of the sugary fight earlier. “You’ve officially introduced ‘cake couture’ to the fashion world,” he teases, trying to bundle you in a blanket like a burrito.

You slowly lift your head from the pillow, your neck muscles tightening with the effort as you stare at him with bleary yet intent eyes. “I want shyour cakey,” you mewl, wriggling under the blanket on a mission to liberate your hands.

You tug on his hoodie, pulling him closer until he loses his balance and topples onto you. Your bodies press together, and your voice comes out in a pleading whine. “Alex?” 

“Yes?” he rasps out, his dark brown eyes flicking down to your lips and then up into your eyes. 

“Kiss me,” you mumble and perk up, slowly grazing your lips against his, eyes shut. 

The strong scent of alcohol wafts from you, but, in that moment, Alex seems beyond minding. His heart races too erratically to care, and his breaths are too jagged and wild to bother. The room seems to shrink for both of you, and he swallows hard.

“No, Y/N,” he snaps, his voice firm and resolute as he jumps up. “I’d never let this happen... not right now... not with you being like this.” He snatches the water bottle from the bedside table, unscrewing it with a sense of urgency.

Slightly dazed, you touch your lips. “Tickles, tickles, ticklish,” you squeak, breaking into soft giggles. In a sudden and wobbly move, you shift position, popping up on your knees on the bed. “Huggies,” you whoop facing him, arms wide open for an embrace.

But, just as quickly, your mood takes a detour, and now you’re wincing, yanking at the fabric of your outfit in frustration, “This dresshh is prison, tightiee,” you grunt, hiking your dress up only to reveal your red panties.

His eyes can’t help but stare down there as he rubs the back of his neck almost compulsively, his breath hitching in his throat. At the sight of you half-naked, the dilemma of whether to give in or resist intensifies, swirling in his mind on end.

“Hold up, I don’t want you catching a cold or something. I’ve got a top you can slip into,” he says, puffing out his words while pacing toward his wardrobe to avoid looking at her.

“Heeey,” you yell with an unexpectedly stern tone that catches him off guard. But, just as swiftly, your face softens into a sweet, almost kiddish smile that instantly cools things off.

You wave Alex over, beckoning him to approach. “Come, come, comeyyy,” you coo. 

You perch next to him again, still rocking that mischievous smile. “It’s a secret, tiny winnie one,” you whisper-shout, pinching your index finger and thumb near your face, closing one eye for added drama. “Just between you and me,” you poke as you emphasise ‘me.’ 

Alex nods as his grin stretches from ear to ear. “Okay…” he chuckles, officially joining your light-hearted moment.

“Shhhhh,” you dramatically hush, squishing your index finger against your lips like you’re sharing classified intel. “Secret-t-t-t.”

Alex snorts. His rolls his lips into his mouth as he lowers his head to hold back a laugh. “My bad, my bad. Go on,” he whispers with exaggerated enthusiasm. He’s clearly having a blast with your goofy antics.

“Don’t tell Alex… Neva eva!” 

“I won’t, I won’t,” he assures you, theatrically raising his finger for a pinky promise. 

You take an unusually long moment to process his gesture and what it represents. A sober person would never… Eventually, you sloth-slowly glance back at him, nonchalantly deciding to give up on the symbolism behind the lifted pinky finger. “He’s the kindestsht… and p-p-prettiest boy I’ve eeeeever met,” you exclaim. Your fingers—guided by intoxicated conviction—clumsily roam over his face, stretching his nostril and trailing down to his bottom lip. 

Your drunken self radiates an innocent sincerity that makes Alex’s heart throb like a hammer. Flattered and charmed by your confession, he gazes at you bashfully.

His warm smile broadens as he keeps on staring and admiring you.

“He’s shhhuper,” you squeal, forming a heart shape with your fingers, peeking at him through it. “Do youse… hic… I should gimme… no… not me… him, give HIM head to say thank yew for treatin' spoooooon good?”

Alex can’t help but crack up, though his cheeks turn rosy—a testament to his shy nature. He cups his chin and narrows his eyes mischievously, like he’s in deep thought. “Hmm, if we’re talking about Alex, your ex...I think you should give him head, BUT,” he exclaims, throwing a finger into the air. 

You gasp, playfully covering your mouth like you’ve heard the most shocking news. Your eyes bulge with feigned surprise. “Beyond all,” he argues, “I think you should totally get back together. He thinks you broke up for something very silly, and he’s dying to be with you.”

You abruptly jerk away from him, gagging as if you’re about to throw up. You feel the blood draining from your face as a wave of distress washes over you.

Alex’s eyes widen with concern as he instinctively rises from the bed, “Off we go to the bathroom,” he insists, rushing to follow you.  

Your nausea takes a sudden turn, and you can’t hold back any longer. Barely making it to the toilet in time, you let it all out. Your body heaves with each retch, and you feel miserable.

Alex, the unsung hero, drops to his knees and chucks the water bottle on the floor. He gently pulls your hair back, creating a makeshift puke-proof barrier. All the while, he rubs your back to make the whole ordeal less horrible.

Then, he’s quick on his feet, grabbing some toilet paper for the post-barf clean-up. As you dab your lips, he hands you the bottle to rinse. “I’m disgustiiing, don’t look,” you grumble, shooing him away as you spit water in the toilet before flushing.

“You’re still a wonder to my eyes,” he whispers, running a hand through your loose hair. “And the timing—you puke just as I suggest we get back together, Y/N” he mocks, adding a sprinkle of humour to the less-than-glamorous moment.

You groan and let your head flop onto the toilet seat. “Ahhh, my moussth feels weird… bruushh,” you mumble, rubbing your lips. 

Alex lifts you up, guiding you to sit on the edge of the bathtub. “Not brushing yet, baby. We’re swishing with some hydrogen peroxide and water to protect the enamel,” he instructs you, preparing the said concoction in a small measuring cup next to you. “Here you go, wash off.”

“Shhh, you’re a niiieeerd,” you whine after spitting the liquid, feeling it sting your tongue. Giggling, you yank at Alex’s hoodie and playfully sway him back and forth, your minty breath fanning his face.

Then, you suddenly stop and fix him right in the eye. “Aleeex?” you whimper, lips pouting.

“Yes, Y/N,” he asks calmly, sweeping a few strands of hair off your face as a half smirk curls up his lips. He enjoys the banter that weaves through your drunken fog.

“Fuck me,” you plead, fiddling with the buckle of his belt. 

Alex’s pulse quickened for a second, held in an irregular rhythm. All the while, your fingertips caress his lower stomach, trying to slip through his trousers and onto his boxers. 

You let go when he clears his throat loudly, a deliberate attempt to regain composure. Breathing heavily, he manages a tight-lipped as he strokes your head, tenderly placing it on his shoulder.

“Ohhh, I knoooow,” your exclaim and sit up, your index finger playfully pressing against your mouth. “I willshh brush me an’ you fuck me.” 

Forty minutes later, you’re done with her hardcore toothbrushing session, complete with a few rounds of gargling mouthwash. Alex hands you a towel with a warm smile. You’re still wobbly but muster a grateful grin.

“Thaaank, yew rock,” you slur, clumsily patting your face dry. 

Alex chuckles, “Better?”

You hum, nodding, but your bleary eyes suddenly light up mischievously. Out of impulse, you slide into the tub, turning the water knob. You start splashing around, water welling up everywhere as you laugh uncontrollably. Alex, caught in the aquatic crossfire, shields himself with his hands.

“What’s the goal? Turning this into a water park?” he jokes, still trying to dodge the watery onslaught. But you’re having none of it. You grip his arm and drag him into the splash party.

Soon, you’re both a wet, tangled mess, laughing like loons, lost in the bliss of the moment. As water skims through the contours of your bodies, there’s a switch in the atmosphere. Amidst the fun chaos, your eyes meet inches away from each other, and the laughter mellows into a shared silence.

Before you realise it, your lips crash in a spontaneous kiss. You spread your legs, letting him wade through and tower over you. Soft moans escape him, and the vibrations against your mouth send delightful shivers down your backbone. You know that’s not just a collision of flesh; it transcends into a harmonious blend of passion and connection.

“I want you, Alex,” you sigh with newfound clarity, miraculously not stumbling over your words in an intoxicating joy for the first time tonight. You push the back of his head to deepen the kiss, your tongues now twisting and twirling in a sensual waltz.

He hungrily gropes handfuls of your body, leaving open-mouthed kisses across the crook of your neck.

“Y/N.. no... stop it,” he protests when your hand ventures down his trousers, rubbing along his growing bulge. Your quivering breaths mingle as he breaks the kiss. Skillfully, he turns off the water as he steps out of the tub. “It’s the alcohol talking now, not you.” 

You frown, clutching on the edges of the tub for balance. “The alcohol has shut up; I speak now,” you groan as you stand on your feet. Your drenched dress clings to your body, outlining your figure. Feeling the weight of the soaked fabric, you decide to free yourself from it. 

You strip down to your panties, and your soft, pink nipples rise like rosebuds in bloom, betraying a quiet anticipation. Alex sucks in a sharp breath as he watches your every move all mesmerised, eyes widening, lips parted.

“Ever seen someone redefine the art of walking a tightrope?” you chirp, water dripping down your half-naked body. Sinking to your knees, you get on all fours and slowly begin to crawl to him.

You sway your hips in a sensuous, almost hypnotic rhythm, eyes fixed on Alex. All the while, you trace a perfectly straight line to him, proving your recovered sobriety. 

Arriving at his pelvic level, you gracefully sit back on your heels with a coy smile, maintaining eye contact. “See?” you whisper, tilting your head as your eyes travel down at his erection. You don’t dare to touch; you just marvel at his full length (realistically speaking).

Staring down at you with a knowing, crooked smirk, he runs his fingers through your damp hair, tenderly petting your head. 

“Someone’s suffering here. Let’s free this big boy, shall we?” you purr, brushing your fingers along his hard rock crotch, feeling it twitch upon touch. 

He quickly nods in despair as if he’s unable to utter a single syllable. You slowly roll down his trousers and boxers. He gasps as you finally take hold of his large shaft.

You push his tip in your mouth, flattening your tongue, and swipe down the underside ridge of his stiff dick, humming in delight. He groans louder than you expected as you slowly work his cock in and out, grazing your fingers over the ridges of his abs under his t-shirt.

You pull him back out of your mouth just to slide all the way back down. He’s practically growling at this point, clasping onto the corners of the sink—his vein-y arms make your sex twice as moist.

You regain your slow, teasing pace just to gauge his reaction. Letting out a whine like he can’t take it anymore, he grips your hair tighter, pushing you all the way down his dick. His head is now building on pressure as it strikes the back of your throat, bringing tears to your eyes. His hair grip loosens as his breaths start escaping him in choked, punchy gasps. 

You’re sucking him whole, from his taint down to his balls, dripping your saliva all over him the harder you draw him into your mouth. Your swollen pussy is tingling for him as you feel him hardening in your mouth, forcing loud moans out of you.

Knowing that your next move will finish him, you slow down again and grab him by the waist, gazing up at him. That’s when you begin to take him in faster and rougher, feeling his hips thrust harder each time. 

And… proven! With the change in speed, he lets out a series of choppy moans only to shoot his hot cum in your mouth right after. He stares down at you breathless, mouth agape, as you gulp down his sweet taste with rapid, eager swallows, savouring his taste with a giggle. 

“My girl,” he rasps out as he picks you up from the floor effortlessly yet almost in a trance, his dick still throbbing in your hands. He peels his t-shirt off, turning you around so you both face the large bathroom mirror.

