#like he's used in every promotional thing for pride month | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

javiscigarette · 8 months

Text

Sweet Spot

Summary: You get a promotion at work, so Joel dresses you up and takes you out for dinner but you're hungry for somethin else

Warnings: no use of y/n, smut with the tiniest sliver of plot, established relationship, fingering, fingering in public, rough sex, oral (m receiving), spitting, a bit of choking, daddy kink ofc, degradation,

w/c: 9k (omfg) of pwp :)

a/n: I don't loveee this one but I've been sitting on it for three months and I can't get the image of freshly showered Joel out of my mind so. Here we are. Also the daddy kink as taken over, I cant stop and I'm NOT sorry!! Pls let me know what you guys think, your comments and love are the only things keeping me going. (also also, if you're someone who likes making edits for pics PLS message me I am desperate and really bad at making them)

my masterlist

Joel is in the driveway leaning over the hood of his truck when you pull up to the house, fiddling with whatever new project he decided to start this afternoon. You’re able to catch a quick glimpse of his shirt riding up a bit, exposing an inch or two of the skin of his back before he hears your car and turns around.

You pull into the driveway next to his truck and hop out as soon as you’re in park. The warm sound of Joel’s laughter fills the air as you squeal excitedly, running around the front of your car and into his outstretched arms. He pulls you close into him, his black t-shirt hot from the sun has he squeezes you tightly. He smells like motor oil and sweat and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t get you going just a little bit.

“M’guessing it went well?” Joel asks when he pulls back, chuckling as he watches you bounce up and down on your toes.

You’d been working on this presentation for your job for two weeks now, spending hours smoothing out every minor detail, giving mock presentations to Joel and staying up late worrying about how it’ll go.

“Everyone loved it, Joel!” you nearly shout.

“And guess what?” you ask, not giving him any time to respond. “I got promoted!” you squeal.

Joel’s chest is about to burst with pride.

“M’so proud of you, angel. You worked so hard for it.” Joel tells you, his voice soft and sincere as he holds you against him.

“We need to get in the shower,” Joel says, turning away from you to lower the hood of his truck. “I’m taking you out.”

—-----------

You sit on the edge of the bed with your towel wrapped around your waist, waiting patiently for Joel to return from the closet. It's no surprise when he returns with a bundle of black fabric – in his hands is his favorite thing you own: the lacey black 3 piece set and the thigh high stockings to match.

He has a wide smile, his eyes sparkling with affection as he looks at you. With a soft smile in return, you drop your towel allowing it to pool on the bed around you as you expose yourself completely for him.

“You’re so pretty, baby”

Your ears perk up at the slight strain in his voice. You look down and grin, the outline of his half-hard cock clear as day under his black boxer briefs.

“We’re never gonna make it to the restaurant” you laugh and move to stand up for him, despite wishing he would just give in right now and fuck you until you couldn’t see straight.

But he just shakes his head with a chuckle as he takes your place, sitting on the edge of the bed with you standing between his knees.

“Yes we will, angel. And we’ll play when we get back, give you whatever you want…if you’re good” Joel promises, easily reading your mind.

You huff dramatically as he picks out the garter belt from the pile and holds it up to you. He doesn’t say anything, just braces himself when you reach out and grip his shoulder for balance as you lift up one leg.

He bends over, holding the belt open so that you can step with one foot and then the other. He then straightens back up, pulling the fabric up your legs as he does so. Heat pools in your tummy when you look down at him and see his brows knitted together in serious concentration as he dresses you.

He does this all the time. The routine is committed to muscle memory at this point.

It’s not that he cares about what you wear, he couldn’t give two shits as long as you’re comfortable. But the power in deciding what you’re going to wear underneath, or if you’re going to wear anything at all, gives him a rush. And he’s positively obsessed with being the one to dress you up in it, says it’s like “wrapping his own present that he gets to rip open later”.

Goosebumps erupt all over your skin under his warm fingers. You feel so beautiful in these moments, with Joel so focused on your body inches away from his face, his eyes wide and his cock hard just at the mere sight of your exposed skin and the excitement of seeing you in whatever he picks out for you.

He settles the belt around your waist, making sure all the edges are untucked and lying flat before reaching for the thong and repeating the process.

“So fucking, pretty” Joel mumbles as he smooths the lace over your hips, adjusting the elastic so it stretches perfectly over your skin. Then he’s spinning you around so until you’re facing the other away, your ass on full display for him. He can’t help but press a kiss to your cheek before straightening out the back of your thong, his mouth watering at the sight of the thin strip of fabric disappearing in between your cheeks.

Mindlessly, he reaches around to your front and slips his hand between your thighs. The tips of his fingers just barely brush over the lace of your thong but he can feel the heat of your swollen pussy underneath.

He sighs and wraps his other arm around your waist and pulls you back into him until his cheek is squished against your lower back, his scruff scratching lightly against your sensitive skin. His fingers keep dancing over you with minimal pressure behind his touch.

“Joel,” you whimper quietly, already getting all worked up from his minimal teasing. He just shushes you and presses another warm kiss to the back of your hip. After a couple more seconds of light brushes he slips his middle finger into the side of your thong to find your entrance and immediately sinks it inside of you.

You yelp in surprise, and reflexively try to take a step away from him, but he’s got you tight in his grip.

“Just wanna feel you, baby” Joel mumbles against your skin, his beard tickling you and making the muscles in your lower back twitch. He closes his eyes, fully focused on feeling your wet walls flutter gently around his finger. His brow furrows and his mouth drops open slightly when he hears your quiet whimper, the sweet sound going straight to his already painfully hard cock.

He doesn’t even mean to tease you most of the time. Sure, he loves seeing you get all worked up just from a few gentle touches and he adores watching you fall apart underneath him, collapsing into a begging mess for him before he’s even really done anything. But most of the time it’s a genuine need to touch you. It’s like he needs to have physical contact with your body at all times, serving as a reminder that you’re real, you’re here and you’re all his.

He slides his finger out a few seconds later, much to your disappointment. But before you can complain, he spins you back around and stares you in the eyes as brings his finger up in front of you and gently pushes it between your parted lips. You allow him without any hesitation, and he watches you in awe as you lick and suck his finger clean of your arousal, his jaw slack and eyes dark and wide.

“Ain’t it sweet, angel?” Joel asks, breathless with amusement and lust.

You nod and he grins before slowly sliding his finger out of your mouth.

“S’a good girl, baby” Joel comments as he reaches for one of the thigh high stockings. His praise wraps around your heart and melts into your veins, just his simple words making you feel warm and floaty.

You watch him as he bunches up the stocking at the foot, holding it open for you to step in before pulling it up your leg. He smooths out the lace edge and makes sure that it’s even all around your thigh before he fastens the clips of the garter belt to the top of the stocking. He does the same thing with your other leg before turning you around again and fastening the clips in the back.

Joel turns you around so you’re facing him again and then presses a kiss to the top of each thigh.

“Fuckin’ perfect” he sighs as he leans back and admires his work.

You blush under his gaze, his eyes burning holes in your skin as he stares hungrily. He stands up after a few moments and reaches for the matching bralette, helping you slip it over your shoulders before fastening the clasps in the back.

He looks down at you and tries to resist the urge to touch you again but he can’t keep himself away. And the small moan you let out when he brings both his thumbs up to brush over your nipples through the lace has him nearly giving in right then and there.

You look up at him with pleading eyes, silently telling him that you’re not going to be good for much longer if he keeps this up. He stares back at you and thinks about pushing you, letting you act like a bad girl before fucking some sense into you. But he decides he wants to show you off first.

“Go get dressed, baby” Joel instructs gently with a smile. “Pick something nice for me.”

—

You decide on a black dress, one that clings to all the right places while just barely concealing the tops of your stockings and the clips holding them in place. You finish getting ready in the bathroom, and when you walk back out to the bedroom, you nearly collapse at the sight in front of you.

Joel is standing in front of the floor-length mirror with his back turned to you. He’s wearing a simple outfit: black trousers with a black button down to match. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone and your mouth waters at the exposed skin of his thick neck and broad chest.

It’s almost unfair how good he looks with his hair pushed back just slightly, the damp locks just starting to curl into their usual pattern as they air dry. Your heart races at the thought of tangling your fingers into the ones laying at the nape of his neck. His eyes meet yours in the mirror and he smirks as he finishes rolling up his sleeves until they rest perfectly at his elbows.

He then reaches for his rings – the ones you got for him as part of his birthday present earlier this year, the small gold bands that you insisted would look good on him – and picks them up from where they’re sitting on the dresser. And clearly you were right because when he turns to face you, you almost moan out loud watching him slide a ring down one pinky and then the other. He crosses the room towards you, your knees trembling as he shamelessly rakes his eyes up and down your figure.

“Stunning” Joel whispers, shaking his head slightly in disbelief. His hands easily find your hips and he gently turns you around so you’re facing the mirror, your back pressed into his warm, broad chest.

“I love you, angel. And I’m so fuckin’ proud of you, you know that right?” Joel asks as he wraps both arms around your waist and hooks his chin over your shoulder.

“Yes, Joel, I know. I love you too” you giggle, easily flustered at his praise.

“M’serious, baby. So proud of how hard you work, how dedicated you are” Joel starts, moving to nuzzle his face against your neck. “How smart you are” Joel continues, his lips brushing delicately over your sensitive skin. You melt so easily underneath him, relaxing into the soft glide of his warm palms up and down your sides as he whispers sweet words of praise into your neck.

“And I bet you looked fuckin’ sexy doing it too” Joel growls, his hands tightening on your hip. You let out a mixture between a sniffle and laugh and then feel Joel’s lips curve into a smile against your neck. He presses a kiss behind your ear and straightens back up and turns you around to face him.

Joel’s heart turns to liquid when you look up at him through watery lashes with a wide smile. He smiles down at you and brings a hand up to wipe away your tears with the pad of his thumb before placing a sweet kiss on your forehead.

“Now let’s get goin’. I think my good girl deserves to be spoiled.”

—

Joel was back to teasing you as soon got in his truck and continued to do so the whole ride to the restaurant. He kept one hand on the wheel, using the other to slide up and down your thigh, occasionally fiddling with your garter straps or just brushing the lace edge of your thong with his fingertips.

And now you’re seated at a table in a dark corner of the dimly lit restaurant, and you can barely think straight. Joel had spoiled you with the most expensive champagne, far more appetizers than two people could possibly eat and a main course of delectable pasta on a plate bigger than your head. And of course, he looked devilishly handsome the whole night, and he knows it too, smirking and looking at you like he’s about to pounce across the table and devour you. Now you sat there with a full belly, but you were still hungry for revenge.

“What’d your coworkers say? When they saw you got promoted” Joel asks as he pours you both another glass of champagne. You furrow your brows at his question, so far away from even thinking of that whole situation at work and so turned on that you almost completely forgot about the reason why you’re even here right now.

You look up at his face, forcing yourself to peel your eyes away from the muscles bulging underneath his shirt as he sets the bottle back down. He has that knowing look in his eyes when you find them, his signature smirk thinly veiled with a sweet smile.

Without even trying to answer his question, you slide down slightly in your chair. He watches curiously as you shift in your seat for a few seconds. Just as he opens his mouth to ask you what you’re doing, your warm foot presses against the crotch of his pants.

He freezes in place. His hand visibly tightens around the stem of his champagne glass, and you can see the muscles in his jaw twitching. You fully expect him to push your foot back to the ground, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just leans back in his chair and spreads his knees giving you more room to work. He tilts his head and stares at you, a smirk creeping up on his lips when he sees the devious twinkle in your eye.

You look back with a smirk to match and experimentally wiggle your toes against him. Your heart pounds in your chest when he narrows his eyes at you and slowly moves his hand beneath the tablecloth. You stop wiggling your toes when he wraps his hand around your ankle, the heat radiating from his palm to your skin like a hot iron through the thin material of your stocking.

“Think about it, angel” he warns quietly. There’s a brief pause, where you pretend to weigh the risks and rewards, trying to decide whether to be good or bad. But your mind was made up before you even left the house.

After a few seconds, you smirk back at him and press the ball of your stockinged foot against him. Joel chuckles and leans back in his chair again, watching you amusedly. He doesn't move, barely even flinches when you press a little harder against him and it’s infuriating. It's completely unfair how he’s able to literally bring you to your knees with a single touch but remains completely composed when you touch him.

But what you don’t see is his heart hammering in his chest or the sweat starting to prickle the back of his neck. Truthfully, he had been just as turned on as you this whole time. Actually, he could feel the heat stirring the second that you told him about your promotion.

He was barely able to hold back when he was picking out your lingerie for the night. He had to take a break in the closet, leaning against the dresser as he took a couple of deep breaths to try and calm himself down.

And when he started dressing you, he could’ve come right there in his boxers at the sight of the garter belt sliding up your waist. Then the ride over here, the smell of your perfume mixing perfectly with his cologne in the cab of his truck, his head going fuzzy at the scent that seeped into the fabric of his seats, a reminder of you that’ll stick around for a few days.

And now with your foot covered in the delicate mesh of the stockings that he dressed you in pressing deliciously against his aching cock, he’s rapidly losing his self-control.

But Joel is just as stubborn as you, not willing to give in so easily.

So, he bites his tongue and suppresses any noise and tenses his muscles trying not to flinch. Because seeing you get frustrated like this was just turning him on even more. He’s about to say something but you see the waiter coming up behind him and immediately move your foot back to the floor and sit up straight.

Joel exhales heavily, releasing all the tension he was holding. He doesn’t even hear what the waiter says, too busy admiring the flustered look on your face and the slight shake in your voice as you talk to the waiter.

The waiter leaves after a few moments and you face Joel again with a mix between a pout and a glare.

“What was the plan there?” Joel asks, cocking his head to the side in mock curiosity while he secretly prays that his voice doesn’t crack.

You don’t respond, just keep glaring at him as you shove your foot back into the shoe.

“You were being so good, what happened?” Joel presses, each word drenched with sarcastic concern. He watches delightedly as you huff and cross your arms over your chest.

“S’okay, baby” Joel says, his voice dropping half an octave. Your stomach flutters with excitement.

This is exactly how Joel starts off every proposition and you can’t wait to see what he wants you to do next.

Joel pauses and looks at you with an evil glint in his eye. You should’ve seen this coming from miles away. But it still slaps you in the face when he says it.

“I want you to slip a hand under that pretty dress and touch yourself. Right here, right now.” Joel says so quietly that you barely hear him.

Your breath gets caught around the lump in your throat and Joel just smiles at you.

“Go on, baby. Since you’re so needy and set on bein’ bad” Joel encourages after a few seconds of you not moving. “Or we can get the paddle out when we get home?”

The threat of paddle was more than enough.

You glance around to see if anyone can see you like this. No one was sitting near you though, the booth you’re in provides a decent amount of privacy and all direct lines of sight to you are clear. With a gulp and shift down in your seat again and your pussy throbs, pathetically turned on as you slide your hand under the tablecloth and up your dress. You move slowly to slide two fingers into the side of your thong, just like Joel did an hour earlier.

It’s no shock how wet you are, the lace of your thong absolutely soaked, your whole cunt swollen and slick with it. Your eyes flit up to Joel’s and he gives you a small, encouraging nod.

“You’re soaked for me, aren’t you angel?” Joel asks. His voice is so calm and steady that you almost stop and get up to walk over to his side of the table and strangle him. You’re so turned on you can barely breathe, and you’re pissed at him for it. It’s maddening how he has you so needy and desperate for him that you’re willing to touch yourself in publicwhile he just watches.

You give into your temptations easily, working quickly to soothe the aching need that spreads across every single inch of your skin. You glance around again, making sure no one is looking before you ease your middle finger into your dripping entrance, your eyelashes fluttering a bit as you curl your fingers and press up against your g-spot.

Joel’s head is swimming as he watches you finger yourself right there in front of him in this restaurant. Any moment someone will pinch him and tell him to wake the fuck up because there’s no way in hell that this actually happening.

His head is foggy, turned on just as much as you are. His cock strains in his pants, tingles rushing down his spine as he stares at you, biting your lip, your eyes barely open and your eyebrows drawing together as you try to hold back soft moans.

He wants more.

“Faster.”

You snap your eyes open and look at him as if to ask if you heard him correctly. The look he gives you tells you that you absolutely did.

Well, you’re not gonna say no to that.

Your teeth sink deeper into your lip as you heed his orders and start pumping your finger faster. You’re painfully aware of any sounds you make, whether it’s a moan clawing its way up your throat or the slick sounds of your finger gliding through your folds, you try your best to keep it down.

Joel of course isn’t any help.

“Don’t be too loud, baby.” Joel whispers before taking a large swig of champagne. “Wouldn’t want ya to embarrass yourself”

You shoot daggers at him over the dinner table, but you don’t slow down. And now he’s stumped because does he punish you for being bad, playing footsies under the table with him and fingering yourself in public or should he praise you for being a good girl and listening to him.

“Baby,” Joel starts, his voice tight in his throat. “Show me, I want to see.”

To his surprise, you obey easily enough and slide your finger out from under your dress. You bring your hand out from under the tablecloth to present to Joel. His adam’s apple bob in his throat, swallowing thickly at the sight of your middle finger absolutely coated in your wetness, some of it glistening on your palm as well. He nearly loses it when you spread your fingers apart, thin strings of your arousal stretching between your digits.

“Fuck” Joel hisses. There’s a tingle of delight in your stomach as you watch him shift in his chair, finally starting to visibly crack.

He doesn’t say anything else, just reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket to grab his wallet. He hastily pulls out more than enough cash and nearly slams it on the table before standing up.

“C’mon” Joel commands firmly, extending his hand out to you. You blink at him, not moving a muscle otherwise. You don’t know why, something innate inside you when you’re around him, but even when you're inches away from an orgasm you still find room to be bratty.

“And what if I wanted dessert?”

Joel’s jaw clenches as he grinds his teeth together, the tendons in his neck pressing against his skin and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop the smirk forming on your face

“Angel,” Joel huffs. “Get up right now and I’ll give you anything you want.”

That’s all it takes. Joel shakes his head when you immediately grab his hand and pull yourself to stand up.

“Such a fuckin’ brat” Joel mumbles as he wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his side. He practically drags you out of the restaurant, his grip tight on your waist and your heels clicking on the asphalt as you trot next to him to keep up with his long strides as he speeds back to the truck.

Ever the gentleman, he opens the passenger door for you, keeping his eyes glued to your body as you climb inside. With you safely inside, he slams the door shut, the sound of your heavy breathing fills the otherwise silent cab of the truck as you watch him walk over to the driver’s side.

You wait a few moments to see if he’ll say anything, but he just stares straight ahead, the muscles in his jaw flexing subtly like he’s chewing over what he’s going to say next as he shoves the key into the ignition.

He backs out of the parking spot and leaves the parking lot without saying a single word. Meanwhile, you’re a mess sitting next to him,

You manage to keep your mouth shut for one whole minute.

“I was just following your instructions” you mumble, crossing your arms over your chest with an exaggerated pout. His jaw shifts to the side but he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even look at you.

You sigh dramatically and glance sideways at him to see if he’s looking. But he keeps staring straight ahead. There’s a small part of you that realizes that this is probably all part of his grand plan to drive you up the wall, work you up until you can’t take it anymore. But there’s a much larger part of you that desperately wants his attention.

“And isn’t this my treat anyway? Shouldn’t I be getting what I want?” you press, dipping into dangerous territory just to try and get a reaction out of him.

Still nothing.

The thought of slipping your hand under your dress again crosses your mind, but his earlier threat of the paddle quickly extinguishes it.

All you can do is sit there with a pout etched into your face and ride the rest of the home in silence.

You’re about to explode when he pulls into the driveway. He slides out of his seat and strides over to your side and opens the door. The fire in his eyes burns fiercely as you take your sweet time climbing out. He slams the door shut behind you as soon as you’re out and turns on his heel and quickly makes his way to the door. You groan and actually stamp your foot in frustration. It’s just not fair.

You stomp towards the door, arms still crossed over your chest.

“You said you’d give me anything I want” you call after him, recalling his words from earlier as you make your way inside.

You barely make it through the door before he’s pushing you against it, using his whole body to keep you pinned in place. Your breath catches in your throat and your knees weaken instantly, all of your resolve immediately crumbling around your feet.

He has one hand on your waist while he braces himself with the other one on the wall next to your head. His face is inches from yours and you can smell the sweet champagne on his breath and the cologne on his skin. His eyes flit from yours to your lips, his pupils blown so wide that there’s just a sliver of brown around them

“I said if you were good” he hisses, his voice dangerously low. “What you pulled back there? That was bad, baby. Real bad.”

“You’re the one who told me to finger my-”

Joel’s hand flies from your waist to your throat, his broad palm pressing against your windpipe while he squeezes either side of your neck with his thumb and fingers. Heat surges down your spine and settles in your lower abdomen, your aching sex throbbing pathetically in response.

“Don’t you try to fuckin’ spin this on me, sweetheart” Joel snarls.

Maybe he meant to strike fear in you, maybe try to teach you a lesson. But it’s exactly what you want. Joel knows it too – you can tell by the slight smirk that tugs at the corner of his lips in response to your small, breathless gasp.

“Was just trying to be nice to you” he starts, his voice so low at the point you doubt you’d be able to hear him from any further away. “Try to take you out to a nice restaurant to celebrate and that’s how you repay me? Playin’ with me like that under the table and then actin’ like a spoiled brat all the way home?”

You both know he’s playing up his part. These were all minor infractions at best. Both of you knew that. You had been in this position for much, much worse behavior. But Joel isn’t dumb, and he’s well aware of what you want - to be tossed around a little, roughened up and broken down until you’re a squirming mess. And who is he to deny you of that?

You chew on your lip before muttering a small “M’sorry daddy”

Joel’s eyes narrow even more, the hand on your throat tightening slightly as your carefully chosen words have the exact intended effects on him.

“No, you ain’t” Joel growls. “But you will be. Get on your fuckin’ knees.”

He drops the hand from your throat and takes a step back. You exhale the breath you were holding, and you stare at him as his hands fall to his belt. Just the thought of having him in your mouth has you nearly drooling.

But you’re not done yet.

“No” you say plainly, crossing your arms over your chest once again.

Joel’s hands freeze on his belt, his eyes burning holes into you as you stare right back, not moving an inch from where you’re standing.

He raises one eyebrow slightly as if to say I hope I didn’t hear what I just heard but you remain silent and motionless. After a few long moments of complete silence, Joel chuckles softly, his hands falling to his sides in defeat. He gives you one more look and then shakes his head before turning around and heading towards the bedroom.

You’re about to call after him, ask him where he’s going, but his earlier threat of the paddle floats through your mind once again. That has you panicking nearly instantly.

You watch in disbelief as he disappears up the stairs. Your legs feel as though they’re stuck in wet concrete, and it takes a few seconds to coordinate your mind and body to get you to move. You scamper after him, a cold sweat tingling on the back of your neck as you head towards the bedroom.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed when you walk in, in the middle of untying his shoes. You stand in front of him, arms behind your back and patiently wait for him to toe his shoes off.

