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coconut-cluster · 10 months

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Logan has never regretted his decision to move off campus after freshman year. He lived in a dorm that first year, by requirement from the university - something about finding a community and getting used the campus, i.e. paying thousands more in room and board on top of tuition to fill the university's pockets - and sure, he'd been excited about it, to some extent. He met Patton and Roman and Virgil from the experience, and he'd gotten lucky with a room that looked out over the forest that surrounded the campus, much to his delight. It certainly could have been worse. But he was an only child who grew up with an entire townhouse mostly to himself - he needed his space. One can only stomach communal bathrooms for so long.

He was on his own when it came to financing an apartment, but after rooming with Patton for a year already and crunching the numbers of his scholarship reimbursements, it was the only logical option. Patton's eye for decorating and his own proclivity for Excel-spreadsheet budgets made the transition smooth, almost comfortable. He's never looked back.

He does, however, regret getting an apartment so damn far from campus.

By the time he's finished with editing the latest batch of articles and desperately craving caffeine, it's late evening, the sunset hidden by trees and a storm rolling over the hills outside his window. He pauses at his desk and hears the distant crash of thunder - it's perfect weather for coffee in front of the window-nook Patton's carved out with pillows and bookshelves. He could brew a pot now and be cozied up before the rain starts.

Patton's in the kitchen, though, with a singsong medley of dishes and off-key humming to the radio that drifts down the hall to Logan's room. Patton never minds company, but Logan minds the loose-limbed energy of Patton's cooking. Too many potholders to the face would put anyone on high alert. Besides, it's Thursday.

It's Thursday, and Logan chose an apartment light years away from campus, so he has to start driving now if he wants to catch the end of the evening shift.

Patton shoots him a bright smile as he cuts through the living room, raincoat and umbrella in hand.

"Going out?" he calls over the radio. Before Logan can answer, he glances at the calendar hung by the breakfast nook, and his smile colors with knowing. "Oh, Solipsis night. Get me a hot chocolate?"

Logan grabs his keys with a nod. "Cinnamon?"

"Yes sir-ee. Be safe on the roads, it's gonna come down real soon." Logan gives another nod, and just before he closes the door, Patton calls out with that knowing grin, "Give Jan a kiss from me!"

Logan slams the door before he can react.

Solipsis is, in many ways, a college student's approximation of paradise. It's on the historic main street of the city, where all the buildings are entresol-style and made of old brick - the café sticks out against a row of random university offices, shedding golden light onto the street through a big window with its name painted in big, blocky letters. It's got two levels, connected by a winding metal staircase; the first floor stretches deep into the building, lined with big, oaken tables for study groups or impressive spreads of journals and textbooks and laptops. The second is a smaller loft, dotted with round tables where solo students hole themselves up for hours at a time in relative silence. The whole place is covered in hanging plants and warm bauble lights - it's ridiculously easy to forget how late it is when everything is golden and set to indie folk music. It's a genius business venture in a town full of exhausted college kids.

("It's pretentious," Janus insists, frequently. "Unfinished oak with iron stairs, I mean, Jesus, really? And calling it Solipsis- you can tell it's owned by some uppity philosophy student."

"You're an uppity philosophy student," Logan reminds him every time. He does not remind him that he willingly chose to work there in the first place.

Janus just rolls his eyes. "At least I've got taste.")

Regardless of taste (or lack thereof), Solipsis is a hotspot. Logan steps in just as evening thunder starts a steady beat outside, hardly surprised to see most of the tables occupied by students in various states of distress and exhaust.

Roasted coffee and rain mix as he takes a deep breath past the doorway. Behind the counter, a lone barista mans the espresso machine, pushing stray hairs out of her face and eyeing him like she'd rather he walk right back out the door than up to the counter. He pretends to read the sandwich board of specials and simply waits.

A moment later, the door to the back room flips open and Janus bustles over to the register, arms full of paper cups in neat towers. He ditched the black jacket he'd worn to class for the cafe's uniform apron, with the sleeves of his sweater - as they rarely are - pushed up to his elbows, baring his wrists, where the beaded friendship bracelet Patton made for him years ago sits. His face is set in a focused frown as he sets to restocking the counter.

Logan waits a moment longer at the specials board, giving Janus a minute to finish a stack before he ambles up to the register. Janus looks up - his hair is pushed back in a hurried swoop, a very Roman style that he's picked up in recent months - and the frown gives way to a familiar almost-smile.

"Oliveira," he sighs, grabbing two cups from the fresh stack and scribbling shorthand on their sides. "Come to harass me yet again in my place of work. Never a day's reprieve from your antics."

"I didn't say anything yet," Logan deadpans as he pays, "and I don't think ordering drinks at the ordering-drinks-establishment counts as harassment."

Janus tils his head with a saccharine smile. "You're so creative."

The barista working at the espresso machine takes the cups from his hands, pulling milk and syrups out with practiced speed, still eyeing Logan with thinly veiled disdain.

Janus joins her in mixing the drinks as Logan idles by the counter, with no one else lined up behind him to prompt movement. After a moment, Janus returns to his cup stacks, moving to restock the empty spots on the back wall. Logan eyes the clock above his head.

"You're here late," he comments, and Janus glances back before following his gaze to the time with a grimace.

"I agreed to stay a half hour longer," he says with an unmistakable air of regret. "They had a new hire close last night, and he majorly screwed up waste inventory- surprise, he wasn't trained before they stuck him on the shift, no clue how that happened." The other barista snorts. "Anyway, the manager opened this morning and lost their shit, said they're really cracking down on the closing checklist being done perfectly, whatever the hell that means. I stayed behind to get as much started for Freya as I could before I head out."

The other barista - Freya - looks completely dead-eyed at the prospect of closing, but she sends Janus a small smile regardless.

"Of course, the one night I stick around is the night it starts pouring," Janus huffs. It storms more than the sun shines here, but Logan just nods sympathetically, glancing out the window to find the rain has started up with a crack of lightning. He looks back as Freya slides two drinks across the counter to him, flashing a practiced, split-second smile in response to his nod.

He eyes Janus for a moment, blowing into the little hole on the lid of his drink to cool it down and listening to Janus' barely audible grumbling about his hair and his shoes and his forgetting an umbrella, somehow, until Logan pipes up, "Do you need a ride?"

Janus pauses - grumbling and stacking - and shoots a frown over his shoulder. "You drove here?"

"I always do, if I'm not coming from campus," says Logan. He gets a blank stare in return. "It's too far to walk from my apartment."

Instantly, cup stacking is no longer Janus' top priority. He turns to face Logan again, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. Freya swiftly takes over his task, sending a furtive glance at them as Janus studies him. "You drive here every week?"

"Yes."

Janus stares at him, really stares. "There's, like, five coffee shops near your apartment."

"Six, actually." There's even one on the first floor of his apartment building. It's stuffy and the coffee is always burnt. Cheap, though.

"You could walk to any of those."

"I suppose."

"Why are you wasting gas to come all the way here?"

"It's not a waste," Logan frowns, and Janus' eyebrows shoot up.

"Our coffee's not that good, Oliveira. I promise you can get a mint mocha at the place on 3rd-"

"I like your coffee."

Freya, now refilling lids, shoots a very overt, smug glance over her shoulder at Janus, but he doesn't look away from Logan. The lighting in the café is dim near the counter; Logan must be imagining the pink flush on Janus' face.

"My coffee," Janus repeats.

"Your coffee," Logan says with a nod, and Janus gets that same blank stare as before, uncomprehending. "The way you make it. It's not the same at other cafes." He lifts his cup, pushing the sleeve down with a small smile. "And other baristas don't do this."

Janus' eyes fall to the heart doodled under Oli, and the pink on his face deepens to a pretty red.

"Well," he putters, uncrossing his arms to smooth his apron, then crossing them again, then picking at a loose thread on his sleeve that conveniently tears his attention from the cup. Logan holds it up still. "They might, if you spent all your time bothering them at work. It's not my fault you've chosen me as the target of your idle drivel."

"Oh, of course." Logan entertains the idea of teasing him - there is this barista at the café in my building, they asked for my number once, I guess I could bother them - but instead he just sips his drink and watches Janus with a little smile. "I just prefer Solipsis, I suppose."

Janus unties his apron with a huff. "You're annoying."

"Very creative."

"Shut up."

He disappears into the backroom before Logan can respond, emerging a minute later with his bag and coat in hand. Freya waves goodbye as he stalks out past the counter and up to Logan. Like every Thursday - every Solipsis trip before, coffee in hand and Janus off work and the walk to his apartment a trip Logan silently insists on making with him - he's acutely aware of the stray hair falling in Janus' face, the pink still lingering under his freckles, the smell of coffee and caramel on him.

"Driving here in a storm just to torment me is ridiculous," Janus says, significantly more composed than before, haughty once more, "but lucky for you, walking home in this weather would be more ridiculous. So I will grace you with my presence and take the ride home."

Logan raises his eyebrows. "Oh, but I thought I was annoying-"

"I will steal your car."

"...Come on."

(Living so far off campus, at least, gives him this exchange to look forward to.)

#loceit #logan sanders #janus sanders #uni au #this isnt edited you just get it #not really a drabble. whoops #this was ten lines when i pulled it out of my drafts #logan gets to be a little silly in this one #fellas is it gay to drive 15 minutes to your rival's work to flirt then walk him home then walk back to your car and drive 15 minutes home #lexi writes #<< been a WHILE for that tag lmao

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velocitytimes2 · 9 months

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Synergist (come. over.)

Rating: E Word Count: 8.7k. Pairing: Steddie

Read on ao3!

The line doesn’t flip to static, but stays on and lets Steve hear the clack of Eddie’s rings as his fingers jostle his hair and Steve wonders when he learned to discern that one specific sound. Then, oh but then. Then every noise that has ever been and will ever be is tramped out of Steve’s brain and all he knows, all he ever wants to hear again in his goddamn life is the soft groan that sounds like it’s been yanked from Eddie’s gut. “You’ll be the death of me.” - Or: the misuse of radios by teenagers in the 80's to get their rocks off.

The nightmares never really followed a discernable pattern.

And it fucking sucked.

It would be one thing if they were just replays of the events Steve had gone through the past two years. Those memories Steve had lived.

He’d fought and used his fists, and a bat, and cunning, and a jaw that ached when it got cold, all to get out of the sticky moments. The flashes of memories he had from every moment of the last three years were tamed with the knowledge that he had lived.

He’d gotten to the other side.

In all theorem he should come out victorious in his dreams and his nightmares. He’d seen the worst of it and at the end had been okay. He’d lived. He should be able to come out on top in the battles that raged in his head just like he had in reality. He should win.

The fucking issue is, he never did.

It was never that easy. It was never a simple replay.

It was new monsters every time; a different animal bastardized and remorphed. Mountain lions with loose maws stalking him from between cars in the parking lot of Hawkins High. Sharks jumping out of Lover’s Lake and wriggling their bodies until they grew the legs of alligators to chase and chase and chase. Monkeys without eyes raining from the trees in the woods behind his house, diving into his pool after him and tearing into flesh with fleshy, razor-fanged mouths.

Never Steve’s flesh, though. Always the person running or swimming just a step behind him, his shouts of warning never coming in time.

And damn if that wasn’t the worst part.

Always rows of teeth and claws striking out; blood oozing from a different person each night. Their screams the most haunting thing, the thing that kept Steve up when he heard them reverberate in his skull like they were right there. It wasn’t the blood or gore or wriggling tentacles that kept him up, shocked him back awake. It was the fucking screams.

Dustin.

Robin and Nancy.

Max.

Max and Billy combined as the Mind Flayer strikes true.

Mike and Will.

Lucas.

El as she holds both hands in front of her, their only hope.

Eddie.

Eddie’s heart stopping.

Steve screaming when he found them.

Steve’s hands clawing it back to life.

Eddie not breathing even as Steve begged.

The silence that followed.

It was the screams that haunted Steve.

They’d won, they were okay. Mostly. But he still heard their screams.

It usually happened every few nights. The nightmares pressing deeper and deeper until he’s suffocating with lungs ripped out of his body as he slams into the offending thing. Fully ready to sacrifice himself in the place of someone he loves so deeply he can’t fucking breathe. It’s Steve’s purpose in the part; it’s something he’s come to complete terms with. He isn’t smart like the younger boys, doesn’t have the uptake of Robin or Nancy, doesn’t have powers like El and isn’t willing to flay himself for the greater good like Max and Billy. He was Steve. He was strong and a bit stupid and would always – always and forever – put his body in between danger and someone he loved.

So, every few nights the him in his subconscious would try to die in a new and spectacular way, the sacrificial lamb for the good of the people who he loved.