Positioned behind you, he holds you close and smacks your ass hard, making you squeal with surprise. The squeal soon turns into a moan as the pain fades into pleasure. 

You smile slyly as you observe his muscular hands travelling from your hips all the way up to your waistline and tits. You gasp softly when you feel his erection on your back as his mouth nibbles the flushed skin of your neck, leaving soft love bites in his wake.

“I want you to cum inside me, Alex” you blurt out and take hold of his shaft from behind, slowly sliding the head though your tight moist slit in short thrusts. 

“Oh, yeah,” he grunts, biting his bottom lip as he feels your wet lips wrap around him. He instantly fills his hands with your hard nipples, squeezing and rubbing them as he looks at your reflection. “Anything for you, Y/N,” he mutters against your ear in a low, husky voice before knocking himself deep inside you, balls deep, making you scream. His hands roughly grip your thighs to keep you steady and close to him.

Small sobs leave you as you instinctively grab the ends of the sink, bending over to cope with taking him deeper. “Just there,” you yelp, panting, as he starts pounding harder, your hair twisted around his hand. With each thrust, his sack slaps against your clit, making you lose your shit.

Every time your pussy gets to the base of his cock, you pump into him with an intense tempo and move your hips around, making his cock swirl inside your body.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” you cry out with shallow, jagged puffs, rising and resting your head on his shoulder.

He pinches your nipples between his knuckles with one hand while with the other, he starts massaging your clit with circular motions. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper in pure ecstasy as a hot flush courses through you, your cunt aching and begging to release.

“You take in me so well, baby. Give it to me,” he groans, his voice a throaty sensual rasp that makes you shudder.

“Yeees,” you scream, writhing and grinding against him until you feel warm liquid dripping down your legs. 

He keeps riding your orgasm out with you, fucking the liquids in back until he hits his own high. And then it happens—his cum gushing inside you, stuffing you up.

Out of breath, Alex pulls himself out of you, watching his cum leak out. He lazily grins at you, his curls sticking to his head, and you tuck them all back with trembling hands, giggling. 

“This pussy and her owner over here will be the death of me,” he chuckles, gasping for air as he pulls you in for a sloppy, heated kiss.

#evan peters #evan peters fandom #evan peters fanfic #evan peters fluff #evan peters imagine #evan peters moodboard #evan peters smut #evan peters x reader #evan peters x female reader #evan peters x y/n #evan peters x you #alex adult world #ahs fandom #ahs murder house #tate langdon #tate langdon fluff #tate langdon smut #tate langdon fanfic #kai anderson #kai anderson imagine #kai anderson x reader #kai anderson x y/n #kai anderson x you #kit walker #kit walker x y/n #kit walker x reader #kit walker x you #kit walker imagine #ahs cult #evan peters dahmer

[prettyprettypaci2]

Therapy - Part 2

💕 Part 1 💕

"What do you like most about your diapers?"

You gawk at Miss Heather, the giant pacifier in your mouth still wiggling stupidly and ballooning your puffy cheeks. What do you LIKE about diapers? She had to be joking. If you had the money to move out of your step-mom's house, you would kick off your pretty heels, march out of this office, and leave your big, disgusting diaper in the nearest bin. Every crinkle reminds you of your step-sister Lauren smacking your padded bottom, sneering as she asks if you're being a "good girl." Your permanent perfume of stale pee summons visions of Olivia wrinkling her nose, faking coughs and gags as she peels off the plastic during changes. How could Miss Heather possibly think there was anything you LIKED about diapers?

Adding insult to injury, your "Binky Thinkies" timer sings out a sickly sweet lullabye a few seconds later, punctuating the mockery of the question. Finally, you're allowed to speak.

Your jaw aches a bit as you draw the massive rubber nipple out from between your pink lips. Your teeth feel strangely numb, as if forgetting momentarily how to exist in an empty mouth. Setting the pacifier down forcefully on the couch, you smack your lips and declare:

"NOTHING. I hate them."

Miss Heather cocks her head quizzically, as if you'd made some sort of unexpected observation.

"What do you hate?"

You roll your eyes, knowing where this is headed.

"Diapers."

"What diapers?" Miss Heather asks.

You frown, unwilling to give Miss Heather the satisfaction of an answer. You're not in the mood to be toyed with after all these insulting questions.

Miss Heather meets your frown with a soft smile, filled with obvious disappointment. "Do we need to watch the video?"

Your heart drops into your stomach. It's been a few weeks since she made you watch the video. You had almost forgotten she still had it in her arsenal.

Having clearly made up her mind, Miss Heather gives her smartphone a few taps. The sing-song of the timer disappears and a red buffering line appears along the bottom of the TV on the wall. You see a slide with a time and date, followed by Miss Heather's name and credentials, and then you see...you.

It's a "you" that you barely recognize. Sure, your hair is in pigtails and your purple t-shirt has a dumb pony on it, but in the video you're actually wearing sneakers. Sneakers and jeans! You can barely see the plastic of a crinkly white diaper poking out of them, but how you would die to be wearing jeans again! This was one of your earliest therapy sessions with Miss Heather. You remember telling her how powerless you felt being bullied by your step-sisters, and how all your choices at home had begun slipping away. She had told you to counteract this by taking ownership of your life and situation. By declaring your agency.

Oh, how you hate this video.

"I'm wearing MY diaper," the younger you declares, placing unnatural emphasis on the word "my." The video shows you staring past the camera, obviously taking a cue before unzipping your jeans and pointing to the white puffy cloud swaddled within.

"This is MY diaper. I'm wearing MY diaper. This diaper is MINE."

You feel utterly humiliated as the video goes on. You watch yourself prodding and gesturing, lowering your pants, turning around for the camera, all the while loudly proclaiming what the viewers are seeing:

"MY diaper. This is what MY diaper looks like. This is ME wearing MY diaper. I wear MY diapers to bed. I am loved and important when I wear MY diaper."

The video ends abruptly and you cast your eyes downward. How could you have been so stupid to make that? It certainly doesn't make you feel any more in charge of your life. As evidenced by the frilly gingham dress whose hem you now paw at with anxious fingers, your life has only gotten more out-of-control.

"So what is it you claimed to hate?" Miss Heather asks, turning away from the screen to give you her full attention.

Knowing full-well that she'll replay the video as many times as it takes, you sigh and capitulate: "I hate my diapers." You stare forlornly at the buckles on your patent leather shoes.

"You've said that a lot before," Miss Heather replies, pausing to glance at notes. "In July you told me your diapers were 'unbearably humiliating.' In August you talked about how 'disgusting' they were -- I think that's when your step-mom wanted you to start wearing during the day. And just last week you added the word 'nasty.' These are a lot of negative feelings."

You continue to avoid her gaze, concentrating on rolling the block of your right heel in a small circle on the floor. You could talk about how you hate these shoes, too.

"What feelings am I supposed to have?" You grumble.

"Well, we need to accept that the diapers aren't going away; not unless moving away from home becomes an option for you. So what do you get by torturing yourself with all this negativity? Let's come up with a list of three things you like about your diapers, you and me."

Your eyelashes flutter as you scowl up at Miss Heather, setting your heel back down firmly on the floor. "There is NOTHING I like about my diapers."

A minute of silence passes, and you try to think of a way you can change the topic. But then Miss Heather makes an observation: "That's not the most comfortable couch, you know."

You furrow your brow. "Huh?"

"The couch. My patients complain about it all the time. I've been meaning to replace it with something more modern, but you've never once told me it was uncomfortable."

You blink, realizing what she's getting at. "You think I don't mind the couch because of my diapers."

"Maybe," Miss Heather replies, nodding, as if intrigued by some exotic new theory. "Have you ever sat down in your diaper and thought, 'this seat is too hard'?"

You rack your brain for a counterpoint to prove how stupid this is, but you realize you can't ever remember sitting down in your diaper and feeling physically uncomfortable. Disgusted, embarrassed, ill-at-ease, but never worried about a sore butt.

"It's sort of like a pillow you carry around with you, isn't it?" She goes on.

You look away at the wall. "I guess it's... like...soft," you say quietly.

"Good!" Miss Heather taps her smartphone and pulls up a whiteboard app on the TV screen. She scrawls in immaculate cursive:

Soft

"What else?"

You stare at the start of your list on the TV. Three things?! This is impossible.

"Have you used your diaper yet today?" Miss Heather asks.

"No!" You snap back. You don't get to use the bathroom at the therapist's office due to your step-mom's rules, but you do always hold it until Miss Heather steps out of the room for a break.

"Why not? You could use it now and I would never know! I can't tell you the number of times I've been desperate for an hour-long session to end just so I could run to the toilet. It's distracting and very inconvenient for my job! But you never need to worry about that."

You start fidgeting with one of the pink ribbons in your hair. "Then YOU wear diapers," you say icily.

"I'm writing it down," she says with a playful tone, scrawling it on the whiteboard.

Convenient

"What about changes? You've talked about how much you hate being changed because your step-sisters make so much fun of you. What's something positive about it? It can be anything, even the smallest thing."

You feel like you're being sucked into another stupid trick, just like making the video. But your bored mind can't stop probing the question. You think about Lauren wrapping up your used diapers into a ball and floating them above your head -- the humiliation of the putrid smell you know you made. Your step-mom scrubs you down with a wet towel before Olivia sprinkles a blizzard of baby powder onto your tummy.

"Baby powder," you say, as if muttering it to yourself.

Miss Heather nods, gesturing you to go on.

"It's...I dunno, it smells kinda sweet. It's better than the other smells."

Miss Heather adds it to the board with a little unearned embellishment:

Smell So Sweet

"Now let's think about the things you don't like about diapers," Miss Heather says. "You say they're humiliating, disgusting, nasty. But these are all perceptions, and perceptions can be changed. It's the most marvelous thing about humans, how we can adapt to any situation. You don't HAVE to find diapers humiliating. You don't HAVE to find them disgusting or nasty. You have total control over it. But..."

She circles the list of three descriptions with her smartphone. "The things you LIKE about diapers. That they're soft, convenient, and smell sweet like baby powder...that never changes. Nothing will make your diapers not be soft or convenient. Nothing will make baby powder smell less sweet to you. The things you like about diapers are things you can't control."

She smiles triumphantly, clicking the TV off with her smartphone. "You're not in charge of your diapers. But no one -- not Lauren, not Olivia, not your step-mom -- can dictate how you feel about your diapers. That's where you're in charge."

You're left sitting on the couch as Miss Heather excuses herself for her morning break. Your mind is racing from all the embarrassment, and you feel like you're going to throw up. For just a moment, you lift the hem of your dress with a pink-lacquered thumb and glance at your bunny-soft diaper. You drop it quickly, not sure why you did that. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you picture the video version of yourself in pigtails and a t-shirt, pulling down your jeans and poking at the cotton companion taped to your loins.

MY diapers are soft.

MY diapers are convenient.

MY diapers smell so sweet.

💕 Part 3 💕

#ab dl diaper #ab dl lifestyle #ab dl mommy #diaper training #diaper sissy #diaper bulge #diaper pee #abdllittle

[bonitanightmxres]

Birthday Cake(s) || JOEL MILLER

PAIRING: Joel Miller x wife!reader (non-outbreak au)

SYNOPSIS: It’s joel’s birthday, and you have a few surprises in store for him.

WARNINGS: fluff, slight suggestiveness (aka joel wanting to get laid), mentions of pregnancy

WORD COUNT: 1.5k

A/N: Can be read as a “continuation” of “Pinky Promise”, or read on its own!