He kicks them to the side then looks up at you with a heavy sigh, like your behavior is causing him physical pain. You offer him a meek smile as he rests his palms behind him on the mattress and leans back, his eyes raking over your body as he does so.

He doesn’t say anything, which you take as an invitation.

You move to climb into his lap. He doesn’t reprimand you, but he doesn’t move to hold you either.

You sit on your knees, your legs straddling his. You can feel him through his pants and your soaked panties, still hard as diamonds. That’s a good sign at least.

“M’sorry, daddy” you say again, much more sincerely this time. You bring your hands up to fiddle with the collar of his shirt, avoiding his eyes as you wait for a response that never comes.

“Just wanted to play” you confess quietly. Joel still doesn't say anything, but his eyes follow your hands as you start toying with the buttons of his shirt.

“And you just looked so handsome tonight” you continue, undoing the first button. You wait again. Still no response.

“Thank you for taking me out” you say as you undo the next button.

“And for dressing me up”

Another button.

“Making me feel so beautiful”

And another.

You undo the last button then push away both sides so that his whole torso is on display for you. You stare for a second, fixated on the steady rise and fall of his broad chest, the soft curve of his tummy, and the trail of hair disappearing under the waistband of his pants.

He remains silent still as you place your hands on his abdomen and slowly slide them up to his shoulders before crossing your arms behind his neck. Finally, you drag your eyes up and look at him through your lashes. His gaze is soft and much warmer than you were expecting.

“Promise I’ll be good.” you say, barely above a whisper.

He gives you a half smile and brings a hand up to cup your cheek, his thumb rubbing across your bottom lip.

“You want daddy to make you feel good? Want me to fuck you til you fuckin’ stupid” Joel asks, tilting his head to the side acting like he doesn’t know the answer.

You nod vigorously and poke your tongue out to lick at the tip of his thumb, just for good measure.

“Thought so” Joel says as he pushes his thumb past your lips. You suck on it eagerly and let him press down on your tongue, your clit twitching with desperate need.

“Then why don’t you show daddy how sorry you are, and I might reconsider gettin’ the paddle out.”

You immediately pull off his thumb and sink to your knees without any further instruction. You reach for his belt, deft fingers unbuckling the belt that you’ve undone so many times before, his button and zipper following soon after.

He stops you there and moves to stand up. You sit back on your knees with your hands on your thighs and watch as he quickly shucks off his shirt, tossing it somewhere behind him. You chew on your lip as he pulls down the waistband of his pants and boxers, his cock bobbing heavily as he steps out of them.

Your completely transfixed by it, the veins running along the length, the redden head and the drops of precum leaking from the slit. You don’t even realize you’re staring until he slides a finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

“Turn around” he instructs simply.

You have no reason to disobey at this point, so you do as you’re told, turning in the small space between Joel’s leg and the edge of the bed. He takes another step forward, backing you up into the side of the mattress.

“S’this what you wanted, baby?” he coos as he wraps a hand around himself.

“Yes, daddy. Always want it” you respond. You look up at him through your lashes, batting them for added effect.

“Yeah, I know you do” he rasps, taking another small step forward. He rests the head of his cock on your bottom lip, smearing precum. You dart your tongue out to lick it up.

He drags the tip of his cock from your lips to your cheek, smearing more precum on your skin and giving you a few light smacks for good measure.

It’s degrading, and should be humiliating, but it just makes your head spin, the fire in your stomach rapidly growing as you open your mouth for him, giving him silent permission to use you however he pleases.

He groans softly as he pushes past your lips, sinking into the wet heat of your mouth. He’s only halfway in when you gag around him, tears already pricking at your waterline.

“Oh, you know you can take it deeper than that, angel”

He places both hands on the back of your head, gently forcing you down the rest of his length. You let him, focusing on breathing through your nose as rolls his hips forward until he’s buried in your throat. You gag again once he’s all the way in, but he keeps your head in place, holding you there for a few more seconds, groaning as your throat convulses around him

“Yeah, that’s it, baby. Got that throat fuckin’ trained”

He pulls out, allows you to take a gulp of air before he’s shoving back in again. His hips quickly settle into a steady rhythm, his cock nudging the back of your throat with every thrust. You brace yourself with one hand on his thigh and you can feel the muscles working under your palm.

“Spoiled little brat just needed daddy to fuck her throat, huh?”

You hum around him in response, reveling in the feeling of his cock twitching against your tongue. He continues to fuck your face, completely unconcerned with the tears rolling down your cheeks and the spit leaking out of the corners of your mouth. He moves one hand from your head to your throat, his palm splaying across your windpipe. He tightens his grip just slightly, pushing against the bulge of his head buried deep in your throat.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, thrusting in all the way and staying there. “Love feelin’ myself in that tight little throat”

The fire in your tummy burns with blinding heat at his praise. A dull ache starts to settle in your jaw as salvia slides down your chin and neck, more hot tears spilling over your lash line as you squeeze your eyes shut and try your best not to gag.

“Take it so well” Joel pants as he starts to rock his hips again. “Fuckin’ made to take my cock.”

The lack of air already has you feeling dizzy, and his words are only adding to the feeling. He’s not wrong –with him fucking your face like this, a strong hand on your head and the other wrapped firmly around your throat, it feels like your sole purpose in life is to please him, to be a toy he can use to make himself feel good. And you fucking love it.

After one more strong thrust, he pulls out of your mouth completely. His cock is dripping with your saliva, a string of it connecting his head to your swollen lips.

“Look at you” Joel coos. You look up at him through wet lashes.

“Bein’ so good for me.”

He moves his hand on your throat to your cheek, cupping your jaw as he wipes some of the tears away with his thumb. He then rubs it over your wet, glossy lips, and you already know what he wants next.

“Open” he commands gently, his thumb tugging down on your bottom lip.

You obey immediately, your jaw hanging open and a smile pulls at the corner of your lips. You watch hungrily as he gathers the salvia in his mouth before he bends down slightly. He lets it drip into your awaiting mouth and you hum happily as the liquid hits your tongue.

“Good fuckin’ girl” he rasps before spitting again, this time with more force. A small moan finds its way out of you as you keep your mouth open and let the warm liquid pool on your tongue until he gives you further directions.

“Swallow it.”

You do so happily, and he hums in approval before standing up straight again. He grabs his cock and guides it to your lips again. He allows you to take one deep breath before he’s pushing in again, his fingers now digging into your jaw, his other hand back on your head as he guides your movements.

“Such a slut for it, aren’t ya?”

You nod the best you can with his cock filling your mouth. He holds you steady, giving a few well-measured thrusts down your throat before pulling out again, leaving you coughing mess below him. He looks at you lovingly as you gasp and try to catch your breath, your lips cherry red, matching the color of the rims of your eyes.

“Doin’ okay?” he asks, voice soft and gentle.

You nod again and give him a dazed smile before wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Good girl. Now stand up.”

Joel reaches out to hold your arm as you pull yourself to stand on weak legs, your knees tight and sore from kneeling on the floor. But you couldn’t care less.

He uses both hands to hike up the hem of your dress, making quick work of lifting it up and over your head. He quickly discards it to a forgotten corner of the room before planting a wide, calloused palm square on your chest and pushing you down onto the mattress.

You land on flat on your back against plush mattress, your legs dangling off the edge. Joel reaches for a pillow, and you lift your head so he can slide it underneath. Your skin buzzes as you watch him take his place, standing at the edge of the bed between your legs.

“So fucking pretty” Joel mutters as he smooths a hand down your front from the hollow of your throat to the tops of your thighs, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He plucks at one of the black satin garter straps, letting it snap against your skin. It barely stings and you giggle and wiggle your hips in pure excitement.

Your hungry eyes rake down his body before settling on his cock again, shiny from your spit as it bobs heavily between his legs.

He starts working on undoing the clasps of the straps without preamble, letting you know that he’s not in the mood to take things slow, which you appreciate greatly.

He has all four straps undone in a matter of seconds and tugs at the belt. You lift your hips, helping him to slide it down your hips and legs. The speed and carelessness he exerts as he pulls the fabric off your body is a stark contrast from how concentrated he was while dressing you in it just a few hours ago.

With the belt out the way, he cups your pussy in his hand. The heel of his hand presses against your swollen clit through the delicate fabric of your thong, his fingers pressing firmly against the damp spot that’s been there since before you left the house.

You whine, a high-pitched sound from the back of your throat. Joels eyes flick up from between your legs to your face, a wicked smirk curling on his lips.

“Such a needy little pussy” he says darkly, pressing his hand further against your core. You roll your hips up and grind against his hand, chasing after the friction you’ve been craving all evening.

But he immediately removes his hand and gives you firm smack instead. You yelp at the sensation, your clit tingling and pulsing.

“Wanna hear you beg for it.”

He drags his fingertips along on the edges of your panties, his touch featherlight and torturously slow. There’s a small part of you that wants to say no, that wants to argue with him, push him further, just to see what would happen.

But you’re 10 levels above desperate for his touch.

“Please daddy, w-want it so bad”

Joel clicks his tongue and lands another light slap to your clothed pussy. You bite back another yelp and will your hips to stay still.

“You know you can do better than that. Try again, tell daddy exactly what you want”

You squeeze your eyes shut, well beyond frustrated at this point. You suck in a deep, steadying breath and exhale is slowly before opening your eyes again to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, and his jaw is tight as he looks back at you.

“Want you to fuck me, want you so deep inside me that I can barely breathe, want you to be rough with me, make sure I can feel it for days, please daddy please. I promise I’ll be good, just – please I ne-”

You cut yourself off when Joel digs his fingers into the lace of your thong, the sound of tearing fabric hitting your ears as he rips it off of you.

“Joel!” you shout, sitting up on your elbows to look at him.

He doesn't say anything, just grabs your hips and pulls you closer to the edge of the bed. But you’re still stuck on the fact that he just casually ripped off your panties like that.

“Thought those were your favorite pair” you mumble, looking at the discarded fabric sitting on the bed.

“Shut up” Joel grunts as he wraps a hand around the base of his cock, steadying himself and lining up at your dripping entrance. “I’ll buy you more.”

You’re about to say something back, but he slides in before as soon as you open your mouth, effectively taking your breath away.

The stretch of his thick cock inside you as he sinks in all the way in one smooth motion is enough to wipe your brain clean.

He stays still once he’s inside, his tip kissing your cervix. He curses under his breath as your walls spasm around him, already milking him for all that he’s worth.

“Always so fuckin’ tight for me. Perfect little pussy.”

You let him maneuver you into position, one of his hands cupping the back of your knee, lifting your leg up to rest on his shoulder, both of you sighing as the angle pushes him just a bit deeper. He brings your other leg up but keeps it pinned to the bed with a strong hand on your thigh, leaving you spread open just for him.

Without warning, he draws his hips back, sliding nearly all the way out before slamming back in.

You cry out, your hands scrambling for purchase on the duvet. You’ve taken him countless times before. But he’s big. And no matter how wet or turned on you are, without opening you up first on his fingers, your walls are aching and tingling as he forces your body to mold to his.

And it’s exactly what you asked for.

He grinds his pelvis against your clit, his cock bumping into a spot that’s impossibly deep inside of you. You jolt at the sensation and reflexively try to scoot up the bed, your already overwhelmed body trying to get away from the intense feeling.

“Oh, don’t run from it now” Joel growls, grabbing one of your hips and forcing you back down on his cock. “Begged for it all night, so I’m gonna fuckin’ give it to ya”

“S-so much daddy, you’re so– oh fuck. You’re so fucking big” You whimper pathetically, your hands gripping the duvet so tight that your nails are digging into your palms even through the barrier of the fabric.

“I know it’s a lot, angel. But you can take it,” Joel pants. “Can’t you?”

You nod lazily against the pillow as he pulls out again.

“What’s your safeword” he asks, the head of his cock resting just a few inches inside of you, providing you with enough relief to answer.

“Red” you whine.

“Good girl. Do you wanna use it?”

You immediately shake your head

“No.”

“That’s my girl” Joel growls before slamming back in again, knocking the air straight out of your lungs. Your back arches with the feeling as he quickly builds up his pace.

He fucks into you like it’s his last day on earth, fast and rough, just like you begged for. Just like he knows you need. Your whole body feels electrified while moans tumble freely past your lips, your eyes rolling back into your head.

With your eyes closed, you don’t see it, but you do feel Joel’s lips pressing against your ankle that’s resting on his shoulder, lips warm and wet through the sheer fabric of the stocking that he never took off.

“Little pussy is takin’ me so well, angel” Joel mumbles against your ankle “Feel so good wrapped around me, squeezing me like that”

He starts a trail of kisses from your ankle to your knee, his hips not faltering in pace, not even once. The last of the stinging ache melts away as your walls stretch to fully accommodate him. He has an iron grip on your ankle, and his fingers on his other hand dig into the meat of your thigh, creating small purple marks under the smooth skin. The hot coil in your stomach is starting to tighten as you moan incessantly. And of course, Joel notices.

“Get those tits out, angel.”

You whimper underneath him and try your best to follow his instructions. Your arms feel like cinder blocks as you unclench your fists from the duvet and move your hands to your chest. You grab the cups of your bralette and tug them down, letting your breast spill out over the tops.

Joel gives you a few words of praise that you can’t fully process. You already feel delirious, his cock quickly turning you into a useless, needy puddle underneath him.

“Play with ‘em for me.”

You do as your told and cup your breasts, one in each hand before gently tweaking your nipples with your thumb and forefinger. Joel gives you more indistinguishable praise as you let your eyes slip closed again, completely surrendering to the pleasure coursing through your veins.

The hand that Joel has wrapped around your ankle slides down to the back of your thigh, pushing on your leg and forcing your knee into your chest and sending his cock even deeper.

“Ohhh, daddy shit fuckfuckfuckk” you whine as the head of his cock nudges against the spot that only he has ever found over and over again, the same spot he finds every single time.

“There ya go” he whispers as you start to squirm underneath him, your jaw slack and your walls fluttering around him. “You gonna cum, pretty girl? Gonna make a mess on daddy’s cock?”

You nod vigorously but you already know he wants more than that.

“Want–” you try to start, but Joel’s hand landing on your clit steals your breath, a loud moan coming out instead.

“C’mon, baby. Keep goin” Joel urges breathlessly, two of his fingers rubbing tight circles on your clit. “Sound so pretty when you beg. Look at me while you do it.”

You groan and open your eyes again to meet his gaze. His chest is heaving with every breath, muscles flexing deliciously as he fucks you with everything that he has, pounding you further and further into the mattress.

“Please let me cum daddy, M’so close –ah oh my god please let me cum please please please let me.”

“You can cum, angel. Keep those eyes on me and show me how pretty you look when you cum on this cock”

It’s only a few more seconds of him pummeling into you and his fingers drawing expert circles on your clit to send you over the edge.

You lock eyes with him and let out a long, loud moan as your orgasm starts to rip through you, your whole body trembling with pure, white hot bliss. He fucks you through it, on the heels of his own release as you shake underneath him, your warm, wet walls rhythmically clenching and fluttering so perfectly around him.

“Gonna make me cum, honey” Joel grits out, his pace getting more and more uneven.

“Inside” you manage to whine, still riding out the last of your orgasm.

“Yeah, baby, I know. Gonna fill you up so good”

One, two, three more thrusts until you feel his cock pulsing as he starts to spill his load deep inside of you with a loud groan from somewhere deep in his chest. He keeps fucking you, pushing his spend deeper and deeper inside of you until he he’s too sensitive to continue. He buries himself in you as deep as he can and stills.

After a few moments, Joel straightens your legs out on the mattress then pulls out of you, moving off of you and flopping down flat on his back next to you with a heavy sigh.

Labored breaths are the only sound in the room as you both come down. You whole body feels like jell-o, all thoughts moving slowly through your syrupy head. You can’t help but giggle next to him, feeling positively euphoric after getting your brains fucked out of your skull.

Joel turns his head to look at you.

“What’re you laughin’ at?” he asks, a smile quickly spreading on his face. He rolls onto his side and props his head up on his hand. He wraps his other arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him, despite you being dead weight right now.

You look up at him, eyes hooded with a lazy smile. You try to think of something to say but all you can manage is another giggle, which makes Joel chuckle too.

“You’re such a goose” he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“Thought I was a spoiled little brat?”

Joel rolls his eyes and rests his cheek on his hand again, his smile still glued to his face.

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“So, I’m a spoiled little bratty goose?”

“Mhmm.”

You grin and scoot closer into him.

“That sounds like a lot to handle”

You squeal when he pinches your hip.

“Tell me about it,” Joel sighs, lying his head down on the mattress and wrapping his body around yours. You smile like an idiot with your face squished against his chest, fully satisfied once again.

Thank god you got that promotion.

Thank you for reading I love all sm!!!

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #the last of us #tlou fic #joel miller #pedro pascal characters

1K notes · View notes

bobluvbot · 24 days

Text

late night cravings

pairing: sirius black x afab!reader summary: you sneak off the night for a cheeky midnight snack, hoping sirius won’t notice (spoiler alert: he does, and he’s sulky about it) wc: 4k cw: pregnancy & baby talk, descriptions of food and eating, brief allusions to sex (not directly stated), no physical traits of reader specified but sirius can hold things out of reader’s reach a/n: so i had a lengthy angst fic for sirius’s debut on my blog and im halfway done on it but i cant seem to finish it bc it sends me to a depressing spiral each time <33333 so pls enjoy a very self-indulgent domestic excessively fluffy blurb with my beloved <33333 p.s this is not proofread so plz ignore mistakes ty <3

opening the tomato salsa jar turned out to be the hardest part.

back in bed, you thought the trickiest part of your late night escapade from sirius black was his long limbs wound up tight with yours, even in low light of the small nightlight in the corner, you could still make out the intricate script and designs following the curves and dips of his strong arms, holding you close to his chest.

you had it committed to memory by now, having explored sirius’s body well enough to memorize the way his skin feels against yours, with heartbeats and breaths falling in sync without much effort.

judging by the way his breathing gets heavy after every exhale and the little snores that escape in between, you knew he was beyond knackered. it was day five of sirius’s new job as an deputy director at the auror office. the day he learned about the promotion was pure unadulterated happiness. after letting you know through an express owl, you mustered up enough vigor available to your seven months pregnant self to get out of the house and go to the local shops to get party supplies and food to celebrate sirius’s achievement.

Coming in third out of the list of things he genuinely loved in this life, after you and his luscious locks of course, was his job as an auror. young sirius had never thought in his wildest dreams that he’d work at the ministry, much less actually enjoy it. can’t really blame sixteen year old sirius, starting an underground rock band with the marauders seemed like the perfect thing to do after gruelling hours of studying at hogwarts.

defense against the dark arts came to him naturally, with some counterspells like second nature to him as being exposed with use of dark magic young gave him no choice but to grow up quickly and defend himself from the excruciating pain or the mind control that was from his own family’s doing. Winning the first wizarding war alongside his friends and found family has solidified sirius’s calling in eradicating the use of dark magic and making sure the next generation can have a safe and normal life without the looming threat of a megalomaniac sorting people with their blood status and taking over the wizarding world.

that night, sirius walked into a dark and eerily quiet home that had his senses on overdrive. but when the lights turned on and he saw familiar faces of his loved ones all beaming with pride, and there you were in the center, looking ethereal and round and all his, with his favorite red velvet cake on hand and a ridiculously big balloon that says “congratulations” tied to the candle, he could have melted in a syrupy mess of gooey happiness right then and there if he hadn’t caught himself together last minute.

Sirius had thought– that after you agreeing to go on one date with him to hogsmeade, winning the quidditch cup and seeing the proud look on minerva’s face, going home for christmas break and euphemia welcoming him with a kiss on the cheek and a warm hug, remus teaching at the very same classroom you all were in years back, james and lily’s first kiss at the altar, holding little baby harry in his arms, you walking down the aisle with a bouquet of peonies in the most beautiful dress, and when you held his hand that one night and told him that you were expecting—- that he knew of love. but you do something extraordinary that has him scrambling to add to the endless list of why you’re the love of his life. he was so focused on you that he wasn’t prepared to catch pure muscle of james’s body as he flung himself to tackle his best friend in a hug. luckily, remus with a party hat was aptly standing between a toppling sirius and the living room wall, and he singlehandedly saved the two from creating a huge hole in the drywall.

this was the life, sirius had thought after many hours of partying celebrating and eating, when he laid beside you in bed, limbs tangled, sated and dizzy and warm as you both came down from your highs. and he gets to spend it with you.

but as fun and exciting sirius’s new job is, it entailed an increased amount of responsibility as he was assisting the head auror. his least favorite part of the job was the boatloads of paperwork he has to deal with. An express owl almost dropped a howler letter into the soup you were making for dinner earlier that day and you opened it up panicking thinking it was an emergency. But no, it was just sirius whining that his hand hurt and is about to fall off and that he needs you to kiss it better.

You did eventually, and one thing led to another and here you were, tucked in your husband’s warm embrace. you could stay here forever, only separating to drink water and bathroom trips, but the gnawing urge to eat something savory, sweet, tangy, and crunchy has possessed your entire being, the only way to quell it was to get up and go to the kitchen. the baby doesn’t seem to have a semblance of time yet, a fact you both envied and despised, because the clock on your nightstand said it was 3:48am in bold red numbers. A few months ago, you’d never be caught dead awake at this time, taking your precious sleep time seriously. The man himself would poke fun at you and say you’d gladly sleep through an earthquake or a housefire just as long as you get your seven to eight hours of sleep per day, and despite of your assumed role of contradicting and arguing with spontaneous and stubborn sirius, you had to agree.

But this was not about you anymore, or at least not quite yet for a good seventeen years, so you untangle yourself from sirius and your perfectly warm and cool side of the bed and waddle down the carpeted stairs, careful not to set foot on the creaky step that might risk waking sirius up. You need your secrets too, and you’re not in the mood to share food.

Grateful for the heavens that you and sirius stocked up on groceries two days ago, you had a wide selection of random items to munch on. A few days ago, you were introduced to the idea of a fluffernutter sandwich while scrolling through the short videos on your feed. Peanut butter and marshmallow fluff as spreads on their own was something you didn’t mind eating, but both together in a sandwich? You were enthralled, and the only way to quell the curiosity was to make it. So you did.

You shovel and slather more than enough spread on each slice of bread, though you might have used the same spoon on both jars.. but who’s to tell you off otherwise, your snoozing husband upstairs? pfft.

Smiling happily as if committing a particularly naughty crime, you place the spoon in your mouth, licking off the gooey mixture as you place the sandwich on a piece of paper towel (yes, you take the no dishwashing tonight seriously) on the table. humming, you mull over what to prepare next.

The baby needs something savory and tangy, but you’re not particularly keen on going through all the effort of heating up the soup from dinner, not to mention the amount of cutlery and dishes you’ll use for that, so you zero in on the tostada shells you chose rather than tortilla chips because its much more crispier.

Opening the fridge, you see the laughing cow on a round packaging and decide its the one, so you grab two cheese wedges from it.