It was an inevitability Steve was okay with. It had been something he’d accepted as he walked down train tracks with Dustin Henderson for the first time. That if something jumped out of the woods and screeched at them, Steve would be in between the kid and the beast. He would die there if the gods looked down and deemed that he should.

It was an odd place to exist, the one between scrambling to survive and being willing to go belly up if it meant a friend would live to fight another day.

It was the reality Steve survived in, somehow found himself constantly enduring perils to shield the ones who were truly important.

So he lets the nightmares be a thing, lets them shock him awake, tries to dull them with weed and booze and cigarettes but that only ramps his mind up for worse, so he really doesn’t do that much anymore either.

They’d been a plague since the Demogorgon had first burst in at Jonathan’s in fall of eighty-three. Back then they’d been vague things that Steve could wake up and chase away with a few gulping pulls from his father’s whiskey.

Three years and too many gasping breaths later it was an expected reality.

The sun rose in the east.

The tides follow the moon.

Steve Harrington can’t sleep, because any time he gets more than three hours he wakes gasping and sweat-drenched.

It’s one of those nights; the ones where Steve can feel the terror itching to get out from under his skin as he throws his body from side to side, twisting in his sheets until the panic pulls him under completely to choke him out to the point of waking up gasping. It’s one of those nights when the walkie-talkie the kids had bullied him into keeping close to his bed snaps to life and shocks his half-asleep brain into consciousness. It’s Mike’s voice, pitched low and shaking that comes first.

“Sound off. Over.”

Steve feels himself groan as he yanks the duvet over his head at the sound, almost asleep and chasing the calm that comes for a few moments prior to the terror taking the reins.

“Buckley over and out.”

“Max. Safe. Over.”

“Lucas. Over.”

Steve can distantly hear thunder rolling. The rain’s been tapping its nails against his window since noon. Storms always seemed to set Mike off. Probably something about Will talking about thunder for so long.

“El and Hopper. Safe and over.”

“Dustin. Over.”

Steve knows he should answer the call, it is the right thing to do, the thing he’s always done. But. But, this night, a storm brewing in the woods and his brain heavy with the fears of what’s hiding within, he feels overwhelmed. So close to the possibility of a few moments of rest prior to the fear gripping his chest. Just another minute. Five more in the quiet. That’s all he needs.

“Will. Over.” Will’s voice is the most sleep heavy, consonants dragging and slurred together.

“Jonathan and Nancy.” The exhausted and rough sound of Jonathan’s voice seizes something in Steve’s chest still, all this time later. Steve isn’t sure why. He'd gotten over his romantic feelings for Nancy a year prior but it still gave his heart a tug when she and Jonathan so easily fit into the box of a couple.

Least of his worries, romance. Shove it aside for later.

“Munson, over.”

It was sometimes still a shock, hearing Eddie’s voice. It’s the one that haunted Steve the most, when the nightmares came. Dustin screaming, begging, Eddie’s blood gurgling.

But.

He was alive. Everyone was alive. Steve hadn’t let anyone with him die during spring break. The sirens and the hospital and the government doctors had kept them all alive - after. Steve had got the heart started again. Cracked sternum, blood on lips. Eddie’s breathing a crackle but there.

He was close to sleep, so close to a few soft moments of reprieve. He was chasing it, head heavy.

Safe. They were all safe, confirmed so.

His eyelids are so heavy.

It’s his turn. He knows it’s his turn. ‘Steve, over.’ It’d be so easy, but something stops his hand, his mouth, his entire being. He’s frozen and exhausted, caught between sleep and awake and maybe he’s dreaming this, hopefully the coming silence meant he was dreaming this. Could sink deeper into bed.

“Steve?” Dustin’s voice cutting the night air, “Do you copy? Over.” Three beats. Let it g- “Steve. Do you copy? Over.” Steve counts them this time. One, two, three. “Steve!” Dustin’s voice has pitched up, worry coating it. “Do you copy?! Over!” One. Tw-

“He’s probably gettin’ all cozy with a pretty gi-“

“Ew, Eddie!”

“What the fuck man!” “Nope, nope, nope.”

“Look dweebs, I’m just saying, there’s reasons guys don’t answer late at night and it’s usually because of-“

“I’m not having sex, Eddie.” Steve feels like he’s suffocating, so fucking done with all of this and he’s heavy with the sleepiness of insomnia that won’t fucking leave his head. “Over.”

“Steve! What the hell! We called a sound off, are you okay? Over.” Dustin’s voice has a panicked quality and part of Steve feels bad, feels guilty. Part of him wants to scream. Just because.

“I was trying to sleep, Henderson,” Steve sighs, throwing an arm over his face, “Something you all should be doing, too.”

The line’s static fills the silence, radio silence. Maybe Steve will actually start screaming. It’d be cathartic.

“You gotta say over, sweetheart,” Eddie jeers, and Steve can see the smile on his face like a burn on his retinas, Cheshire-wide and goading, framed by black hair haloed across a pillow. “Over.” It made Steve’s sleep rattled brain trip on itself, the ease at which he could picture Eddie splayed out summer warm in bed.

“Yeah Steve,” it’s Robin’s voice now, “at least use proper radio protocol, come on. Over.”

“None of you did when Eddie was talking about-“

“No! No Steve!” Dustin’s voice had the pitchy height it got any time Robin or Eddie brought up Steve’s dating life. “No talk about fornication on this line! Over!”

“Just this line that’s banned?” Eddie’s voice dripped with mirth, even in low quality and volume from across town.

“Eddie, I swear, you saved the world and-“

“How about this,” Steve cuts in and rolls over to prop himself on an elbow, feeling like it’s more of the right positioning to take his frustration out in, “everyone goes to sleep now. Over.”

He flops down, face smashed into his pillow, listens as the kids all trickle off, El then Mike because he’d follow her lead to hell – fucking literally – then Lucas and Max, reluctantly Dustin. Robin, wishing everyone ‘sweet dreams loud-ass motherfuckers’, until it was just Eddie who hadn’t signed off properly. And himself.

“Hey Stevie, switch channels for me, over.”

“No. Over.” He knows that tomorrow, in the daylight, he’ll probably regret the blunt push off of his friends, but now it was taking everything in him to just choke words out.

“Steve,” Eddie draws his name out, a whine tinging it. Ever since the recovery, ever since getting everything back to Not-Upside-Down, Eddie had been plastered to Steve’s side. An incessant little thing. Steve hadn’t minded, because an Eddie in his line of sight meant consistent confirmation that Eddie was alive. What Steve had been taught his first-year lifeguarding had worked. Stayin’ Alive, thirty pumps, copper taste of blood on his lips, chest inflate, chest deflate, a coughing body in his arms, not a corpse.

Their friendship had started with Eddie sitting in Family Video with Robin and Steve as they worked. Because apparently saving the world or some shit from an evil superpowered thing didn’t mean you could just… not work. Well, financially it did, actually. The stipend for keeping your mouth shut was astronomical.

Spending it was an astronomical task.

Leaving Hawkins was an astronomical task.

Sitting at home, doing nothing, was an astronomical issue.

So. Job.

Eddie had infiltrated it, then got a job at the music and record shop that opened down the road as the town rebuilt.

Spent his lunch with Steve, watching a half hour of whatever he was watching that day.

Steve had started to bring the movies home each night, so Eddie could watch the end with him when he came over with a six pack, a rolled joint, and two pizzas.

That turned into talking through shit movies.

It turned into Steve telling Eddie about the dreams, about why he didn’t want to sleep alone at his own home.

It turned into Eddie telling Steve he sometimes still felt like his sides were wet, like they were still bleeding even though the scars had healed.

Had continued with Eddie crying, a little drunk, pressed into Steve’s side, thanking him for getting his heart restarted and dragging his body through the gate.

Had continued with Steve telling him he would have done anything but leave Eddie’s body in the fucking Upside Down.

It ended with Steve seeing Eddie every day. Spending their days off driving around or lazed in Steve’s pool or with Steve cooking dinner while the Hellfire Club met in his dining room.

It ended with Eddie in Steve’s life, orbiting him as he orbited Eddie.

It, apparently, ended with Eddie annoying the fuck out of him over a walkie-talkie at two in the goddamned morning.

“Pretty please, Steven? I’ll never ask you for anything ever again ever and ever and-“

“For fucks sake! Will you shut him up, please!” Mike Wheeler’s screech comes through and Steve screams a groan at his ceiling, “Over!”

Steve grapples with his walkie blindly and presses the stupid little button. “Fine. Fine! Munson. What fucking channel? Over.”

“Twenty-seven-point-two-seven-five,” Eddie’s voice is much too smug, Steve is too much of a pushover. Steve can see a clear image in his mind of Eddie curling over his radio, the smile he used in Steve’s dining room when he was DM’ing a campaign showing all his teeth.

Steve changes the channel.

“Yes, Edward?” He asks, pinching the bridge of his nose. A beat of silence.

A beat longer.

Steve screams.

“I’m not doing that nerd fucking shit, Eddie, I swear, I’m not playing this game tonight, okay? D1. I’m fucking dead, or something.”

“Did you… just make a reference to-“

“Please, Eddie.” Steve’s exhausted, his skin on too tight and he cannot. Deal. With. This.

“Bad night?” Eddie asks next, instantly knowing, voice snapping into something caring, softer. The edges are blurring. “You sounded awful.”

So, yeah, Eddie knew. Eddie knew Steve and Eddie knew about the nightmares. Eddie orbited Steve. He’d known since he found Steve screaming on his uncle’s bed, Steve unwilling to drive home in the dark because something had been prickling the back of his neck and he was scared. Didn’t want to be alone. Eddie had sat up with Steve that night, pulling out a stash he had Argyle bring from Colorado that worked quick, and let Steve suck down the entire joint himself while Eddie told him about all the nights he woke up, shaking but unable to sit up, scared he’d actually died and was stuck laying down and alone for eternity.

They’d forged something then, some kind of comradery that only came when you’re found with tears in your eyes and holding a pillow tight to your chest. It had taken three weeks after they’d both been discharged from the hospital before Steve had tried sleeping in his own damn house again.

“Yeah, man.” Steve scrubs a hand over his face, letting it fall to his chest with a thunk, letting his lingering animosity fall away with it. “The fucking wasp one.” Tiny bugs swarming the kids and crawling down their throats in the tunnel system, stinging their eyes and crawling between their teeth when they screamed. Rearing tiny teeth-rowed mouths back and taking chunk and chunk until blood made Steve’s feet slide on the floor. By the end of it he’s surrounded only by corpses filled with holes as the wasps turn to him in unison.

“When’s the last time you got some real sleep?” Eddie sounds tired, too, his words loose and open, voice pitched low as he sheds the persona that always got all shined up for the kids and becoming the lazy thing he spoke with when no one but Steve was in the room.

“You first,” Steve goads, rubbing his sternum in a circle, something feeling stuck in his chest easing talking to Eddie. Eddie got it. Eddie saw him, saw it all. Eddie didn’t hide from it. Steve orbited Eddie.

“Tuesday morning.”

“Shit, Munson.” Steve admonishes. It was early in the Saturday morning hours. It really never got that bad often, not to the point of almost a week of sleepless nights. It had been months and it was getting better but not whole. In the beginning it had been bad, Eddie’s record just three hours over Steve’s when they had finally drunk themselves into oblivion on Steve’s couch, waking up slumped together, hungover but at least somewhat rested.

“Yeah Stevie,” Eddie sighs and Steve can hear it because he keeps his finger pressed on the button through the pause, “C’mon, I showed you mine. How long?”

“Slept most of Thursday, but since then it’s been spotty.” It’s easy to be candid with Eddie, he’d seen it first-hand. Seen the broken shards of Steve shattered in the aftermath of the apocalypse. He’d been there. Robin had an idea but everyone else just didn’t talk about it the way Eddie did with him.

“You think you’re going to sleep tonight?” Eddie asks.

“Not now that I know the kids are still scared,” Steve admits, already feeling the fitful feeling of constant vigilance scratch behind his eyes, slowly understanding that Eddie wasn’t really here to annoy him. He wanted Steve the way Steve wanted Eddie right now. Someone there in the alone, in the wakefulness. Someone there to keep you warm while shaking to death under the weight of monsters and smoke and bats and red lightening.

Two suns, orbiting, chasing, on a collision course.

“Me either. Still got some of the last shit I gave ya?” Eddie asks, and as he talks the radio rustles with his movement.

“Yeah, Eds.”