“I have to say, Tommy, you did a pretty good job with the decorating.” You take a step back, taking in all the banners and balloons and streamers that are hung around the house. It hadn’t been easy, doing all the planning for Joel’s birthday behind his back, but somehow you and Tommy managed to get it all done. 

“I know right,” Tommy laughs as he reaches into the fridge for a drink. A large white box takes up most of the room inside, undoubtedly the cake; but he’s confused when he sees a smaller one sitting next to it. “Hey, what’s in this small box?” Tommy reaches for it, letting curiosity get the best of him.

“DON’T TOUCH IT!” The sudden boom of your voice makes him jump, and Tommy lowers his hand. “I-it’s just a cake. A personal one.”

Tommy crosses his arms, raising a brow, trying to decide if he believes you. “You mean to tell me you got my brother two cakes, and he gets to have one all to himself? I love him, but he ain’t that special.”

“One day a woman will buy you two cakes for your birthday too, Tommy. You just need to learn how to keep her first,” You shoo him away from the fridge, guarding it with such protection, as if it were the last thing you’d ever do. 

“Ouch,” he laughs. “Anyways, what’d you get Joel? Is there a way I can sign it and say it's from me too?”

The mental picture of the small little box wrapped neatly in your bedroom takes over your mind. As small as the gift was, you were sure it’d have an even bigger impact on Joel once he opened it. “Sorry, Tommy, not this year. It’s not exactly something you can say we both got him.”

“What the hell is it then?”

“You’ll see.” Excitement pumped through your veins, making you giddy and nervous at the same time. 

It was still early in the afternoon, and there were many hours to go before Joel would be on his way home, which made it that much harder to sit around with his gift practically teasing you, begging to be opened. And when Joel did finally pull into the driveway that evening, your excitement and nerves only increased. 

You and Tommy shut off every light source in the house, nearly tripping and stubbing your toes multiple times as you did so. Hiding behind the dining table, you could hear the jangle of Joel’s keys as he unlocked the door, making you squeal from the anticipation. 

“Seems like you’re more excited for his birthday this year than usual,” Tommy whispers, “What’re you planning?” 

You don’t get to answer before Joel is stepping inside the house, turning on the light as he walks in.

“SURPRISE!” You leap up, throwing your hands in the air.

Joel is mesmerized by the shiny decorations, but he’s even more mesmerized by you. Seeing your bright smile and the happiness in your eyes makes him grin widely. He hurries over to you, wrapping one of his big arms around your waist, and pulling you in for a soft and sweet kiss. Your lips are soft against his, and he can taste the cherry lip balm. 

“Happy birthday, love.” You say after pulling your lips away from Joel’s, much to his dismay. 

His hands wander up and down your sides, playing with the hem of your dress. “My favorite color… Did you wear it just for me?” 

Giggling, you playfully smack his hands, and turn to the stove, “C’mon, let’s eat. I made your favorite.” 

“Not possible, my favorite meal’s standing in front of me.” He smirks, eyeing you up and down.

“Joel!” Your cheeks flush red, turning your attention to where Tommy had been the whole time.

Once Joel realized that it wasn’t just you and him home, his face turned red too. “Sorry, brother. I’ll keep it PG for you.” 

Tommy chuckled, and was finally able to wish Joel a happy birthday, now that his attention hadn’t been completely on you. 

You could barely eat anything at dinner, too overwhelmed by eagerness for Joel to open his gift. The brothers had barely finished their meal before you’re clearing the table, tossing dishes in the sink, and lighting the candles on the large cake. Together with Tommy, you sing him “happy birthday”, as you carefully bring the cake over and set it down in front of him. The dancing flames light up Joel’s face softly and beautifully, and the genuine happiness on his face makes you fall in love with him a little bit more. 

“Jesus, that’s a lot of candles.” Joel says with a light chuckle. He pulls you to sit on his lap, wrapping his arms around you tightly as he watches the wax drip onto the frosting. “Pretty soon they all won’t fit.” 

Tommy snorts as he stands across from you two, “Yeah, that’s why she got two cakes.” 

You shoot him a death glare with a look that says shut up, and Tommy immediately regrets having opened his mouth. 

“Two?” Joel questions. “What for?”

“Nevermind that, just focus on this one.” You scoot it a little closer to him, encouraging him to blow out the candles, and he does. 

Joel cuts the cake, serving slices for the three of you while you still sit with him. At some point, you feed him cake playfully, and wipe frosting on his nose. Joel kisses your cheek, transferring frosting onto your face, and whispers, “So… what do ya say we send Tommy home early and you can give me my birthday present?” 

The birthday present. 

“Shit!” You practically jump off from Joel’s lap, and retrieve the mini cake and gift. As excited and restless as you had been during the day, the thought of the present had completely slipped your mind as you ate dinner and sang to Joel. 

With the smaller cake in front of him, Joel was… confused, to say the least. “‘Happy birthday, Daddy.’” He read the letters of icing out loud, blushing a bit. As soon as the words left his mouth, your heart pounded even harder in your chest, waiting for his reaction.

Tommy seemed to have gotten the hint first, because he let out a gasp louder than you’ve ever heard, “Wait a minute, are you–”

You send him another death glare, and by now, you’ve given him enough of those that he knows to shut up. 

“Darlin’, you sure we shouldn’t send Tommy home early?” Joel asks, chuckling as he rubs the back of his neck. 

With a confused look on your face, you wonder why you’d need to send Tommy home over a cake. Happy birthday, Daddy. That’s all it said… Wait a minute… 

Daddy. 

Oh. 

A pink tint brushed over your cheeks when you realized. “Joel, get your mind together and just open the gift already.”

You know he tears the gift open painstakingly slow on purpose to mess with you, but it doesn’t stop the urge to rip the gift away from his hands and open it for him, shoving the thing in his face; but, as you never lack common sense, you wait patiently… even though you’re visibly annoyed and Joel can tell–which only makes him open it slower. 

“Joel, if you keep it up, Tommy’s spending the night and you won’t get what you want, and you know what I mean.” You threaten.

It turns out, you should’ve just threatened him a long time ago, because you’d never seen gift wrap fly off a box faster than you did at that moment.  

Joel freezes in place as his eyes are glued to the thing in the box, and suddenly he’s forgotten English. His expression intrigues Tommy, who rushes over to his brother, looking over his shoulder. You’re amused as Tommy’s eyes go wide too, jaw practically dropping to the floor. “I knew it! You are! I’m gonna be a– You’re–”

“Pregnant?” Joel picks up the positive test, holding it in his hand to make sure it’s real. He looks over at you with a softness in his eyes and adoration, and a smile creeps onto his lips. “For real?”

Nodding your head eagerly, your hand travels over your stomach. “I took like a dozen tests, you’re holding number thirteen.” 

“I’m gonna be an uncle, oh my god,” Tommy whoops and hollers in the kitchen, grabbing his cell phone and walking to the porch with a grin on his face. “Just wait ‘til I tell the guys at work that I’m gonna be an uncle.” 

Dropping the test back into its box, he rushes over to you. Joel grabs your face with his hands, kissing you playfully all over. “I can’t believe this. You’re amazing.” He drops to his knees, kissing your stomach through your dress. “Hi, babygirl, thank you for making this the best birthday ever. Daddy loves you.”

You giggle as he continues kissing your stomach, tickling you with every kiss he lays. “How do you know the baby’s gonna be a girl?” 

Joel gets up, caressing your face with a smile, “I just know.”

---

a/n: yet another late night fic... back at it again with domestic joel bc he owns my heart😭

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x wife!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller tlou #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us imagine #joel miller imagine #joel miller drabble #joel miller x y/n #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo

[mellowsadistic]

The Magician's Game - Chapter 10

“Wait!” Abby cried desperately. “I didn’t cheat! It’s not true! I… I…” She let out a squeal of shock and fear. Her clothes were changing, just like Katherine’s had done the evening before. “No, no, no, no…” she muttered frantically as her skinny jeans vanished, leaving her in nothing but her lacy black underwear from the waist down. Her crop top was turning pastel pink and lengthening, stretching down to reach her waist, but stopping so short that it failed to completely cover her knickers. Sleeves grew; pale, puffy sleeves that ended just past her shoulders. A pacifier popped into existence on the end of a clip and pressed itself firmly between her lips by an invisible hand. Her socks gained a rim of frills, and her stylish shoes turned into black Mary Janes. Last, and worst, her underwear began to thicken, and Abby started to cry. She knew what was coming. Her skimpy panties turned white and crinkly, ballooning outwards and taking on the shape of a huge disposable diaper. “No!” she wailed behind her soother. Her bulky nappy was pushing her legs apart, giving a gait as wide and toddler-like as the others. But the Magician’s alterations weren’t done there. She could feel a tingling in her head as the mental changes started to take effect.

“No, no, no!” she sobbed. Then her dummy started bobbing in her mouth as her oral fixation took over, an overwhelming desire to have something in her mouth at all times. If it wasn’t her pacifier then it would be her thumb, or even her toes. The idea disgusted her, but at the same time it felt so right to suck on something. She hadn’t realised how empty her mouth had been before. She had to have something inside it! Abby whimpered as she realised the Magician was turning her into an orally-fixated freak, like Madelyn but worse, someone who’d cram random objects into her mouth and cry like a baby if anyone took her paci out.

With a loud hiss, her bladder let go and Abby started drenching her diaper with pee. She shrieked behind her dummy and tried to clench down to stop the flow, but nothing happened. Her muscles wouldn’t respond at all! She was no different from Becky now, she knew. No different from a baby! She pissed herself helplessly, feeling the yucky warmth spreading around her crotch, soaking into the thirsty padding of her nappy until it was sagging well below the short hem of her little girl’s dress. She squealed piteously and reached down, intending to rip the horrible thing off and throw it in the Magician’s face, no matter what the consequences would be – but something was wrong with her hands. Her fingers felt clumsy and uncoordinated all of a sudden. They patted uselessly against the tapes of her diaper, and with another sob, Abby understood that the Magician must have taken away her fine motor control. She stumbled backwards, almost losing her balance. Her legs felt as awkward as her hands, and Abby guessed that her wide, babyish gait was the result of more than just an extra-thick diaper. She thought of Katherine, waddling around like she’d only just learned to walk, and realised that she would now be exactly the same.

She looked up at the other girls. Becky and Madelyn were watching with slightly queasy expressions on their faces – but Abby thought she could detect a trace of satisfaction in them too, as if they thought she deserved what she was getting. Abby shrieked again, an incoherent shriek of fear, humiliation, and anger. This couldn’t be happening to her! It couldn’t! Things like this didn’t happen to girls who were as pretty as she was!

The Magician was watching her, an evil smile twisting his handsome features. She had to convince him to change her back! She still had her body! She toddled forwards and pressed herself against the man who’d turned her into an overgrown baby, trying, through tear-stained eyes, to look seductive.

“Awww,” the Magician cooed. “Are you trying to be sexy, sweetie? That’s so cute! Coochie-coochie-coo!” He reached out and tickled her under the chin.

Abby let out an involuntary, gurgling giggle. Then she blushed furiously and pushed him away. Of course he didn’t want her body… It had been a stupid idea from the start. He just wanted to turn her into a ridiculous baby-woman like the others! Her head tingled again, and her emotions suddenly became much, much harder to control. Abby burst into tears. If the others had thought she was crying hard before, it was nothing compared to what she was doing now. She screamed at the top of her lungs, sobbing and wailing like a toddler in her terrible twos. There was a restlessness in her arms and legs, and she felt compelled to stomp her feet and flap her arms stupidly, her face screwed up with the effort of crying and shrieking as hard as she could.