Sirius had argued that the next aisle had actual, real blocks of cheese with a variety on display and that there was no point in getting artificially flavored ones. But you’ve gotten really good at giving him the stank face, which inadvertently ends 75 percent of nonsense bickering before it even starts; and since you’ve started showing more and more, sirius has admittedly gone softer on you, not that he was ever more but a pushover your entire relationship. Merely widening of eyes and a jut of your lower lip, even adding a slight tremble or two during times where you did actually fuck up, sirius can’t hold his stance longer than a minute before sighing and taking you in his arms. he might call you out for being a brat at times, but there’s no denying he loves it. And so the artificial wheel of cheese wedges got purchased and bagged home, and you’re meticulously spreading it over the golden shells, leaving little to no gaps of it bare.

Laying it on another paper towel, your heart gets giddy on your chest knowing you’re in for a treat tonight. But not quite time to start munching, the baby reminds you that you still need something tangy to complete the meal. So comes your big predicament, should you get dill pickles or tomato salsa?

It took you ten seconds too long of weighing down the pros-and-cons of choosing one and feeling like you made the wrong choice if you end up not liking it. It doesn’t help that the pregnancy hormones make you more anxious and tend to put you always on the verge of tears. So when the not-so-groundbreaking idea of just eating them both hits you, you feel the weight slide off your shoulders as you sigh. Because again, who’s gonna tell you that eating pickles this late at night can give you bad acid reflux, your snoozing husband? Pfft.

Snacking on some, you do manage to pick out the juiciest looking pickle chips and lay them atop of your tostadas. You and the little one are beyond excited to dive in. It’s looking like a mini upside-down pizza with the cheese spread first then the pickle as toppings. Only thing left now was the the tomato salsa slathered on top to seal the deal.

Opening tight lids wasn’t an issue for you before, in fact, you took pride when friends hand you a jar or bottle to open because you could do it in a breeze. Chances were, the lid wasn’t even screwed on that tight, you were just built different, you’d say with a shrug once you give the items back. So when the tomato jar doesn’t budge after two attempts, you get puzzled.

Maybe your hands were slippery? You wipe them down with a tea towel and try again. No.

You weren’t holding it tight enough? Fingers held taut against the lid, you try three times. Still no.

Determined, you try different positions before letting the jar go, shooting it glares as if it’d get intimidated and just open up for you. You were also getting lightheaded, and passing out on the kitchen floor due to excessive stimulation of your vagal reflex because you were too stubborn to use magic or wake your husband up to open it for you doesn’t seem like the best way to spend the early Tuesday morning hours.

Magic was even out of the option (well, in your brain it was), because your wand’s tucked beside sirius’s on your nightstand, and frankly, you don’t have the patience to drag yourself upstairs just to flick a utility spell to open the wretched thing. So you do the next best option: lose hope.

The disappointment was mutual between you and your baby. And the acid reflux did start to kick in, making your stomach grumble in both hunger and pain. This was all going so well until it isn’t, tears began to make its way up to your eyes.

“See, this is what you get for being greedy and eating all snacks by yourself,” sirius huffs behind you, deep voice still raspy with sleep. You didn’t even hear him getting out of bed and coming down the stairs, that’s how preoccupied you were with opening the jar.

He grabs the container away from you to open it, but not without throwing a scowl at your direction, handsome face contorted with furrowed eyebrows and downturned mouth, enough to express that he felt betrayed by this whole ordeal. If you were in a better mood, you’d poke his sides and tackle him playfully, teasing him for being sulky. But for now, you need the jar opened so you could eat in peace. You’ll deal with the sharing food issue later.

“t wasn’t supposed to take long,” you mumble, caught off guard and refusing to make eye contact, pretending the fridge magnets beside sirius’s head is ten times more interesting than his face. You don’t miss his raised eyebrow and snort at your response.

The second attempt comes and he opens it with a satisfying pop. your mouth falls agape, eyeing the *now accessible* tomato salsa dip in disbelief. What the hell?

And you couldn’t even take the smug grin spreading across sirius’s face by the millisecond. Refuse to. You try to snatch the open container away from him but he holds it higher and out of reach, making a show of puffing his chest, flexing his biceps, even giving it a kiss. This is all James’s doing, you need to have a talk with Lily soon about keeping these two separated.

“Sirius!” you try to plead your way out. the trademark innocent, pouty expression settles on your face like a second mask, hoping he’d go down this easy.

It doesn’t work. He just chuckles, mocking your pleas and face while his free hand sneaks up and pinches your unsuspecting cheek to tease you further.

You yelp in mock outrage and swat his hand away, trying your best to keep your displeasure firm on your face, but you feel the giggles coming up. “This is why I sneak out alone to eat, you’re such a bully,” you huff, but take a seat in front of your makeshift spread.

Sirius places the jar near you, but not without poking your exposed sides, armed with the knowledge that the easiest way to get you laughing (and eventually conceding in an argument) is knowing where your tickle zones are. “Oh yeah,” he drawls, plopping himself beside you. “That’s also why you’re the only one waking up with an upset stomach, stinking up our bathroom so early in the morning.”

Now this one got you appalled, embarrassed, disturbed, basically hit with all the feelings. You’ve been living together long before you got married, and he never brought up this issue until today. “That’s it. I’m leaving.” He makes a move to snatch the sandwich away but the embarrassment on your cheeks made you more agile, swatting his hand away and shielding the sandwich with your hands. “After I finish my meal,” you continue, shooting him a glare.

But see, one of the things that drove you nuts even way back at Hogwarts, was how Sirius Black mostly managed to outsmart you or be one step ahead of you in everything. After you turned him down without much thought whatsoever despite his grand declaration of interest, Sirius took it upon himself to show you (1) that you made a mistake for rejecting him, (2) that his ego won’t let you embarrass him like that again, (3) and that you won’t get rid of him that easily. Once he set his eyes on you, you were face to face with him in everything: grades, OWLs/NEWTs scores, Quidditch plays and bets, wins at the duelling club, even with the fucking gobstones tournament. He never let you catch a break.

Things were surely different now, since you vowed to be with him in sickness and health and untill death parts you both– hell, you’re carrying his child. So you figured maybe, maybe, he’ll let you catch a break this time. Let you eat in peace as you mull over his bathroom comment and how you’re going to get him back.

But again, no. Unlike you, Sirius remembered to grab his wand from the nightstand. Not even batting an eye, he says nonchalantly, “Accio sandwich.” And the fluffernutter you protected with all your physical might managed to escape your watch, and land gracefully on his waiting palm.

What irritated you more from this whole ordeal? The prodigal auror that climbed his way up the ranks and became the youngest deputy director, fully capable of complex spells and wielding different kinds of magic, felt the need to do a verbal Accio spell just to make a point to you.

Out of words, you just stare at him blankly. Too stunned to even cry in frustration because you knew you made a conscious, willing choice to be with this man.

Maybe your best guilt-tripping expression comes best when you’re not trying. Color drains from his face when you remained silent and he scrambles to take a bite off the sandwich before handing it back to you, or rather placing it on your limp hand as you refuse to acknowledge it, still too hurt to budge. “‘m sorry, baby. Just wanted to eat with you since we didn’t get to earlier.”

He did arrive later than usual, deciding to finish the stack of case files and paperwork so he won’t have to sift through them again the next day. There were plans to wait for him before eating, but when the jitteriness and slightly nausea started to kick in, you had no choice in the matter. Sirius had been sulky and clingy the moment he got home, and as compromise, you stayed to watch him eat; listening and reacting animatedly as he ranted about his stressful day.

So you cut him off some slack, also exhausted from all the emotional stimulation sirius brought since he woke up. As a silent peace offering (also because you’re not ready to say sorry to his face), you slide the tostadas within his reach and finally take your bite of the goddamn sandwich. It was good, tasted as expected, sweet peanut butter. You’d probably have it again as a drunk at 3am meal.

Sirius also went and got snacks of his own: microwaved popcorn, pickles, toasted bread slathered with butter, and grapes. Together, you munched on the little spread of random food you could find in your kitchen at 4am in comfortable silence, which is surprising after the earlier bickering. No matter how cheesy it sounded in your head, sirius was the only person that can drive you to the brink of insanity and right back. You were in for a hell of a ride for the foreseeable future; and while there’s a lot of uncertainty right now and changes to be made when the little one gets here, you’re beyond happy that you get to do all this with him.

Sleep was beginning to creep up on you. Of course he notices this right when you do, so a warm arm wrapped across your back urges you to settle on his lap, bodies melding into the familiar crevices like puzzle pieces, though you both had to adjust certain angles to accommodate your growing belly. You sit like this for a while; your head tucked securely in the crook of his neck, steady breaths lulling you to sleep, while sirius’s hands instinctively finds its way under your sleep shirt and on the natural curve of your belly, lithe fingers stroking and drawing soothing circles anywhere he could reach.

you wish you could stay like this forever– cozy and soft and safe– but alas, you were carrying sirius black’s offspring. the baby decides to reward you with a round of kicks, probably giddy after feeling their father’s touch. Sirius chuckles and coos at your bump, while a muffled groan leaves your lips from the sudden onslaught of movement, but still refusing to move from this comfortable position.

Smooth cold lips touch the side of your forehead and you relish in the feeling. “Does it ever hurt, love? All that kicking and wiggling?”

“Not really,” a content sigh leaves your lips. “Feels strange at times, seeing your belly move on its own.”

To prove your point, two tiny bulges make a split second appearance just above where Sirius’s hand lay. His thumb soothes the area lovingly.

“Definitely getting stronger though; Lily told me during the later months, harry for some reason loved to kick downwards, making bathroom trips more frequent than it already is. Not excited for that.”

He presses kisses on your forehead, temple, hairline, anywhere he could reach without moving too much. “Things that you do and endure for this ‘lil troublemaker,” sirius murmurs. He doesn’t need to say it out loud, you could feel his body reverberating with awe and fondness. You try to bask in it for as long as you could, but a passing thought makes its presence known to you again.

“Do i really make the bathroom stink?” it comes out whinier than you intended it to be but you just had to know for peace of mind.

Sirius’s whole frame vibrates as he tries to stifle his laughter, taking you with him. He’s laughing at your expense but you feel your own giggles brewing in your belly. You try to hold it in for longer, preserving some self respect. “A little bit,” he says solemnly. You groan, earlier mortified feeling returning in full swing. It triggers another round of chuckles.

“But dove, it’s nothing that my deep love and adoration for my lovely strong hot and sexy wife can’t handle.” He says assuredly, and you curse yourself for being so down bad for this man as blood rushes to your cheeks from his words. Good thing it’s dim and your face is still tucked in the crook of his neck.

You do pinch his arm in response, and both your laughters compliment the comfortable silence.

“Although,” he says after a while. “The betrayal of you eating without me still hurts.”

“Siri.. i’m sorry,” you mumble. “‘y looked so tired, Didn’t wanna wake you up.”

He tuts and doesn’t say much after that. In sirius dictionary, this means he just wants some affection from you— for you to dote on him and coax out his forgiveness, even if you both know he’s not really mad; judging by his arms still wrapped securely around your frame and steady breaths that tickle and fan on your bare skin.

So you mimic his actions from earlier, planting tiny kisses on his neck, collarbones, jawline, anywhere your lips could reach. Kissing his cheek seem to do the trick, his fake scowl quickly coming undone as a bashful smile breaks through the frown, and his tiny dimple you love so much making an appearance. The muggle maternity books did say dimples are genetic, so an image of a little Sirius running around and smiling up at you with those dimpled cheeks is a warming thought.

“I am charming all the lids to be stuck at night as soon as i wake up tomorrow for work.” You poke a sensitive spot on his side, making him jolt, but you couldn’t resist laughter as it bubbles out of the surface. “You’re insufferable, I can’t believe I married a psychopath.”

“And you let him knock you up too. I’d say it takes one to know one, hm?”

646 notes · View notes

that1nkyone · 3 months

Text

Unpopular opinion:

I like Fourchenault. He sucks.

Imagine being an emotionally-stunted man who's in this society that's all about peace and nonintervention and Knowledge, so obviously you know better than anyone else in the world and their petty conflicts.

And then you get told that the world will end in your lifetime - and then you get two kids, which makes you panic about it all the more. So when your kids come of age and go off to explore this world while you're figuring out the Evacuation Plan for End Times, and then come back having involved themselves in almost all the petty conflicts you've heard about, you get mad.

You think they're being rebellious children who don't know any better, so you decide the best course of action is to disown them of the family name so they're suitably punished, don't get support, or don't get in the way if they ever rock up to your doorstep. And then you can shove them kicking and screaming onto the Noah's Ark you're making when it's time to scoot off this planet. Flawless plan. Cool.

Within, let's say, a month - your kids, with their very powerful friends, rock up to your front doorstep just as your promoted to the leader of your life's work. And after agreeing that they won't work against your plans, your kids proceed to systematically hijack your entire life's work, using all the knowledge, allies and experience they have accumulated during their trip into the rest of the world. Everything that you have lacked.

You're actually proud, but you are struck dumb because every single thing you thought was right has been flipped on its head. Because your kids (and your wife) are too smart for you to comprehend. So, you swallow your pride and you relinquish the wheel to your whole operation. And the Doomsday Evac plan never happens. It doesn't need to. Your children and their friends do the impossible - they stop the world from ending.

You're lucky that your family is willing to give you forgiveness in the face of all this - because you will forever be plagued by the looming presence of the Warrior of Light, whose attitude will range from "Fuck the narrative, these are my kids now," to "I respect your kids' decision to forgive you, and I will work with you, but you are on Thin Fucking Ice."

The cherry on the top is that if your Doomsday Evac plan had actually happened, your distant collaborators would have only been able to provide food in the form of carrots.

You would have been stuck eating your most hated food for perhaps the rest of your life.

Just, mwah. Poetry.

#Ash'li - my WoL - relinquished the rights to swear at Fourchenault to Alisaie.#He will work with the guy and is happy that the Leveilleurs found a mutual understanding #and he's only polite and amiable because the twins are #but he makes it clear to Fourchenault that he can't really forgive that moment at the Lotus Stand #and takes the opportunity to subtly bully him from time to time.#Endwalker #Endwalker Spoilers #FFXIV

494 notes · View notes

stevesworld96 · 8 months

Text

look at me now (part one)

--- steve harrington x fem!reader

childhood friends to strangers to lovers. this is a more realistic look at developing a relationship with steve, set in canon while you know nothing about the monsters, or the nightmares, or all of his scars.

a fic about knowing steve before, during, and after the events of the upside down. including all the ways your friendship with him grows, wilts, then grows again - to blossom into something he probably doesn’t deserve.

tags: fem reader, no use of y/n, childhood friends, typical king steve meanness, yes there is an allusion to steve being icarus, kissing, fighting and making up, cliches, a lot of emotions, depression and suffering etc, reader has an aunt, mentions of death and injuries, codependent steve and robin, steve is so so so so so so so sad. hawkins doesn't get destroyed after the vecna fight - everything else follows canon

please read both parts, i worked so hard on this fic and i'm really proud of it :)

part two!!!

word count: 14878

You knew Steve Harrington better than you knew anybody. At least, you liked to think so.

You were five when you moved to Hawkins into the house right next door to Steve’s, and as things go when you’re a kid, that automatically made you best friends. At that age you didn’t have to try to be friends with somebody - as long as they lived nearby and had a bike, that sealed the deal.

He was only knee high to his mother, hiding behind her legs when she brought him over to introduce themselves. “We’re the Harrington's,” she said, then with a tight laugh, “minus one - my husband. This is our son. Steve - say hi, Stevie.”

He didn’t. Your mothers started a polite conversation and your eyes darted between the tall woman and her son. She was dressed like she had somewhere important to be, with red lipstick painted on her lips and pearls hung around her neck. She was pretty.

Her son didn’t stand with the same pride she had - he was peeking at you, tugging the hem of his mother’s dress and looking down at his feet. You could hardly get a good look at him, and he didn’t even wave back at you. His haircut was prim and proper; the button up shirt he wore was swallowing him.

They came inside for lemonade, and you led Steve into your living room, and by the end of the hour you had instantly become friends, bonding over your toy car collection that Steve loved.

You were kids - of course things were so easy.

To see him, all you had to do was walk over to his front door and knock, and you could spend as much time together as you wanted. Or just wait until his parents needed a babysitter - after they learned how much you and Steve loved spending time together, they started to drop him off at your house and you’d have sleepovers for days.

It was when Mr. Harrington had gotten a big promotion that they’d leave Steve with your family nearly once a week.

“I’m sorry, Stevie, I know me and Dad haven’t been home much lately. But next month isn’t as busy for us,” his mom would tell him.

“It’s okay, Mom,” he’d reply. “Don’t worry, I like staying here, so I’m alright.”

At your age you didn’t see the irony in a seven year old telling his mother that things were okay - shouldn’t it be the other way around? - but those apologies from his mother wouldn’t last very long. And the promises she always made were never kept. Soon enough, she stopped making them altogether.

Sometimes he’d just show up at your door, and your parents didn’t have to ask questions because they already knew more than you did, and you didn’t understand that he was more comfortable in your bedroom than in his own.

The routine of your friendship felt like the foundation of your life. Everything you did was with Steve by your side, like you were tied together with an invisible string that couldn’t be broken. Snacks after school were a must; movie nights every other weekend were your safe haven. The last day of school every year you camped out in his backyard under the stars and then woke up early for a big breakfast and a day spent at the arcade. Even as you got older, those things stayed the same.

You had busier schedules to work around in high school but you still made it work. After-school lunch turned into midnight snacks, and you moved from the arcade to the lake, but you were still intertwined with child-like joy and ease.

Steve’s other friends were another story. Tommy H was a thorn in your side that you couldn’t pick out, but Steve didn’t get why you hated him so much. At first, you didn’t get it either - you just did.

Until one day early in your junior year, Tommy H gave you a good enough reason for your disposition.

Like always, Steve was waiting for you outside of your last class of the day, and you were just about to turn the corner when you heard Tommy’s loud, boisterous, annoying voice.

“Steve, my boy, what’cha standing around here for?”

Steve laughed, even though Tommy had said nothing funny.

“Waiting on your favorite girl so I can get outta here - what’s up, dude?”

“Come on,” Tommy said, dragging the words out. “We got shit to do, ditch her and let’s get a roll on, if you catch my drift.”

You could see his stupid face in your head as he spoke - you just wanted him to go away so you could leave. But you’d wait there forever if it meant you didn’t have to have a conversation with him.

You were hardly paying any mind to their words.

“Can’t, dude, I’m her ride home. Tomorrow though, for sure.”

“She’s holding you back, man.”

But that caught your attention. They were both laughing even though, again, no one had said anything funny.

“Y’think so?”

“She even put out?”

Your eyes rolled so far back to your head they could’ve gotten stuck.

“It’s not like that with her.”

“Oh, that’s not what Kimmy thinks.”

“What? What do you mean - did she say something?”

You knew Kimmy to be the new flavor of the week, Steve’s new eye candy. It’d be someone new in a matter of days - and this was one brand new trait of his you were struggling to overlook.

“Just saying, most of the chicks think you’re taken by Miss Bitch -”

You call Tommy H a dickhead to his face one time and he gives you a nickname that sticks for three years.

“- and that’s why you’re not getting any action, dude. Gotta shake off the fleas, man.”

And then Steve laughed. Loud.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to do. You hoped he would defend you even a little bit, but he didn’t. He just laughed, and said, “I’ll think about it, man,” as if he was in on this joke, and then Tommy left.

And you didn’t know how you felt.

It’s not like Steve said it. But he had no problem listening to Tommy H talk about you that way. He thought it was funny.

Or, he was just saving face - did that make a difference?

You knew Tommy’s words were complete bullshit, and you didn’t care about him enough to let it affect you. Maybe Steve felt the same - maybe he just went along with it because it was easier.

You hoped so, because that’s what you chose to do. You brushed it off and walked out of the room and acted as if nothing happened.

“Hey - about time.”

You didn’t reply; he continued talking as you walked together.

“You hungry?”

“Thought you were coming over,” you said. “Told you I wanted to build a blanket fort. Remember?”

He huffed out a scoff, “A blanket fort? Are you six?” The glare you gave him made him reel his judgment back in. “Fine. Let’s go.”

…

As soon as basketball season was over and you had your weekends back to yourself, you were ready to get through your watch list of movies as quickly as possible. You’d never tell Steve that cheering for him at his games was your least favorite part of your friendship with him - you would always keep that selfishness to yourself.

And if you weren’t so wrapped up in your own mind, lost in planning your movie night, you may have been able to see your next conversation with Steve coming.

“There she is, been lookin’ all over for you.”

A heavy arm slung around your shoulders as you walked down the school hall. You didn’t have to question who it was.

“What do you want, Steve?”

“Just want to see my best friend in the whole world, is there something wrong with that?”

You rolled your eyes. Obviously he’s up to something.

“I’m going to choose to ignore you,” you said, shaking off his arm and stopping at your locker. His back fell into the metal next to you.

“What’s up?” he asked, and he was trying too hard to be inconspicuous, but you ignored it.

“Nothing. Oh, I think I finally have a cookie recipe we’ll like. Mrs. Jenkins gave it to me but she made me swear I wouldn’t share her secrets. Gonna pick up the stuff after school - have you picked your movie yet?”

Then his eyes widened, a bit too much to look genuine. “Oh, shit, is that tonight?”

“It’s Friday, isn’t it?”

“I completely forgot about that, shit. I made other plans without thinking.”

“Well, cancel them,” you said with a straight face.

“Well… what if you join in on my plans instead?”

You closed your locker and didn’t even consider entertaining Steve’s idea. “My mom’s already planning to make dinner for you. Are you ready to face her wrath?”

“Well - no,” he said. “It’s just - y’know, I was supposed to see Nancy tonight, and…”

“Oh, I get it, you wanna cancel so you can get laid. Is that it?”

“No, Christ - I’ll be there, alright? But next time, I’m getting my way.”

You laughed at him, and the bell rang and ended your conversation.

You didn’t think the night would go any differently than your normal hangouts. Maybe if you were expecting it, the disappointment wouldn’t have stung so bad.

He called you early.

“Hello?”

“Hey -”

“Hey, have you picked up the movies yet? I forgot to get popcorn, so…”

“No, I haven’t. Listen, um…” There was static on the line for a moment before he continued. “Sorry, but - can we - are you sure we can’t reschedule? Like, tomorrow night?”

You groaned, you were annoyed. But even when he argued with you, Steve never ditched your valued traditions - he may act bothered sometimes, but he would always come around. Even if he did gripe about it being childish the entire time.

That’s what you thought this would be.

“No, Steve, I have book club and tutoring and dinner with my aunt tomorrow. You know this.”

“Right. I guess I forgot about that. Okay, well…”

“...Well?”

Once again, he was quiet, and you weren’t sure if he was hesitating because he didn’t know what to say, or because he was nervous.

“Well - I think it’d be really fun if we hung out at my place tonight!”

“I guess I can bring all the ingredients for the cookies over. You do have a nicer oven…” you said.

“No, like, you can come over with everyone else I invited and we could -”

“I thought you canceled that?”

“I was going to, but… Tommy wouldn’t take no for an answer! And we already got the booze, and Nance finally said yes and - and I’d be really happy if you were here too!”

“...Okay.”

“Okay…?”

You thought for a moment, then decided to ask him the question you were asking yourself.