“Roll one, smoke with me.” And Steve isn’t sure why, if it’s the need to be Very Much Not Alone Right Now, if it’s Eddie’s tone – the silent beg Steve knows is hidden there, if it’ll even help but not above fucking trying to stave off the demons, he agrees. He lets the walkie list to the side as he opens the bedside table, sitting up and starting to grind the flowers. “Stevie?”

“Yeah man,” Steve mumbles as he licks the paper to seal it, “I’m fuckin’ rolling, Eds. Hold your horses.”

“You are the slowest fucking grinder, I swear.” It’s said with a snigger, and Steve flicks his lighter to take the first long lungful before responding as he blows it out.

“The fucking mouth on you around the kids, dude.” He doesn’t let his button go as he takes another long, slow pull, knowing Eddie will wait for him if the static doesn’t come back. “Stop making the kids think about sex, Eddie.”

“Oh, mom,” Eddie laughs when Steve finally allows the rumble of static to return, his voice taking on revelry even when tired, “you don’t think their little brains are just chugging along with pure and wholesome thoughts twenty-four-seven, do ya?” There’s a breathless laugh and then Eddie’s choking and coughing and Steve knows it’s from laughing as he inhaled, having seen it happen on the edge of his pool too many times to hear the sound and think of anything else. “Have you seen the way Wheeler looks at El? Or how Byers looks at Wheeler? Kid’s probably-“

“Eddie come on man!” Steve groans, throwing his head back. Eddie’s cackling on his end when Steve chokes on his own pull.

“Come on, Steve, you don’t remember being a fifteen-year-old kid? Creaming your pants when you saw boobs for the first time?” Eddie can barely get the words out through his laughter at Steve’s disgusted noise, a hint of sleepless hysteria lacing it all.

“That’s fucking disgusting, Munson, what the fuck?” But Steve’s laughing anyway because Eddie’s laugh is an infectious thing, you catch it and the symptoms take over within seconds.

“Where’d you see your first pair of titties, Steve Harrintgon?” Eddie’s giggling, and Steve has an uncensored, weed-addled urge to reach through time and space to be able to touch Eddie then, feeling the giggles shake his body.

Collision course, creeping closer.

“Oh shit,” Steve says, holding the joint up and watching the smoke curl from the end of it lazily in the moonlight. “Fuck probably a movie? I dunno.” He thinks maybe Jaws, when Tommy had stolen it from his older brother and they’d watched it at twelve. “Maybe a Playboy I stole from my dad? Fuck, I was, I did that for years.” He’s laughing, the weight of the weed starting to press him down into the mattress on his back.

Eddie tsks as Steve giggles, “Oh Stevie, what a naughty little rich boy.”

“Oh fuck off, what was yours?”

The static crackles for a few moments and Steve’s worried he’s said something wrong, the anxiety that bubbled under his skin every moment of every day after that night in the Byers’ house years ago flaring up to a boil.

“Found one of my old man’s VHS’s when I was fourteen.” Steve closes his eyes to look at his mental image of Eddie, seeing him scrunching his nose up as his hands fidget. “That was an interesting damn day.” He sounds a bit short of breath when he adds, “Definitely learned that I was into one over the other pretty fucking quick.”

Steve’s not dumb, this time, he thinks. He gets it in a second, gets it because it makes things slot together in his brain in a way that hadn’t been there before. It’s the opposite feeling of when Robin had said just as little to him. He’s not sure how or why it feels that way, now.

“Yeah?” He probes, tries for as gentle and soft he can, even with his heart rate stuttering heavier in his ribs.

“Yeah, Steve.” Eddie in Steve’s mind curls in on himself and Steve can’t have that, doesn’t want that. “Robin told me she told you and you didn’t yell.”

“I was blindsided by that one.” Steve says simply, pulls again, joint half gone.

“And not this?” Eddie’s laugh has turned sour and Steve feels pushed off kilter by that.

“I mean, I’m not saying I expected it? But it… I dunno man it makes sense?” It feels right, is something he doesn’t say, unsure of how to even quantify it in any way except his stomach feeling settled by it all. “I’m cool with it, Eddie, if that’s what you’re fuckin’ chewing your nails over right now.”

“How did you?” But there’s a little laugh coming back, Eddie’s voice softening back down into warmth again.

“You do it when you're stressed.” Steve says simply, taking a deep breath, because it was that simple to him. Just part of Eddie that everyone had noticed at this point, they had to have had. Steve had. Knew the way Eddie’s teeth tore at cuticles as he watched a room he wasn’t comfortable in, always feeling like the outsider, always in motion. Knee jumping, head shaking, fingers twitching.

“Fuckin’ Christ, Harrington,” Eddie’s breathless as he laughs at Steve from the other side of town. “Full of goddamn surprises.”

“I contain multitudes or some shit.” Steve rolls his eyes, parroting Nancy’s words from some time junior year when things were easy and he was happy and the world hadn’t ended and he could sleep through the night and look at his pool without imagining Barb or see a blue car and not feel terror tug on his gut.

“That you do, Stevie.”

“I mean,” Steve feels loose, too loose because Eddie’s always giving him the good shit, and his mind is unlocking and picking up pieces he’d tossed aside haphazardly to look at later, “I get it, you know?”

“You… get it?”

“Yeah man, I mean, dudes, right?” It makes sense to Steve, so it has to make sense to Eddie, who was smoking the same shit. “Like, yeah. Guys can be hot.” The aerobics instructor comes to mind, arms that bulged out from a ripped shirt. “Girls are hot, too. But not to you. Guys are hot, but not to Robin.” It makes sense, Steve thinks. Total sense. Something he’d toyed with and rolled around in his brain for months and months now. Tried the taste of it when his parents had drug him to some party in the city and he’d immediately left after, found a bar that was dark, and hidden, and didn’t card him. It had been eye opening, not shocking when the man had kissed him. Not really. “I guess for some people it’s both.”

“O-kay,” Eddie drawls the word, stretching it longer than Steve really thought necessary as he sucks in a breath of smoke. “How about we resume this train of thought sometime else, Steve?” And there’s a shake in his voice, something that Steve hasn’t ever heard lately, in the Rightside Up. It sounds like uncertainty. Steve doesn’t like it, doesn’t like an Eddie who isn’t sure footed, isn’t commanding the room.

“Sure.” Steve rocks from side to side gently, feeling the mattress shift under his body. “Tell me what’s got you so worked up tonight.”

“Well I just came out to you,” Eddie laughs and Steve doesn’t like that it feels more forced than their previous giggles, “so there’s fucking that.”

“You didn’t die, Eddie.” Steve says, jumps three steps forward, knows that’s where they’re going to end up.

They always ended up there. With Eddie shaking and scared and with Steve holding his hair back as he pukes out the demons all while telling Steve the entire time he’d been gone, heart stopped, body ripped apart in an alternate dimension.

“Stop doing that, Steve.” Eddie’s voice is smaller, and Steve hates it, hates when Eddie isn’t laughing or smiling or full of levity and confidence.

“No.” Steve smiles small as he says it, feels a little less hollow because he’s needed, he’s here, Eddie’s here. Two suns on a collision course. Creeping closer. Impending doom. “You’re alive, Eddie.”

“I don’t particularly feel like it right now,” Eddie whispers, voice almost too low for Steve to hear over the walkie, his ears having to strain some to catch all eight words.

“’s okay,” Steve’s words are starting to slur just a bit, the weed finally washing over him in the big waves, full strength. Boom, crash, heartbeat slow. “What makes you feel alive, Munson?”

“I don’t-“

Steve cuts him off, knows what to say because he’s said it so many times. “Music. Eddie, music. D and D with your friends,” he starts listing things, “what else?”

“Playing with the band,” Eddie starts, voice already more even keeled. “Watching horror movies with Robin?” Steve laughs and he feels his own flame of life flicker at that.

“That’d make anyone feel alive, shit,” Steve responds, hoping the smile is coming to Eddie’s face, loves how it looks when it cracks his face open, like the sun finally bursting from behind the trees at sunrise.

“Good booze,” Eddie’s got some of the old him back, clawing a bit back to normal. It had gotten easier as the time had moved forward, to get themselves back when the Upside Down tried to drag them under. “Shit, this shit? Weed and music and booze and sex.” The last word is a groan and Steve feels a flash of heat all over.

They’d never discussed it, probably because of the elephant in the room Eddie had just shot with coming out, but now… now Steve wants to. Steve wants. It’s a terrifying realization to have with a head swimming with weed and insomnia. He has no other word for it, no clarity, but he wants.

“Have you…. Have you slept with anyone since everything?” he asks, feeling almost wild. Because the weed’s made his tongue loose and the radio static keeps the conversation just far enough past his grip to scare him.

Boom. Sudden impact.

Eddie’s voice has changed when it comes back through, sounding lower and headier and Steve’s lost in it. Fucking drugs. “Nah Cassanova, I haven’t. Have you?”

It would normally be so easy, so simple to turn on the typical Harrington charm to the point of casual deception. Of course, he had, of course one of the many, many dates had turned into something that sparked enough life in him for Steve to bring them back to his house where only ghosts of happiness followed him down the halls.

But, they hadn’t. The candle that had heated his heart up, had made him want in that way had been snuffed out two years prior, something final had fractured with the bullshit and left him drafty, hollow.

“Nah, Munson, you’re the only one to see the gifts those bats left me up close and personal.” He answers, head sinking further into his pillow as he sucks on the end of the blunt, the smoke warm as it traps itself in the recesses of Steve’s lungs. He holds it there, tries to remember what falling into bed with someone felt like. Tries to imagine hips, curves, tiny waists.

It really, for some reason he can’t find, can’t name, can’t finger, doesn’t work.

But when Eddie’s voice comes back, fills his ears and his mind and his ribcage, Steve catches a spark trying so very hard to flicker in his chest.

“Oh Stevie, you’re a damn flatterer.”

The breath whooshes out of Steve’s chest, smoke billowing from his lips and his nose at the same time as a laugh is dragged out from the place below his sternum.

“How’s it feel to be on the receiving end of some of then infamous Harrington Charm?” Steve asks, giggling, loving the way the static on the other end of the line doesn’t feel like an empty space, but a comfort. Like if he tried hard enough he could feel the weight of Eddie dipping the bed beside him, warming the sheets with his skin, thigh pressed into Steve’s.

It wouldn’t be like they hadn’t been in that position before, hadn’t been high and wrapped up with one another. Save the world, see a guy die, snap his breastbone with chest compressions in a hellscape while their other friends try to convince him to drag the body – the fucking body because that’s all Eddie had been for too many fucking seconds that drug and drug and drug – out, finally get his heart and lungs back online long enough to hoist the limp weight through a portal… well. The idea is there.

Steve had started the spring break with no interactions with Eddie Munson.

Now the lack of him next to Steve leaves something twisting raw and ragged in his stomach.

“I’m swooning,” and Steve thinks he hears Eddie’s voice catch on the end of the word, imagines smoke of his own trailing out from between Eddie’s lips.

It is a thought that shouldn’t trip Steve’s brain up so much. Yet.

“Well, you’re the first in…” Steve’s own voice trails and a giggle scratches his throat as the absurdity of it well and truly hits him. “Since Nancy. You’re the first one to swoon since- since Nancy.” It’s there, out in the open between them now, radio waves drifting through Hawkins, over roofs and between the clouds. Or however the fuck radios worked, he didn’t have a clue. Didn’t need to when Eddie’s voice is back, worming its way into every sliver of open space in Steve’s head.

“Then you must’ve only been dating blind broads, no idea what they’re truly missing.” Eddie’s voice comes with a tsking sound, the rustle of something in the background causing Steve’s brain to pop an image of Eddie lying in bed, a hand behind his head, all long lean muscle, tattoos crossing paths with scars, smoke hanging low in the air.

Steve’s heart jumps, because his brain had omitted a shirt on Eddie’s chest, had put the other boy in just boxers and socks because Steve had seen him like that. Sleepy eyes and ruffled one morning when Dustin hadn’t been able to get Eddie to answer on the walkies and Mike had pleaded Steve to drive. To make sure the gate was closed still, even though the old trailer had been gone, burned, the ashes watched over in a secure facility. The government had supplied the new one Eddie and Wayne lived in now.

Wayne had thrown a fit when the feds had offered a house closer to the size of Steve’s, saying they could take their hush money and double it, put it in an account so Eddie could have the best doctors in the world as he healed. His nephew had tried to die for them, it was the least the fuckers could do. Wayne’s words, not Steve’s.

Steve, however, had been inclined to agree.

Owens had a furnished trailer on the lot five days later as Eddie still lay prone in the ICU.

His guitar had been the only thing that had gotten out of his home before the feds had hauled it off to scorch and torch the big bad evil gate. Dustin had made sure, had delivered it like a trophy to the hospital and Eddie had made the most delighted noise around the breathing tube the doctors had refused to remove until the blood and fluid had completely drained from Eddie’s lungs.