Becky and Madelyn winced at the noise, both watching Abby with a mixture of disdain and pity. She looked exactly like a naughty little two-year-old throwing a temper tantrum.

Abby couldn’t control herself. Her face was crimson with shame. She was struggling as hard as she could to stop herself acting like a bratty little toddler, but she was angry and upset and embarrassed, and some part of her brain was insisting that meant she had to act like this. She didn’t stop stomping her feet and screeching until the Magician grabbed her by the arm.

“What a naughty little girl!” he scolded, mock-stern. His eyes were glinting again, and his expression was predatory. “I think somebody needs a time-out!” Abby whined, but the Magician smacked her sharply on her bottom, aiming for what little of her bum wasn’t covered by her nappy. Still whimpering and hiccupping pathetically, Abby allowed herself to be led back inside, vaguely aware of the other two women following along behind them. The Magician took her back into the lavish hall where they’d all first appeared and stood her in a corner, facing the wall. “You can stay there until you calm down, little miss crybaby!”

Abby sniffled, shifting her weight from foot to foot and cringing at the way her sodden diaper felt against her skin. Then, quite suddenly, she felt a pressure in her bowels. Her face went white. She had to do a whoopsie! No – that wasn’t it. That sounded so stupid! She needed to… make boom-booms? No! Have an uh-oh in her pants? Go poopies? Make a stinky? Abby shook her heard fiercely, but it was no use. The Magician had taken away her grown-up words! “I…” she squeaked, knowing the Magician was still right behind her, with Becky and Madelyn too. “I gotta… I gotta go potty poo-poos!” But she’d only just gotten the words out when the pressure in her bottom became too much for her newly incontinent body. With a horrified expression on her face, Abby felt herself sink into a squat and immediately start loading her nappy with a big, smelly mess.

She could hear the Magician laughing behind her, and knew that the other girls must be watching her as well. She felt stunned. Even when she’d pooped her pants in the first challenge, she’d told herself that this would never happen to her. She could never do that, not in a diaper. But now she had. She was a Pamper-packer now. A diaper-dumper. A ridiculous, nappy-filling, overgrown baby. Her lower lip trembled, and Abby started wailing again.

“Poor baby,” the Magician taunted. “Don’t worry, sweetie, Daddy will take care of that icky, stinky diaper. Becky needs a change too,” he said, glancing at the blushing girl. “Why don’t we do both at once? You can lie down side by side for your nappy changes! Won’t that be sweet? And little Maddy can help.” He looked at Madelyn and raised his eyebrow. “Unless she’d prefer to join you?”

Madelyn rushed forwards, wrinkling her nose, and helped the Magician guide both Abby and Becky onto the floor. As she did so, the Magician slipped a hand up her frock and gave one of her oversized tits a squeeze. Madelyn orgasmed immediately. She fell to her knees beside Becky and moaned like a pornstar around the thumb that was still planted firmly between her lips. She sucked on it obscenely for a few seconds, then shook her head, trying to clear it of the desperate lust that was constantly threatening to take over since the Magician had bimbofied her body. Once she’d recovered, she wanted to slap him across the face, but she was too terrified by what she’d just seen him do to Abby. She supposed she should count herself lucky that she was the one changing diapers, not lying on the floor with her legs in the air like the other two…

Becky hid her face while Madelyn changed her nappy one-handed. Madelyn couldn’t keep the look of disgust off her face as she wiped the young woman’s messy bottom clean with wet wipes. She knew it must hurt Becky’s feelings to see such open revulsion, but she couldn’t help herself. It was just so gross!

Abby continued to cry as the Magician un-taped her diaper and lifted her legs up by the ankles. “What a messy baby!” he cooed. “What a stinky little girl!”

The feeling of the cool wipes gradually clearing away her mess wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but Abby still wanted to disappear. She wanted to wake up from this nightmare. She tried not to look at Becky lying next to her – getting their nappies changed together, like they were equals, like she was on the same level as that pants-filling little brat! She sobbed as she felt the Magician slide out her loaded diaper out from underneath her and slip a fresh one in its place. After a healthy sprinkling of sweet-smelling baby powder, she was ready to be taped into a clean diaper. Unless she won the game, she realised, this would probably happen two or three times a day for the rest of her life. She let out another wail.

Once she was taped securely into her thick new nappy, Abby was taken back to the corner by the Magician to “continue the rest of her time-out”, and that was where she stayed for the rest of the afternoon. The other girls went off to their rooms while she stood, nose in the corner, trying not to think about what her life would be like if she didn’t get back to normal.

Her legs were aching by the time the Magician patted her on the bottom and told her she could go to the dining room. It was almost a relief to sit down at the table for dinner, even if she was crammed into the oversized highchair that had replaced her usual chair. What was less of a relief, however, was the lady who pulled up a seat next to her. With a plummeting sensation in her stomach, Abby recognised the busty woman who had breastfed her a couple of nights before, the woman who had called herself ‘Nanny’. She was holding a jar of baby food in one hand and a plastic spoon in the other, and there was a condescending smile on her face.

“You’re too little to feed yourself, Abby,” the Magician said. “Those clumsy little hands of yours would just make a mess of everything! Nanny will be feeding you from now on, understood?”

The woman raised the jar of baby food and the plastic spoon and said, in a cooing voice that made Abby cringe with embarrassment, “Who’s weady for her nummy-nums? Does baby Abby-wabby want something yummy in her cute wittle tum-tum?”

Abby averted her eyes and tried to refuse the first spoonful, but all that accomplished was getting baby food smeared all around her lips and chin.

“Oopsie-daisy!” the woman trilled. “Let’s try that again, shall we? Time to make your num-nums go all-gones for Nanny, baby! Here comes the airplane!”

Reluctantly, Abby opened her mouth to accept the second spoonful of mush. Despite the texture, the taste wasn’t horrible, and she resigned herself to being fed the rest of the jar while her two fellow contestants got to eat solid food across the table.

She scowled jealously at Becky. She looked so grown-up in her big-girl clothes. Her diaper bulge was obvious, leaving anybody who saw her in no doubt that she couldn’t be trusted to use a toilet, but otherwise Becky looked like an adult. And Madelyn might look absurd with her bimbo body and her baby clothes, but at least her nappy was just for show. Abby looked down at the bulky, crinkly thing between her own legs, cushioning her bottom like a pillow. She felt a tiny bit of wee-wee trickle into it, and she whimpered quietly. Another spoonful of baby food was pushed between her lips, and she wondered how long it would be before she was pushing this meal into her pants.

When they were all done with their food, the Magician got to his feet. He nodded at Abby’s Nanny, who curtsied and left the room, then he looked at each of them in turn, smiling maliciously at the Becky’s diaper-stuffed jeans, at Madelyn’s bombshell body in its baby clothes, and at Abby’s utterly infantilized appearance. “Well, little girls,” he said, and despite everything that had happened to them, the three women still felt a prickle of anger at being addressed as such. “You know what’s next. I’ll give you a few moments to talk amongst yourselves, and then it will be time to vote.”

The moment he vanished, Abby put her plan into action. She’d been thinking about it all through corner time. She just needed a few moments to talk to Becky without Madelyn interfering, and the stupid bimbo was sitting directly across from her – before she could even get to her feet, Abby had reached out her foot under the table and pressed it against the front of Madelyn’s nappy.

Madelyn let out a high-pitched, girlish moan as her diaper, still slightly damp from her tiny accident, squished against her pussy. She doubled over, gripping the table to steady herself as waves of pleasure crashed over her, coursing through her body from her tits to her toes.

Abby squeezed herself out of her highchair as fast as she could and toddled over to Becky. “I fink we should vote for Madewyn,” she said, without preamble. Her words were muffled by her pacifier, but she didn’t care. “I know I twied to cheat,” Abby said desperately, as Becky looked sceptical and opened her mouth to say something, “but I stole the egg from Madewyn, not you! I didn’t know it might make you the loser as well! I’ve always stuck up for you, haven’t I?” She looked at Becky pleadingly, even allowing tears to fill her eyes (although she wasn’t sure she’d have even been able to stop them anyway). “Like when we teamed up against Kaffewine? And it’s not like I’m much of a fweat now, am I? If you leave me until last, it will be easier. Madewyn might be in baby cwothes, but she doesn’t need diapers like… like we do.” Abby hated herself for saying that last part. She wouldn’t, she would never, think of herself as someone who needed diapers. This was only temporary. Just a setback. One more day of this hell and she’d win the challenge, get her wishes, and then she’d never have to think about nappies ever again. Becky would be spending the rest of her life peeing and pooping her pants, but that was just too bad for her!

Before Becky had a chance to reply, Madelyn had grabbed Abby by the shoulder and spun her around. “What do you think you’re doing, you stupid freak?!” she screamed, yanking her thumb out of her mouth to speak. A line of drool connected it to her lips. “First you try to sabotage me in the challenge, and now you’re-”

But Abby cut her off. “I’m the fweak?! I’m not the one who’s been moaning like a swut and pwaying wif her boobieth all day!”

“How dare you!”

“Girls, girls!” the Magician interrupted, reappearing suddenly. “If you’re going to scream at each other, then I’ll have no choice but to spank your naughty little bottoms! Is that what you want?”

Abby and Madelyn glared at each other, but kept their mouths shut. Becky looked anxious and confused.

“It’s clear that you’ve had enough time to talk,” the Magician went on, grinning horribly. He walked over to them and handed each girl a piece of paper and a crayon. “Time to decide which of you will get a chance to win, and who will be heading off to enjoy her new life.”

The girls scurried away from each other and hurriedly wrote down names on their pieces of paper. Abby and Madelyn looked over at Becky fearfully. They had no idea who she was going to pick. Becky was writing something on her piece of paper, looking anxious and a little bit guilty. Once they were all done, the Magician collected up their pieces of paper, and smirked down at the names they had written. Then he looked up at the girls, his eyes flitting between Abby and Madelyn.

Abby realised she was shaking. She glanced at Becky, but the girl was staring down at her own feet, deliberately avoiding making eye contact with either her or Madelyn.

“Well, I’m glad this never became too complicated,” said the Magician. “We managed to avoid a tie in every single vote!” He looked up, grinning. “I know just what you deserve… Maddy.”

Madelyn took a step backwards. “No…” she whispered. “Not me…”

“Time for your mind to match your body, sweetheart,” the Magician said. His eyes were glinting darkly again. “I promise you’ll be much happier without all that nasty intelligence of yours.”

“No!” Madelyn squealed, supressing a moan as her tits bounced in her top. “Please! Oh God, no! It’s everything that I am!”

“Well now you’ll be something else, sweetie,” said the Magician happily. “The old you might have been an intelligent, strong-willed feminist, but now you’ll just be a ditzy, immature little slut who’s still in nappies.”

“Please!” Madelyn screamed, her eyes wide and terrified, but the Magician snapped his fingers, and at once, with a powerful rush of pleasure, Madelyn felt her mind emptying. She tried desperately to cling onto who she was as her IQ plummeted and a tingling pink fog rolled over her mind. She clutched her head in panic. “No, no, no, no, no…”

Abby and Becky watched with slightly sick expressions on their faces.

Then, after a few moments of silence, Madelyn giggled. She looked up at them in confusion, biting her lip. “I’m, like, so horny!” she said. Then she shook her head fiercely and groaned. “No! That’s not… That isn’t me! I’m not, like, a dumb whore!” One of her hands reached down to stroke the front of her nappy. She giggled again. “A dumb whore! I’m not, like, a dumb whore who  needs diapies… I’m… I’m…” She trailed off, then she blinked a few times and looked up at them all, smiling dimly.