“Would you be happy if I was there, or would you be happy if I’m not mad at you for canceling?”

“Uh - either one.”

“Right.”

That answer was good enough for you, even though it wasn’t the one you wanted. You weren’t getting anything you wanted that night, and you weren’t going to fight for it with someone who already had their mind made up.

“Then have fun,” you said.

“Really? We can cancel?”

The excitement in his voice caused an angry laugh. “Yeah. Bye.” And you hung up.

And you made your cookies, and you watched the movies you already had on tape, and you didn’t miss the popcorn but you wished you had Steve’s lap to put your feet on - and it was fine.

You were sure he was having fun. And maybe he didn’t care at all about your canceled plans - because he was too busy with people who didn’t like you, doing something more exciting than what the two of you did as kids.

It was selfish to be angry. Maybe it was wrong. But you let it boil over anyway.

…

You didn’t talk to him for a week after that. Because you didn’t want to, and you wanted to teach him a lesson, and you hoped it would make him sorry.

Maybe you were being immature, but at this point, you were committed.

You were afraid that you were setting the wrong example - that, maybe, he thought you were angry about him making his own plans, when the problem was how he’d canceled yours so last minute. Or perhaps it was both. But now you had dragged it out too long and you were stuck giving Steve the cold shoulder until he finally caved in and apologized.

That’s all you wanted, really: an apology. And a bribe or two, just to get the most out of this argument. That’s how things usually went: you give him the silent treatment and he shows up at your door with your favorite snacks and a new book, and things would go back to normal.

But not this time.

You’d managed to bike to school without being caught by Steve all week, but you’d underestimated him waiting for you at the bike racks at the end of the day on Thursday.

He stood with his arms crossed and his brows drawn together. The moment you saw him you stopped in your tracks, like if you stayed still he wouldn’t see you, but his gaze was locked on. It didn’t look kind.

So you prepared yourself for this fight.

“What are you doing?” he asked, but his tone said something different - it said, I’m sick of your shit.

“What are you doing?”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, “Just wondering how long you’re going to keep dragging this out.”

You kept darting around his words and moved to get your bike as if he’d let you leave so easily. “I’m not dragging anything out. Don’t know what you mean.”

His arms flung out to his sides as his voice raised, “You’re acting like a fucking kid!”

And your volume matched his, “You hurt my feelings!”

“Well - grow up!”

The short silence that followed felt heavy, but he didn’t let it sit for long.��

“I mean - come on - I ditch you one time and all of a sudden we’re not friends anymore? Really?”

“A sorry would be nice, Steve.”

“I’ve said sorry.” Both of you knew that he hadn’t, but it didn’t matter now. “But sorry isn’t enough, is it? You’re just mad that I have new friends. Because I don’t want to just - sit around and fucking - watch movies in your living room like we’re kids -”

“Like we’re kids,” you said, laughing. “Yeah - right, because that’s really what this is about, isn’t it, Steve?”

He looked confused, and you didn’t give him the chance to speak.

“Because I’m holding you back. Right? Tommy H said it so it must be true. I’m a bitch and I’m keeping you down and you need to shake me off if you ever want to get any action - that’s what it is. Just say it, Steve.”

“Where is this coming from?” He ran a hand through his hair and his voice sounded desperate, but you weren’t sure what for. Maybe to salvage the remnants of a wounded friendship, to turn this conversation around. But your anger wouldn’t let him.

“You know where it’s coming from. I heard it, Steve, and you - you agreed with him! I’m your best friend but you can’t even defend me to your shitty fucking friends - so just say it! You’re the one who doesn’t want me around -”

“That’s not what happened -”

You were so angry, and he was lying, and Steve never lied to you, and he’d filled you with so much venom that you couldn’t help spitting it out as you stepped closer to him. “It is. And you’re turning it on me when you’re the shitty friend. Stop lying to me and just say it.”

“Yeah, maybe that is what it is - and I was just too fucking stupid to see it before now. That you’re so fucking clingy I can’t even have one night with a girl without you getting jealous. He was right. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Yeah, it was,” and you pulled your bike free and your foot hit the kickstand so hard that it hurt, and you told yourself the pain was the reason tears were flooding your eyes.

“Maybe I’m better off without you - have you ever thought about that? Is that your fucking problem?”

“Whatever! I don’t care anymore! You never have to watch another fucking movie with me again, alright? We won’t go to the arcade or build stupid fucking blanket forts or any of the other childish shit you hate so much!”

“Good - fucking - good!”

“And I hope you have fun playing King, and I hope when all your friends turn on you and Nancy dumps your ass - because you’re an asshole - that I’m the last person you run to for help, and I hope your dad is real fucking proud of you, because you’re turning out to be just fucking like him.”

It all fell out like you were pushing rocks off of a cliff - fast and angry and hard. You knew what those words would do to him. You knew you were hurting his feelings more than he had ever hurt yours - that you were putting the knife in too deep to pull out. You knew and you said it anyway, because you were mad and he was being a dick and lashing out felt good. Especially when you could hop on your bike and ride away from him, fast enough to avoid watching the blood pooling at his feet.

The worst part is that you were being honest.

Steve stood there alone and didn’t even turn to watch you ride away. He felt like hitting something, or screaming until his lungs were empty and tired.

And he didn’t even have time for any of this. He was finally making decisions for himself, for once, and who were you to get mad at him for that? He was popular, he had a girlfriend who was actually into him, his parents had finally gotten off his back. Things were going fantastic for him and he wasn’t going to let you mess it up because you were… jealous, or selfish, or whatever it was - Steve didn’t care.

He wasn’t going to lose sleep over you refusing to grow up and give him space. He was on top of the world, and you were trying to tear him down.

He didn’t need you, anyway.

…

Months passed.

And, like you had put a hex on him, all of your words came true - and then some. It didn’t take very long for things to crumble around him, and Steve almost thought it was funny how quickly his wings had melted to send him hurling into the ground.

No matter how hard he tried patching the holes, everyone knows you can’t fly with wings made of wax.

The fall hurt. But it was what came after that brought the real pain - a stinging, striking ache that was impossible to ignore. It felt like he was the last person on earth and he deserved it; like he shouldn’t be allowed to be around other people because he was no good.

And every time he tried putting the pieces back together, things only got more broken - all starting at Jonathan Byers’ front door.

What could get worse than fighting a monster from an alternate dimension?

Or fucking things up with your girlfriend beyond repair?

Or fighting those monsters again?

He learned quickly to stop asking stupid questions like those.

And he learned that he couldn’t just close his eyes and wish it away. He couldn’t run when things got scary; he couldn’t lash out when someone was honest with him; he couldn’t sneak out of his window and into yours when the yelling got too loud. He was forced to face everything he ever hid from, cursed to have regrets and keep them.

At least he wasn’t completely alone - the company of nerdy kid genius Dustin Henderson brought most of these lessons on. And in a normal situation Steve wouldn’t recommend learning anything from a kid in junior high, but he was living anything but a normal life. He’d take friends wherever he could get them, especially during senior year.

Maybe he wanted to set a good example for the kids that suddenly came into his life. Maybe he wanted to prove to himself that he wasn’t his father - that he could do good things without getting something out of it. Or maybe, most likely, he just did it.

He wanted to feel like a superhero, wanted to look in the mirror and feel proud of what stared back at him. But he didn’t, because he wasn’t. He wasn’t brave or heroic or gallant - he was no Clark Kent. And everything he did was because he had to. Because who else would?

Sometimes he felt like only someone as careless as him would fight a man-eating creature with nothing but a baseball bat - because out of everyone he knew, he had the least to lose. Why bother making safe decisions when most days he didn’t even want to get out of bed? What was he risking when he’d already bet it all and lost?

And who would be proud of that?

But there were moments, in the time between the fall and the fight, that he could almost see it. Like a flicker of light passing by he’d see Max smiling at him, hear Dustin’s excited laughter, feel a heavy high five from Lucas and he’d think - oh. Right there, standing in front of him, were the people he had to lose. The ones he was trying to win for.

And then he’d lay in bed at night and get stuck in another sleepless round of self loathing; hatred fueled by every cruel word he’d spit and all the selfish acts he’d taken, and fuck, he was spinning and suffocating and screaming, and maybe he deserved this.

It didn’t matter that he knew how to swing a fucking bat good enough to win more time for the ones he loved, because he wouldn’t love them right, anyway. And he’d turned the best person he’d ever known into nothing more than a crumpled piece of paper on his floor - something to be tossed aside and forgotten. And even if he tried smoothing it out, those creases would always be there.

Sometimes he stared out his window and watched yours. Waited for your light to turn off so he could look away and stop wondering what you were doing and how your life was without him in it.

All he wanted was to see you again. He’d beg for that movie night he ditched on junior year. He wanted to grab you by your shoulders and show you that he’s better now, he’s changed, those last words you told him weren’t applicable anymore and everything can just go back to how it was.

But nothing was ever that easy, was it?

He was glad when graduation finally came around, until he was forced into a sailor’s uniform with an ice cream scoop on his belt like a gun in a holster.

It was one way to spend the summer. It got him out of the house he hated staying in, and put a little money in his pocket, so slinging ice cream at Scoop’s Ahoy was good enough for him.

It distracted him from the vague nightmares he kept having and the fact that he got into a total of zero universities, and the free ice cream counted as dinner on his bad days. And he was fine with his obnoxious co-worker and annoying customers.

He was just fine.

But it was Hawkins. Nothing could stay fine there - not after a little girl with super powers opened a portal to an alternate fucking dimension and turned the town into a magnet for every fucked up thing imaginable.

Steve thought it was over, and then Dustin had him and Robin translating the Russian words he heard over his radio, and they were all pulled back in.

He wasn’t expecting to fall into the Russian lair under Starcourt Mall, to trauma bond with Robin - of all people - or to get any closer to dying than he already had, but he stopped betting on his expectations a long time ago.

By the time he saw the night sky again, he couldn’t remember how many punches he’d been thrown.

His head throbbed to the beat of his heart. It felt like if he tapped his temple, his eye would pop right out. His work uniform was ruined, stained with blood and spit, but the smoke billowing from Starcourt ensured that he wouldn't be needing it anymore.

The events of the night felt like they were years away. All he remembered was running, screaming, crying; he remembered the fist coming toward his face but not the impact. He woke up to pain, and then it was gone - more running and bleeding and fighting and then, it was over.

Robin sat next to him, shivering, on the back of an ambulance. The lights from the siren were blinding, the noise around him was punching his ear drums.

“Are we alive?” Robin asked. Her voice was totally shot.

“Think so.”

“I want to lay down so bad.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Do you have someone to call?”

She sighed deep. “Not really.” She let it be quiet for only a second, then said, “I don’t really want to go home. To be honest.”

“You wanna spend the night here?”

“If I don’t have to be alone, then, yeah.”

He sighed, too, then patted her knee.

He said, “I’ll call someone, alright?” and she nodded.

The payphone was a bit of a walk, and he had to wait behind two people in line, but it was enough time for him to muster up the courage to make the call. Even still, when he had the phone in his hand, all he could do was stare at it.

He was trying to remember the exact words you said to him the last time he spoke to you. Something like, “I hope I’m the last one you call,” he was sure. It was hard to remember your phrasing now, but the memory still stung all the same.

And he knows it’s not fair to call you, but he was going to anyway. Because in all honesty, you were the only option he had.

Any other time, he’d rely on Hopper for a ride. But Hopper wasn’t around anymore.

So he dialed your number and prayed you hadn’t changed it from the one he knew by heart.

Your hand darted out of your blanket to reach your bedside telephone. The ringing killed your half asleep ears, and you hardly knew what you were doing when you put the receiver to your ear.

“Hello?”

You could barely get the word out; your voice was thick with sleep that was slowly creeping over you.

“Hey. It’s Steve.”

With your heavy eyes shut, sleep was pulling you back in. Your whole body jumped a little bit when you attempted to stay awake.

“Steve?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry for waking you up, but -”

You didn’t know what was going on, and then you heard sirens on the phone. A jolt of anxiety seared through you at the sound. That’s what got you to wake up - then you realized who you were talking to.

“Steve?”

“...Yeah.”

“What - what’s wrong?”

Your heart was pounding out of your chest as you sat up in bed, holding yourself up with one shaky arm.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and you held your breath until he answered your question. “There was an, uh - accident at Starcourt, and - I don’t know who else to call. I’m sorry, I can’t drive right now and I don’t have anybody else.”

“Are you okay?”

“Barely.”

You didn’t give your answer a second thought. “I’ll be there in, like, five minutes, okay?”

You could hear his breath of relief over the phone. “Okay. Thank you.”

After stealing your mother’s car keys, you stuffed your bare feet into combat boots and ran to the car. Even though you still only had your learners permit, you absolutely floored it to the mall without a single thought in your mind. It was like you were on autopilot, simply doing what you were supposed to, because you were scared.

You saw plumes of smoke before Starcourt ever came into view, and you swallowed through your dry throat because you knew something bad happened.

You had to fight through crowds and cops before you were allowed to pass under the police tape to search for Steve, which wasn’t easy. Every face you saw wasn’t his and each second that passed dug a deeper pit in your stomach.

The second-to-last ambulance in the lineup is where you found him, sitting next to a girl whose head was on his shoulder.

And when you saw him… it wasn’t him. Your eyes glazed over him because he was hardly recognizable.

You’d seen him beat up before. He’s had his fair share of fights at school; you wiped blood off his face and helped him nurse black eyes. But it was never like this.

His left eye was swollen shut. Crimson stained from his eyebrow to his jawline. His skin was aggravated red, his clothes were blood rusted, his knuckles were ripped open.

And still, somehow, his hair looked perfectly done. That sight alone made you want to laugh and cry at the same time, because of course he managed to keep its style untouched. It was so Steve.

You ran to him; your legs carried you there on their own, shoelaces smacking against wet pavement. You weren’t thinking when you called out his name or when you flung your arms around his neck. You hugged him like it would heal him, like the scent of your perfume could cover the smoke he smelled of.

It’d been almost a year since you’d talked to him, and the jagged edges of your ended friendship still cut deep, but you didn’t care. Not when he looked the way he did; not when he was hugging you so tight; not when your tears were dripping onto his skin.

You pulled back and looked at him, and his wounds didn’t look any better up close.

“Oh my god, Steve, are you okay? What the hell happened?”

“I’m alright,” he said. He wouldn’t look at you, or couldn’t bring himself to. “I’m just glad you came. I’m sorry -”

“Don’t,” you said, and then you looked around at the scene. “Have the paramedics even seen you? Why are you just sitting here?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I - I’m fine. They said I’m fine. They’re all busy with others but - I’m fine, don’t worry.”

That’s when you noticed the girl next to him, who was looking at you like you were crazy, and you realized what you were potentially barging in on.

They sat close - too close to be friendly. They were basically cuddling when you first saw them. It was obvious what they were, so of course she was looking at you that way.

You didn’t mean to make her jealous, but a part of you didn’t care.

“Are both of you okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, answering for the two of them. The girl nodded. “This is Robin, by the way.”

You introduced yourself to her, trying to be cordial even though you were meeting in the worst of situations.

“You two can stay at my place tonight, if you want to,” you told them. Steve asked Robin if she was okay with that, and she said yes, and so you led them to your car.

You weren’t sure why you made the offer to Steve - you wanted him with you, sure. After seeing the condition he was in, you wouldn’t sleep unless you knew you were keeping him safe and sound in your own bedroom.

Old habits die hard.

But, all things considered, you should have just taken him to his own home, where he could be with Robin in peace. Without cut ties lingering in the air like flies.

You drove him home anyway.

Nobody spoke until you got to your bedroom.

“Do you need a shower?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. Robin nodded.

“Okay. Robin, you can take my bathroom. Steve can shower downstairs.”

You dug through bottom drawers to find clothes for each of them - you still had the ones Steve kept stored there, as embarrassing as it was, so it wasn’t a difficult task. And you’d let Robin choose from your pajama drawer.

And then you got back into bed, because you didn’t know what else to do for them.

Robin stood in the doorway of your bathroom, just staring into the room. When Steve opened your bedroom door, she snapped her head back to him.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

She glanced over at you. You wanted to hide from the tension in the room.

“I - I don’t know how to use this faucet.”

He showed her how, and then made for the exit, but she called for him again.

“I was just thinking - you know - if we both shower at the same time, won’t the water pressure be super low? And what if the hot water runs out before I’m done, and -”

“I’ll be quick, Robs,” he said. “It’ll be fine.”

Steve took one step into the hallway before stopping. The darkness looked like it went on forever. He didn’t remember your house being so unlit, or having so many hiding places, and suddenly his legs were shaky.

“...You’re probably right, though. I’ll just wait out here until you’re done.”

“Yeah. And I’ll keep the door cracked open, for… all the steam.”

“That’s a good idea.”

And he sat on the floor right outside of the bathroom door. When Robin was finished, they swapped places. As if they couldn’t be apart for longer than twenty minutes.

You didn’t ask them any questions.

…

The two of them slept on a pallet of old blankets on your bedroom floor. Robin made Steve sleep closest to the door. He tried not to be upset about it.

And he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep, but it seemed to swallow him. He didn’t dream, or toss and turn, but he woke up unrested.

Everything still hurt just as bad as it did the night before. And Robin’s snoring was making his headache worse.

You were no longer in bed, so he decided to get up and find you.

He wasn’t sure what kind of interaction he’d be walking into when he found you in the kitchen, but he tried to keep his head high.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Hey.” You had a mug in your hand. “Your eye looks better.”

“It doesn’t feel any better,” he said, and he wanted to make a joke that it actually looks worse - because when he closes his right eye, everything’s blurry - but he held that one in. He wasn’t ready for a comedic coping mechanism quite yet.

You put Tylenol on the island that separated the two of you. “Take them. I don’t know if it’ll help much, but it can’t hurt.”

The bottle said to take two, so he took three. And then the awkward quiet started washing in.

Until, “I saw what happened on the news,” and Steve almost coughed up the water he was chugging.

“What are they saying?” he asked, because he didn’t know what story he was supposed to be playing along with.

“Just talking about the fire,” you said. Your voice sounded so dim, and Steve hated it. “It’s… crazy. Hopper… he…” You couldn’t say the word.

“I know,” Steve said.

“And thirty others.”

His throat felt dry. “Thirty?”

Truly, he didn’t know that many people hadn’t survived. And now, it all felt real. Really real.

“Yeah,” you replied. “I’m just glad - you were lucky to get out, Steve.”

You had no clue how lucky he’d really been. And hopefully you would never have to know.

“I know.”

You sat your mug down, brushed your hands on your chest like you were trying to wipe off everything you knew of the accident, then blew out a loud breath.

“Let’s just think about something else.”

Almost at the same time as you, he spoke. “Thank you.”

“...What for?”

“For coming to my rescue,” he said, huffing a laugh. “I know that I… didn’t really deserve it.”

“Don’t thank me, Steve.”

“Seriously. You could’ve just told me to walk home, but you didn’t.”

“I’m just being a good friend,” you said, then shrugged. “I hope you would do it for me.”

“In a heartbeat.”

He wondered if this was his chance to say sorry.

Or if there was even a point in it.

He was afraid you’d do no more than laugh in his face, and even if he deserved it he didn’t want to succumb to it.

But he had to. Because he almost died last night. And he could be fighting those monsters again, any day now. Was he going to lose this chance? Or is he going to die without saying another word to you?

He stared down at his ripped knuckles. The wounds still looked fresh. They stung just from touching the open air.

He stared, and stared, and stared, and - he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t say a word. He couldn’t face it.

Your footsteps toward him made him jump back.

You were holding a box of band-aids.

You held out your hand, asking for his without words, and he offered both of them to you. First his right, then his left, were covered in pink, green, and yellow band-aids by you.

It was gentle and kind, the way you went about it. Like you would hurt him even more if you weren’t careful.

He still had dried blood under his nails and splinters in his palms. He watched your clean hands holding his beaten up ones and he felt bad, because your skin was too soft to bother with the cuts and calluses on his.

But you held them anyway.

He put his fingers through yours and you didn’t stop him. He wanted to cry.

“I’m just glad you're alright.”

He didn’t know what to say - there wasn’t anything to say, he guessed. Nothing to make it better or change anything.

All he could do was squeeze your hand and watch you wipe tears off your cheeks.

Until he noticed a cut on the back of your hand. He pulled it closer so he could get a better look.

“What happened?”

“I dropped a knife while I was cooking last night. It’s fine.”

It looked fine, but Steve wanted to repay your favor, so he pulled a band-aid from the near empty box and put it on your wound.

“We match,” he said.

You laughed. “We’re even now.”

He felt overwhelmed with melancholy. He needed to rest, he wanted to close his eyes and not open them for weeks.

“I should go check on Robin,” he said as he walked backwards toward the stairs. He kept his eyes to the ground, away from the look on your face. “She’ll flip if she wakes up and she’s alone.”

You said nothing.

…

The following days and weeks were a lot of checking on Robin, and Robin checking on him. Too much waking up in the middle of the night and keeping his eyes glued to his bedroom door just in case. Only feeling safe enough if he had a baseball bat hugged to his chest and Robin snoring next to him.

So - he wasn’t doing well, but it was fine. He tried not to complain about it. Robin was the only person he let himself be half honest with - but he kept the truth to himself, because she’d get anxious if he said what he really felt.

Steve was scared. And he didn’t want anyone else to know it, because all of the others acted as if their lives were perfectly back to normal. They were doing well. So he had to be doing well, too. For their sake.

Weeks after that awful night at the mall, he and Robin conned their way into getting jobs at Family Video. He was grateful, because god, he was too codependent on her.

It was a random night at his place when Robin brought you up out of nowhere.

“I just realized, I never thanked your neighbor for saving us that night.”

“You don’t need to. I’m sure she knows you’re thankful.”

“Yeah, but, I feel like I should pay her back.”

Steve shrugged at her words. He didn’t want to think about you more than he had to - it hurt just a little bit too much.

“Should I give her a gift?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “She likes cookies. Get her cookies.”

And Steve didn’t know it, but the next day, Robin rang your doorbell with a plastic box of cookies in her hands. You opened the door and she started rambling from the get.

“Hey - Steve said you like cookies, so, I decided I’d bring you some to thank you. For showing up at Starcourt in the middle of the night and practically saving our lives. And for letting us sleep on your floor. That was really nice of you.”

You didn’t know what to say. Robin seemed weird. You just went along with it.

“Oh - thanks. That’s cool. Thanks.”

She shoved them toward you, and you took them.

“Do you want to come in?” you asked.

Instead of answering, she just stepped through the door. You brought her to the kitchen.

“I hope they’re good. I just got them at the corner store. But all cookies are the same, right?”

“Well - no, but, it’s the thought that counts.”

“Oh.”

The gifted cookies didn’t look much better than the worst recipes you’d made, but you opened the crude packaging and gave them a chance.

They were fine. Maybe a little worse than fine. You gave Robin one, anyway.

“They’re good!” she said, with a mouth full.

“They are,” you lied. “They’re not homemade, but they’ll do. Thanks, Robin.”

You ate half of your cookie. Robin finished hers. It was quiet.

You figured you might as well try to get to know this girl a bit better. At least be polite and make small talk, just to be nice.