Steve had also slept next to Eddie in that outfit. Two arched backs curling towards each other when the world got to be too much, too loud, when the backfire of a motorcycle down the road had Steve’s hands shaking. When the flapping of birds nesting outside the window had Eddie’s head whipping around.

Bare chest, curling tattoos sliced with scars, black hair across a pillow, long fingers-

“Stevie?” Eddie’s voice shocks Steve out of the drugged train wreck his brain was hurtling towards, imaging Eddie without all his clothes. Alone. In bed. “You there, babe?”

“Sorry,” Steve’s voice has changed and thickened and he really has nothing else to say, nothing he can say. Luckily, Eddie’s good at filling silence, pulling Steve’s brain from the sand it traps itself in on nights like this.

“Don’t be,” Eddie’s tone is still low and soft, scratched over by static, a buzz that Steve can feel vibrating under his skin. “You never got anything to apologize for, Steve.” He listens to the words Eddie gives him freely, kindly, woven in the hush of too late night or early morning, Steve’s lost the time in the haze the joint has put him under. He lifts it to his lips again, just for something to do. “Wanna know what I think?”

Steve’s brows crease together and he forces the smoke out of his lungs to answer, “Think about what?”

“Your dry spell.”

The laugh that is pulled from Steve is genuine this time. Eddie Munson had never met a topic that felt off limits. It had grated on Steve for a day, maybe two. Then they had had bigger shit to deal with and now… well now it felt like it was safe. Nothing flapped Eddie. He just said the thing he wanted to say, didn’t fuck with the thought of consequences. A stark contrast to how Steve had been raised.

“Fuck’s sake, fine, sure,” Steve’s still laughing when he answers, stubbing out the rest of the joint on an ashtray and turning on his side, “because even if I say no, you’ll tell me anyway.”

Eddie’s laughing again too, when Steve releases the button and the radio is able to pick up his voice again. It’s warmer than any high Steve’s felt and he doesn’t really even try to fight that thought off too hard, tonight.

“I think,” Eddie starts, and Steve shuffles in his sheets, shoulder popping as he pulls the blanket up closer to his ears, like if he covers his face and the walkie this conversation can keep existing in the floating place Steve feels his head is in right now. He can almost hear the lick Eddie gives his teeth as he’s getting ready to dive into something he feels will crawl under someone’s skin, “I think you just know none of those girls will touch you as good as you deserve.”

Steve’s breath hitches, high in his throat and he’s so so glad Eddie can’t hear it. Glad that Eddie doesn’t wait for a reply as he trucks right the fuck along.

“Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, now that’s a man who deserves to be savored.” Steve isn’t sure if it’s the connection or the weed, but Eddie’s voice is getting strung out, pulling on the syllables, making the blood coursing through Steve’s heart heat up, warmth filling his ribs. He knows, in some logical corner of his brain that isn’t high, that it’s the feeling he got when Nancy had kissed him that first night they had in his bedroom. Desire, unfurling in his muscles, flush squirming its way over his skin. “You aren’t a quick fuck, pretty boy, are you? Need it nice and slow, hm? Seems like you, to want every touch savored so you can really feel it.”

It takes Steve almost too long of a moment to realize his fingers have drifted down to trail over the strip of stomach left naked from his shirt, fingertips skating over heated skin. “Christ, Eddie,” he’s able to choke out of his throat, words too tight to hide the shock in them. “You can’t just say that.” His heart had taken to speeding itself up of its own accord, blood thrumming deep in the veins.

“Mmmm,” Eddie drawls, “I did though.” It’s coy, so fucking coy and so fucking Eddie that Steve’s lungs are punched out because yeah. He did. “Should I stop?” And there it is, the easy out, the one Steve usually throws at a girl when she pulls back for air while kissing her on his couch, more than usually praying she says yes. They all have so far.

Steve though, Steve doesn’t want this to stop. His fingertips have tucked themselves, resting, in his waistband. His other hand is gripping the walkie-talkie like a lifeline, a preserver in the tide of Eddie Munson’s voice.

“Should I stop, Stevie?” Eddie asks again, sounding breathless, just as gutted as Steve is, and he isn’t sure, can’t think of a moment when this switch had flipped in the conversation. It’s sudden and feels like whiplash and it’s so incredibly hot that Steve’s dizzy with need and want and a high. He wonders if the weed’s been laced, but knows Eddie’s better than that. Wouldn’t, not unless Steve asked. Wouldn’t do anything unless Steve asks because he’s Eddie and Eddie is good and all-encompassing and here, alive. He was dead and he came back to life under Steve’s hands and maybe his voice will revive something deep and dormant in Steve.

So, Steve clicks the button on the side of the walkie and the word rushes forth. “No.” He squeezes his eyes shut and his hand presses a hot brand against the lower half of his abdomen. “You shouldn’t stop.”

“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie’s words are a breath as soon as Steve’s finger releases, then the line doesn’t flip to static, but stays on and lets Steve hear the clack of Eddie’s rings as his fingers jostle his hair and Steve wonders when he learned to discern that one specific sound.

Then, oh but then.

Then every noise that has ever been and will ever be is tramped out of Steve’s brain and all he knows, all he ever wants to hear again in his goddamn life is the soft groan that sounds like it’s been yanked from Eddie’s gut. “You’ll be the death of me.”

The static is back now, and so Steve chases after Eddie in the ether, chases the noise, prays it comes back. “You started it, Eddie.” And he should leave it there. Absolutely should. He doesn’t. “Don’t tell me you can’t finish it.”

Steve counts to five before the crackle of the line shifts, letting him know to anticipate Eddie’s voice. “Baby, I play to win. Always.” There’s a giggle there, something in the high that Steve’s body echoes without permission just because it feels good, it feels right, and that’s terrifying, dizzying; Steve leans into the feeling.

“Didn’t know this was a contest,” Steve butts in, thumb brushing the hair that scatters down his stomach and into his pants, wets his lips. “What’s the prize?” He isn’t even sure what the game here is, just knows that his skin is too hot in the greatest way possible and his cock is a thick weight below the hem of sweats and it’s all due to Eddie’s fucking voice.

None of that even touches the fact that it feels normal, feels like an extension of something they’d been circling for months, since Eddie’d gotten home and they’d taken to spending days in Steve’s pool or in a boat in the lake or on the top of the hill outside of Hawkins, joints and cigarettes and brushing fingers.

“Interesting question,” Eddie muses, and Steve closes his eyes again so maybe he can hear Eddie’s voice better, trap it in the space between his ears. He can hear Eddie click his tongue, and the sound jolts across Steve’s nerves like a shock. “The prize for me,” he draws it out, makes Steve hold his breath and he doesn’t even know why, “would be hearing you fall apart, hear the pretty little noises Steve Harrington makes when he finally reaches the breaking point.”

“And for me?” Steve asks, should hate the way his voice goes up and breathless and how his hand is inching down further into his pants.

“Well, I’d think, darling, that you’d like much of the same.” Eddie pauses, doesn’t let the static come, doesn’t let go of the button, Steve waiting like he’s about to leap from the ledge of the quarry. “Is that what you want?” And there’s a touch of uncertainty there, like Eddie is coming to and Steve’s fast to jump in.

“Yes, Eddie.” It’s a plea, a reassurance, it’s a little too close to everything, but Steve will worry about that in the sober light of morning, when his head isn’t being enveloped in the sound of Eddie’s voice and the hot rise of want in his veins. When his hand finally stretches down and he takes his dick in his fist, Steve goes completely taut, a moan ripped from his lungs.

“Holy fuck,” Eddie’s voice grounds Steve as he strokes down for the first time, thumbing the slit and catching the slick of precum that had beaded there. “That sound has to be illegal.”

“Your voice,” Steve tells him, shaking his head and squeezing himself on the next downstroke, “is a weapon.”

“Do you like the way I talk to you, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, doesn’t wait a second for Steve to answer as he groans and Steve echoes it, mind racing with snapshot images of Eddie in the same position as he is, splayed out in bed, sweaty and restless from nightmares and no sex, listening to Steve’s voice. “Want me to tell you how I’d take care of you?” Steve’s nodding until he realizes that Eddie isn’t here, Eddie’s hands aren’t on him, Eddie isn’t whispering in his ear.

“Ye-yeah. I. Yeah.”

“Oh my god, shit, this is-“s Eddie cuts himself off and Steve feels heavy, limbs unable to move when Eddie’s voice isn’t there. “I don’t think you know how much I want to devour you fucking whole, Steve,” he admits and Steve is breathless and never wants this moment to end. “I want to take you apart with my fucking hands and tongue and-“ he cuts himself off again and Steve whines, knows how the sentence ends but isn’t willing to fill the blanks in on his own.

“Thought you played to win,” Steve pants, his pace picking up, toes curling when Eddie comes back on and it isn’t words but a moan that Steve gets in response. He wants to swallow the sounds Eddie is making, wants to feel them against his tongue. He hasn’t been this keyed up in months, in years, maybe ever. Christ.

“God, I want to shut you up with my cock.” And that. Well that’s something entirely. It’s debauched and crude and Steve is so into it that he has to bite his hand to keep from coming undone right then, backing off from his strokes so he doesn’t have to stop hearing the things Eddie’s telling him. “The mouth on you, I fucking swear, gorgeous. Those lips were made for it, all pretty and pink?” Steve’s breaths are getting caught in his throat now, panting little things that he can’t control as he squeezes his cock at the base, tip leaking a puddle on his stomach. “Mess up that damn hair, shit I’ve wanted to pull on it since junior history. So fucking pretty, Steve.”

Steve can picture it, can feel the weight of Eddie on his tongue and the press of hardwood under his knees. They’re in his foyer, Eddie not being able to wait to get upstairs and Steve just sinking down to his knees because who says no to Eddie? Why would they? When he sounds like this? They’d be fucking crazy.

“Don’t-“ Steve grits out when the silence stretches too long and his squeeze on himself too hard and the whole thing too much, “holy fuck don’t stop?” He asks, unsure if he’s allowed, if he’s broken this thing between them but he hasn’t, thank fuck he hasn’t, when Eddie starts speaking again.

“You, fuck, Steve, god you’d be stunning. You are stunning, but god, fuck, I can’t, the way you’d look on my-on a bed.” Eddie’s voice pitches up and Steve can feel it, can feel the energy in his veins, can hear the energy sparking through Eddie’s, something deep in him unlocked and spilling its contents between the two of them and Steve finds himself chasing the little pieces, any little bit of Eddie he can find in the words as they static their way between houses, between worlds.

“Do you want to fuck me in your bed, Munson?” Steve asks as he starts stroking himself again, unable to stave off the need to touch and feel and chase the heat of Eddie’s words with his movements. He means it as a joke, as a little bit of a poke into Eddie’s side, but it comes out wanting and high pitched and needier than Steve’s ever heard himself sound in his life. He can’t take it back, but he doesn’t want to and that’s a problem but it’s a problem for morning because right now Steve is on the edge of and orgasm and something that feels a whole heap bigger and he’s gripping it, clutching it, chasing it down with gritted teeth and loose lips and holy shit. Eddie Munson is going to kill him and he’ll probably say thank you at the end of it all.

“Oh my holy fuck, baby,” Eddie’s tone is so close to sending Steve over the edge and he moans to the ceiling of his room, the blades of his fan spinning around the raw edge to it. “God yes, in my bed. On the fucking couch. The back of your car. Anywhere. Steve, anywhere.” And Steve’s imagination is working overtime, popping images in his brain of every scenario and he hasn’t gone there, hasn’t done that (yet, his brain goads, yet), but he wants so deeply his balls ache and his fingers tremble. Eddie bending him over, Eddie with one of Steve’s legs over his shoulders, Eddie sprawled on a pool chair with Steve on top, hips grinding down, cock spurting spunk across Eddie’s chest-

“Holy fuck, Eddie, shit, I’m going to-“

“Yes, baby,” Eddie’s voice cradles him as Steve’s hand speeds up, breathy moans punctuated by each stroke of his thumb over the head, “just like that. Lemme hear you, please, fuck, let me hear.”

And so Steve does. The line crackles for less than a second before he’s pressing his button down, panting into the receiver and then moaning throatily, head thrown back, hips fucking his fist as cum soaks the inside of his sweats. He thinks Eddie’s name is on his lips, thinks he sobs it, the weed enough of a dampener that he isn’t sure. He sees white, toes curl into the bed as his hips chase his fingers, oversensitive and pulsing in his fist.