“How do you feel, Maddy?” asked the Magician, grinning broadly. “Do you remember being a strong, independent women’s rights activist?”

Maddy nodded, frowning. She remembered who she was, but she didn’t understand why she’d been acting like such a frigid, uptight bitch for so long. How would she ever, like, get a man to rip off her nappy and fuck her twat if she always acted like such a boring old prude? She giggled. She was such a fucking ditz! “I’m just, like, an immature, big-titted whore!” she said.

Becky was staring at Madelyn in horror, and even Abby looked uncomfortable.

“Well, sweetie,” said the Magician, “it looks like your days as a ruthless, man-hating academic are over. But don’t worry,” he added nastily, “I’ll make sure you still get to teach classes on women. You’ll get to teach your students all about how women are nothing but maids and sex toys and stupid little girls who need men to tell them what to do. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

“Oh-em-gee!” Maddy squealed, jumping up and down and making her tits jiggle about in her baby-doll dress. “Totally! I hope there are some hot boys in my class who want to, like, fuck me in all my holes and treat me like the baby-slut I am!”

The Magician chuckled. “I’m sure there will be, sugar-tits.”

Maddy grinned vapidly.

“Now, it’s time for you to head off to your new life, sweetie.” And with a wave of his hand, the feminist-turned-bimbo baby had disappeared.

#mellowsadistic

[bloodhoundluke]

you, forever —❦ luke hemmings

pairing: luke hemmings x ex! reader

description: y/n seems to be finally over luke, but what does she do when he shows up declaring his love for her in the pouring rain? this was requested with the prompts #4 "Please don't cry. I can't stand to see you cry” & #2 “Don’t do this to me” from my prompt list.

warnings: luke being a shitty boyfriend, a break up. angst. slight mentions of insomnia and disordered eating. cursing. a happy ending.

word count: 3,5k.

a/n: now that i am happy with this fic, it's time to publish it! the beginning of this story was heavily inspired by the song ‘moment i knew’ by taylor swift. i hope you like this one! ❤️‍🩹

The broken promises, the events unattended. His lame excuses. They grew a dagger in your heart, which stung time and time again. Your 23rd birthday was no exception. 

You hosted a party to celebrate your birthday. You never threw any parties, they weren’t really your scene. Luke was supposed to be there with you, his hands around your waist, wishing you a happy birthday. Against your wishes and his promises, he wasn’t there. Not on time, anyway.  Somehow you thought it’d be different this time. Did he even love you like he claimed he did? Did he even care about you? Hell, you even wondered if he was sleeping with someone behind your back. 

You tried to have fun, you really did. But as the night dragged on and you chugged down way too many tequilas, you bursted into tears in your bathroom. How could someone, your sorry excuse of a boyfriend, make you feel like this on your god-damn birthday?

It was 4am when Luke showed up behind your front door, and you foolishly opened the door for him. The party was over, and you couldn’t even bear to look him in the eye. It was the same old story, I am so sorry baby, we had to work around a few things in the studio. I love you, let me make it up to you. I promise I’ll do better next time. 

You didn’t say a single thing to him as you let him in. Luke went to the bathroom, and as soon as he was out of your sight, tears began streaming down your face. You stood in your kitchen, and looked around. The alcohol-stained balloons, empty beer cans and the remains of confetti reminded you of your relationship with Luke. Sad, broken, bruised.

You sobbed and sobbed, hard enough not to notice Luke walking next to you.

"Please don't cry. I can't stand to see you cry”, he offered you his embrace, which you swore once was warm. And which was something you once wanted more than anything in the world. 

You sobbed against his chest. This was the last straw, you promised yourself. You didn’t want to hear his excuses anymore. You had turned a blind eye to his mistakes, always holding onto some tiny glimmer of hope he would change. You defended him time and time again to your friends and family. You loved him more than you loved yourself, and that seemed to be your greatest mistake. 

“Don’t do this to me”, you whimpered under his touch, still feeling the endless rivers building up in your eyes.  “Do what?”, he proposed the question as if he didn’t have a clue what was going on. His eyebrows frowned, and he bit his bottom lip. You couldn’t believe it really had come to this. You receded from his embrace, breaking the skin contact. 

“Pretend everything’s fine. Pretend we’ll be okay”, you swept your tears away, and saw the mascara stains on your hands. You swept them away with the helm of your dress, and wondered what was going through Luke’s mind. Did he even feel bad for missing your birthday party? Did he even understand how terribly he treated you?

“Y/N…”., he enunciated your name as if it was a warning, if there was some line you couldn’t cross.

“You knew this was doomed from the start. You played me along, Luke. I mean, fuck! I thought everything would change. I thought you loved me enough not to miss my own fuckin’ birthday!”.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it”.

“I’m sorry too”, you avoided direct eye contact with him, and left the kitchen with nothing but disappointment and anger. He didn’t even bother to come after you. 

And that was the moment you knew. 

—❦

The morning approached, and you executed your usual morning routines, only this time with a quicker pace. You could do this, you told yourself. You’ll be okay.

Luke was still sleeping, and you gathered his things from your apartment. The spare t-shirts and underwear. His toothbrush, his Vespa mug. Everything. You wanted to make this as smooth as possible. Not necessarily for him, but for you. You didn’t want him to stay around any longer than necessary. Sleeping with him last night was a mistake, even if you took all the anger into bed with you. You hated and loved him at the same time.

So, when you heard him shuffling in bed, you entered the room and leant against the door with a coffee mug in your hand. 

“Hey darling”, he smirked. The man had no idea. You forced a smile, and waited until he was decent and in his Pink Floyd t-shirt and black sweatpants. 

“Luke?”.

“Hmmm?”.

“I packed up your things, they are waitin’ for you in the hallway. I want you gone. Out of my life”.

—❦ 

The beginning was the hardest. The silent screams in the pillow, the loss of appetite. Your sobs echoed through every room in your apartment. There was no escaping him. His eyes, the prettiest blue eyes you had ever witnessed, haunted you wherever you went. Even the god-damn Rainbow Krispies yelled out his name. 

You carried his silent optimism with you, his voice reminding you everything would work out just fine. You begged the voice to stop time and time again, but it persisted, clung onto you tightly. 

For the first three months you couldn’t even say his name out loud, yet alone hear it coming from someone else’s mouth. It sounded wrong, the way they said it. Luke was supposed to come from your mouth, with your accent, with your tone of voice.

Slowly but surely, you started to see the world through realism-infused glasses. You didn’t think about him the first thing in the morning and the last thing before going to bed. You were okay. You didn’t need his love. Instead, you needed your own. A glimpse of hope was staring at you, you just hadn’t seen it before. 

—❦ 

The past few years had treated you well, and you had gotten the job of your dreams. Everything was moving smoothly, and you were excited for what the future held for you. You were still living in the same apartment, but you had renovated it to look more like you. The white living room walls were now replaced with the beautiful shade of juniper, and your decor had shifted from a Scandinavian style to a more earthly and antique-appreciating English countryside.

You had stayed out of relationships. Sure, you had gone to a few dates, but you never wanted to build anything serious with them. You considered them more like irregular hook-ups, not official dates. You decided to be on your own. You had everything you needed; friends, family and a job you enjoyed.

You were returning from work, and it was pouring rain. You held an umbrella over your head whilst Bon Iver was blasting through your AirPods. Thankfully it was a short walk to your apartment from the metro station.

A figure of a man, supposedly, sat in front of your apartment complex. Maybe he was lost. Maybe he forgot his keys inside. Maybe he was a creep. Shit. You grabbed your umbrella tighter as you reached him. 

And then you understood. Dark pants. A worn out leather jacket. Converse. Light, curly hair. A beautiful face, sculpted by the gods, was staring at you. It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t be.

Luke.

It really was him.

You glared at him, and took your earphones off in shock, placing them in their case. Luke got up from the staircase, and you both stared at each other for a while. 

The rain was pouring down, and the man hadn't even bothered to bring an umbrella with him. He pulled his soaking wet hair back with his hands and you couldn't understand why your ex-boyfriend was voluntarily hanging out in front of your apartment complex, in a weather like this.

“What are you doing here?”, you quivered and held your bag tightly against your body.

“I’m here to get my girl back”, he shoved his hands into his leather jacket pockets, and studied your face with a somewhat melancholic smile on his face.

“What are you talkin’ about?”, you asked, your tone nonchalant.

“I’m here to get you back. Or attempt it, I don’t know. I fucked up, Y/N, big time. And many times. And-”

Didn't he think it was a bit too late for that? “Luke, stop”, you interrupted him. You didn’t want to hear it, he had smashed your heart into pieces. He didn’t get to apologize to you. You didn’t want him to have any power over you. And it wasn’t fair how he showed up and reminded of his existence, just now when you were finally ready to open your heart to someone new. 

“Y/N, please? Hear me out”.

“Fuck you”, you cursed at him, and pondered walking away from him. But you stood in your place, hoping he could see the hurt on your face. 

“Okay, I deserved that. Is there more?”, he tilted his head slightly, and his eyes bored into yours.

“What do you mean?”, you gritted your teeth.

“Just fuckin’ yell at me, get it out of your system. Curse at me, tell me the things you hate about me”.

“If you came here for this, leave…please”, you begged. 

“No, no, no, I didn’t. I’m sorry. Shit. Uh…just give me a second, hear me out”.

“Okay”. You’d hear what he had to say, and then you’d leave him in the pouring rain. And you wouldn’t see him ever again. That was the plan.

“I, I know this might not mean anything to you, after I treated you, but it has always been you, Y/N. After all these years, you are the only one I have ever truly loved. Hell, I still love you. I still remember your favorite songs and the way you like your tea. How you like your eggs in the morning, and how you hate almond milk…And shit, I just, I need to get this off my chest. I am, still, so foolishly in love with you it’s unbearable. I want you, I want us back”.

You looked at him with sorrow in your eyes. When you tried to say something, the words escaped your lips, leaving you powerless.

As tumultuous your and Luke’s relationship was and despite the times you convinced yourself you hated him, you still caught yourself missing him and the relationship sometimes. But this…this felt a bit too much for you to handle right now.

“Say something, please….Anything”.

“I don’t know Luke. I mean, you hurt me. Time and time again. I don’t know if I want to go through that pain again”.

“I know”, he sighed. “Do you still love me?”.

“Despite everything, yes”, you sighed.

“So isn’t it obvious? If you love me, and I love you? Doesn’t that mean we should give it another go?”.

“But sometimes love isn’t enough, Luke. Love doesn’t fix everything, I thought you knew that”.

“I know you are cautious, and I don’t blame you. I put you through hell, I know. And if this makes me sound like a broken record, so be it… I fuckin’ love you, Y/N. I have always loved you. Just you. Nothing will change that. Not even the years in between that I haven’t seen you. Not even the fact that I am not the same person who I was those years ago, when I treated you like shit. When I made you cry every night. I remember it well, Y/N, I haven’t forgotten. It seems you are impossible to forget”.

“I think you are impossible to forget too, Luke”, you sighed again. “I just….I don’t really know what to say to you. I don’t even know what’s going inside my head right now. I…I need a moment to figure everything out”.

“I’ll wait for you”, he promised.

You took quick glances at each other in the rain, and a small smile crept upon Luke’s lips. You were soaking wet, and wanted to go inside. Against all your instincts, you invited him into your apartment.

“Are you sure?”.

“Yeah”.

“Really?”.

“Come on in before I change my mind”.