So you asked an easy question. “How long have you and Steve been together?”

But it wasn’t as simple as you thought, because she started coughing up the cookie. “What do you mean?”

“...What?”

“We’re not together,” she said with a heavy dose of sass. “God, I’ll never get over people asking me that. I am not dating Steve Harrington. Gross.”

“Oh - sorry, I just thought -”

“It’s fine,” she said. “Everyone always asks. I guess a guy and a girl can’t be friends without everyone making assumptions.”

You laughed. “Yeah. People used to do the same thing to us. Sorry, I didn’t mean to ask a weird question.”

“It’s alright. Actually, I’m supposed to be at his place in, like - well, ten minutes ago. You should come over if you're free.”

“Uh - I don’t know, me and Steve - we don’t really hang out anymore.”

You aren’t sure why you didn’t just make up an excuse. Something about Robin made you feel okay about being honest.

“It’s cool. I’m sure he’d be happy to see you. It’s kind of been just us since what happened with - the fire. The fire that happened. So - you know. It’d be nice to have someone else around. If you want.”

You were curious how this would turn out. So, “sure. I’ll come.”

“Great. You should bring a cookie for Steve.”

You brought the whole box, and decided you would accidentally forget them at his place so they wouldn’t go to waste.

Steve’s front door was yanked open from the inside before Robin could let herself in, and his wide eyes became a little less wide when he saw her.

“Where the fuck were you - you were supposed to be here half an hour ago, I thought you got fucking eaten or something.”

“Relax. I was just making a cookie delivery next door. Chill.”

Robin threw her thumb over her shoulder. You poked your head out from behind her and gave Steve a weak wave.

“Oh.”

“What exactly would she get eaten by?”

“I don’t know,” Steve shrugged. You noticed he was gripping his car keys in a tight, scarred fist.

“Monsters,” Robin joked. Steve didn’t laugh. You did a little bit. “I invited her over. Is that alright?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

You stuck to Robin all the way to his living room, because that was easier than making yourself comfortable. You hadn’t been in this house in ages, and you weren’t sure what to do with yourself.

“Where’s my crossword?”

“I finished it.”

“Asshole. You know I hate that. Just get your own.”

“Whatever, you suck at them, anyway.”

Robin, unlike you, had no reservations in the Harrington house. She kicked her feet up and started channel surfing as soon as she sat on the couch.

“Have a cookie,” Robin said to Steve. You reached the box out to him; he sat down next to you to take one, taking up the spot between you and Robin.

It was weird being so close to him again. His knee was touching yours, and it made your skin feel too hot. Still, you didn’t move away.

“These are shit,” he said with a full mouth.

“Hey!”

You laughed loud, because you completely agreed.

“No, seriously, these are awful.”

“I spent five dollars on those!”

You gasped. “Five? Robin.”

“You should have just given her the money instead. Or thrown it in the trash.” Steve dropped his half eaten cookie back in the box. You put the plastic lid back on and sat it on the coffee table.

“I thought they were good. You’re being so rude right now. They were a gift.”

Steve looked at you. “You didn’t tell her how bad they are?”

“I didn’t - I don’t think they’re that bad.”

“You’re lying,” Steve laughed, then he turned to Robin. “She’s lying.”

“I’m not lying!”

“I know you, and I know you’re lying.”

“It’s fine, guys, you don’t have to spare my feelings or anything.”

You sighed, defeated. “...They are pretty terrible.”

Robin scoffed loud and obnoxious.

“Whatever. I’ll enjoy them.”

…

As it turns out, Robin acted like glue between you and Steve. Neither of you would have ever made an effort to see each other again, out of embarrassment or guilt or both, but Robin didn’t have to unpack any of that baggage. She didn’t even know it existed.

Instead, she immediately saw you as a friend. And she brought you in like she had known you forever.

But Robin and Steve were a package deal. So, if you were a friend to her, you had to be a friend to him, too.

And the two of them were weird. Most of the time, they left you feeling like a third wheel on their friendship.

They could be mean to each other. Rough. They acted the exact way you knew siblings do, but that was only surface level. There was something deeper - more than anything a brother and sister had, because it wasn’t the blood in their veins that connected them. It was the roots they chose to grow into each other that kept them together.

Robin spent the night with Steve more often than she didn’t. And she bullied him for his bad cooking, and he told her when an outfit was ugly, and they stood next to each other like two puzzle pieces that didn’t match but fit together with a hard press.

Sometimes you sat on the sidelines and ached, mourning a friendship that had been buried some odd years ago. It was well beyond rotten - something decayed and unrecognizable now. Even if you dug it up, it couldn’t be the same as it was.

But you wished.

And as you sat and listened to Robin chastise Steve for saying something dumb - watched as he meddled her hair into a purposeful mess, you could only laugh and sink into yourself. You were happy and sad; you cherished your time together and dreaded it, all at the same time.

Above it all, Steve was different. Distant in the way he would never meet your eyes, or laugh too loud at your jokes, or sit too close for too long.

It all felt fleeting. Like that week you spent angry at him - stuck in a weird limbo, between friends and strangers, a frustrating purgatory. Some kind of Schrodinger’s Cat of a friendship - alive and dead at the same time.

You would have just said something, if it felt like you could. But if Steve minded, he didn’t show it. If he missed how things were, he didn’t act like it. And, as you knew him, if he wanted to he would.

And it wasn’t totally bad. It was just new. You’d get used to it with a spoonful of sugar and a hard swallow.

On a random day, you had mentioned off-hand that you had been meaning to visit your aunt’s apartment to drop off and pick up a few things. Steve offered to take you, and you agreed, and the next day, you made good on your plans.

The two of you didn’t hang out without Robin very often. Since early August, the number was hardly a handful. But with the radio turned on, it wasn’t too awkward.

Steve had visited your aunt with you several times growing up. He went to her house-warming party when she moved into her apartment. You were thirteen, and you made a game of pressing every button in the elevator before getting off it. Now, every time you’re there, you think about how you used to chase him down the halls.

Her place was the nicest there was in Hawkins, in the tallest residential building in town. Parking was a nightmare, but Steve kept his complaints under his breath, and he even carried your bag for you.

The elevator was the only thing in the apartment’s lobby. As you pressed the button, Steve spoke up.

“You wanna take the stairs instead?”

“Why?”

He shrugged. You laughed.

“You want to climb eight flights of stairs? No thanks.”

“I’m an athlete,” he mumbled under his breath, sheepish. “This thing is taking forever, anyways.”

It dinged as it finally started moving down toward the bottom floor.

“It’s on its way.”

He stepped back, looked around, and he must have spotted the stairwell. “I’ll race you,” and then he took off.

The elevator door opened as the stairway’s door closed, and you rode to the top floor alone.

He didn’t win the race - far from it, and you laughed as he tried to hide his struggling breathing.

“Been waiting for you all day, athlete. Thought you’d take ‘til Christmas.”

“Psh. Whatever. I’ll win on the way down.”

The elevator creaked and hummed as it started moving down, and Steve glared at it.

You laughed, “You’re weird,” and you left him behind to walk down the hall.

He worked fast to catch up, and called out, “The loser pays for dinner!”

“You know I’d never pass up that bet.”

Your aunt wasn’t home - she rarely was. But a key was under the mat, and as you walked inside her tuxedo cat, Webster, greeted you at the door.

“Hey, dude,” Steve said, kneeling down to pet him.

An old cardboard box sat on the dining table nearby, “Glassware” written on the side in crude permanent marker. It’s what you had been instructed to pick up and take back home - you weren’t sure what was inside.

You sat down and opened it and pulled out the first thing you saw: a white paper bag, one you knew printed photos came in.

“This what you came for?”

Steve stood next to you. He had Webster in his arms, who was purring loud and melting into his hand.

“Yeah.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. Family stuff, I’m guessing.” You pulled out a fat stack of pictures and the one on top made you bark a laugh. “Oh my god.”

You and Steve, seven years old, wearing matching cowboy costumes for Halloween - you with a white cowboy hat, him with a black one. You stood with a jack-o-lantern between you. You had your hands on your hips and a frown on your face; Steve had his chin pushed out in a wicked scowl.

You turned it to him, and he laughed just as loud as you. “Look at those two mean mugs!”

“Do you remember this?”

He sat in the chair next to you, continuing to look at the photo over your shoulder. Webster made himself comfortable in his lap.

“Yeah,” he laughed, “We fought all night because you stole my -”

“Oh my god.”

“You stole my full size Snickers.”

“I did not!”

“You did.”

“I didn’t!”

The way he looked at you told you this was still a sore subject.

“You went ahead of me to the Smith’s place while I was trying to tie my shoe and you took her last bar. That’s what happened!”

“That’s not stealing!”

“It is!”

“I didn’t mean to leave you behind! It’s not my fault you didn’t know how to tie your shoes!”

“You didn’t, either. And, I learned before you.”

You puffed a sigh and flipped the photo to the back of the stack. “Why are you still fighting over this? We shared all the candy, anyway.”

“It’s the principle. Theft is a crime, and you never apologized.”

You only laughed. No way were you giving him that apology now.

When you pulled the photos out of the box, you didn’t intend on looking through them all, but your curiosity kept you flicking through them. Most were of random family members or photos of the beach, but pictures of you and Steve were littered throughout the stack. There wasn’t a single photo of you that didn’t have him in it, too.

There were from some first days of school, birthday parties, sleepovers. They were sorted somewhat chronologically - looking through them was pure nostalgia, memories hitting you at every angle as you watched yourself grow up.

The next one to catch your eye was from a middle school dance. Neither of you wanted to attend, but your mother insisted. Your one condition was that you could wear whatever you wanted.

So you and Steve had swapped styles. You wore his way oversized Atlanta Flames jersey, a baseball cap, and sneakers that didn’t fit; he had on your purple sweater, a big pearl necklace, and white jeans.

It was cute, and it was goofy, and you wished you could jump into the picture and relive it.

At that age, the only thing you knew was that you and Steve would live forever, together. Now that you know what you know, your heart ached for the little girl in these pictures. What would she think about the space between you two now?

There were pictures from summer camp, swimming pools, and your first day of high school.

Webster meowed. Steve meowed back at him.

As you got to the bottom of the stack, pictures of the two of you were less and less. The last one - the one you didn’t know would be your last picture with him - was of you, him, and a few of your extended family members. A day spent at the lake that Steve really didn’t want to go to, for some reason only an angsty teenage boy could understand, that you dragged him to. It was the summer before your junior year.

In the photo, his arm was draped completely over your shoulder. You remembered him leaning all of his weight on you - to the point that you fell out of your seat after the picture was taken by your aunt.

And you had fun, like you always did. Steve became a member of your family out of happenstance. It was just because he was always around, really. They all saw him as much as they saw you.

You put that photo to the back of the stack and kept carding through them. You didn’t find any more pictures of you and Steve.

The rest were all more recent. Steve stopped you on one that was of you alone - sat at a dinner table, wearing a cable knit sweater.

“That’s a good one,” he said.

“Yeah. It’s from Christmas. Senior year, maybe.”

You acted like you weren’t sure, but you knew exactly when that photo was taken. You just didn’t want him to know how sad you were in it.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” and you laughed, “this was not a fun party.” He didn’t reply, and so you kept talking, sparing him a shy glance. “Everyone kept asking where you were.”

The silence was heavier this time.

“Oh,” he said, trying to bury it. “Yeah.” An awkward chuckle. “I bet that was annoying.”

You laughed and tried to make it sound real - tried to seem like you didn’t care. “Yeah, well, you know how my family always liked you better.”

He shrugged, looking like he was going to make a joke, but he didn’t. His eyes were distant as they moved down to his lap.

You shoved the picture to the back with the rest.

The one behind it was just as lonely.

Still, Steve perked up at it. “Is that from graduation?”

You wore a cap and gown, you held a bouquet of flowers, and you stood all alone.

“Yeah.”

Steve’s hand wrapped around yours holding the picture, and he tilted it toward him so he could get a better look.

“My aunt kept trying to get me to find you for a picture,” you laughed.

“You should’ve.” He smiled something big and real, and you realized with a rush that this is the closest you’d been to him in a while. If you kept looking, you could count the freckles on his cheek. His thumb pressed into the back of your hand. “I remember seeing you. You looked real cute.”

You ignored his compliment to say something snide. “I ignored you so hard.”

Another laugh, “Really?”

“Obviously.”

“Yeah. That’s fair - I would’ve, too.”

You tried not to think about how badly you wished he was standing next to you in the picture.

Steve spoke up, “I -” but you cut him off by accident.

“It’s fine.”

You didn’t mean it. He could tell.

“...Is it?”

It was honest when you replied, “I don’t know.”

He was still holding your hand.

“I never told you I’m sorry.”

“I guess I just figured you were.”

You dropped the pictures on the table, dropping his hand with them.

“Is that good enough?” It was an honest question.

“I don’t know. Maybe it is.”

And your answer was genuine, because you didn’t know. Steve had come back into your life just as easily as he left it - on a whim, without any warning. You didn’t put any roadblocks in his way.

But you stared at the photos spread out in front of you. At the story they told of your friendship that would always be unfinished.

You had to teach yourself how to do life without him. All of those lessons seemed useless, now, because here he was. And you didn’t even know if he ever missed you.

You pulled away from him, a move that was far more snappy than you meant. You did it like he’d reached out and burned you. It had Webster jumping down to the floor.

“It’s fine,” you repeated.

“I think you’re lying just to make me feel better.”

“I don’t know why I’m lying.”

“We don’t have to talk about it now,” he mumbled, and you stood up. The chair scraped the floor in a way that grated your ears. You turned your back to him.

“I thought I knew you.” Your eyes welled up, your nose started to run. You balled your hands up like you were on defense. “I thought you would say sorry, and make everything go back to normal like you always did. But you didn’t. I thought you would miss me, at least, but - but you didn’t.”

“You think I didn’t miss you?”

The shake in his voice had your fist dropping to hit your thighs, defeated.

“I miss you more than anything. I’m sorry - I’m not just saying it to make you feel better, or because I have to, I - I don’t even deserve to be saying it.” He paused, and you could imagine the way he was running his hands through his hair and pacing around with nerves. “I’m sorry for being a bad friend. For not treating you like you deserved - I hate myself for it. You were the best thing in my life, and I know that now. I was just too scared to come crawling back to you because I wasn’t worth your time.”

You breathed in deep, exhaled hard, and it felt like the first breath you had taken in two years. It was that feeling when you’ve forgotten your keys but find the door unlocked - the relief of being let in despite a mistake, it rushed through you, and it had you turning to look at him. You found him standing and staring at you, through you, with glassy eyes you would always know.

“I just miss you, Steve.”

Three steps and then he was around you. And you were safer than a child hiding under their blanket from whatever lurked in their closet - monsters weren’t real if his arms were around you. That had always, always been true.

Webster rubbed up against your leg, then Steve’s. The hug shook with both of your laughter, and he held you tighter.

…

Things didn’t go back to how they used to be after that, but it was close enough. And you were trying to settle into the differences that kept knocking you off your feet.

It started with late night phone calls.

Before, you never talked on the phone. Why would you when his house was a stone throw away? If you wanted to talk, you’d invite yourself to his place.

But the two of you were still dancing on the ripped edges of that two year old fight. Wounds were still healing - almost there, but not quite. So it was easier to take it slow, to treat this time as something brand new.

And it was brand new.

You had caught yourself grinning ear to ear over stories he’d tell you, and you had to force the smile off your face. Like you shouldn’t be acting that way over your friend - you quickly realized you just couldn’t help it.

He’d keep you up too late and tease you for it the next day. And you weren’t sure if he was trying to get a rise out of you, but that’s how you felt. He acted so smug after seeing your cheeks swell in embarrassment.

So it wasn’t going back to how it was before. In fact, it was going down an entirely different road - one that wasn’t even on the map.

You weren’t complaining, because you felt things you hadn't felt before around him. He made you feel warm, and you were addicted to it. You were addicted to him, and you had blind hope that the feeling was mutual.

He’d spend his entire lunch break visiting you, even if your breaks didn’t line up. He’d follow you around the apparel section at Roses and you’d have all your attention on him, just the way he liked it. He made sure to see you every day.

You never thought he’d make you feel so shy, but it was an emotion you couldn’t get enough of. You hardly realized what you were spiraling into until you’d catch him looking at you with a blush on his cheeks, or until you had to stop yourself from thinking about him every night before bed.

But there was something glaring, something major, something you couldn’t look at directly until it came up in conversation with Robin.

Robin and Steve always had Sundays off, so the day was designated to be stolen by their other friends - who were all in junior high.

When you asked why they were friends with junior high kids, Steve called himself their babysitter. Robin said she was their good influence. You avoided asking follow up questions.

It was a lazy autumn day, one where the warmth of fallen leaves reflected in the air - something rare for early November.

The youngest of the kids, Erica, loved putting on a nice outfit and going for a walk. Today it was yellow Chucks, a red silk and pleated maxi skirt, and a long sleeve button up with a rainbow of vertical stripes. (It would have been a tie dyed short sleeve, if Steve hadn’t told her it was too chilly for it.) She had stuck gems beside her eyes, the kind that come in the plastic packets and don’t stay on for long, and Robin packed yellow eyeshadow on her eyelids.

She was downright cute, but if you told the eleven year old that she’d aim her sass at you and shoot to kill. She much preferred receiving a refined compliment, because, “I hear that all the time.”

Today, you told her you loved the way she paired so many colors together. She grinned something beautiful and kicked her foot up behind her and agreed with you.

Steve had once described her as a menace - you didn’t understand why.

You walked with Robin a few feet behind Erica, Dustin, and Steve. Dustin had not stopped talking the whole time, except when Erica butted in. Steve had stolen the younger boy’s thinking cap hat and was wearing it backwards.

“The last time I wore this coat, I found two phone numbers in the pocket.” Robin held up two fingers and gestured to the Letterman jacket she wore. It was Steve’s. “Can you believe that? I mean, what a douche. I wouldn’t even wear this if it wasn’t so warm.”

You laughed. “Yeah, I believe it, actually. They were probably from some cheerleaders or something.”

“Yeah, well, he can’t get any numbers these days. He’s cursed to be forever lame as punishment for the jerk he was in high school.” Robin was smirking wicked and wide, like it was satisfying for her.

“He’s lost all his charm?”

“All of it. I mean, one hundred percent. I used to keep count of how many times he fell on his face in front of girls. It’s magnificent, truly.” Then, quieter, “He’ll get it back, though. One day.”

“He used to have no trouble at all.” The conversation had the gears in your head turning; it had you speaking without thinking. “I don’t know. He’s really different now.”

Robin laughed, like you were joking. “Yeah, he learned manners, for one.”

“It’s not that.” You were thinking out loud. “He’s nicer, yeah, but… it’s almost like he’s not even the same person. I’m not sure what happened.”

The Steve you knew was boisterous. He was unapologetic. He was stupidly confident, the life of the party, and he wasn’t afraid of anything. A wouldn’t take no for an answer, go with the flow, drop of the hat kind of person.

You were lucky to know him when that’s all he was. Before the halls of Hawkins High swallowed him and spit out someone ornery who cared too much but not at all.

You thought it was just Tommy and Carol’s influence. Now that he wasn’t their friend anymore, you thought he’d become who he used to be.

“He told me how close you two were before,” Robin said. She was tugging on a strand of hair that was stuck in her lip gloss. “I guess I never knew him like you did.”

“He’s so quiet now. He used to be so loud.” You meant it more than literally - you hoped Robin would understand. “I don’t know. So much changed and it’s only been a couple years.”

It seemed like she was struggling to reply, because it took her more than a few seconds to get her words out.

“I guess - I mean - I think you’ve probably changed a lot, too. Two years is a long time, right?”

Robin knew. No one could tell, but she knew.

Maybe the differences that you had described of Steve were really there. She wasn’t able to see them the way you could, but she didn’t care. It was selfish to admit that she would never change a thing about him - but one.

He was waiting.

Everyone was, she thinks.

Waiting for another fight.

It wasn’t easy to go back to normal after trudging through hell. It was like coming out the other side of trench warfare unharmed - you didn’t. When a gun fires, its bullets hit. If a bomb is dropped it doesn’t miss a fucking thing, and Starcourt Mall was goddamn ground zero.

And Robin wasn’t there for the disappearance of Will Byers. The death of Barbra Holland. The Upside Down. The Demogorgon. The Demodogs, and the lab, and the girl with psychic powers. She wasn’t there, but Steve was.

Her head hurt just thinking of the stories he’s told her. And she knew his did, too, more often than he’d admit to her.

And she felt bad when her sleeping patterns went back to normal but his didn’t. When she got used to being on edge all the time, Steve still jumped at any noise. His phone would ring and she would watch him prepare himself to answer it - to hear Dustin’s voice on the line telling him that it’s back.

So when you said that Steve’s changed, Robin didn’t know what to tell you. You were right, and she knew that, but she couldn’t tell you why. You knew everything about him besides, well - everything.

Robin wished she didn’t have to know, either. She wanted to tell you that you should be grateful you couldn’t see the shackles on his ankles. You got to know him before - and Robin would give anything for that.

But she couldn’t change a thing.

Instead, all she could do was wait.

And lie.

And pretend.

“He’s still loud,” she said, uncomfortable as all get out.

As if he heard her words, Steve busted out in a stomach hurting kind of laughter at one of Dustin’s stories.

“See what I mean?”

Your destination was in sight now. Steve turned around - letting Dustin steal his hat back - walking backwards, and reached a hand out to you.

“You coming?”

Your pace turned into a skipping sort of jog to catch up with him. When you were close enough he grabbed your hand and didn’t let go. He’d been doing that often.

The kids and Robin broke away, heading for the tiny park that was up on your right. To your left, Steve tugged you to a tiny convenience store.

“Place your orders!” he called.

Dustin and Erica shouted at the same time. Steve mumbled something about not being able to understand them, so you relayed their messages.

“You’re getting two things! No more than that!” he shouted back. “Robin?”

“7-Up.”

“What else?”

“Surprise me!”

You hung onto his arm as you walked into the store, and you weren’t even sure why. He never pulled away when you got that close, so you kept going back.

You went for the drink coolers first. He reached for the apple juice.

“She likes orange juice the best, now,” you said.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“You better be right - if she’s mad at me over this, I’ll be mad at you.”

You rounded up all the snacks everyone wanted, following Steve’s only two items rule. You laughed when he chose plain potato chips as Robin’s surprise - the blandest possible choice. And while he checked out at the counter, you wandered off into the aisles.

He acted like he didn’t want you to go, pulling you back and asking a quiet, “where’re you going?”

“To look around.”

It was straight to the candy aisle for a Blow Pop for Erica, Pop Rocks for Dustin, and sour gummy worms to share. You liked spoiling them - it helped to get on their good side.

You made a stop at the candy bars to grab a Snickers bar before going back to the counter, and Steve immediately shook his head when he saw you.

“What are you doing? What’s all that?”

“It’s all for me.” You dropped it all for the clerk to scan.

“All of it?”

“Yeah.”

“Even though you said you didn’t want anything?”

“I changed my mind!”

He sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, and you watched his hand move to his back pocket.

“Don’t you dare.”