“Holy shit.” Is what he gets when his body calms down enough for his hips to settle, for his breathing to fill the open space and his finger to relax, letting the static fill the room before Eddie’s back. “Holy fucking shit, Steve.” He’s high enough to soften the blow of it all, the realization that Steve just came from Eddie’s voice and nothing else something that he’ll have to deal with - of course he’ll have to deal with it sometime but not now because Eddie’s pants are matching his own and Steve feels like he could float away without Eddie’s voice anchoring him - rooting him to his bed.

“Guess I lose?” is what he finally is able to say after the line crackles for a second, his chest still heaving and hand rubbing off the cum on his sweats.

“I think we both did,” Eddie’s still breathless, and some part of Steve is so fucking proud that he did that, but also panicking that he did that, “I, um, well, yeah. When you did.”

He doesn’t let Eddie hear the absolute heady moan he lets out at that, cock twitching heavy in the crease of his hip and thigh. Holy shit. He’d cum to Eddie’s voice and Eddie had cum to him cumming. Steve was in heaven, this was too good.

“Fuck,” is all he gets out in response, because really nothing real had rebooted yet and his nerves were still pulsing from orgasming harder than he had in years.

“Yeah. Fuck, Steve.” Steve is shocked when he realizes he wants to chase those words with a kiss. Wants to kiss that tone from Eddie’s lips to see how it tastes.

So. Okay. It didn’t go away with the orgasm, the warmth in his chest and ribs and stomach. Noted.

“You good?” He asks instead of acknowledging it all because acknowledging it didn’t feel good with the wash of weed pressing in on him.

“Better than,” Eddie mumbles and Steve feels it too, feels his body lax enough to crave getting pulled under; to maybe close his eyes. He does.

“That was…” Steve trails off, grips at his hair before realizing how gross that was and shaking his hand away from his face.

“Hot as shit.” Eddie responds, and Steve can still see him, behind his eyelids, sprawled long limbs with tattoos, sheets kicked to the base of the bed, orgasm flush.

Oh god. This was going to be an actual problem.

“Yeah,” he agrees, feels the word thick in his throat.

“Yeah.” Eddie echoes, voice thick, maple syrup in winter, a worn soft quilt, the most comforting thing Steve can think of when it sounds like this. “Feel better?” Eddie asks, voice almost sheepish.

“Kinda, yeah,” Steve whispers back, head swaying gently. “You know, who knew weed and cumming would relax me?” He jokes, huffing a laugh.

“Real fuckin’ bewildering shit, huh?” Eddie asks, some of the swagger coming back to his voice, coaxing another laugh from Steve. He laughed so much around Eddie.

“Yeah man, yeah.” It’s all his brain can say, all it feels safe to say because if he starts talking he’s not sure what else will come out of his mouth. He’s high, and pumped full with endorphins and he thinks he’s a little bit in love.

Well, huh.

He must let the silence stretch on for long enough that Eddie thinks he’s fallen asleep, because as he blinks into the dark, hoping that each time he opens his eyes Eddie will actually materialize next to him for him to reach out and get to touch (he really, really wants to touch right now), Eddie says quietly, “Night Stevie. Sweet dreams only, ‘kay?” And then static. Nothing but a long, crackling line of it between him and Eddie.

He drifts in and out of sleep, starting awake any time Eddie talks in his dreams, thinking maybe he’d shown up in Steve’s bed after all.

Collision course.

Implosion.

Carnage.

No survivors.

Steve wakes up alone.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #lexi writes #stranger things #stranger things s4 #fix it fic #pwp #smut #steddie smut #Steve x eddie #walkie talkie sex #you know at least one of them misused the thing come on #stranger things fanfiction

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lorelexi · 2 years

Text

My Love.

Notes: soft toji. first kisses. Implied female reader(refered to as girl).

Warnings: brief mention of blood/ injuries (non-descriptive)

☆☆☆

Your kitchen smelled of alcohol. Not the fun kind.

Toji sat in front of you, the chair he was sitting on, looking comically small in comparison. Letting out a small sigh, you recapped a bottle of alcohol and threw scraps of bloodied gauze into the trashbin next to you.

"You can't keep keep doing this, Toji. Showing up here in the middle of the night fucked up and bleeding all over my floor." You paused to gently place your hands over some of the bandages you had just placed over his chest.

Toji looked up at you and a smug look spread over his face.

"What's wrong baby? Worried about me?"

You rolled your eyes in response. "Yeah. Because you're gonna die from blood loss one day... and then they're gonna find your body on my floor and think I did it."

You heard Toji snort under his breathe before you got up to put your -unfortunately- frequently used first aid supplies back into their box.

Toji's eyes followed your frame as you skirted around your kitchen, waiting for you to speak up again.

"Of course I'm worried,Toji. I just-" letting out a sigh, you fiddled with some of the bandage wrappers you were holding in your hands "I know you're strong. I know you are. But when you're out there chasing danger, what happens when one day something goes wrong, and I'm not there to put you back together? Then what?" You trail your eyes up, from where you were previously staring at the white tiles of your kitchen floor, to meet his.

Seeing your distress, Toji stands, and walks over to you, standing a few feet away and moving to lean sexily against the countertop. The fact that he's wearing a shirt again, does not go unnoticed.

"'Theeeen-" he stretches the vowel out as if he's actually considering the idea. "I'll go find some other annoying girl to fix me up." He offers, trying to lighten the mood "She won't be as pretty as you though." He tilted his head as if to get a better look at your face, tossing a lazy smile your way.

You scoffed and shoved his arm. "You're a pain in the ass, Fushiguro"

A smile played on his lips as he opened his mouth to speak again, moving in closer to you, beckoning you into his hold without even having to say a word. "I'm joking." He places his hands on your hips. "About the annoying part. Not about the pretty part. She definitely won't be as pretty as you."

Eyes narrowed and lips pursed, you attempted to keep up your front. Because you know how Toji is. And you know that he'll use any slip of embarrassment on your part to tease you. But you couldn't ignore the increase of your heart rate. And the heat that radiated off of him, being so close to you. "That's very funny Toji."

He laughs. A hearty, sincere one. And his head tosses back slightly in the process.

He's pretty, you think. Very pretty. You also think you'd give anything to keep seeing him this way.

"No, no, I'm serious." His green eyes met yours and he smiled right at you. "No one could be prettier than you, doll."

Despite your attempts to hold up your facade, heat spread across your cheeks at his words. At that nickname.

Toji, of course, took this as a signal to draw you even closer to him, apparently.

You now stood just a few inches away from him, effectively sandwiching him between your own body and the kitchen counter.Chests pressed up against eachother. His large hands holding your hips.

"You're getting pretty close there, Fushiguro." You spoke up, your mouth running dry.

"Is that okay?" His voice was low. He was close enough for you to feel his breath fan against your cheek and you thought you might melt into the floor at any moment, becoming an ooey, gooey, lovey-dovey, mess.

Your hands gripped the edge of the countertop behind him, trying to avoid putting your hands anywhere on his, frustratingly sculpted body.

"I- uh-yeah." You mentally berated yourself for letting your voice falter. "I guess so."

"Good. That's good" Toji's words were uncharacteristically soft, as he leaned his head forward to rest comfortably in the crook of your neck, his hair tickling your skin.

"I'm sorry." The words were careful. Contemplative. Reaching for what he would say next. "I'm sorry for worrying you with all this."

You wonder if he's only refering to the bandages littered on his person.

"I'm not going anywhere if that's what you're worried about."

The words almost shocked you. Almost. But you know Toji better, and you know that behind his beat up, battered appearance, is a worn out soul. One that's still cracked and brittle from his youth.

"I'm not gonna leave you."

Toji knew he was saying this more for his sake than yours, but he pushed the thought to the back of his mind and took a long, slow breath.

"Toji?" Your voice rang through his ears before he felt nimble fingers course through his hair.

Still leaning on your shoulder, he tilts his head toward you, letting you know that he was listening with a small "hmm?".

It's silent for a few minutes, Toji's hands moving up from your hips to rub soft circles into your waist.

Toji fought off the urge to ask you what you were thinking about-practically hearing the gears turning in your head- and gave you your time to say what you wanted to say.

"I think I love you."

Despite the fact that you said that you "think" it didn't come out as a pondering thought. It came out as a definitive statement, lingering with an air of finality. You knew it. Toji knew it.

The two of you stood there for a moment. In eachothers arms, unmoving, until Toji moved to wrap his arms all the way around you before moving up to press his nose into the side of your cheek.

At this, you moved your hands from his hair to grip the fabric of his shirt behind his neck

It was quiet again, and you mentally screamed at Toji to say something. Anything.

"I love you too."

The words tickled against your cheek. Your own breath catching in your throat.

In a haze, you barely noticed Toji pull his face away from you, reaching to swipe some hair away from your face, and resting his palm against your cheek with a smile.

Just as you were getting used to the proximity-and the fond, handsome smile he was sporting toward you-his actions sent you back into shock, but the feeling of his lips pressed against yours was enough to bring you back down to earth.

#lexi has a fat crush on toji fushiguro #lexi writes #toji fushiguro #fushiguro toji #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x reader fluff #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #toji fanfic #jjk x reader

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elusianknight · 5 months

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Hello spawn family enjoyers. My fic is done at last! The Astarion chapter is here to close it out.

Thank you to everyone who has read and engaged, I really appreciate it. I'm never able to finish written things so... this is a really happy achievement for me <3 Thanks for sharing the journey and the love for our dear, dysfunctional spawn family. by which i mean the siblings, fuck cazador, of course.

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 fic #lexi writes #dalyria #pale petras #leon onufrio #yousen #violet #aurelia

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toppedbykakuna · 2 months

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im writing a new novella about an alien who comes to earth disguised as a cat and accidentally gets stranded and adopted by a queer couple, totally not inspired by real events or anything

#not dnp #lexi writes #if anyone wants to read it lemme know LMAO

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lexiraq · 8 months

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hello fellow good omens support group members! i offer you this very self indulgent post-season 2 fix-it fic. it’s much longer than i originally intended but i really can’t say i’m upset about that, in fact, i’m quite proud of myself. so please have a read because i can’t get crowley and aziraphale (or nina and maggie, for that matter) out of my head and i’m sure many of you are in the same boat! have at it <3

#good omens #aziracrow #crowley #aziraphale #good omens 2 #good omens fanwork #good omens fix it #ineffable husbands #go s2 #go spoilers #lexi writes #<333 #ao3fic #michael sheen #david tennant #neil gaiman

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lexi-the-writing-geek · 1 year

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A great deal of time has past since the Oni invaded Ninjago. Things have been peaceful. Well, as peaceful as they can be with such a loud group of friends. And Lloyd wouldn't have it any other way.

Well... that's it folks. That's the end of The Oni Boy. I can't believe we're finally here! Sorry if this chapter seems a bit short for a final chapter. But, we made it! I want to thank you all for reading, and for being so kind and patient as I completed this story. I really do hope it was worth the wait. I'll admit, this isn't my favorite story I've written, there's a lot of flaws, like plot points that went nowhere. I think the large gaps of time between writing chapters is to blame for that. If I were to write this story again, I'd approach it differently. But for what it is, I'm happy. Well, what happens now? I don't currently have any other fics in the work. I'm planning to shift focus to my original novel that I'm currently rewriting. But that doesn't mean I'm never gonna post here again. I like writing fan fiction. It's a good way to practice writing and write story ideas that don't really work for my original stories. So while I don't know when I'll never post my writing here, I'm sure I will at some point. Until then, thank you all for reading. And for supporting me. It really gives me to motivation to peruse my dreams as an author. So again, thank you!

#LEGO #ninjago #the oni boy #the oni boy au #lloyd garmadon #kai smith #nya smith #jay walker #zane julien #cole brookstone #master wu #sensei wu #lord garmadon #sensei garmadon #master garmadon #misako #fan fiction #lexi writes #my posts

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bluemusickid · 1 month

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The Heiress

Pairing: Lucien Flores x Heiress Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (don't be silly wrap your willy), slight dub-con (if you squint), slight dom-sub dynamics, just in general smuttiness, read at your own risk.

A/N: The collective brainrot those clips have brought us as a fandom (thanks for that, Tony ;3), is INSANE. This is just a smalllll effort in keeping that alive till we get the full movie. I have to confess: this is just shameless PWP at this point lmaoooo (don't judge me, i'm just a girl after all). enjoy and please reblog if you liked it thankssss <3 <3

Note: By clicking read more, you consent to my terms and have heed all warning mentioned above.

(Photos/Gifs of P, credz: @a7estrellas, the dividers are by the lovely @saradika-graphics)

Dull.