—❦

Luke hadn't been in your apartment in three years, and his sudden presence in your own space felt a bit nerve-wracking. Only if he saw that you had kept the mugs he once bought you. And his Blink-182 shirt that you never bothered to give him back. And the necklace hanging on the bathroom shelf that he had bought you on your 2nd anniversary.

You had changed to a dry set of clothes, and offered Luke a towel to dry himself up.

Luke sat next to you on your living room couch, as far as he could on the limited space of the two-seater. The silence was unbearable, it was eating you up. You had rehearsed every little thing you would say to him when you’d see him, but now it felt like the thoughts you once had escaped you the very moment you tried to reach them. 

You had offered him tea, and were drinking some chamomile tea yourself. A few candles were burning on the top of your coffee table, next to a pile of books and the coffee mug you had left there this morning. 

Would you really go through this with him again? Was it worth the try? Was it foolish that a small part of you thought it could work out this time? Did he really mean everything he said? Could he support his words with his actions?

“When you said you aren’t the same person you were before, did you mean it?”, you asked, and blew the tea slightly before drinking it. 

“I did”.

“What did you mean by it?”, you placed the tea mug at the top of the coffee table. You looked at the candle burning beside it whilst Luke talked.

“That I’ve grown. I am not a stupid 24 year old anymore, Y/N. I know what’s important in life. I know what kind of man I want to be, and I am trying to reach that everyday”, he explained with a certain softness in his voice. This Luke was patient, calm; not like the passive-aggressive Luke you once knew.

“So growing up has changed you, huh?”, you frowned your eyebrows, and studied his hair, which had been bleached. You liked this look on him, he looked refreshed. And more mature.

“And losing you”.

Your lips parted slightly at the comment and you noticed how he was fiddling with his ring that adorned his left index finger. He still did that. 

“Luke…”, he looked up to you as he heard his name, and you continued, “why didn’t you fight for me?”.

The narrative in your head that you had created through the years was that he didn’t love or care about you enough. That he had lied to you every time you went to bed, when he whispered those three little words to you. 

“Because I knew you deserved something better. It was the right thing for me to do'', he offered you a sad smile.

You swallowed loudly, his words getting a hold of you. You were fighting off the tears, not wanting to show Luke how much it was still hurting. 

“But now, I know, or fuckin’ desperately hope I am the man you deserve”.

“Do you really think it could work out this time? Us?”.

“Yes.”

“How can you be so sure?”.

“‘Cause I am a stupidly huge hopeless romantic, I suppose”, he let out a small chuckle. Your lips curved into a smile, “And let me guess, you’re stupidly, hopelessly in love with me?”.

“You took the words out of my mouth”, he chuckled as you chuckled along with him. You had missed this. Hearing his adorable laughter. And laughing with him, hearing the sounds of your laughter blending in together like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“If we do this, hypothetically, of course, we should take it slow. Like extra slow?”.

”Yeah, of course. We wouldn’t want to rush a good thing, would we?”.

You smiled at his words, pleased with the fact he was on the same page as you. You would have never guessed, not even in a million years, that you’d discuss rekindling your old flame with the man that once tore up your heart. And that something inside you told you to trust him this time around. 

”Luke?”.

”Tell me”.

”I’ve missed you”, you confessed as if it was a sin, something you shouldn’t say out loud. Something that you could be punished for. 

”I’ve missed you too, Y/N”.

Something in you, some unimaginable force, wanted to throw yourself into his arms, and kiss him like you had never been apart. 

You could feel the tears forming in your eyes, and as you looked how soft and angelic Luke looked next to you, the tears began to stream down your face.

”Hey, hey… what’s going on, sweetheart?”, he inched towards you, and like a magnetic pull, you closed the gap between you. The proximity didn’t make you nervous, it felt like something that was bound to happen.

”I just..uh, fuck… I don’t know”, you managed to answer through the tears, ”Can you… hold me?”. He nodded, opened his arms and you placed your head against his beating chest. He wrapped his arms around you and your sobs grew more silent. He fondled your arm with his other hand, and you felt his face squished against your shoulder.

”Feeling better?”.

”Yeah. I’m sorry, I was just a bit overwhelmed, I guess”.

”Don’t worry about it. I get it”, he still stroked your arm gently, comforting you just the way you needed.

It all started to make sense. His light stubble against your bare shoulder, your black tank top perfectly matching with his, your steadily beating heart. 

You backed away from his embrace, the sides of your legs still touching one another. You sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, your fingers playing along with his, until Luke cleared his throat. 

”My mom asked about you the other day, by the way. Well, she didn’t really ask, I suppose, but she wished you were doing good. She loves you, y’know. You always knew how to make her laugh. And she loved how you used to watch The Bachelor with her, now no one wants to do it. And gosh, she never stops complaining about that, I mean -”

You pressed your tear-infused lips on Luke’s, and it took him a while to figure out what hell was going on, and when did, he brushed his lips softly against yours. His hands moved to hold your face and you placed your own behind the back of his neck. You started to grin into the kiss, you couldn’t help it, and soon realized Luke was doing the same as your teeth clashed along with his. A few giggles escaped both of your mouths, and you could practically feel the blood rushing through your veins. Luke closed the small gap between your lips, and for a while, you sat there in each other’s proximity.

”I want to try again, Luke”, you looked deeply into his baby blue eyes and found a sense of comfort in them.

”I want to do that too.. not like it was obvious or something”, he giggled. You loved his sudden nervousness, it was adorable. A large grin spread across your face, and faded as soon as you remembered the reality of your and Luke’s situation. Like you said it yourself, love doesn’t fix anything, not on its own. Did you and Luke have what it takes to make your relationship work again?

”How do we do… this?”.

”I don’t think there’s a manual for this, but we’ll figure it out together”, he kissed your temple.

So you promised each other you’d do everything in your power to make your relationship work again. That night you made up for the lost time, and talked about everything that had been going on in each other’s lives. You babbled about your work, and he listened to you like your voice was his favorite sound. He showed you his tattoos which he had gotten, and the lotus quickly became your favorite. You shared your traveling stories, and he told you what it was like to be on tour. And when you got emotional about missing him for so long, he got emotional too. And suddenly you were sobbing against each other, your legs entangled with his and his lips brushing over yours.

And when you woke up the next morning, with Luke’s arm hanging around your torso, you knew you had made the right choice.

© 2023 bloodhoundluke.

#luke hemmings fanfic #luke hemmings imagine #luke hemmings x y/n #luke hemmings x reader #luke hemmings fluff #luke hemmings x you #5sos fanfiction #5sos imagine #5sos fanfic #luke hemmings angst

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode nationale, no. 10, 10 mars 1894, Paris. No. 15. — Toilette d'intérieur, en soie imprimée. No. 16. — Toilette de drap beige. Bibliothèque nationale de France

No. 15. — Toilette d'intérieur, en soie imprimée gris et rose. Corsage-jaquette à longues basques pointues, terminées par des choux de ruban. Grands revers des soie rose, encadrant un plastron de dentelle, à col montant. Boucle de strass à la ceinture. Manches ballon, à hauts poignets de dentelle. Jupe nouvelle, tout unie, garnie devant par deux nœuds de ruban rose.

No. 15. — House dress, in gray and pink printed silk. Bodice-jacket with long pointed basques, finished with ribbon bows. Large lapels of pink silk, framing a lace bib, with a high collar. Rhinestone buckle at the belt. Balloon sleeves, with high lace cuffs. New skirt, all plain, trimmed in front with two bows of pink ribbon.

Métrage: 15 mètres soie.

—

No. 16. — Toilette de drap beige. Corsage très ouvert, encadrant une chemisette de surah bleu, à col drapé, montant. Grands revers pointus, en drap blanc. Au-dessous de la ceinture, basques froncées semblables. Jupe cloche, garnie à hauteur d'ourlet par des choux de ruban bleu. Manches gigot. Grand chapeau de feutre beige, garni devant par un pouf de plumes même nuance.

No. 16. — Beige cloth ensemble. Very open bodice, framing a blue surah shirt, with a draped, high collar. Large pointed lapels, in white cloth. Below the belt, similar gathered basques. Bell skirt, trimmed at the hem with blue ribbon bows. Gigot sleeves. Large beige felt hat, garnished in front with a pouf of feathers of the same shade.

Métrage: 7 mètres drap beige; 2 mètres drap blanc.

#La Mode nationale #19th century #1890s #1894 #on this day #March 10 #periodical #fashion #fashion plate #description #bibliothèque nationale de france #dress #house #gigot #collar #devant et dos

[crossingdesigns]

totoro collection ✿ by darling.crossing on ig

#acnh #acnh design #acnh custom design #acnh pattern #animal crossing #type: balloon hem dress #short sleeve dress #dress #clothes #type: short sleeve dress #apron dress #type: sweater #sweater #top #tee #hat #straw boater #totoro #ghibli #crossingdesigns' favorites #type: short sleeve tee #type: brimmed hat

[violetsandfluff]

Like It’s A Dance Floor

a/n: I knew I had to do something for Valentine’s Day so threw this together. It’s not my best work, but it is incredibly soft and domestic.

wc: 750-ish

•••

Examining your reflection in the mirror, you twirled once, twice, and three times, watching the skirt of your casual black dress swish around your thighs. You grabbed the hem with your hands, clad in countless rings, and balled it up in your fist out of habit. A wash of red lipstick was spread over your lips, accentuating their shape and, strangely enough, boosting your confidence.

Harry had gotten off work early to take you out for a special dinner, but he had found you curled up in bed with mascara running down your cheeks. Scheduling a therapy session for Valentine’s Day had been against your better judgment, and canceling dinner reservations made you feel even worse. However, Harry assured you that he would make dinner at home as magical as possible, and reschedule the reservation for later on in the week.

Your reflection in the mirror gave you mixed emotions. Seeing your body outlined in a velvety black dress and your lips buried in a layer of sexy red filled you with pride, but the sight of your still tear-stained face and puffy eyes made you wince. Your hair, which you had curled earlier, was messy from twirling it, an anxious habit, but you let it cascade down your back nonetheless, just how Harry liked it. One of Harry’s pendants hung around your neck, concealed by the neckline of your dress, and your own pearl necklace completed the look.

One final reproachful glance was cast at your reflection from its onlooker before Harry’s voice echoed up the stairs.

“Y/N,” he called, “Come down whenever you’re ready!”

He had left you in your room earlier, stating that the surprise would be ruined if you left. He was gone for hours, checking on you constantly to give you hugs, kisses, glasses of water, your phone charger, and anything else you needed. His trips grew less frequent the more he got into his project, and the less you heard him the more intent he became. When at last he was satisfied with his work, he called you out of your room and you obeyed, descending the half-flight of stairs in awe.

The living room was decorated with candles and fairy lights, and a balloon bobbed in front of the stairs with a note saying meet me in the kitchen. In the kitchen, it was evident that Harry had put his all into the evening. The air was filled with the aroma of your favorite meal and dessert, which he had no doubt prepared from scratch.

Fairy lights were strung along the ceiling, and candles glowed on the island, surrounding a bouquet of your favorite flowers. The icing on top of the cake was the music that drifted lazily through the haze of the room; a playlist Harry had curated specially for you.

Your smiling Valentine greeted you with an affectionate hug where he squeezed you as tightly as he could and leaned his dimpled cheek against your head to inhale your scent.

His heart beat steadily next to your ear, and his warm breath tickled the back of your ear and neck. You leaned into him with every fiber of your being, and he supported you fully.

Without saying a word, he began to rock back and forth on his heels, teetering uncertainly in his slippers as he did so. His movement comforted you, and you began to sway alongside him.