His wallet was half way out of his pocket as he laughed. “What?”

“You’re not paying. Stop.” You tried to sound mad, and felt you were doing a good job, but he kept giggling at you.

“Oh, are you my boss now?”

“Yes, Steve,” and you bumped into him, trying to push him away. “Don’t make me say your full name.”

“Just let me -”

“Take their things to them! Go!”

You were shocked when he listened, but he only made it as far as the door. He stood against the glass with his arms crossed, staring at you until you finally followed him.

“What are you looking at?”

He pushed his back into the door to open it. “Trying to figure it out.” He reached for your hand, and you swatted it away, only for him to catch you, anyway. And you let him hold your hand, all the way across the street to the park.

Your friends sat at a picnic table waiting patiently. It was actually two tables pushed together, doubling the normal length; Erica and Dustin sat opposite each other on one end, and Robin sat in the middle, crisscrossed on top of the table.

Steve divvied snacks to grabby hands, and you snuck their surprise treats in to the sound of thank yous.

You took your seat on the other end of the table across from Steve. When you sat down, he put a bottle of Coke between you.

“Are you going to share?” you asked.

“Only if you’ve got something to give me in return.”

The Snickers bar made a thud on the wooden table. Steve hummed. “I guess that’s good enough.”

You were almost happy with the trade until you realized, “No bottle opener?”

His eyes doubled their size. “Shit.” Then, he grabbed the bottle. “No, it's a twist off.” The noise he made as he tried taking off the cap was something like a squeak, and everyone at the table laughed.

“Just walk back to the store!”

“Dustin - Dustin! Do you -”

The boy slid a large key ring down the table. It was a wad of keys, keychains, and gadgets.

“It’s on there somewhere.”

There was a mini flashlight, a laser pointer, a plastic Q*bert charm, a pocket knife, keys and keys and keys, a kubaton, and, “Yes!” a bottle opener.

“This is why I keep you around, Henderson.”

“I’m the one keeping you guys around, first of all.”

You grabbed the Coke and guzzled a couple drinks worth in one go, and when you put it back down, Steve had already eaten half the candy bar in one bite.

“Steve!”

His mouth was full when he said, “What?”

“Why can’t you share? Why didn’t anyone ever teach you about sharing?” His laugh was sweeter than the chocolate he was shoving into your face. “Stop, I don’t wanna eat after you.”

“We’ve got the same germs,” he said, and he was feeding you the Snickers before you could make another argument.

The snacks were all gone much quicker than it took to walk and get them, because none of you would ever learn to savor the destination. Regardless, next Sunday, you’d all be sitting in the same spot - give or take a few others, creating a good day for yourselves.

And, if you were lucky, Steve would be holding your hand the whole time.

...

It didn’t matter who you were cheering for on the court, you hated high school basketball games.

Going to Lucas’s game brought back far too many memories than you’d care to recollect. But even though you hated it, you were still filled with pride watching the boy play the game so well.

And Steve hadn’t shut up about it all night. He spoke about Lucas shooting the buzzer beating winning basket like he was recounting a grand story - something from a movie or a comic book. Like you weren’t sitting beside him the entire time.

You stood with him in his kitchen, and the excitement had finally started to settle. You and Steve had spent far too long talking about how weird it was to be back in the high school gym, and both of you agreed that you didn’t miss it at all.

“Is Robin excited for spring break?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “She said she’s spending the entire week here so she can be as lazy as she wants, so - I guess she is.”

You threw a weak fist into his shoulder and he caught it. “What’s wrong with that?”

“She’s gonna steal all my time!” His grin was contagious as he slotted his fingers into yours. “And that means I can’t steal all of yours.”

“Does that mean I’m finally getting a break from you?” You laughed, but he didn’t.

It was weird, the way his entire demeanor changed in a snap. Before you could even take back the joke you made he was shifting his eyes and dropping his grin.

He had always worn his heart on his sleeve, even if he tried hiding it.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” It was a hand through his hair that said the opposite, but you’d never call out his tells. “I just - that reminded me there was actually something I wanted to talk to you about.” He dropped your hand to cross his arms, and it had you feeling nervous.

“What about? …Did I do something wrong?”

“No, honey.” You weren’t sure when that nickname came around, or when it started to stick, but it had a fairy fluttering its wings in your chest. He started to reach for you again, you could see it, but he stopped himself. “You could never do anything wrong.”

You laughed quiet. “Neither could you.”

You moved to stand next to him, mirroring the way his back leaned against the counter. Your arm pressed to his. He was looking at the floor; you were looking at him.

“Are you sure?” It started as a whisper but jumped into a shake, a crack in his voice that said more than he wanted to. And he looked at you, to see if you caught it, and you swore his eyes were shining. He didn’t show them to you for longer than a moment.

“Steve?”

“I just - I don’t want to fuck this up again.”

“How would that even happen?”

He looked at you like he knew something you didn’t. “I don’t know.”

You nudged his arm with your elbow, again and again, until his crossed arms dropped. Your pointer finger snaked around his, and the touch brought enough bravery out of him to link his fingers with yours.

“What do you know?”

He scoffed into a smile, one big enough to reach his eyes, and it brought him out of his funk. “I don’t know,” he said, moving closer to you as he made the joke.

“That’s what I thought,” you replied. “Not a thought going on in your head.”

Making him laugh was the key to his heart - you knew that, and it worked this time as well as it always had.

He had his head turned, cheek to shoulder, staring down at you; you were so close, you could watch his eyes move across your face and know where he was looking. They wandered, but when his gaze lingered on your lips - you noticed.

“I know one thing for sure,” he said.

When you took a loud breath, you’re sure he heard. He gave you eye contact again, and maybe you were seeing things, but you swore you saw question marks swimming in the green.

He didn’t breathe. You didn’t blink. You moved forward just a hair, and he looked back down, so you pressed on. You wanted to be closer, as close as you could get - it was curiosity or desperation, you didn’t know.

When he tilted his chin toward you, it was hardly noticeable. But you saw it, and it was enough. Your nose was just about to touch his - you watched his eyes close, right before yours did. There was nothing to do but move closer, closer, closer.

And then, when you felt just the softest graze of his skin on yours -

BAM! BAM! BAM!

You jumped back from each other like same-side magnets, gasping and jumping at the sound of loud knocks on the front door.

He moved fast, like he was looking for a way out, leaving you alone in the kitchen. “Shit.”

Steve had a good idea of who he’d see when he opened the door. The knob was jingling when he unlocked it, then pulled it open.

Sure enough, Robin. Wearing a flannel that was his, with wild bedhead that he couldn’t help laughing at.

“Did you walk here?”

“Yeah,” she croaked. “Let me in.”

It was written all over her face why she was there, and Steve felt bad.

Even though she asked to come in, she didn’t move. Her features were all scrunched up, her shoulders were hunched into her crossed arms.

“Robin -”

“I fucking hate this.” Loud, echoing into the night and through his door. “I hate it, Steve, and I swear - I swear it’s not over.” Her eyes wet her cheeks; she looked at him through tears. “It’s going to happen again. I can feel it. And I’m scared.”

He had to pull her inside, because he knew she’d stand in the same spot all night if he didn’t. She pushed into him, shoving her face into his shoulder, wiping her tears on his shirt.

“You just need to rest,” he told her.

She spoke something pitiful, not caring that her words were muffled. “The gate’s really closed, right? For sure?”

“It’s over, Robin, it was just a nightmare - you just need some good sleep, alright?”

She nodded, wiped her runny nose into her sleeve, and tried pulling her tears back in.

“I wish I could sleep anywhere else.”

“I know.” It wasn’t any sort of jab - it was just the truth. The only time she was truly afraid was when she slept alone.

She hit a fist into his chest, something playful that made things feel a little more okay, and then took herself to the stairs.

“I’ll be up in a minute to stand guard,” he joked. She barely laughed but it was enough, and he watched her until he couldn’t see her anymore.

And he hoped you hadn’t heard anything, because he wouldn’t be able to answer any questions you had. When he found you in the kitchen you looked nothing but concerned.

“Is she okay?”

All you knew was that she had nightmares about the mall fire. It was a realistic excuse, in comparison to the unbelievable truth.

“Yeah. You know how she is.”

You nodded. Steve wasn’t sure how to go back to the talk you were having before, so he avoided it.

You spoke first. “I hope she’s alright.”

“I should probably go be with her,” he said.

You were perfectly okay with it, understanding as always. “Yeah. She needs you.”

He walked you to the door, and it was too brief for his taste. But when you were there, he spoke up.

“I’m sorry. Can we finish this tomorrow, maybe? I promise - I… I really did want to talk.”

“Of course,” you said, and it was shy. “Don’t be sorry, Steve, she’s more important right now. We can talk any time.”

His arms wrapped around your shoulders for a crushing hug. “I’ll call you in the morning, okay? Before work. We can make plans then.”

And that was it - he watched you make your walk home until you walked into your front door, and that was it.

The moment was ruined, and he might not be able to make it happen again.

…

Steve didn’t call you the next morning.

part two!!!!

#my writing #perhaps the only steve fic i will ever write #if there are typos in this i. lmao i will rage #this took forever this is so fucking long if no one reads it i dont blame truly #anyway #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #fluff #angst #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington one shot #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you

358 notes · View notes

moonchildstyles · 2 years

Text

malibu

y/n finally has her dream life with her perfect husband. she just needs one more thing to make this the perfect night

wordcount: 14k+

—————

(Y/N) hummed in the kitchen, the hem of her powder blue dress swaying just below her knees as she listened to the shenanigans of Lucille Ball on the television set she had turned on in the living room. Tonight's dinner of a three-cheese lasagna was cooling on the stove top with the scent of basil and garlic warming the air. The pastry dough she'd just pulled from the refrigerator was still chilly as she rolled it out on the turquoise colored laminate covering her countertops, trying her best to make it thin enough she could see just a hint of the color underneath but not too thin as to ruin the hard work she put into layering the butter and pastry. Her diamond ring sat next to the sink, safely stashed away from tarnishing against the dinner she was finishing up for Harry's arrival home.

Just above her work station was a glass window, warped just like a funhouse mirror at the carnival Harry had taken her on their first date all that time ago, but it didn't hide the view of her backyard. She was still getting used to the view of the beach in the distance. Despite there being a row of neighbors to either side of their new home, the development they'd moved into not long ago still had the open space that (Y/N) was sure was going to be made into another set of homes if Harry's predictions about Malibu's growth were right.

Until then, she was going to take advantage of the sea view offered by her kitchen window, the sound of the waves crashing when she cracked open the glass, and the near constant sunshine that streamed through. Malibu was definitely a change from the rainy days she shared with Harry up until they moved less than a year ago, leaving their hometown where they fell in love to chase an opportunity he said could change their lives—set them up for a beautiful life together like the one he promised her in his wedding vows.

It was hard leaving her family, but being by Harry's side as they forged their own path outside of the small opportunities offered back home was more than enough to make up for the heartache. She couldn't be more proud of the man she was watching him become outside of their family's shadows.

The company he'd been brought into was doing so well, Harry walking around town with pride in his chest and a glowing smile on his face every time he could indulge (Y/N) in a dinner at the nice seafood restaurant on the coast, or even just a fresh bouquet of flowers he picked up on his way home. Nothing could beat the day he came running through the front door after work, calling to her from where she was cleaning up after her own workday, bright smile molding his features and chest heaving with the breath he was catching after running through the house.

That was the day he told her about the major promotion he'd been offered, now seated just under the head of the company. The pay raise had been substantial—something they celebrated by buying their first television set—, and he'd be able to start coming home at reasonable times instead of doing the brunt work and staying late enough (Y/N) had to keep his dinner plate warm until he walked through the door hours after the sun dipped below the ocean line. It was what they had dreamed about the day they packed up and moved out West. It only made it better when (Y/N) realized that the promotion meant she no longer had to work as a secretary at town hall if she didn't want to (which she didn't. One of the councilman was a rat and did not respect the happy marriage she was in despite how many times she'd brought up the Mr. to her Mrs. or shown off the wedding photograph she had propped up on her desk).

Now, she'd had a few months to settle into the life they had dreamed about when they laid out on the soccer field back home at the school where they fell in love. She made friends with some of the other families in the neighborhood and took pleasure in keeping house for Harry—he called it their love nest. She reveled in taking care of the details; fluffing the pillows, arranging Harry's records in perfect display, and trying to tame her growing book collection though there was always at least three novels spaced out around the house she promised to return to later before getting distracted.

(Y/N) felt like the luckiest woman in the world when she settled into their emerald green couch at the end of the day. She had wonderful friends only a door away, a loving husband, and a beautiful home that smelled of the sweets she baked throughout the week.

Today, she was trying out a recommendation from one of neighborhood friends: a peach and apple pie with cinnamon and sugar infused in the crust and almonds layering the bottom of the pan. When she had told Harry about it, he had lit up at the mention of peaches—his favorite summer fruit, he'd told her once in the backseat of his car when they were only teenagers. As she layered the now perfectly thin crust into the pie dish Harry's mother had gifted them as a wedding present, (Y/N) listened to the sound of laughter emanating from their television and hoped today's dessert would live up to Harry's expectations.

Working quietly, (Y/N) finished filling her pie dish with the sweetened peaches and crisp apples before layering over the top in criss-crossed strips of crust. On instinct, the first thing she did was wash up her now free hands before slipping her wedding ring back on. The diamond sparkled in the light, refractions dancing over the sink for just a moment before flickering out once (Y/N) strayed from the sunlight.

She felt accomplished once she slipped the completed confection in the oven, untying her apron before hanging it on the hook pinned to the wall by the fridge. Dinner was ready and waiting for the moment Harry walked through the door, with dessert baking away in the oven, sure to fill the house with the scent of cinnamon and sugar once the buttery mixture melted in with the fruit. Nothing but happiness filled her as she stood in the middle of her dream kitchen, waiting for her dream man to come home and tell her he loved her just as he did when he walked out the door that morning.

As if she manifested it, Harry came through the door just as the vision of him with his slicked back hair and navy blue suit he left in this morning entered her mind.

"(Y/N), darling, 'm home!" he called through the house, speaking over the beginning notes of The Danny Thomas Show sounding from their television set.

Her skirt fluttered around her knees as she rushed out of the kitchen, heels clicking on the tiles. "Harry," she beamed, her voice taking on a dreamy quality once she caught sight of him.

The briefcase he left the house with every morning was saddled by the door right next to the lunch pail she packed for him before he left for work as he pulled off his jacket, the rebellious set of tattoos he'd been collecting since they were teenagers winking through the thin white fabric of his dress shirt. His hair had fallen from the carefully slicked back 'do he had crafted in the mirror that morning, a rogue curl falling over his forehead while the rest of the waves struggled to make themselves known. It made him look younger, (Y/N) thought, harkening back to the days on the field at school, dimples deep in his cheeks and hair messy and curling enough that his mother nagged him to get a haircut.

Malibu looked good on him.

Harry didn't even hesitate once he had his suit jacket hanging over the back of their sofa before he was gathering his wife up into his arms, (Y/N)'s own looping around his neck. Burying his face in the crook off her neck, he hummed out a sigh that rumbled his chest.

"I missed you," he practically purred, "Left the house thinking about you, and never stopped."

Despite the fact their modest wedding had occurred just over a year ago, it felt like the honeymoon hadn't worn off. Of course, they'd had their own set of problems and disagreements to get through (the move was probably one of the most stressful times in (Y/N)'s life and she made sure to let Harry know that), but never once had those butterflies flown from her tummy or the excitement of waking up beside him fade. Now being married herself, she doesn't think she'll ever fully understand sitcom families where the husband and wife weren't tripping all over themselves to be with one another. That just wasn't her and Harry.

"I missed you, too, H," she said, mussing the baby hairs that played on the nape of his neck. After making sure to squeeze him super tight one last time, she pulled away with the intention of only moving far enough back to see his face and nothing more. She was met with a beaming smile and softly flushed cheeks, mossy green eyes adoring as they traced her features. "How was work, honey?"

His smile grew as did the dimples denting his cheeks at the gentle term of endearment she slipped in. He barred his arms around around her waist, his forearms creating a solid cradle that lined the small of her back as he canted his head down at her. "It was good. Had to review and approve m'first round of expense reports since the promotion, and—I can't lie, darling—it was so boring that I almost asked if I could go back to m'old position."

(Y/N) only shook her head with a short smile on her lips, "It couldn't have been that bad."

"It was awful, 'm telling you!" Harry exasperated, though his own mouth threatened to fall victim to a smile. "Towards the end of it, I had to start using a calculator I borrowed from accounting to double check if two plus two really was four or if I was losing it."

A playful roll of her eyes molded her expression into something teasing. "What a hard life you lead—sitting in your cushy office with a beach view, checking numbers someone else did the hard work of crunching together."

"I know," Harry sagged, playing along, "I don't know how I do it, precious. Sometimes, I wonder if I lost it ages ago, and all of this has been a dream. Wouldn't surprise me."

"You're so dramatic, Harry Edward," she scolded him, though the reprimand held little weight through her smiling mouth. "Ridiculous."

"But y'love me, anyway," he said, ducking his head down and pursing his lips in wait for a kiss.

He didn't pose much of a question, but (Y/N) couldn't help but reaffirm him. "I do love you," she whispered before granting him the kiss he was practically begging for.

Harry hummed into the kiss, contentment seeping through and coating her lips like honey. Still situated by the front door, arms wrapped round one another with Harry in his work clothes and (Y/N) in the nice dress she changed into before she started work on the dessert baking away in the oven, they didn't have any plans to move. Especially not with the way her husband gazed down at her like he didn't even see the rest of the house around them, only taking in the home standing right in front of him.

"What did y'do today, (Y/N)?" he asked, the genuine interest in his gaze painting warmth over her in broad stripes. She loved when he said her name like that.

"Nothing too exciting," she sighed, shuffling on the toes of her heels, "After you left for work, I went over and saw Sarah and the ladies for brunch, and Connie told everyone she wants to start a book club with the ladies from the neighborhood, but I don't know if I'm going to join. I don't think I'd much like the books she'd pick out, but we'll see. Then I called our moms—they want us to visit soon, by the way—before I went to the post office to mail off a couple of those photos we took at the beach last week to both of them. But after that, I spent the rest of the afternoon reading before I started dinner."

"Connie wants to start a book club?" he blanched, brows knitting in disbelief as he'd been stuck on that detail.

"That's what I thought!" (Y/N) bubbled, the strands of hair framing her face fluttering at her flustered movements, "Sarah and I had to keep from laughing when she suggested it. I almost choked on my quiche."

"Wasn't she the one refused to speak to you for weeks when she saw your copy of Bonjour Tristesse on the table?" Harry pressed, canting his head as he tried to wrap his mind around it.

"Yes, and she's the one that told me the only book she's read in the last three years was Eloise because she thinks adult literature is growing 'corrupt'."

Harry almost looked pained as he recalled that specific story (Y/N) had come home with after having lunch with her friends. "Darling," he stressed, a shake of his head following after, "I don't think y'should join that book club."

"I'll have to talk to Sarah tomorrow and see if she thinks we should join just to see what Connie thinks is worthy of having weekly meetings over, but I don't think I'll be reading any of her recommended books."

He let out a laugh at her words before tipping his chin a pressing a soft kiss to (Y/N)'s forehead. "I don't blame you," he muttered under his breath, "Y'had a busy day, precious. I don't know how y'handle all of them and still have time to make dinner and take care of the house. You're too good for me."

A heat filled (Y/N)'s cheeks, smile blooming like the bouquet of peonies that Harry had brought home Monday night to her. "No, I'm not, H. Don't say that. We're perfectly matched, don't you think?"

"I don't know, love," he sighed, looking at her like she was a dream or an otherworldly creature that he couldn't comprehend, "I think I got really lucky with you. Don't know what I did to convince y'to love me forever, but I'll take it."

(Y/N) didn't know what to say as she took in his affectionate words, her heart beating to the tune of his name. She shied in his hold, shifting in his arms to hug him around the waist with her cheek pressed against his shoulder. Harry's own arms tightening around her, keeping her safely cradled into his form.

"Where'd all this come from?" she peeped, finally finding her voice amid all of the heart shaped clouds that puffed through her head, "You're going to make me cry if you're not careful, honey."

Harry hummed, his chest rumbling under her cheek. His contentment was clear as he began to sway them on the small rug that carpeted the tile by the front door. "I listened to Etta all day in m'office while I did paperwork—can't blame me for feeling extra in love with you," he gently argued, his nose skimming the top of her head.

"And to think I thought you would be in an Elvis mood," she started, skating over his affectionate words in fear of her heart falling out of her throat if she tried to speak around it, "I even got your records out and everything."

"Mm," he hummed, reluctantly drawing away from her though he made sure to wrap one of her hands up in his as he towed her along with him to his stack of precious records he began collecting the second they had the money to do so, "I can think of one of his songs I want to listen to, darling"

He thumbed through the stack she laid out for him, the covers worn and crinkled at the corners from near-constant use. (Y/N) watched his long fingers flick through the album sleeves until he pulled out the record he was seeking, shooting her a sly glance before slipping his hand out from hers. He gave her his back as he played with the gramophone, adjusting the needle after laying the record gently on the base. The familiar static buzz of the speaker filled the air as the record spun, the grooves not quite catching on the pick until the first notes of Harry's chosen song joined the fray.

(Y/N) tilted her head with a small smile as soon as she recognized the music now filling her living room, Danny Thomas and his family completely forgotten on the television screen. Mr. Presley crooned out the opening lyrics of First In Line, one of Harry's favorites to sing to her when he was feeling particularly in love with her.

Harry wasted no time in collecting her in his hold, his palm conforming to the curve of her waist whilst he laced the fingers of his other hand through hers, palms pressed together. He held their joined hands just between their chests as he started swaying her to the music, dimples deep in his cheeks as he gazed down at her, looking all too smug.

Unable to shake the smile from her face as she danced in the living room with her husband, (Y/N) spoke around it as she told him, "You're such a cheese, H. I should've known you'd play this."

Faux-offense molded his features as he spun her around, her skirt fluttering around her shins before she was settled once again in his hold. "'M a cheese for loving m'wife? Since when is that so bad?" he argued, a light shining behind his green eyes as he ducked his head down to match her gaze, "Besides, as far as I remember, y'like it when 'm a cheese."

"Maybe," she countered with a shrug, turning her head before he could catch just how much she really did love when he became especially sticky and sweet on her.

His hand on her waist disappeared before landing on the round of her smiling cheek, pulling her back to face him. That proud grin on his face only grew once he felt how heated she was under his palm, blood glowing under her cheeks. "See? 'M right, aren't I? I see y'getting all shy, don't lie. Y'love when 'm soft on you."

With his steadying hand on her cheek and the soft of his thumb running along the height of her cheekbone, (Y/N) felt her features round out and soften all that much more as soon as her eyes met Harry's. He liked when she got like this, he'd told her before, all shy and warmed by his love; he said once it reminded him of the girl he met all that time ago when she moved next door to him, quiet and shy and so pretty, he decided then he wanted to know her.

"Maybe," she repeated on a breath, brain a little too preoccupied trying to dedicate this vision of him to memory to think of anything more brilliant to argue with. She watched as his grin grew and dimples deepened at her response; he knew he won.