That's what these parties were to you always. Dull. Throw in a bunch of old men in stiff suits holding onto champagne flutes like their lives depended on it. Even worse, they tried to sell themselves to you, as if their sad marketing convinced you. You still entertained them, owing to a lack of anything fun happening around those parts.

That is till you met him.

Lucien, he had introduced himself. A cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, a champagne flute in his hand as he was engaged in a conversation with Hermann Astor, owner of the art gallery that was hosting one of the many boring do's you simply HAD to attend.

Truth be told, you weren't really listening to him. The whole "I'm-a-man-of-culture-so-of-course-I-know-art" spiel was boring. So many men trying to dazzle you with their "expertise", but you couldn't care less. To your surprise though, Lucien didn't mansplain or explain the intricacies of art missed by many. He let Hermann drone on, only piping in when something piqued his interest. He only met your eyes a few times, his dark brown hues holding his secrets.

But you knew what he was thinking. It was quite obvious, isn't that what most men wanted in this room? A chance to talk to you, an heiress to a hefty inheritance, maybe a chance to woo you, wine and dine you and then pop a ring on your finger. Maybe get you pregnant. Secure the bag.

Atleast that's what you assumed he wanted, but he didn't seem like the type to talk you up. He was mostly interested in having a chat about your life, why you hung out at these places especially since you gave no fucks about fine arts, and so on. It was surprising, true, but maybe men changed up their tactics ever so often. So you played along, as you always did. Answering with as much truth as you could.

You found yourself on the balcony standing next to him, staring at the vast grounds with its fine cut grass and neatly trimmed hedges, the moon casting its glow upon it. Turning to him, you decided to cut to the chase. You were bored, and only a quick fuck could break the tedium. Running your hand along his arm, you pulled him to one of the bedrooms, pushing him against the door. Leaning towards him, you brought your lips close to his, waiting for his permission to continue. He leaned forward, as you latched your lips to his, guiding his arms to wrap around you, deepening the kiss as you pushed yourself further into him. That's odd, you thought. This actually felt nice.

His lips, while hesitant at first, tangled with yours, the heat warming your bones. He ever so slightly placed his hands on you, running them down your body down to your hips, squeezing gently as he rested them there; pulling you towards him and his growing erection.

Itching to taste him, you knelt down, licking his growing manhood over the fabric of his tight dress pants. With a growl, he pulled you up, gripping your shoulders as he turned you around and walked you over to the bed behind you. Pushing you down, he bent you over so your ass was up in the air as your face was smushed into the soft bedding eagerly waiting in anticipation.

You felt his hot breath as his lips trailed along your thighs, his tongue running over the divots and the stretch marks that adorned your skin. You squirmed, wishing he would turn his attention to the place you needed him the most. He seemed to have heard your unspoken wish, because the very next moment, his lips moved over your core, his tongue lightly ghosting over your wet folds, your swollen core. You panted, your hands grabbing the duvet with a force that you weren't even sure was possible.

Lucien started off slow, and then dove in, his tongue swirling over your swollen nub, as he gathered your wetness on his finger and pushed a digit inside; his tongue and his finger working in tandem. You groaned loudly, pushing your hips onto his tongue, not realising that they were moving of their own accord, ever-so-slightly undulating and moving in rhythm to his licks and thrusts. Through the haze of pure lust, you realised that you were meant to be in control of this entire situation. Reaching behind, you tangled your fingers into his soft brown curls, pulling him even closer to your nub as you fucked yourself on his tongue, moaning loudly as he groaned at your act of dominance; the vibrations shooting through your core, making their way through your body. He added another finger, doubling his efforts as he felt your legs shake, and your core tightening as you neared your peak.

You screamed into the duvet, muffling your cries as your orgasm took over. You would've collapsed into the mattress had Lucien not been holding on to you, resting his head on your back as he caught his breath as well. The both of you lay there, him spooning you, till your breathing returned to normal. Straightening your clothes, you both exited the room, not meeting each others' eyes, no words spoken to one another.

The rest of the evening went very well, your secret rendezvous leaving you satiated, yet hungry for more.

The second time you met him was at the Charity Ball held by your "good friend" Fiona Mayhew, who got on your nerves most of the time, but did a lot of good for underprivileged children/teens and their education; so you stuck around. At first, you didn't really wish to go to her stuffy ball; but RSVP'd yes, with the smallest hope that Lucien would be there.

He was, of course. Dressed in a well tailored, crisp tux, his messy brown curls slicked back and gelled down. You hated to admit it, but he looked downright edible. You pretended not to notice him at first, making small talk with the members of the small group he was entertaining. You mingled, the both of you catching each others gaze as you talked to the other guests, your eyes conveying what you couldn't bring yourself to say. You barely managed to pull your gaze away from him each time, silently berating yourself for giving him that much importance. It was all a game, all a ploy.

It was working, though. Because the next time he caught your gaze, his deep brown eyes darkened as he walked out of the gigantic ball room, making his way to the large area where the cars were parked. Making his way through the maze of luxury, vintage cars, he walked over to a cambrian grey Bentley, leaning against it as an invitation to join him. He smirked, watching your hips sway as you sashayed towards him, ready to beat him at his own game. He held the door open, his hand moving from the small of your back to rest on your behind, giving you a small smack as you made your way in. Tsking, you gave him a wolfish grin, as you slid the dropped sleeves of your gown from your shoulders, his eyes bulging at the sight of your gorgeous breasts being freed from their confines.

The car shook, almost too violently, as you bounced on his cock, a moan escaping your mouth as you felt him hit your front wall, over and over. You'd always thought of sex as a chore, something to get over with. But it felt different, with him; it felt as if your body and mind split, and was only concentrated on him and how he felt inside. Your core squeezed around him, as you pulled him deeper inside; fingernails digging into his meaty shoulder. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead in the crook of your neck as he thrust up into you, pulling you towards him to meet his sharp and pointed thrusts. Your breath caught in your throat, lips ghosting over his as your breaths mingled, all thoughts of speech banished. He kissed his way down your neck to your gorgeous globes, running the tip of his tongue around your swollen nipples. This action made you groan, running your fingers through his hair, completely mussing them up and ruining his do. You couldn't care less; with the way he was making you feel, you had half a mind to pull him to the ballroom and fuck him in front of everyone to show the reason for his and your disheveled states.

His thrusts began to speed up as he held you in place, your legs trembling and burning as you tried to hold yourself up, absorbing every bit of his amorous assault on you. Undoing the buttons of his crisp white shirt, you yanked the shirt off his shoulder, biting down hard at the exposed skin. He growled loudly, thrusting up once, then twice as he emptied himself into you, painting your walls as you squeezed every drop from him, reaching your explosive end as well. The euphoria melted into your veins, swiftly coursing through the length of your body. But yet again, as he helped you straighten yourself up, no words were spoken.

Both of you made your way back to the ballroom, your clothes and hair slightly askew, and a bright red mark on Lucien's neck, that he didn't bother hiding for the rest of the night. You wouldn't be surprised if people found out that the two of had been together, let alone what the two of you were upto

You couldn't bring yourself to care, though.

And now here you were, months later. You hadn't seen Lucien for quite some time, but you didn't really care all that much. It wasn't like you were pining after him. On the contrary, you'd found quite a few men to keep yourself entertained.

You walked into Fiona's beach soiree, thanking divine providence that it wasn't a black tie affair. The fact that it was at her luxurious beach house, which was facing the vast ocean, just happened to be a silver lining. You made your way around the party, chatting with Fiona about her latest venture, the NGO she had established, the soiree a means to raise funds.

As the night progressed, you found yourself pleasantly buzzed as you sat at the bar, waiting for the bartender to serve you. A familiar voice directed at you made you turn, only to see Lucien standing there, a flute of champagne in his hands, his signature smirk on his face. You tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, shifting your focus to the drink placed in front of you. He looked amazing, his messy curls softly styled, his beautiful neck adorned with gold chains and a thick ring on his finger. You had never seen him this casual, the Hawaiian shirt he had donned sitting loosely on him, leaving little to imagination.

Raising your glass at him in a silent toast, you smiled, taking a swig of the bubbly liquid. Delicious.

"You alone?" He drawled.

You gestured around, "Do you see anyone else here?"

"Touché." He took a swig of his drink, eyebrows raising as he savoured it. There was a small lull in the conversation but you didn't mind. It's not like the both of you talked when you were together.

"So. Long time no see."

"Yeah, kinda hard to see someone if they don't really show their face at events." you mused dryly.

He chuckled, nodding at the accusation. Taking your flute from your hand, he put the glasses on the counter, beckoning to the garden at the back of the house, "up for a smoke?"

"I don't smoke.", you said smugly, downing the glass in front of you.

He leaned towards you, bending down to whisper in your ear, "Who said anything about smoking?"

You should've known. It never ended in just talking, in fact, you don't think you've ever had a proper conversation with Lucien, barring that one time on the balcony, the night you met him. It was as if the bond between you was solely driven by the sheer lust and attraction you had for one another. Just the way you preferred it, and wanted it, truth be told.

As you both made your way outside, Lucien pinned you to the stone wall, locking his fingers with yours as he held your arms by your head, his lips brushing over yours. You wanted to ask him many things, probably talk about the both of you and your arrangement, but you couldn't bring yourself to talk. Atleast, not now.

You felt your insides flutter in anticipation, as he left kisses all over you: your neck, your breasts, your stomach. Pushing your dress up, he left open-mouthed kisses along your thighs, biting and sucking till he left marks, you were sure of it. Pulling your lace panties to the side, he began to eat you out with a ferocity that aroused you and scared you in equal parts. All you could do was hold on as he held your wet folds apart, his tongue running over your swollen nub. Briefly, he pulled back to look at your core; swearing under his breath as he saw how wet you were for him. He dove back in, pulling your lips apart with his fingers as he fucked you with his tongue for all he was worth.

You had died and gone to heaven, you were sure of it. Stars exploded behind your eyelids as each swipe of Lucien's tongue made you forget all about your surroundings. Your leg was on his shoulder, your dress was basically falling off your body and you had nearly bitten off a finger trying to hold your screams in. If he weren't so good with his tongue and his fingers, you would have laughed at the way your body turned to putty near this man.

You were rudely pulled out of your thoughts by the feel of him pushing inside you, hitching your leg on his hip as he bottommed inside you. You gasped as he stayed there, letting you feel all of him as he feasted on your breasts, his thumbs and tongue working their magic. He began to move, his hand holding both your arms above your head, restricting your movements. Rutting into you with abandon, he snarled as he felt your pussy clench around him as he tightened his hold on your arms. Using them as leverage, he quickened his motion, anchoring your waist as he fucked into you wildly, using your body for his own pleasure.

"Fuck...take it. take it all." he grunted through gritted teeth, letting go of your arms as he held you steadily, his fingers making their way to your core, circling your swollen clit.

You heard yourself shriek as you came apart, throwing your arms around his shoulders as he reached his end as well, his warm spend coating your walls. Your core pulsed, nearly strangling his cock as the aftershocks died down. Suddenly feeling exhausted, you slid down the wall as he held you, gently rocking you till you came back to normal.

As you recovered from your explosive high, there was only one thought in your mind: you were truly and honestly screwed.

GAHHHH IDK HOW THIS TURNED OUT BUT OMFG i had suchhhh fun writing it!! Hope y'all enjoy! I don't do taglists anymore, just turn on blog notifs for @lexiscyberlibrary to be notified about any new fics!

Love ya!

-xoxo Lexi <3

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devillexi · 11 months

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Yandere Hubbies: Sukuna Ryomen💋

Warning: Smut, dacryphilia, yandere themes, toxic, etc.

Yandere Hubby Sukuna who works as an underground mafia leader and keeps you in the dark about what he does.

Yandere Hubby Sukuna whose brutality and madness is known throughout the entire underground and revered as the "Mafia King" or "Mad Dog Mafia".

Yandere Hubby Sukuna who often returns home late at night, covered in blood, while you're fast asleep. He washes himself up and slips in beside you, bringing your warm body up against his freshly showered chest.

Yandere Hubby Sukuna who wakes up to you snuggling up to his chest because you're happy he's home. He instead sees an opportunity to catch up on all the lovemaking you guys haven't been doing.

Yandere Hubby Sukuna who fucks you roughly, his thrusts so powerful that they knock the wind out of you. He bites and marks your skin with hickies and bruises.

Yandere Hubby Sukuna who likes to fuck you until your mind goes blank and your eyes see stars. He lives to make your pussy so sore that no other man can ever match up to him.

Yandere Hubby Sukuna who will yank you back to take his cock if you run away. He'll whisper harshly into your ear that you should never run away from his loving and that you'll take him until his cock is spent.