Neither of you knew how to dance, but that was the least of your worries. The only thing you were focused on was the feeling of your hands holding each other close, and your feet gliding effortlessly over the kitchen floor, Harry’s slippers and your stocking feet.

You bent and twirled together, moving to the music that filled your ears and hearts with contentment. No words were spoken until your song began playing. It was oddly placed among the assortment of lyrical love ballads, but it meant more than any other song in the world.

Cupping your face tenderly in his hands, Harry leaned down to kiss you, his mustache scratching your upper lip slightly as his lips caressed yours. Once his tongue was in your mouth, you were in his arms, curled around him as you lapped desperately at his tongue with your own.

On the ending chord of the song, Harry set you back on your feet, burying his face in your neck as he spoke softly to you, his voice compassionate and sincere.

“You mean the world to me, darling,” he whispered fondly, allowing silence to set in for a moment before breaking it. “I don’t want our pasta getting cold.”

Taglist: @madybeth21 @fishingirl12 @groovychaosavenue @sortingharryshairclip @tenaciousperfectionunknown @mrspeacem1nusone @cayleyhannha-blog @whitemancumslut @xxrosebunny @hsdaydreaminghaze

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x plus size reader #harry styles x y/n #flutterfly alley #yellow 💛 heart #Harry styles writing

[clove-pinks]

Toilette du soir in La Mode, 1830. Engraving after a drawing by Paul Gavarni (Rijksmuseum)

The constraints of dress inevitably follow those of the times: traditional “stiffness” for women regained its prior legitimacy with the Restoration and the July Monarchy (1830-1848). Restriction of liberty created an emphasis on rigidity: belts cinched over a corseted torso; dresses whose panniers recovered their former breadth; balloon sleeves to better balance the two volumes cut at the waist; jupe en cloche (bell-shaped skirt); “wasp” waist. Lastly, the shoulders, more emphasized, loomed over hips drowning in folds. Gathers and folds once more masked forms that the Revolution had made more visible. Social mores rediscovered their tradition and movement its restriction. Once again, the garment “artificialized” the anatomy: the upper body became fixed while the lower body was hidden beneath gathers, linings, hoops, and hems.

— Georges Vigarello, “The Nineteenth Century: From Artifice to Anonymity,” in Fashioning the Body edited by Denis Bruna.

Toilette habillée in La Mode, 1830. Engraving by Truebe after a drawing by Gavarni (Paris Musées).

#Eighteen-Thirties Thursday #1830s #fashion history #paul gavarni #romantic era #fashion #dress history #fashion plate #la mode #fashioning the body #is 'panniers' the right word? #the book also doesn't say who translated it into english #p.s. everytime a gavarni picture looks awkward it's actually the engraver's fault #gavarni did nothing wrong ever

[dingochef]

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x You (OFC)

Warnings: Swearing, Smut (MDNI 18+ Only), Stalking, P in V, oral (female and male receiving), Semi-public sex, light spanking,

Summary: Jake and you head to the Hard Deck to celebrate Lydia's birthday. Things get a little hot.

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Chapter 6

Word Count: 2.8 k

Chapter 7: In Vino Veritas

"Ready, dear?" you ask Jake as you put on a pair of silver heels by the front door.

"Yes, babe,"

Jake answers as he walks out of the bedroom,

"How do I look?" He does a little twirl to show off his outfit: a dark white linen short sleeve with a faint leaf pattern down one side that brings out his eyes, simple black trousers, and boat shoes.

"Dashing and devastatingly handsome," you finger the hem of his shirt,

"Does this qualify as a Hawaiian shirt? Rooster's fashion sense rubbing off on you?"

"Hardly, this is Tommy Bahama, which requires taste to select, of which I'm pretty sure Rooster's taste is limited to picking good women and whiskey," he answers back.

He looks you up and down noticing your outfit, he leans over to you and whispers in your ear,

"I recognize that dress, it's the first one I got to take off of you. Now I'm going to be thinking of that all night."

You turn your head so your lips ghost his,

"Is that a problem?" you tease.

"Might get us out of there sooner."

Jake leans into the kiss and you sidestep him.

He lets out a huff of frustration as you pull on a light jacket.

"We could just stay home and reenact our first night together," Jake offers as he positions his body against yours,

"In fact, we were just about right here when I took that dress off of you."

You start to lean back against Jake before your better logic prevails,

"We'd never hear the end of it if we ditched her birthday party. But, for information, the reenactment wouldn't be 100 percent accurate, because I'm not wearing any underwear."

A lone whine crossed with a noise of frustration emits from Jake.

"Sweetheart, that's not fair. How am I supposed to not get hard thinking about that all night?" he whines.

You open the door and usher him out into the night,

"You'll figure it out." He walks past you and you speak again.

"Jake?"

"Yes, El?"

"I'll make it worth your while, if you're a good boy."

The strangled noise he makes is worth it.

His mumbled,

"Woman is going to kill me," makes you laugh. You grab his hand and start the short walk to the Hard Deck.

You're glad Lydia has chosen the Hard Deck for her birthday celebration. Despite living in La Jolla, Lydia's favorite place in all of San Diego is still the Hard Deck.

You arrive and find Lydia, Rooster, Beth, and a few other friends of Lydia's you recognize from other get-togethers in the corner around the pool table. There are a few shiny mylar balloons around and a cheesy Happy Birthday banner on the wall.

Lydia is wearing a tiara that says "Birthday Girl", she sees you and waves,

"Hey it's Elsa and Hangman! Now the party can get started,"

she shouts over the music. You work your way through the crowd and hug her when you reach the corner.

Jake nods over towards the bar miming a drink. You respond by shouting over the din of the busy bar

"Yes, the usual!"

Jake points to Lydia and Rooster, Lydia waves off as she has a full drink and Rooster holds up his empty beer bottle. Orders in Jake walks off towards the bar.

You wish Lydia a Happy Birthday and give Lydia her gift, simple pair of sea glass earrings.

"Thank you, Elsa. I have a dress that will match perfectly," she says gushing.

You move through the crowd and reintroduce yourself to the others. When you've worked through all of the party goers, Jake is back with your drink.

Beth and you finally meet up.

"Beth! It's been too long, we need to get together,"

you exclaim, hugging her.

"You're right, it has been awhile, although you get regular updates from Lydia at work,"

she replies.

"Beth, I'm pretty sure you remember Jake," she nods.

"Jake, you might remember Beth from the night we met, else, Beth is the other part of our fearless trio. She works with Lydia at Scripps as a statistician."

Jake lights up,

"A fellow math nerd, my degree is in math, although I haven't used it much since academy."

"Huh, you didn't realize you got degrees at the Naval Academy, makes sense, it's a college,"

Beth replies.

"I'm going to leave you two for a bit and get a round of shots in for the birthday girl before she gets too far gone," you say as you turn to go to the bar.

You work your way up to the bar and catch Penny's attention.

"Five Patron shots and five shots of Tequila Rose. Training wheels for the Tequila shots, please,"

you yell over the noise of the bar.

"Coming right up," she responds and promptly disappears.

You're left waiting at the bar when the guy sitting next to you on a stool swivels around to talk to you.

"What's your name, cutie?"

he says, releasing a cloud of whiskey vapor with the question.

You keep your reply short,

"Elsa I've got a boyfriend."

He laughs,

"You're a funny one, my name is Dumbo this here,"

he points over his shoulder to a skinny guy with red hair,

"Is Hyena."

You're wondering where Penny is with the shots, out of boredom more than anything, you ask,

"Is it because you have big ears?"

He laughs way harder than he should and says,

"No, it's my call sign. I'm a pilot, it's because I'm hung like an elephant."

You don't say anything, the look of disgust is easy to read on your face to most socially capable human beings. This guy is huge, looks like a cornfed linebacker from Nebraska.

"So, Elsa I've got a boyfriend, I can guarantee that I'd be more of a man than your boyfriend. I bet your boyfriend doesn't fly fighter jets. I'm in the area for a while for the Navy. Actually I'm a pilot at Top Gun, heard of it?"

You play dumb, having figured out these guys are likely Jake's students,

"I might be aware of it, and I highly doubt you'd measure up to my boyfriend,"

you say giving this guy more options to fuck off and die.

"Just give me a chance baby, just looking for a little fun while I'm here, and I like you, you little pocket pistol,"

he slurs through the whiskey cloud.

You look over to Jake and apparently your face conveys that you need assistance. He excuses himself from his conversation with Beth and heads your way.

Penny has mercifully returned with the drinks,

"Had to run to the back to get another bottle of Patron, my barback is laying down on the job," she explains.

"No worries, Penny," you reassure her.

You turn back to the guy,

"Since you're so sure that you're better than my boyfriend at whatever you do, you want to meet him? He's heading over to help with all these drinks."

Jake has slithered through the crowd and appears behind you, leaning down to give you a kiss on the cheek. Dumbo's and Hyena's faces pale as the recognition sets in.

"Hey dear, these ours?"

Jake asks. You nod and he continues,

"I see you ran into some of my students, Dumbo and Hyena. They aren't giving you any trouble are they?"

"Well, Dumbo here was just telling me how he got his call sign. I asked if it was because he has big ears, but apparently there's a different reason. I didn't hear the last part, do you think you could repeat it?"

you ask, satisfied with the embarrassment blooming on his cheeks. You look up at Jake and he is smirking.

Dumbo gets real quiet, and says,

"I said it's because I'm hung like an elephant."

"How charming, right, Jake? It's been something boys. We have a party to get back to," you say as you scoop up half the shots and Jake grabs the others.

As you walk away you can hear Hyena talking,

"You fucking idiot, hitting on the CO's girlfriend."

"I didn't know they were together," he whines.

"Then maybe you should just fucking listen when she says not interested," Hyena shouts, apparently the one with some sense.

Jake asks,

"They didn't say anything awful to you?"

"Nothing you haven't heard before at a bar, he kept hitting on me even after I made it clear I wasn't interested."

"Okay, let me know if they push it again."

"Don't worry about it, I think he learned his lesson. Let's have some fun."

And with that incident closed you call out,

"Shots for the birthday girl!"

Lydia responds with a hearty "woo".

The shots are passed out and Rooster uses the opportunity to toast Lydia,

"To the love of my life, Lydia Mary Catherine O'Callahan, I wish you the best year and hope that it's as good as the past months have been with you, baby. Happy Birthday, Lyds."

He ends by giving her a big kiss. Whoops and wolf whistles erupt around them.

That round is the first of a couple of shots. Various shots filter into the party, a few good, some bad. Each shot has fueled your desire for Jake, your inhibitions falling away. As you both circulate through the bar you both take the opportunity to touch, tease, or kiss when you get close enough. The bar is hot enough that with each drink another button gets undone on Jake's shirt exposing more of his magnificent chest to your gaze.

It's nearing midnight and you're definitely feeling tipsy, a little unsteady in your heels, and incredibly horny.

Another round of shots comes out and you wisely pass on this round. You look over at Jake and he catches your eye, flicking his head towards the door telepathically asking if you'd like to go home. Your overly enthusiastic nod makes Jake crack a smile. Working your way over to Lydia you say your goodbyes.

“Hey, we’re going to head out. Happy Birthday!” you say as you give her a big hug.

“Goodnight, thanks for coming, girlie,"

she responds, a little slurred.

“Take care of her, Rooster!”

you shout as you turn to meet Jake at the door. The only response you get is Rooster's big goofy grin as he raises his drink.

The night is cool and quiet compared to the heat and noise of people packed together in the bar. The parking lot is deserted and there’s no one else lingering around. Grabbing Jake's hand you pull him over to the dark side of the bar. It’s partially protected by a sand dune and out of view from the parking lot and anyone who might be wandering by at this late hour on the beach.