Shaking his head before dipping down and pressing a gentle kiss to the bridge of her nose, Harry held her close as the final notes of Elvis's crooning voice filled their living room, the much more upbeat tone of Paralyzed now replacing it. Harry left it to play as he unraveled himself from around his wife, only reaching back to turn down the music and flick off the television before tugging her along with him towards the kitchen.

"Said y'finished dinner already, darling?" he asked her, casting his gaze over his shoulder at her, the heels of his fancy work shoes clicking over the tiles.

"Mhm," she hummed, finding her voice despite the distracting view of his contracting muscles under the stretch of his shirt, "It's—uh—it's that lasagna I told you one of the ladies recommended. It should be cooled down by now, if you're ready."

Harry feigned a nonchalant shrug before slipping his hand out of hers in favor of reaching for some glasses and the bottle of wine he had stowed atop of the fridge. "Yeah, I think I could eat before I take y'upstairs."

(Y/N)'s mouth went dry at the implication of his words, thighs squeezing under the cover of her dress. "You want to take me upstairs?"

Casting a glance over his shoulder, his face displayed something incredulous, like he couldn't be sure she was really questioning him. "Of course I do, silly. Where have y'been for the last twenty minutes?"

Despite his teasing, she couldn't stop the smile that took her lips and the heat that bubbled under her skin. "I'll get everything ready, then," she said, reaching for a duo of plates to dish out tonight's dinner onto. With her back to him, spatula in hand as she cut out squares of the cooled lasagna, (Y/N) listened to the clinking of glasses before a wine cork was dislodged from the bottle. She swallowed, voice coming out like a secret, "Y-You'll take me upstairs after, though?"

"If I can wait that long," Harry answered in a beat, voice casual like (Y/N) wasn't feeling her muscles unravel and tighten all at the same time as he spoke. He might as well have been asking her if she wanted to see Marilyn Monroe's new movie this weekend with how dismissive his tone was.

Swallowing, all (Y/N) was able to peep out was a quiet okay, as she grated extra cheese on the top of their lasagna squares. She took her time as she dished out helpings of the leafy salad she had off to the side and the twisted breadsticks she'd learned the recipe for from Harry's mother. The plate assembly was a needed distraction as she processed his words.

Her voice came back to her as she turned with the filled plates in hand to find Harry sat at the head of the dinner table, a glass of wine dictating where she was meant to sit across from him. He had rolled the sleeves of his shirt up, leaving his forearms bare, the multitude of ink on his left arm looking especially dark with the help of the fading sunlight leaking in through the sliding glass door behind him. That one stray curl that refused to stay in place still hung over his forehead, matching the boyish charm that lit up his eyes once he caught how flustered his wife was. All it took was the raise of an eyebrow at her, dimple threatening to dip into his cheek, that she spoke again.

"And if you can't? Wait that long, I mean," she murmured, settling his plate in front of him first.

He shrugged, catching her eye again with his cute smile full of white teeth and raspberry colored lips. "Guess I'll jus' have to have y'on the table, then."

(Y/N) couldn't even have hoped to school her features into a more lady-like reaction before her jaw fell open, parting her lips into a small gape, gaze going dreamy and rounded while the set of her shoulders bowed. Her breathing hitched in her lungs, the air coming out in a puffed exhale she hadn't intended on letting out. There was nothing in her head that she could compute as she looked at him, innocent expression on his face despite the words that hung in the air between them.

The seconds she lagged behind in getting herself together only served to make Harry more and more smug over his effect on her. The spell was broken as soon as he patted her on the bottom, urging her towards her already set up spot at the table, red wine in a crystalline glass at the ready. "Go sit down, darling," he told her, "I think y'need to eat a little bit before we talk any more about that, hm?"

On stilted legs, she moved to her spot at the dinner table, facing Harry at the other end. She could feel his eyes on her with every step, her heels clicking over the tiled floor in sparks of noise. (Y/N) tried her best to settle her features, even out her reaction a little more before she sat down and had to face him again. She figured she didn't do too stellar of a job when Harry's grin could be seen over his wine glass as he took a sip.

A beat passed as they cut into their food, (Y/N) doing so on autopilot as she couldn't shake the vision of Harry bending her over the dining table and taking her just as he said, before her husband let out a praising moan around the food.

"(Y/N)," he started, affection dripping from his voice as it wrapped around her name in a loving squeeze, "this is wonderful. Y'said the ladies gave y'the recipe?"

Perking up under his praise, she cast him a genuine smile around her heart in her throat. She nodded her head, hair fluttered about at the motion, "It was Glenne's recipe. There's like three different cheeses, and marinated garlic, and all this other fancy stuff. It kept me busy."

"This might be m'new favorite," Harry pressed, his smile going lopsided as he gazed at her, "Best chef in the neighborhood, I swear."

"I don't know about that," she brushed off through her smile, feeling her features heat for a different reason this time.

He was the best at distracting her, she realized, as he continued speaking. Though she still yearned for the moment she could hopefully convince him to do anything—take her here on the table or upstairs to their bedroom—, he was definitely doing his part of distracting her with sweetened praises and questions of what book it is that she read today.

She just hoped he wouldn't be so good at it that he forgot that promise.

—————

"I can wrap up some leftovers and send them with you to work tomorrow, if you want?"

(Y/N) cleared up the table, her setting already waiting in the sink as she had put it away when getting Harry's second serving of the night. She spoke over her shoulder to Harry as he still sat at the dinner table, glass of wine down to the final sip as his eyes followed her.

"That would be nice, darling, thank you," he smiled, stretching in his seat before leaning into the carved back, "Then, I'll get to brag to everyone about not just how smart and pretty my wife is, but she's the best cook in town, too. Marinates her own garlic and everything."

"See? Just like I said—you're a cheese," she laughed, shaking her head before focusing her attention on the dinner plates now soaking in the soapy water filling the sink.

Dinner had gone by quietly, Harry being the sweetheart he always was and asking her more about her own day before providing anecdotes about his own, making plans with her for this weekend, and obnoxiously praising her cooking. While he'd done a good job of steering the conversation towards safe dinner table talk, she still couldn't shake the anticipation that grew in the pit of her stomach every time he opened his mouth. She wondered every time if this was going to be the moment that he declared he could no longer wait around, that he wanted to take her right now. She wondered if he would push his plate out of the way and knock his wine to the side before hiking her up onto the table and serving her up like his most preferred meal.

Seeing as how (Y/N)'s dress was still buttoned to her neck and every piece of china was in perfect condition, that moment never came. Instead, she dished out a second helping of his new favorite dinner and sat with her glass of wine as she talked to him about anything other than the warmth that had gathered between her thighs. Besides, she still had hope that even if she didn't get bent over the dining table with Harry pressing into her from behind, that she'd at least have the weight of his body hovering over hers as he worked her into their mattress upstairs.

As she laid out their plates on the drying rack stationed to the side of the sink, (Y/N) felt a pair of arms slip around her waist before a pair of lips dropped a kiss to the cuff of her shoulder. A gentle smile tugged at her lips as her hands slowed in the soapy water, only a set of forks sitting at the bottom of the sink. Harry's arms were strong around her waist, her form being hugged back into his chest tight enough she could feel the expanding of his lungs with every deep inhale.

"Have I told y'how pretty y'look today?" he mumbled into her skin, the words being stamped over her pores and sinking into her melting system.

Tipping her head to the side, she offered the expanse of her neck for him to trail his kisses over, the warmth of his mouth heating her blood. "Maybe a little."

"Doesn't sound like I've said it enough then, does it?" he countered, his hold on her loosening until his palms were on either side of her hips. He took advantage of the grip and spun her around in his arms. He gazed down at her with heat hiding behind the jade of his eyes, tracing languidly over her features while his arms looped around her waist. "So, so gorgeous, darling," he praised her, voice a breathy whisper tinted with the scent of the cherry-noted merlot they shared, "And so patient, aren't you? Saw y'squirming all through dinner, but not once did y'interrupt me or whine for taking m'time—not even when I asked for seconds."

Swallowing around the lump of her heart that climbed up her throat, (Y/N) whispered, "You noticed?"

"Of course, I did, darling," Harry told her with pure confidence, cocking his head to the side as if he couldn't believe she was asking, "Had m'eyes on you the whole night, of course I noticed my pretty little wife getting antsy, waiting for me to bend her over the table."

It was the way her jaw fell open, lips agape, and eyes gazed up at Harry in a dreamy daze that made it almost too clear how on the nose he was. That confidence that shone in his eyes spread over his face as his lips quirked into a lopsided grin, all too smug to be fair with his dimples softening his features. She floundered over a response, restless fingers busied with the buttons on Harry's top.

"I mean," she swallowed, trying her hand at his signature nonchalance though she didn't pull it off nearly as well as she couldn't pluck her gaze from her hands on his chest, "I wouldn't have complained if that happened."

Harry's response lagged, causing (Y/N) to pull her eyes from the sheer pink painted over her nails, to find him looking to her with the blunt of his teeth digging into his bottom lip. His eyes were clear as he scanned them over her features, tracing over the planes of her face before dropping to the curve of her throat. She watched as he followed the lines and slopes of her neck, the smooth skin disappearing under the collar of her dress. She felt exposed even with the cover of her dress, fingers growing restless as she plucked at the buttons fastening his shirt to the broad of his body with her wedding band glimmering in the lowlight.

"And what would y'have done if I did do that, since y'weren't going to complain?" he murmured to her, the air in the room being sucked out as he dropped the volume of his tone.

Her breathing was interrupted as she struggled to figure out how to tell him how good she would have been for him had he pulled her out of her chair and flipped her skirt up. She didn't know how to articulate how quickly she would have dropped to her knees in the middle of their meal if he gave her the right look, ready to please him. She didn't know how to express that she wouldn't have blinked an eye seeing their china fall to the ground and wine splash over the tiled floor with a sweep of his arm before tugging her up with her back flat on the table before placing himself between the cradle of her thighs, driving his hips between her legs.

"Y'would've let me, wouldn't you?" he mused, voice growing thick and dark like molasses. His hold on her shifted, his arms falling from the loop they made around her waist to anchor his hands on either side of her hips, the flare fitting into his palms. With his new grip, he kept her steady as he pressed his hips flush against hers, the ridge of his hardened cock pressing into the soft of her stomach through her linen dress, the fabric creasing and molding itself around him. Harry didn't need an answer before he continued, backing her up in the direction of the dining table behind her as he said, "Y'would have just laid there pretty for me while I had m'fill, huh? Perfect little wife, taking care of her man, aren't you? Work so hard all day to keep you in your pretty dresses and nice house, least y'could do is have me between your legs, relax with your pussy around m'cock."

If not for his hands on her hips, (Y/N) swore she would have toppled to the ground; bones emulating her soft insides that were willing to turn into anything, bend into any shape at Harry's will. Her steps backwards were nothing more than clumsy shuffles as she couldn't find anything in her brain willing to function on any other plane than the view that was granted in front of her. She watched as Harry took a slow perusal of her features, noting the way he smiled at her reaction, the curl lingering and slow though his eyes darkened with the blown out size of his pupil.

"Is that what y'would have done for me, (Y/N)?" he pressed just as (Y/N) hit the edge of the dining table, the empty wine glasses tottering on the surface at the force. Before she had a chance to distract herself with the noise, Harry brought his hand up to her face, pinching her chin between her thumb and forefinger. He ensured she matched his gaze, nothing more important in that moment than who was standing in front of him. "Tell me the truth, darling."

Her hands fluttered behind her, gripping the edge of the table with her nails tapping the underside of the surface as Harry pressed himself flush against her. Her bottom edged to sit on the table, her feet threatening to lift from the ground if Harry made the right move and laid her out on the surface. Forcing herself to release her bottom lip from the cage of her teeth, she nodded her head. "I wo-would. I would've been so good for you, H, I promise. Let you do whatever you want—I'll take it."

"Yeah?" he pressed, dipping his head just right to come near enough that the tip of his nose skimmed hers.

He was just close enough to feel the heat of his breath fanning over her skin, but not close enough to feel even the barest graze of his lips over hers. Tipping her head back, she only nodded to him as an afterthought before smoothing her mouth over Harry's, something akin to relief touched at her system at the first graze of his mouth she'd had since he came home. Harry melted into the contact, his hold on her softening though the press of his bulge into her stomach never lessened. His hand on her face slipped to fall over the curve of her neck, palm pressing against the base as her breathing stuttered underneath it.

A smug curl of his lips could be felt against her mouth as he gauged her reaction. Harry's hand on her hip urged her backwards, pushing her to sit herself on the table despite the flower arrangement lurking just behind her. Reluctantly, his hand sitting at the base of her throat traced down her form before matching the other on her hip. His palms warmed her through the fabric of her dress, the imprint of his wedding band sinking into the soft of her skin.

Distracted by the slip of his tongue into (Y/N)'s mouth, she hadn't noticed the way his hands slid further down her body until they wrapped around the back of her thighs. He swept her off her feet, her gasp coating Harry's mouth as her hands fluttered to steady herself with a hold on his shoulders. He settled her gently on the surface of the table, the reaching leaves of the peony arrangement tickled at the back of her bare arm, goosebumps rising in the wake.

Harry didn't waste a second before he fit himself snugly between her legs, soft thighs cushioning his hips. His palms cradled her cheeks as he smeared his lips over hers in frantic kisses, tongue wetting her lips and sweeping over her own. Strands of his hair tickled her nose as they fell from the perfect coiffed style he wore to work, the ends curling and reaching out towards her like they couldn't stand to not be touching her like the rest of him. (Y/N)'s breathing came out in soft puffs through her nose as she tipped her head in whatever which way Harry wanted her during their messy kisses.

Feeling his shoulders under her palms through the fabric of his shirt wasn't enough for (Y/N) anymore as she hooked her ankle around the back of his leg. It wasn't fair, she decided. She made him dinner and kept the house warm while he was away at work, she deserved to feel the heat of his bare skin, the heave of his chest as he struggled to steady his breathing despite refusing to stop kissing her, the beat of his heart against his ribcage under her hand. She deserved all of that.

Tracing her hands down from the broad of his shoulders, (Y/N) sought out the row of buttons fastening his shirt to his form. She blindly ran her palms over his chest, fingertips itching to take apart the material in favor of reaching the bare of his skin. As soon as she hit that first button, she made quick work of the binding, taking them down one by one as Harry's kissing dissolved in favor of feeling a smug smile against her mouth.

"Could've jus' asked if y'wanted me to take this off, precious," he told her, the murmur quiet as it floated between the two.

She felt breathless as she spoke, her nose nudging against his as she gave a short nod, "I-I want it off. Please, I want to touch you, H."

Though he didn't make any attempts to stop her hands from playing with the final button on his now untucked shirt, Harry didn't make any move to help. He seemingly considered her request, a brow raising as he seemed to remember something.

"Are y'sure?" he pressed, hands on her face moving to slid into her hair, "I thought y'said you'd lay there and take it for me—promised you'd jus' be my pretty little wife and let me take you. Don't really need to touch me if y'do that, do you?"

She floundered at his response. Of course she wanted to be good and take it—take him—, but didn't he want her to touch him? That wasn't fair, (Y/N) thought. That's not fair to feel his hands all over her body, and not have the chance to reciprocate; even now with his fingers threading through her hair, she couldn't fathom not doing the same to him with even a brush of her fingertips over his chest or a comb through his hair.

"B-But, H—That's not fair, I want to tou—"

He cut off her whining with a tender kiss to her lips, the perfect distraction as she melted into him. "'S alright, darling," he soothed her, "I was only teasing. Let me help you, yeah?"

With her hands fisted in the hem of his shirt, she nodded her head in giddy jerks. "Thank you, thank you, H," she told him through her growing smile.

She gladly let her hands fall from his form as soon as she felt Harry's replace hers at the final fastening on his top. His dress shirt was quickly shed from his form as soon as the final button was undone, creating a white puddle at his feet. (Y/N) watched through a dreamy gaze as he then fit his fingers through the neckline of his undershirt, the white tank joining the puddle of material on the floor only a second later.

(Y/N) couldn't help the satisfied grin that molded her features as soon as she caught sight of the full of Harry's tanned torso. Their days at the beach were not spent in vain she could see now with the black of his tattoos standing out against the gold of his skin. He was the perfect Malibu daydream: curling hair, dark tattoos from a rebellious streak inked over tan skin, bright green eyes rivaling the seafoam in their backyard, and the glint of a shining wedding band on his finger.

"This what y'wanted, (Y/N)?" he asked her, resuming his spot between her legs though his hands made a new home on the tops of her thighs. Her dress conformed to the shape of his fingers, ruching up just enough to unveil more of her legs the more he moved.

"Mhm," she hummed, pleased with herself once he was close enough for her own hands to land on his bare skin. He was just as warm as she had glimpsed under his work shirt, skin soft as her fingertips dented the flesh though there was only so much give over the blocks of his muscles.

Just as she made a move to press a kiss to the hollow of his throat, manicured nails raking over the birds etched just under his collarbones, Harry stopped her. His hands were firm as they landed on her waist. It was his turn to look a little smug down at her, (Y/N) knowing that he let her win only so he could collect his own bigger victory.

"You've got to take something off now, too. Keep it fair, darling, right?" he mused, sharp gaze dropping to her own set of buttons tying her dress up high on her front.

A pout made itself known on her features as soon as she realized what he was suggesting. "But, Harry, that's not fair. I only have my dress on, so it wouldn't be fair if I was naked and you're still half-dressed," she argued, sounding a bit petulant to her own ears though she didn't have it in herself to care much at the moment.

Harry's grin seemed to only stretch wider, dimples deep thumbprints in his cheeks, at her words. "'M sure we can figure something out, don't you think?"

It was then that she watched as he lowered himself to his knees between her legs. Her feet dangled on either side of him, the toes of her heels tapping against he width of his forearms. With the fluff of her dress obscuring Harry's hands as they disappeared up the hemline, (Y/N) was reminded of her wedding day in that moment. She remembered the way he ran those same hands up her legs, her cheeks having been blazing on fire with her blood bubbling underneath at the fact their families had been watching as he searched for the garter under her wedding gown. Now, there was a much less innocent glint to his eyes, something much more smug in his smile, and the heat under her skin had less to do with embarrassment.

The clear green of his eyes became the focal point of (Y/N)'s view as she gazed down at him, her hands once again curled around the lip of the table in an effort to keep herself steady as she watched. His own hands traveled under the length of her dress, nails catching on her soft skin with tickling scratches that he soothed with a sweep of his fingertips until he found the line of her underwear. He directed her to budge up, darling, as soon as he found the waist of the soft cotton, wasting no time before working the garment down the length of her legs. He helped her kick off her heels before the underwear followed, the sodden middle clear in the lowlight filling the dining room.

"Feels a lot more fair now, doesn't it?" he told her, satisfied as he cast his gaze to the panties in his hands, definitely noting the slick that coated just where her pussy would have been nestled in the fabric.

"Not with you all the way down there," she complained, already missing the heat of him all around her and the width of him between her thighs. Besides, she didn't go through all that trouble to get his top off only to look at him from a distance.

Harry tsked at her as he dropped her panties to the growing pile of laundry on the floor, rising from his knees as he playfully shook his head. "And to think," he started, drawing his hands up over her legs with the hem of her dress still caught on his wrists, "that y'had promised me you'd be good. I don't think backtalk is being good, is it, darling?"

As soon as he was near enough, (Y/N) didn't hesitate before she trailed her hands up his arms, inky tattoos on his left arm standing out starkly against her own design-less skin. "Can you blame me?" (Y/N) countered, looking up at him through fanned out lashes, "You wouldn't like it if I was half dressed but you weren't able to touch me at all. Especially, if I had been teasing you all night."

Only a single dimple dented into Harrys' features as a lopsided smile took over his mouth, an affectionate glaze lacquering his eyes. "I guess I can't when y'put it that way," he mused, dipping his head a pressing a kiss to her own kiss-swollen lips, "I have been teasing you all night, haven't I? Of course, you're going to act out when 'm making y'so needy."

With the rumbling of his voice she could hear just as much as she could feel with her hands on his chest, and his body pressing into hers, (Y/N) nodded her head as best she could without drawing too far away from his lingering kiss. The tip of his nose skimmed along the side of her own, as he indulged her in a seeking press of his lips before he drew away. He drug his gaze over her form, following the line of her neck until it disappeared under the collar of her dress until he found his hands on her thighs. The skirt was still bunched at his wrists, concealing the way his fingertips were denting into the soft of her thighs underneath the fabric.

He took his time inching his hands up her legs, his gaze following after. (Y/N) felt her entire body clench, muscles tight, as soon as she felt the tips of his fingers met the crease of her thigh just before the sensitive skin of her core. The beginnings of a self-satisfied smile worked on his mouth as he peered at her through his lashes, a little too amused at her reaction.

"H-Harry, please, can you just—...You said no more teasing," (Y/N) whined when he lingered too long, not moving his hands any farther than the full of her thighs and gentle fingertips not even daring to prod any deeper between.

"Did I say that, darling?" he mumbled, voice barely more than a graveled whisper, "Because I don't think I would. I like this game a little too much to have promised to stop."

(Y/N) couldn't help herself before her features contorted, a crease filling in between her brows and eyes going distressed to match the pout on her lips. "But, Harry—"

"Don't whine like that, darling," he stopped her, voice a firm murmur, "I'll give y'what y'want, jus' let me play."

Though it wasn't the answer she wanted (the ideal response she was looking for at this point was him undoing his pants before driving himself between her thighs, but it would appear that life isn't fair), she was going to have to accept it if she wanted him at all. Nonetheless, as he continued his lingering game, hands not even moving at this point, she keened her back, arching into him in search of his kiss.

Something calmed in her as soon as she felt his lips seal against her own. She was grounded to the moment finally, his mouth a promise that he was going to take care of her, not to worry because he had her. She had to take that if she was going to stay sane through his games. Harry seemed to notice her compliance then as he finally drifted from the spot his palm was warming over her thigh and brushed his fingertips over the mound of her core. Desperation made her skin overly sensitive, the barely there touch calming an ache that lingered just under the surface. Her fingernails dug into the wood of their table at the touch, spine stiffening with a hitch in her breath.

"See?" he told her, words fanning across her opened mouth, "When you're sweet, y'get what y'want."

"Y-Yeah," she agreed, voice a touch shaky as she wanted more of his attention, "Thank you, H."

The hand he still held on her thigh tightened at her gratitude, fingertips denting the soft flesh he regularly fawned over when he had his face tucked between them. Tipping his head, he smeared his lips over the corner of her mouth, his own expression twisting as if that was exactly what he wanted to hear from her. Her murmured something against her skin that was too muffled to catch anything more than the affection seeping from his tone as he drew himself closer to her form, leaving just enough room for his hand to work between them.