Yandere Hubby Sukuna who likes to see you cry as you take his dick. His fingers tenderly caress and wipe your tears away but his cock continues to ravage your cunt. He never relents and your tears stain your cheeks as you moan helplessly.

Yandere Hubby Sukuna who only shows you tenderness and care, but his victims see a whole other side of him that you will never see.

Yandere Hubby Sukuna who has always been a merciless killer. A sick, murderous bastard whose methods are borderline cruel and inhumane. Police often find his victims mangled and so unrecognizable that police are left to play guessing games with the victim's identity based on who went missing and who crossed his path. Majority go unnamed and are often referred to as

Yandere Hubby Sukuna who gives victims a special type of treatment when they mess with you. All the other shitheads and company bastards get the same treatment of dying an almost painless death, though even that often depends on his mood. But slimey creeps who mess with his poor wife get tortured, castrated, eaten alive, or sent to his own little lab chambers where he commits the most inhumane experiments known to man, all to sate his sick curiosities and appease his anger.

Yandere Hubby Sukuna who often shirks his own duties to spend time with you. Being an underground mafia boss is exhausting work and he'd much rather spend his time inside you than dealing with old heads, new heads, and potential victims.

Yandere Hubby Sukuna who lays in bed, wide awake, and turns his gaze over your sleeping form, his obsession and possessiveness gripping him like an iron fist as he eyed the new marks he left on you. He often thinks about what he'd do if you ever left him, but those thoughts are the one thing the "Mad Dog" couldn't handle.

((Quick question! Should I do Mahito or Choso next? Tell me some more JJK men I should do.))

#lexi writes #jjk smut #jjk #jjk headcanons #yandere jjk #jjk sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryomen smut #jjk sukuna ryomen #yandere hubby jjk

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the-devils-girl94 · 1 year

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Distracting Lips 💋: Lucifer

Summary: Lucifer gets distracted by your lips throughout the day and finally gets to claim them.

Warning: suggestive themes, Lucifer becoming infatuated with your lips, kissing

((This is another series thing I'm doing with my previous post where I do all the brothers and dateables separately. So I hope you guys enjoy this Lucifer goodness because whoo, this one almost got me 🥵.))

It's usually not like Lucifer to be distracted. However, on this particular day, his eyes couldn't seem to look away from your lips. From the moment he woke up to your soft lips on his, he couldn't stop thinking about them. Even now as you lead the conversation in today's meeting, his gaze was transfixed on your glossy lips, taking note of how they formed around certain letters of the alphabet.

He was snapped out of his stupor when Diavolo called his name and realized you've already taken your seat. His face became flushed and he cleared his throat, embarrassed as he heard the snickering of his brothers and the worrying tone of yours and Diavolo's voices. He was so glad that it was towards the end of the meeting.

"If there's nothing else on the agenda, let's end the meeting here," he announced, annoyed at the many whoops that erupted from his brothers as they hurried out of their seats. Lucifer sighed as he fell back in his chair, his hand over his eyes as everyone filed out of the room. All except you.

He felt lips on him once again and looked up to see your smiling face, becoming captivated once again. You were about to ask if he was okay but was cut off as he pulled you into his lap, where he placed his hand under your chin, sweeping his thumb across your bottom lip. You blushed at this.

"I've been thinking about these all day," he said, his eyes half lidded with desire. "Please let me indulge myself, MC."

You chuckled as you figured out that this was what wrong with him. "Ok," you agreed. "Kiss me until you're satisfied then."

You didn't have to tell him twice. His lips were on yours in an instant, dragging you into a passionate kiss that had you reeling. Your back met the cool surface of the meeting table as Lucifer kissed you with such fervor. It wasn't long until air became an urgent need and you pulled away to catch your breath.

But, Lucifer brought you back with a breathless, "Not satisfied yet."

He kissed you again, this time his tongue invading, conquering, dominating the inside of your mouth, causing you to moan.

Who knew that your lips could do this to him?

#obey me #obey me smut #obey me lucifer #lexi writes #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons

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coconut-cluster · 2 years

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The only thing that comes up in his head are flashes of a party, people bumping into him and music playing too loud and Roman and Remus assuring him they’ll all head out soon. Some frat party, if he remembers correctly, that Janus was as annoyed at attending as Logan was. Logan just disliked parties in general; Janus, though, he spent the night in a corner, locked in conversation with Logan or Remus or Patton, determined to avoid that ex of his-

Oh.

Oh, good Lord.

“It’s Aaron! We met at that party a couple months ago?”

Yeah, no shit, Logan nearly says, pressing his lips together to stop himself. Remus is rubbing off on him.

Aaron’s voice, strident and grating in his ear, brings back clearer memories of the party. Roman and Remus had insisted they all go - Roman was trying to interview some guys for his arts column in the campus newspaper, as if frat boys half drunk on spiked Koolaid were going to give him an insightful perspective on masculinity and corruption in Shakespeare’s Hamlet - and Remus just wanted to set a few roaches loose in the frat house, much to Virgil’s amusement and Patton’s distress.

When the twins invited them, Logan's first instinct was to refuse. He had a test the next week, and a project due the week after that he’d barely started (and call him pretentious, but he probably had better things to do than spend his Friday night in a house that hadn’t seen a vacuum cleaner in months).

But then Janus had said yes in that idle, amused tone, like he definitely had better things to be doing but would go regardless. A pang of something sharp hit Logan - betrayal, maybe, as ridiculous as that was, or the image of the five of them having fun without him and flashes of laughter behind his back - and before he could think better of it, he just rolled his eyes and said yes, too.

Admittedly, it wasn’t as bad as he convinced himself it would be on the ride over. He ended up in a corner with Patton and Janus, although Patton disappeared periodically to greet people he knew - club members, classmates, old friend-of-a-friends, Logan lost track of all the relations halfway through the night. After the third instance of duck-and-go, he resorted to peeking over the crowd every so often to find messy hair and pushed-up glasses weaving through the crowd, and raised a hand to wave Patton back over before he got swallowed in the mass of drunk college students.

Janus stayed near him the entire time, though. He’d wrinkled his nose at the red solo cups shoved in their faces when they walked in and refused to drink the cheap wine coolers in the kitchen, so he just leaned against the wall beside Logan, nursing a lemonade and muttering acerbic commentary between the million-dollar smiles he gave anyone who walked up to them. Logan listened more than he responded, but Janus didn’t seem to mind. He looked down periodically at where Logan perched on the arm of the couch next to him, as if checking for his attention, and continued his anecdotes unfazed. Logan didn’t mind, either. He’d never say it out loud, but he liked the sound of Janus’ voice. It reminded him of black coffee, smooth and bitter, and he’d much rather be drinking black coffee than whatever sour cocktail was in his cup now.

...He was a little tipsy.

Despite their rivalry - Logan took another sip of his drink and swallowed the word with it, because oy vey, it was starting to annoy him - he was glad Janus stuck around when all the others scattered through the house. The music was loud and people kept brushing past him, knocking against his knees and barely catching their drinks before they sloshed over onto him, and he was glad to have at least one familiarity nearby, something to ground himself with. He watched Janus’ face closely as he talked, eyeing his freckles and catching glimpses of sharp canines, connecting expressions to the ones he saw every day across a library table and stacks of textbooks.

Which meant he noticed the second Janus’ face fell.

“Shit,” Janus hissed, nearly spilling his drink as he spun around to face Logan entirely, though he was closer to facing the wall than anything. “Shit, Jesus-”

“What?”

“Nothing. Nothing, don’t-” Logan glanced to the door, and the sound Janus made was a novel combination of alarmed and exasperated as he grabbed Logan by the shoulders and turned him to face the wall, too. It was not a comfortable position on the arm of the couch. “Don’t look. Do not. That- what house are we at?”

“Alpha Delta Alpha.” Janus gave another noise in the back of his throat, edging far more toward alarm than the first. “You didn’t see that when we came in?”

“Obviously not!”

“They have a glowing sign-”

“Logan.”

The first name shut him up like Janus knew it would, and he sat silently, pretending to sip his drink while Janus stared very intently at his blank phone screen and snuck glances from the corner of his eye around the room.

“Shit. I hate frats.” He took a swig of his lemonade like it had anything but sugar and too much water to help ease his nerves, and his nose wrinkled again when he swallowed. It was oddly endearing for someone cursing so virulently under their breath. Logan took another sip to cover the smile tugging at his lips. “God, even their lemonade sucks. This place sucks. I should’ve- damn it, where did Patton go?”

A voice rose over the crowd, strident and grating. Janus’ eyes snapped to the mass of people.

“Who is it?” The mismatched gaze fell to him, still overly alert, and grew narrow when Logan took another idle sip. “That you’re avoiding, I mean.”

“Someone’s nosy tonight.”

“Someone’s avoiding the question.”

Narrow eyes grew narrower. “An ex.” Logan’s even, probing expression must have faltered, because Janus glanced to the crowd and back to him before adding swiftly, “From high school. We broke up years ago.”

“Oh.” He looked over his shoulder at the group behind them. Janus didn’t stop him this time. After a minute of the crowd shifting, he saw a girl and boy in matching A∆A shirts near the front door, chatting in raised voices over the music with the people around them; the girl had long blonde hair done in braids, and her cheeks were pink with blush and the buzz of whatever she was drinking from the can in her hand. She was pretty, Logan supposed, although he didn’t have a very good metric for that kind of thing. Or for girls in general.

“Oh,” he said again, eyeing the pair idly. He’d never considered what Janus liked in other people - it never occurred to him to worry about it, and his mind was just fuzzy enough to let that thought slip past without analysis. He didn’t think he expected blondes.

“Yeah.” Janus stared, too, although his side-eye was far more subtle than Logan’s dazed observance. “Three years later, and he’s still a prick.”

...Oh.

The boy next to Blonde Braids was at least a foot taller than her, and several inches taller than the guys he was talking to over her head. The LED lights lining the ceiling cast a blue halo over his hair, dark and untousled despite the hand he kept running through it - he held his drink with his other hand, though, so the ridiculous amounts of gel in his swept-back style had its drawbacks. He had a nice nose, though. Sharp. Good... bone structure. Logan was a little dizzy.

“His voice is annoying,” he finally said.

“Tell me about it.”

“...He’s a frat boy.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a little embarrassing for you, Peters.”

“I know.”

Logan took another sip - he meant to fake drinking several minutes ago, but he got distracted, and now the taste had seeped into his brain, turning his thoughts vignetted. He blinked the haze from his eyes and focused them again on the boy, an odd thrill running down his spine when Janus gave a heavy sigh and turned to study him instead of the ex by the front door. He took another sip and drowned the spark.

The rest of the night passed in a bit of a blur. He barely remembers Janus scowling at the crowd and the figure cutting through it; he kind of remembers a greeting, the name Aaron and a handshake that tried too hard to be firm, clear in the moment but fuzzy in recollection, and a prickle in his chest at being called buddy one too many times in the exchange.

But he remembers perfectly - all too clearly - that voice, conceit spilling over the edges of his words and leaving a sour taste in Logan’s throat, worse than whatever concoction Janus had since taken from his hands, and a vein of mockery that made Janus’ mismatched gaze narrow into a scalding glare.

Fast forward a few months and two weeks of the cold shoulder, and that god-awful voice that was now over the phone. With Janus.

“Aaron,” Logan deadpans. “From the party. Janus’ ex. Am I remembering correctly?” Ex comes out a bit like an accusation, as if Aaron needs reminding on who exactly he is. (Logan is happy to provide.)

Aaron gives a marveled sound, something between a laugh and an exclamation, something inarguably derisive. Logan is not a violent person, but smashing a plate sounds appealing right now. “Good memory!”

“Thank you. Where’s Janus?”

Another laugh that makes his blood boil. “Hey, no need to rush, no one’s going anywhere! He’s right here.” There’s a pause, a beat of near silence - Logan can just hear the white noise of driving, the hum of an engine and quiet thumps of speedbumps and potholes, so he guesses he’s on speaker now - and then Aaron prompts, “Say hi to your friend, Jan.”

Logan’s free hand curls into a fist on his desk. He’s not sure which part is frustrating him most, exactly - Aaron’s condescending tone, Jan, or the fact that Janus has been avoiding him for two weeks and has, apparently, decided that his mind-numbingly irritating ex-boyfriend is better company to keep. Maybe all of it. Probably all of it. If he holds his phone any tighter, it might snap.

Okay, so calling Janus was probably a mistake, he’ll admit that. It was an impulsive decision in the first place. He’s not sure why he thought it would actually help. A small part of him hoped that maybe, possibly, upon picking up, Janus would explain why he’d been avoiding Logan for weeks, and Logan could give a careful, comprehensive apology for whatever it is he’s done wrong, and they could get on with life as it was before. A smaller part hoped Janus would forget it all and greet him as usual.