Putting your back against the rough weathered wood siding, your hand lands on Jake's neck to pull his lips down to yours. Once he is close enough you kiss him hard and your tongue follows almost immediately. He moans into the deep and dirty kiss, reciprocating with his tongue along your lips. Jake's hands wrap around your waist. You take advantage of the open neck to his shirt and slide your hand across his chest, stopping to graze your fingernail over his nipple.

Jake reacts by letting out another loud moan,

"El, not fair. You've been teasing me all night."

You huff a little laugh as you kiss the corner of his mouth,

"Me? You've been teasing me, Mr. Let Me Undo Another Button. You're the one who put all this out for display."

Your last sentence is punctuated by your cupping Jake's pecs.

He bites his lip to keep any louder sounds from escaping and slides his hands under your dress to cup your bare ass. Giving both cheeks a good squeeze he starts to suck a hickey on your neck,

"Rich coming from you. Little Ms. I don't have any underwear on."

Jake sits you on his leg making sure your bare lips are on his hard thigh, only the fabric of his pants between you. The friction causes you to rock gently back and forth, your resolve to not fuck in public quickly slipping away.

To try and gain some control of the situation you slide your hand around to the front of his shorts and palm his cock through the fabric. Jake ruts in your hand; his hardness apparent through the fabric of his pants. He pulls you down harder on his thigh and another bolt of pleasure surges through you.

Reluctantly and quickly, you switch your positions so that Jake is up against the wall. You start to sink down to your knees. Jake catches your elbow as he takes off his jacket and gives it to you,

“For your knees."

You smile at the chivalry in your very debauched situation.

Placing the jacket on the ground you kneel in front of Jake and undo his belt and pull down his zipper, trying to free his cock as soon as possible.

Reaching into his boxer briefs you pull out his hard cock, reveling in the velvety softness over rock hard muscle. A quick kiss to the tip and you can't help yourself from rubbing your face on his divine appendage. The silky skin gliding over your cheek and lips.

"Please, El. Please," Jake begs in a whisper above you.

You pull him into your mouth and he hisses with pleasure, a sigh of relief mixed in. The pace you choose is fast and quick; this isn’t the situation to take your time, this is quick and dirty. The precum leaking from Jake is salty and bitter as you swirl tongue around the head. You lap it up greedily right before you take as much of Jake you can into your mouth in one long gulp. His hand flies to your head, stilling it for one second. The other hand joins and he pulls back your hair in a makeshift ponytail.

You grasp the base of his cock to pump him at the same rhythm as your mouth sliding up and down his length. You bring your other hand to your mouth when you briefly pull off his dick. Sticking your fingers you wet them down with your spit and slide them into Jake's underwear to cradle his balls. The touch elicits a moan a touch too loud.

You pause to admonish him,

"Quiet, wouldn't want anyone to come looking and catch me sucking your cock?"

He clamps a hand over his mouth and muffles the louder groan the idea of getting caught pulls out of him.

Resuming your previous activities, you pull Jake deep into your mouth, the head hitting the back of your throat each time.

Your fingers move past his balls and find the area just behind them and gently start to massage it. Jake groans harder and he is starting to thrust his hips towards you; you relax your throat to take in as much of him as you can. It only takes a few more thrusts for Jake to come in your mouth. You swallow it all and hold his softening length in your mouth as he comes down from the orgasmic high.

Strong hands pull you up by the shoulders. Quickly you're standing up and Jake kisses you. His tongue sweeps your mouth and it makes you whimper.

Your whine sets something off in Jake and he is quickly snaking his hand down to grab the edge of your dress. He pulls it up exposing your pussy to the cool night air.

The teasing route his finger takes down your pussy lips that just barely skims your soaked folds makes you consider begging. The taste of Jake's come still heavy on your tongue as he kisses you is making things go berserk.

"Jake, please. Need you," you plead against his lips.

He relents and drags his finger down your folds, ghosting over your clits, and gently pushes into your needy slit.

“El, so ready, so hot, so wet, all by sucking my cock. Here taste yourself,” he brings his finger to your lips and you pull it into your mouth to lick the digit clean. Jake moans and spins you around so your back is against his chest.

The hand returns down to your clit and begins to rub fast and hard, “You have no idea how much you excite me, I’m always seconds away from ripping your clothes off and fucking you over the couch or where ever I can get you. And you, you are always ready, your sweet, tight, hot pussy is always ready for my cock.”

Between Jake’s fast pace and his dirty talk you are hurtling towards an orgasm at a rapid clip.

“Come for me, El, you’re so beautiful when you come. Can you come for me?”

The shockwave of your orgasm flashes through you and you bite your lip to keep from crying out too loud. The aftershocks are still pulsing through your body as Jake gently pulls your dress down. He grabs his jacket from the ground and puts it on, a satisfied smirk on his face. He reaches out his hand to grab yours and you start the walk back home.

Chapter 8

@kmc1989

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered

@mayhemmanaged

@callmemana

@dempy

@hangmanscoming

@lanie-k

@callsign-viper

@senjoritanana

@djs8891

@atarmychick007

@memoriesat30

@midnightmagpiemama

[blueicequeen19]

Mystery Blonde Pt. 2

Previous

Two weeks. That's how long it'd been since I fucked Y/N. Actually, she fucked me. She took her own virginity while riding me like a goddamn mechanical bull. All I have to picture is her face scrunched up in pleasure and I'm aching and hard all over again. I don't think I've gotten the damn thing to go down since that night. Even if I got the shit kicked out of me by Topper and Kelc. I've been laying low so I don't run into them again. I almost felt bad that I slept with Topper's girl. I should've tried harder to stop her. I didn't realize how drunk she was or that she thought I was Topper until he barged in with steam coming out his ears. Another part of me was sick with possession and obsession over the fact that she used me. I wanted her to do it again. I wanted her to take it from me again. Use me like her own personal fuck toy until she was done then go back to whatever shit Kook girls do. I groan, palming my dick through my shorts. I could still feel her squeezing me. Fucking me so good. Shit. I was about to cum in my fucking shorts.

I get up and go to the bathroom as I pull up her instagram. My little Kook was as sweet and innocent as they come, or so I thought. So she didn't have many pictures of herself posted but she was tagged in a few of her in a tiny swimsuit and that would do. I free my dick, almost groaning from releasing it, and start to stroke it as I look at her. I picture the look on her face when she popped her cherry. That moment of discomfort that finally turned to pleasure. How she road me like there was no tomorrow. The sweet sounds she made as she came. I tightened my fist, jerking myself hard and fast while twisting my hand at the head until I came hard in my hand. My legs shook as I snatched up a towel and cleaned myself off. That would hold me over for all of five minutes then I'd be hard again. I needed to see her.

That night I finally spotted her at a party. She looked like she'd been crying even with the heavy makeup she was wearing. Topper and his goons weren't giving her the time of day and I could tell it was bothering her. She must not have been paying attention because when I follow her upstairs and corner her in the bathroom, she acts like she's seen a ghost.

"What are you doing here?!" She shoves me in the chest and I resist the urge to pin her down against the counter. "You ruined my life! Topper wants nothing to do with me!" She shoves me again, her eyes filled with angry tears.

"Good. Screw Topper." I rasp, my dick swelling in my shorts like a balloon just by being this close to her. She was wearing a pink sundress with her hair tied back. I wanted to wrap her hair around my fist as I bent her over the nearest flat surface. I bet she feels even better from behind. A slap lands across my cheek and I blink back to reality with my eyes wide.

"Stop looking at me like that! You took advantage of me!" I scoop her up with an angry growl causing her to squeal as I sit her down on the counter. The music downstairs was nowhere near loud enough to drown out what I wanted to do to her at this moment. I thought she was a vixen when she was riding me but I was even more turned on by her anger.

"You,--" I suck in a breath as I find myself starring down at her cleavage, "--came on to me. You fucked me. You took advantage of me." I growl and her two hands come up to slap against my chest.

"I was drunk! I thought you were Topper! You made no move to stop me, you sicko." She hisses and I bite back a laugh. God. She was cute.

"You didn't give me any clue that you were looking for Topper. You threw yourself at me." I find my hands slowly sliding up her thighs, pushing her dress up inch by inch and she holds her breath, just watching.

"Y-y-you didn't stop me." Her voice comes out shaky, like she's out of breath. A blush covers her cheeks once my fingers brush against the hem of her panties. Her big doe eyes looked up at me again, silently begging me for anything. She could ask me for anything in this moment and I'd fucking give it to her.

"Hell no I didn't fucking stop you. And I'd do it again. Do you know how hot it was seeing you like that? Riding me like you'd die if you didn't?" She turns away from me embarrassed but I grip her chin, forcing her to look back at me.

"I can't get you out of my fucking head. I've been hard as a rock for two fucking weeks because I want you so badly."

"Stop. That wasn't meant for you. It was meant for Topper. He'll never look at me the same again." She bats my hand away and I hook my fingers into the elastic of her panties, yanking them off not too gently. causing her to whimper. I shove them in my back pocket for safe keeping.

"Good. Listen to me when I say, fuck Topper. He doesn't deserve you anyway. He only wanted you for your cherry and he would've cast you aside as soon as he got it." She slaps me again and I debate restraining her with my belt as my fingers dive between her legs. I smirk when I find her absolutely soaked and dripping. She was making a mess.

"W-w-what are y-you doing?" She pants, her eyes hooded with her lips perfectly parted as I caress her slick folds. I slip two fingers into the first knuckle then back out, her hips arching into me for more.

"I'm fingering you, sweet girl." I lean forward, my lips brushing her ear as I repeat the same movements with my fingers again. Her breathy moan hits my ear as I kiss just below hers. "I don't plan on letting you leave this bathroom until I get what I want so you can pretend I'm Topper again if that helps." She sucks a breath in through her teeth as I sink my fingers into the last knuckle. Still so fucking tight.

"Does that feel good?" I ask, mesmerized by the sounds and faces she's making as I move my hand back and forth.

"Yes." Her voice is low, eyes falling closed as her inner walls contract around me. I'd barely touched her and she was going to cum. I curled my fingers upwards, pressing into the spot deep inside her and her body jerks, a cry leaving her lips as she cums hard, her cream coating my fingers. I pull out and there's a faint streak of blood. The thought of her bleeding for me - twice - was enough to make me lose all restraint. I yank her off the counter and spin her around, forcing her to bend over so she's on full display for me. I kick her legs further apart as I lick her from one hole to the next.

"Don't--don't go back there. That's--." Her hands attempt to cover her ass but I swat them away, buring my tongue inside her tight puckered hole. I'd never eaten anyones ass before but hers was quickly becoming my favorite. I loved that she was embarrassed. I loved that she was allowing me to humiliate her.

"Don't get all modest on me now. Eventually it'll be my dick in there." I move down to her pussy hole and she groans.

"No." She pushes back against me in defiance and I press my finger against her ass.

"Yes." I growl, barely pushing the tip of my pointer finger inside. She gasps, her legs shaking as I tease her. There’s suddenly a knock on the door. She fights to right herself but I hold her in place while quickly undoing my shorts.

“Y/N? Are you in there?” Topper called.

Tag list: @lovedetlost @hoebx @strokesofstokes @alizabethcs @carnisidi @famousdestinygarden @i-always-come-back-xoxo @pankowforlife @my-baexht-ls Let me know if I missed anyone! 💕

#jj maybank smut #smutwarning #outer banks smut #jjmaybank x reader #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank x you #outer banks x reader #obx #obx2 #obx3 #obx smut