Harry's gentle fingertips moved deftly down between her legs, tracing over her slick slit. (Y/N) breath became stuck in her throat when she felt him graze over her pearled clit, thighs tensing around his hips. She tried to say his name—say anything—but nothing came out other than the strangled air that lingered in her lungs. With his two fingers bundled together, he slid them over her folds, coating himself in her wetness as he dropped his head to burrow against the curve of her neck. As he kissed over her jumping pulse, (Y/N) was hyperaware of the way his two longest fingers prodded around her slick opening, teasing her as she clenched around nothing. Using his grip on her leg and a push of his hip on the other, Harry spread her open wider, baring her completely to him.

With her skirt pushed up to her waist, just barely concealing what Harry was doing between her legs from view, (Y/N) had half the mind to be embarrassed, knowing just how easy it would be for a nosy neighbor of theirs (and Lord knows they have enough of them) to peek through an open window and catch her husband moments away from fingering her on the dinner table. Before she could get too far with that thought, (Y/N) entire body fell lax as Harry sunk his fingers inside her.

"Oh my god," she keened, back arching as her head fall backwards with her throat on display. Her toes curled from where her feet dangled on either side of Harry's legs, matching the grip of her hands on the edge of the table, scratches sure to be left on the underside from where her nails gouged the wood.

His smug smile could be felt against her shoulder as he made no move to draw away from the home he made in the soft of her form. He thrusted his fingers in lingering pulls between her parted thighs, thumb grazing the bud at the top of her slit while his fingers prodded at her soft spots from the inside.

At the first brush of his fingers against her most tender spot—the one he helped her discover in the backseat of his car just after they graduated—, she reflexively unlatched her hand from the lip of the table. She reached for his forearm, the muscles bunching and tensing under her hands as he stroked his fingers inside her wetness. Now her fingers dented the warm skin, his body her lifeline in that moment. The sound of her slick swallowing around his fingers traveled through the room, drowning out the notes of Elvis that dared to filter through the house. Despite how relaxed she felt at the first dip of his fingers inside her, an unbelievable pressure ribboned itself around her insides, tightening her further and further until she swore if not for the distraction of all the pleasure coursing through her system, she could have been in pain. Her eyes fell closed with a flutter of her lashes, hair falling down her back as she couldn't find it in herself to right her posture.

"Relax, darling, relax," Harry crooned to her, his voice breaking through the atmosphere that was building around her, "If you're too tight for m'fingers, how am I gonna fit inside, hm? Relax so I can give y'what y'want."

"I-I can't help it, Ha-Harry," she cried, tips of her hair tickling her skin as she shook her head.

"Yes, y'can," he told her, the command spreading like honey over her skin as he spoke into her neck. The tip of his nose skimmed along the curve of her throat as he worked up to whisper into her ear, "Jus' breathe, alright? Settle down and then I'll give you m'cock, yeah?"

Though his fingers never relented the pace they were working between her legs, only lingering longer and longer over her walls as they grew snug around him, (Y/N) tried her best to follow his direction. Her breathing came in shaky inhales, cut off when he pressed his thumb into her clit just right or tapped on the tender spot on her insides, but she was trying. She used the feel of Harry's lips lingering over her neck and the anchor of his arm under her palm to ground her to the moment. It took a few tries before she had an even pace going, her body relaxing as she allowed him to manipulate her as he pleased without her body trying to reign control.

"That's better, precious," he praised her, slowing his fingers between her legs into gentle strokes to help open her up. His hand on her thigh gave another squeeze before slipping out from under the cover of her dress. She felt the heat of his palm trace over her form until she felt his fingers wrap around the base of her exposed throat. The span of his hand pressed into the shelf of her collarbones, urging her to lay back as he drew away from the home he made along the curve of her form. "Lay down, darling."

His command came out on a breathy exhale that fanned over her skin, a layer of goosebumps erupting in its wake despite the humidity that suddenly filled the dining room. (Y/N) didn't stand a chance against his gentle pushing, carefully laying back on the table without disrupting the bouquet of flowers that reached out to touch her. Now without the anchors of his arm and the edge of the table to grip into, (Y/N) fisted her skirt in her hands, eyes hooded as she gazed up at Harry through the veil of her lashes.

The ink of his pupils was large and blown out, darker even in the low hanging light that centered over the dining table. She felt like the perfect meal lying before him with the way his gaze lingered over her form, tracing each curve and flare and dip of her body through the linen of her dress. His hand on her neck slipped down her body, now only a ghost of his warmth being felt on the hollow of her throat. All the while, his leisurely thrusting fingers between her legs came to a slow stop before he pulled them from her entirely. (Y/N) hissed when he made a point to drag his fingertips along her slit and press into her budding clit, her back arching just enough to bow off the surface of the table.

He hushed her gently, Harry's voice coming as a coo around her name as he soothed her. He ran his clean hand down the length of her thigh in a calming run before all evidence of his touch was gone in an instant. (Y/N) caught her breath in that moment until she heard the found of his fingers tinkering with the buckle of his belt and the unzipping of his trousers. Her heart stuttered for a moment at the noises, knowing what was coming next, until upstarting at a pace she couldn't remember achieving outside of their wedding night.

"Keep them open for me, love," Harry instructed her, his hands landing on her hips to drag her to the edge of the table as he worked himself between her thighs. She hadn't even realized she had gone to close her legs until he said anything, instinctively aching to close them and give herself some of the relief she was missing since he pulled away.

Craning her neck, she opened her eyes just enough to find her husband standing between her legs as they dangled over the side of the table, his gaze trained to the apex of her thighs. Her eyes trailed over his form, the light sheen of sweat gleaming in the low light of the dining table as it slicked over the designs inked on his skin. His corded arms were tight and bunched as they worked below his waist line, the view of their ministrations obstructed from (Y/N)'s view with her bunched skirt in the way. Nonetheless, she could see the way his features were twisted into a look she knew well from their nights between the sheets, and hear the glide of his hand along his length to fill in the gaps of what was happening out of her line of sight.

(Y/N) couldn't find it in herself to look away at the way the blocks this muscles moved under his tanned skin, and the flop of his curls as they fell over his forehead. Not even when Harry peered up at her through his lashes, something smug curling his lips with dimples that seemed much less innocent in that moment thumbing into the apples of his cheeks. He was all too happy to have her attention, wide eyes pinned to him and parted lips letting out ragged breaths that fought to form his name. His hand on his length slowed as he shuffled between her thighs, the sound of his shoes clicking over the tile underneath sounding like fireworks in the quiet of the house. His free hand landed on her hip then, the weight a buoy in that moment.

"Ready for me, precious?" he asked her just as she felt the first swipe of his prick through her folds, head nudging her clit.

"Uh-huh," she keened, nodding her head, "Please, please, H."

As soon as (Y/N) caught sight of the smug smile on his lips, she let her head fall back onto the wood of the table. She knew exactly what he was going to ask of her.

"You know how to ask me, darling." He never stopped teasing her as he spoke, even upping the stakes as he pressed his prick against her weeping hole.

"But, H—"

"Nu-huh, precious." She could imagine the way he shook his head as he spoke, knowing exactly the kind of torture he was putting her through when he started this game. "Jus' say it, and you'll have me. You know what I want."

(Y/N) brows knitted together in the middle as she pouted. It wasn't like what he was asking for was hard to give him, but she didn't understand why she had to do all of these things when they both wanted the same thing. Besides, whenever she uttered those words, she felt her skin warm with her cheeks being the epicenter. Even now, years after the first time he ever coaxed the phrase from her, it made butterflies churn in her tummy and prod at her insides.

"'S all you've got to do, then 'm yours," Harry persuaded her, emphasizing the truth with a gentle rock of his hips that nudged just the very tip of his cock into her clenched opening.

That teasing push was enough to get (Y/N)'s jaw dropping. Whatever inhibitions she had barring her from abiding to his request dissolved in that moment and turned into another squeeze of her pussy at the thought of him inside. "Please, fuck me, H, please, please," she pleaded, swearing for him just as he wanted.

"How?"

Her eyes squeezed shut at the followup that came less than a moment after she let out her breathless pleads. "Hard, H," she told him, swallowing before continuing, "I want you to fuck me hard, Harry. I don't want to be able to look at our dinner table again without getting wet for you."

When she won the battle to blink her eyes open to see if that was what he wanted from her, (Y/N) found Harry with his brows cinched in the middle and his tongue peeking out at the corner of his gaped mouth as he gazed down at her. She hooked her ankle around the back of his leg, urging him in a reminder of what he promised.

"G-Good girl, darling," he told her, voice a breathless rumble, "Gave me jus' what I wanted, didn't you? 'M yours, now, yeah?"

Before she could even fathom an answer, Harry gave a swift thrust of his hips and drove his cock through her soft insides. The slick sound of her pussy swallowing him filled the room as she fought to find her breath and any working train of thought that wasn't wobbly on its tracks. The help of his fingers inside her before allowed him to slip in without resistance despite the snug fit of her walls around him.

Just as she had begged him barely minutes before, Harry gave her a moment to adjust to having him inside her before he reared back, leaving just the tip to warm inside her, and gave a hard thrust to bottom out again. The force knocked the breath out of her, back arching off the table and disrupting the wine glasses still balanced on the surface. She wanted to say his name—say anything—though nothing succeeded in making its way out of her throat, his forceful thrusts cutting that idea off before it even had a chance of budding in her head.

"Jus' like y'wanted, darling? Am I giving it to y'hard enough?" Harry's words came out rocky as he balanced his hands on either side of her hips.

"Uh-huh, uh-huh," she whined in time with the strokes of his hips, her legs instinctively wrapping around him as he worked her.

"Th-Then you've gotta do something for me, too, (Y/N)."

She didn't even have to think before she was blindly agreeing to his terms.

"Undo your dress for me, yeah?" he asked of her, hands squeezing her hips as his hips stuttered in their rhythm, "Let me see your tits."

(Y/N) felt as if she was moving on autopilot as she unfurled her fingers from the mess of linen they were trapped in and frantically worked on the buttons fastening the top of her dress to her chest. With each clumsy undoing, more and more of her skin was exposed to the tapped air of the room, a layer of goosebumps raising with every brush of her fingertips over her bare skin. The satin cups of her plain white bra shone under the light, the fabric going champagne gold from the amber bulb.

As soon as she unbuttoned her dress down to the cream colored sash that wrapped around her waist, Harry flicked her hands out of the way with his own. His palm landed headily on the exposed skin of her stomach, his touch steady despite the unwavering pace of his hips thrusting into her. She felt his warmth bleed through the padding of her bra as he reached to pulled the cups down. The job was clumsy as he sent her bra askew, baring her breasts for him. He was quick to cup one of her breasts with his warm palm, thumb skimming the peek with his nail catching on the soft curve.

Just as he squeezed around the soft flesh, he knocked her breathless with the help of a druggingly rough thrust of his hips. The tip of his cock nudged against the soft of her insides, far enough she couldn't even fathom how he managed to hit her tummy and still have more to give her.

"H-Harry, oh my god!" she cried, the words falling from her mouth before she could properly find the air for them. Her thighs squeezed around his hips just as she felt her walls do around his prick, her entire body urging him to stay with her, to do that again.

"'M here, darling. 'M taking care of you, don't worry, darling," he crooned to her, though he didn't quite sound as serene as he did when they started. "Gonna cum for me soon?"

Though her mouth was dropped open in a gape, no words came out. She only managed to nod, hair fluttering against the wood grain of the table. If he just touched her a little more, ground his hips into hers harder, he was going to make her cum around him before she had a chance to even thread together a coherent thought. From the second he fit his hand between her legs and teased her all the while, she was gone for him, her body ready for just the right moment before unraveling the tight spool of ribbon growing in her tummy.

"Need more f-from me, first?" he gritted out from a ticked jaw, (Y/N) able to imagine the hard line of his jaw just from memory as she couldn't manage to peek her eyes open in that moment.

Back arched as he flicked his finger over her pointed nipple, (Y/N) found her voice in a breathy croon, "Pl-Please, touch me, Harry."

She half expected him to keep up his unrelenting game, force her into telling him exactly where she wanted him to touch and how. But, when he instead peeled away his hand that had still been on her hip to keep her steady and placed it between their bodies, she could have cried at the instant satisfaction that followed as he smeared the pad of his thumb over her clit.

The vase filled with flowers beside her and the nearly empty wine glasses on the table rattled around her as she keened into the touch, her hips bucking up to meet his hand and subsequently knock into his rocking motions of his own.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," she bubbled off, the grated getting lost in her breathless murmurs but she couldn't help herself as they fell from her mouth.

Harry didn't say anything, only driving his hips that much harder into her. His hand on her breast drifted from the gentle kneading he was giving to the flesh, traveling up the expanse of her collarbones until he found the column of her throat. Her pulse kicked up at the feel of his hand inching to wrap around the delicate curve. If he did what she was hoping, she had no chance; she was going to have no hope before she melted into a complete puddle and came for him before she had a moment to catch her breath.

His thumb never ceased the circles he traced around her clit, following the tempo of his thrusts, as the hand on her neck turned stern. Long fingers wrapped around the curve of her throat, squeezing just enough that (Y/N) felt the pattern of her ragged breathing change to accommodate the new pressure. He choked her with a tender hand, finding the perfect grip that she'd come to love that made her head just a little too dizzy to think, putting her completely in the realm of his touch with no distractions.

She heard static in her ears as she laid there at his mercy, his firm hand on her neck to match the rough motions of his hips and rubbing of her clit. Her toes curled at the small of his back as she hooked her ankles together and held his body to her as best she could with a wavering grip. It was on instinct as she brought her hands up to wrap around the wrist of his that was choking her, fingertips denting into his forearm though she didn't make any move to stop him or pull him off her.

"S-So perfect, precious," he praised her, his thrusts going sloppy as she felt her own body beginning to unravel, "Taking it jus' like y'promised me, ar-aren't you? Such a good little wife for me—knew I married the right one."

If she had the wherewithal to fully compute his praising, (Y/N) knew she would have keened into his touch and urged him to finish for the sole reason of feeling him cum and seeing the look on his face that only she could bring, but there was nothing working in her head as she felt as if her body was little more than one large nerve-ending. Turning her head, she pressed her cheek into the cool wood cushioning her body, a moment of clarity entering her mind at the chill. Blinking her eyes open, she was granted a wavering view out the sliding glass doors that led to their backyard, the beach off in the distance. The sky was dark, the sun having fallen ages ago when (Y/N)'s brain had still been between her ears. The stars were streaks in the ink of the sky, reflecting off the ocean waves that were soundtracked with the music of her heartbeat rushing through her ears. What a pretty sight to see, she aimlessly thought, a sea view while her husband choked her with the same hand she held every morning as she walked him to his car before work.

Reaching with his forefinger to her jawline while his thumb pinched at the hinge, Harry turned her to face him, his palm still tight on her neck until he righted his grip. Shifting his hold, the leverage of his grip on her neck changed as she felt the telltale twitch of his cock inside her that told her he was just as close as she was. His gaze was clear as she matched it, the green especially bright though it was nothing more than a slim ring around his pupil.

"Look at me when I make y'cum," he grumbled to her, raspberry lips deeply colored and swollen.

Maybe it was his hand on her neck, or the feel of his cock making way between her snug walls, or the circles around her clit, but hearing Harry even say that he was going to make her cum, made her muddled brain decide that she had to do that now. She had to give him what he wanted now, as she didn't have any choice to stray from his demanding gaze and the unrelenting touch of him all around her.

Before she had a chance to tell him anything, warn him that she was about to finish for him, the beginnings of a dimple dented into his cheek as a smug curl edged out on the corners of his mouth. He knew.

"Gonna cum for me now, darling?" he prodded, voice low and deep though unsteady from his own impending pleasure.

"Uh-huh," she keened, only able to choke that out around his hand. She swallowed, throat bobbing under his grip. "H-Harder, plea-ease."

"Want me to choke y'harder, or fuck y'harder?" he pressed, Adam's apple bobbing before the tip of his tongue peeked out and ran along the full of his bottom lip.

"Ch-choke me harder," she told him, words a whisper.

Though the request was for something to make her unravel, Harry seemingly crumbled at the sound of her words, her small, breathy voice letting them linger between them. Nonetheless, he tightened his grip around her neck and kept working the rest of her body through the derailing of the pacing of his hips.

Everything came to a head at once as she tried to suck in a breath that was hindered by the grip of his hand. His cock fucking through her walls and nudging her tender spot, thick thumb pressing harshly against her clit, and the firm hand on her neck. Her brain went fuzzy while she fought to keep her eyes open and maintain the eye contact Harry wanted from her, though she felt the bow tied tight in her stomach coming undone in a mess of ribbon. Static filled her head despite the way Harry lessened his hold on her throat as soon as he realized she was cumming for him, her body following after in pinpricks of pleasure that dotted her limbs in sparks of clarity that matched the stars painting the sky outside their door.

"Harry," she moaned, the call hoarse and fragile as it rolled off her tongue. Her legs around his waist tugged him tight enough to her that he couldn't move from where he had bottomed out inside her.

Though he stilled his hips and his hand was nothing more that a steadying warmth at the hollow of her throat, he still worked the bud of her clit in soft circles through her orgasm. He was her safe place to land as she came down with a flutter of her eyes falling closed and chest heaving with the breaths she'd been fighting to suck in since she found herself seated on this table.

His hand on her neck trailed up to cradle her cheek in a tender hold, thumb petting along the height of her cheekbone. He waited for her descent back down to earth with him, only moving his hips in soft rocks that he couldn't help but make when the cradle of her legs around his waist loosened.

"Y'alright, precious?" he asked her once she found the energy to blink her eyes open.

Despite how tender and gentle he was being with his wife, (Y/N) watched as his nose flared with heaving breaths and his hair was pasted to his temples with the help of the sweat that also covered his body. The waves of curls on the top of his head were a mess, the gel he'd left the house with nonexistent in the heat of the room. His lips were swollen from their rounds of kissing as well as the blunt ends of his teeth digging into the pillows. He still needed to cum, and he was close to it if the set of his jaw was anything to go by.

"Y-Yes, but—" she stuttered, dropping her hands from around his forearm only to tug her ruffled skirt out of Harry's way, "It-It's your turn now, Harry."

A muscles in his jaw jumped, the hinge tightening at the sound of her words. "Is it, now?" he asked her with the lids of his eyes dropping low over his gaze, "Want to see me cum for you?"

Before she could thread together any kind of response, her head was nodding on instinct, frantic jerks. "Please, let me watch you cum, H."

A murmured curse left his mouth as his brows came into a pinch above his eyes, his eyelids winning out as they fell closed as he let out a deep breath. She watched as the white tips of his teeth peeked out and sunk into his bottom lip just as he gaze one more lingering pet of his thumb over her cheekbone before pulling away. He stood tall over her, chest bare with his pants undone just enough to pull his cock out. (Y/N)'s eyes never strayed as he slowly pulled out of her, her walls clenching around nothing as she adjusted without him, a whine caught in her throat.

Craning her neck, she was allowed a short view as he wrapped his fist around his cock, his hand having been covered in her slick from petting over her clit. Wet sounds filtered through the space as he stroked his cock in a pace that rivaled the harsh thrusts he delivered to his wife. Harry's face was contorted in a kind pleasure she felt lucky to see without lust too thick to breathe through addled her brain, and eyes clear enough to document every crease and curve to his features.

"Gonna cum on your pussy, darling. Is that alright?" he asked her, his explanation floating on a short breath between them though he never drew his gaze away from the sensitive folds between her legs.

A jerky nod acted as (Y/N)'s answer, the movement almost as frantic as Harry's hand over his cock. She watched as his prick twitched in his hand, the muscles of Harry's stomach tight and pronounced under the warm lighting. All it took was a swipe of his thumb over his weeping head before a rumbling groan built in his chest and streaks of cum spurted from his cock. The warmth landed in ropes (Y/N) couldn't see but felt as they painted over her intimacy, mixing with the slick that coated her slit. Harry threw his head back and let out a call of her name towards the ceiling as his chest heaved, the skin tinted a flushed pink. He came in thick spurts, his hand fisted over his prick helping to work out each rope until nothing was left but short drips that fell to the floor and his cock was too sensitive to touch.

Harry's body get languid as he came down, riding that wave until it brought him back to shore, sun-kissed and relaxed. Rolling his neck, he looked to (Y/N) with a canted head and tender smile that matched the way his eyes traced over her form.

"C'mere, precious," he murmured, reaching towards her hands that were stiffly curled into her dress.

(Y/N) didn't even think before she gave him her hands, uncaring of their shared cum that covered his palms. She was sure they were going to shower together after this, anyway. She sat up, her dress falling to cover to her knees with the hem dipping into the mess between her legs, though she didn't pay it any mind. All she cared about then was the way Harry dipped his head down to match his lips to hers as soon as he was given the opportunity.

Nothing was frantic about the contact, only soothing presses of their lips. A quiet reminder that he liked being rough with her only because of these tender moments they shared afterwards. He soothed her self-bitten lips and threaded their fingers together in a grip that felt like a feather compared to the way he had held her steady as he fucked into her only moments earlier. (Y/N) preened at the feel of him and all of his careful energy around her, feeling just as loved as she did with his hand around her neck.

Harry trailed his kisses down from her mouth and down the line of her neck until he found the slightly reddened skin that detailed just where his hand had been prior. He planted a garden of kisses that followed the line of each of his fingers and the span of his palm in gentle presses.

"I know y'asked me to, but I didn't choke y'too hard, did I?" he asked though his words melted into her skin. He didn't bother to pull away from her neck before he spoke, only muttering between the dragging kisses he granted to the delicate skin.

"No, no," (Y/N) rushed, shaking her head before she squeezed his hands in her own, "I liked it, H. I promise. I might have to use a little makeup tomorrow in case anything makes a mark, but I promise I really liked it. Thank you for doing that for me."

His smile could be felt against her neck, a gentle curve. "I love you, darling."

Unlacing her fingers from between his, she brought them up to cradle his cheeks as she pulled him up to face her. "I love you, too, H. There's no one I'd rather have come home to me."

Affection gleamed in the green of his eyes before they were shuttered as he pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth.

(Y/N) indulged in the contact for only a moment before something tickled at her senses. Her brows furrowed as she tried to pinpoint the niggling at the back of her mind that was triggered with the smell of... caramel? No, no, this was much deeper than that. It almost smelled like something was burning—or burning more, anyway.

As soon as the realization hit her, (Y/N) went stock still where she sat at the table.

Harry pulled away with concern painted over his gaze though (Y/N) only looked over his shoulder. She struggled then to somehow fix the top of her dress while scrambling to hop off the counter.

Harry stayed a steady wall between her and the rest of the house as she rushed, hands on her hips and face forcing into her field of view so she had to look at him. "Precious, what's wrong? Are—"

"Harry, the pie! I left it in the oven!"

(Y/N) couldn't find it in her to be even a little annoyed at the sound of her husband's laughter that then filled the house. She loved the melody almost as much as she loved him, even if it was at the expense of their dessert.

With the sound echoing though her ears as she slipped on a pair of oven mitts and extracted the bubbling black, burnt confection, (Y/N) decided that she'd burn a hundred more of them if his laughter was her reward.

—————

this idea ofc was super inspired by the dwd trailer ofc ofc but then when hsh came out and The Line in keep driving happened I put it all together!! thank u sm for reading and sorry for any mistakes!! please please if you have any ideas or requests people sen them in!!

1K notes · View notes