(Every part remembers the feeling of mismatched eyes studying him over a red cup, across a library table, and the feeling of a drowned spark still burning.)

Instead, he’s listening to a frat boy shove Janus’ phone to him in the passenger seat while Logan stares at his wall like an idiot. He’s felt like an idiot far too many times in the last two weeks already, but now that he’s here, he finds he can not make himself hang up.

There’s some muttering that barely makes it over the phone, low and brief, and then, distantly, he hears a quiet, “Hey, Logan.”

And the first name makes his thoughts screech to a stop. Just like Janus knows it will.

The restless tapping against Logan’s desk stops. Janus doesn’t sound smug, like he expected- although it’s hard to tell what he does sound like, because his voice barely makes it through the receiver. As far as Logan knows - and he knows very well - Janus’ quiet voice is almost entirely reserved for snide remarks under his breath or gossip he’s heard in the halls and shares in a hushed tone with the others. It is not for greetings. It is most certainly not for Logan. The irritation burning his face tapers out as quickly as it came, replaced with a worm of concern in his chest.

Instead of saying what he truly wants to - instead of Hello, Janus, are you okay, Janus, why haven’t you talked to me in weeks, Janus, your absence has rendered me useless and I’ve coped by wallowing in my own misery like some pathetic romance protagonist - his mind goes blank and he blurts, “We have a project due tomorrow.”

The phone is silent.

“It, um...” He looks around his desk, leaning forward in a rush to sift through the mess of paper and textbooks, searching for the work he’d done already like it will make a difference to have in front of him. “It’s for Memory. Human Memory. It’s a presentation, remember? You- uh, you said you’d come over,” he lies. He can’t explain why, but he lies through his teeth, and prays it’s believable to Aaron, even if Janus can catch a fib in his sleep. “To help finish it.”

Concern ignites into a brutal cocktail of stress and relief as Janus plays along immediately.

“Oh,” Logan hears him remark, sounding genuinely marveled, “that’s right. I was going to come after my shift at the café, but someone-” Aaron scoffs- “interrupted my commute home-”

“It’s great talking to you again, bud,” Aaron says, and the faint rumbling of the car cuts off so abruptly that Logan flinches. He’s not on speakerphone anymore, but he can hear Janus say something, his voice sharp, and Aaron clears his throat over it. “Me and Jan are going to a party, and I’d invite you, obviously, but parties don’t seem like your thing. No offense. Have fun with your project!”

Logan holds the phone to his ear several moments after Aaron hangs up. His arm feels stiff, like he hasn’t moved it in far too long, even though he only picked it up minutes before.

Janus played along. Janus has not spoken to Logan in two weeks, let alone offered to come over to his house for a project either of them could finish in their sleep, and still, he played along with the worst lie in the history of lying (and from Logan of all people). Logan thinks again of the party, Janus’ alarm and frustration and the vague memory of being ushered out past a hand reaching for his arm, of Janus staying back to snap a warning before storming out of the house and riding home with him and Patton in fuming silence.

Logan stares idly, frozen, at the mess of notes and Post-its in front of him, until his eyes land on the coffee cup sleeve at the edge of his desk where his name is doodled out in Janus’ perfect scrawl. It’s a cursive remnant of what Logan knows now was endearment, no matter how smugly Janus cloaked it. Of concern.

When he finally sets the phone down, his mind is perfectly clear for the first time in two weeks.

He is out the front door before Patton can ask where he’s going.

#uni au #loceit #logan sanders #janus sanders #i have never had alcohol please ignore any inconsistencies with real life here #this is about fake gay people just suspend your beliefs for a bit #lexi writes

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shimmerystyles · 1 year

Text

Skate to me, baby. - Harry x Ice Skater!Y/N

Summary: Harry is dragged to private ice skating lessons by his very controlling girlfriend Maisy. After their first lesson, Harry finds himself mesmerized by Y/N practicing after their lesson. An awkward first encounter turning into a sappy love story? Wilder things have happened.

word count: 1.6k

a/n: welcome to my first series! i'm not sure how many parts I want this to be, however, I am so so so excited that I am finally doing this! i've had this idea for awhile but i'm excited to write this! lets hope you all hold me accountable! hehe

warnings: nothing? maybe a swear or two?

---

"Maisy, I forgot my water bottle. One sec." Harry cuts himself off as he watches a girl skate around to one of his songs.

'Who is this girl?' Harry thought to himself, watching the girl spin in the air and land so gracefully.

Y/N abruptly halts herself as she sees someone watching her from the stands. "Sorry this is a closed rehearsal." She says skating herself closer, slowing herself down as she recognizes the boy watching her.

"HARRY! LETS GO!" Maisy yells from the arena entrance.

He shakes his head as if breaking from a trance.

"Sorry about that, maybe next time I'll have a chance to view. See you around Ms.-"

"Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N"

He smiles. "Good to meet you, Y/N. I'm Harry. See you around."

You walked into the arena, skates over your shoulder, gym bag on the other one and you made your way to the locker room to get dressed for your rehearsal for regionals.

You prided yourself on being self-coached. It wasn't something most skaters did as it didn't get them opportunities like competing but you had made a name for yourself through social media and had an agent that signed you up and got you invites for competitions. Regionals is around the corner and you were nervous as usual but today was just a run through of your routine a few times, as well as get your content for the upcoming weekend.

"Yes, Maisy! Harry, keep marching in place! You look great!"

Harry rolled his eyes as he was marching with his arms out as his girlfriend broke out a huge smile at the instructor.

"Come on, is this really all we're going to do? I know the basics already, sir." Harry protested as he continued to move his arms in circles.

"Babe, don't start. Sorry, Mr. Cavalier, I don't know why he's acting this way." Maisy bats her eyes and Harry rolls his once again.

"Not a problem, Miss Willis. I know the basics are tedious but there apart of the lesson plan we have agreed upon and unfortunately, I can't skip steps."

The clock hits 3 o'clock. Lesson over.

You walked up to the stands near the exit and start getting your skates on, watching the couple on the ice skating over to the carpeted exit.

"Thanks again, Mr. Cavalier!" Maisy winked. "Please, call me Mark." He cups the small of her back and you roll your eyes. Mark was flirty sure, but, in front of this girls boyfriend? Come on.

"Yeah, Mark. See you next week." Harry spat and Mark pulled his arm away right away.

You watched them walk off the ice and took your opportunity to take to the carpet to get yourself ready to go. You had the remote that controlled the music in your hands and pressed play. 'She' by Harry Styles was your song for regionals. You knew the judges were a younger group this round and if you didn't take home first place, at least you'd go home with people's choice.

You started your routine and shut your focus on the surrounding sounds off. Your mind stuck to the ice, your footwork and the natural glide of your body on the ice.

"Maisy, I forgot my water bottle. One sec." Harry cuts himself off as he watches a girl skate around to one of his songs.

'Who is this girl?' Harry thought to himself, watching the girl spin in the air and land so gracefully.

"HARRY! LETS GO!" Maisy yells from the arena entrance.

He shakes his head as if breaking from a trance.

"Sorry about that, maybe next time I'll have a chance to view. See you around Ms.-"

"Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N"

He smiles. "Good to meet you, Y/N. I'm Harry. See you around."

He walks off and leaves you with a red flush on your face. You go back to your routine and Harry takes one more look over at you, a small smile forming as you turn and move so perfectly.

"Damn." He says to himself.

"HARRY LETS GO! WE'RE GONNA BE LATE FOR DINNER!"

Harry turns back around to his very, very impatient girlfriend and leave the arena with Maisy talking nonsense to him as he follows behind, his mind stuck on the skater he's just met. He's never been so mesmerized before, especially by someone who he'd only had a 2 minute interaction with.

"HARRY."

He shakes his head. "Yeah, Mais?"

"Pay attention, we've got a big dinner tonight! My parents are expecting us to show up and show out. Got it?" She looks down at her phone, ticking away with those long acrylic nails she always has.

Harry hates those nails.

As he turns to look out the window, his mind wanders back to Y/N. He smiles to himself as he watches the road fly by.

"Y/N, darling. That's exquisite!" Your agent, Liza came up to the carpet and you skated over to her as she continued your praises.

"Now, you're obligated to be at an event tonight. You'll meet the donors for this competition and I expect you to be dressed and address these people well. I know you won't disappoint me, you never do." She pats your arm and you nod agreeing with her.

"Yes of course, I will be on my best behaviour." You flash a smile.

"Good girl. I'll see you tonight. Don't skate too long now." She winks and walks off, leaving you to skate around for awhile longer.

You adjust your dress as you exit the town car, staring at the entrance to the gala. Swallowing the lump in your throat to avoid any voice cracks, you take a deep breath and make your way inside.

Immediately you're greeted at the entrance, everyone congratulating you on qualifying for regionals. You nod and give your thanks but quickly rush yourself out of there. You weren't the social type and any event like this you were ready to go as fast as you arrived.

"Hey, Y/N!" Another skater waves you down and you start to walk over to them, but not before bumping into someone as you get distracted by another person calling you over.

"HEY! WATCH IT!" A high pitched voice squeals. You whip yourself around and see it's the same girl from the skating rink.

"I'm so so sorry! I wasn't paying attention!" She holds her hand out to you. "Just watch yourself next time, weirdo." She turns back to the guy she's with and hooks arms with him again. He turns his head and you catch his gaze.

"Y/N?" he smiles. The girl looks up at Harry and gives him furrowed brows, gripping his arm more. "You KNOW this girl?" She spits. You rub your arm, feeling the anxiety grow.

"Yeah babe, she skates at the same arena we take lessons at. She was doing a routine to one of my songs." He warmly smiles at you and you feel your cheeks growing warmer.

"Hmm. That's nice I guess" She says, eyeing you up and down.

"I-I should go, my friends are waiting." You turn and you feel Harry's gaze piercing into your back.

"Enjoy your night, Y/N." He says as you fast walk away from the two. Maisy slaps Harry's arm and he rubs his arm in pain. "What was that for, Mais?"

"Keep your eyes on me, Harry. You're mine."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm not property, Maisy." He brushes her arm off and walks to their table. Maisy stares at him, fists clenched, grumbling behind him to the table.

"Hey, Y/N! Ignore her, that's Maisy Willis. Her dad is some big shot donor but she's a total nepotism princess."

You just shrugged and took a sip of your water.

"Ladies and Gentleman, thank you for being here tonight to celebrate the qualifiers, their coaches, and sponsors. It's going to be a wonderful evening ahead."

You sighed softly.

Only 4 more hours to go.

As more and more suited up men and well dressed women came up to make meaningless speeches, you felt yourself start to get antsy.

"I'm gonna go to the bar and grab a drink, want anything?" You ask your seat mate. "Whatever you're having, thanks." You nod and get up to go to the bar.

"And speaking of incredible qualifiers, there's one standing now! Miss Y/N Y/L/N! One of the best in the country!"

The spotlight hits your face and you squint in surprise but flash a shy smile as the audience cheers and claps for you. You just wave and hope the attention will move from you as soon as possible.

"Miss Y/L/N, it's a pleasure to have you here tonight."

You nod and mouth a thank you as the speaker changes his subject again. You breathe out heavily as you had been holding your breath the whole time out of fear. This was not your scene and that definitely warranted you a drink or eight.

"Two Somersby's please." You say as you approach the bar.

"Make it three." A voice behind you cuts in. You turn and it's Harry once again, this time unaccompanied.

"Soooo, best in the country, huh?" He smirks.

You rub your arm. "One of the best I suppose... but I don't see myself that way. I can always improve." You turn to face the crowd, Harry coming up to you, leaning on the bar. "From what I saw, you were pretty."

Your eyes widened and he coughed. "Perfect. Pretty perfect. You know your, your technique." He rubs the back of his head and you were convinced your face was red.

"T-thanks." You say shyly.

"Three Somersby's, Mr. Styles." He grabs his and shot you a wink.

"See you next week, Ms. Y/L/N"

"Next week?" You ask confused.

"My lessons with Maisy. Hope I run into you again." He smiles and raises his glass. "Cheers."

As he walks away you feel like your hearts falling into your stomach.

This is going to be a weird season.

-----------

woop woop TIME FOR A FULL ON SERIES KIDDOS!

I'm so excited about this!!

next part will be out soon!<3 (and will be longer :D)

#hs #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles masterlist #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #hs imagine #hs one shot #hs fanfiction #harry styles fluff #skater!harry #lexi writes #lexi speaks #hs writing

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