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gremlingottoosilly · 7 months

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A bomb threat (And how it got you a boyfriend) special forces!Konig x fem!college!Reader

Konig saves you from a bomb threat when you get stuck at your Uni. Based on his bio - presumably, Konig was a part of the Austrian Special Forces before joining KorTac. He is also a bit of a dork and we have a bit of an obsessive episode.

Tags: Fluff, Reader is a cringefailure, Konig is overstepping his authority, hurt(not really)/comfort Warnings: Bomb threats, mentions of terrorism Word count: 2450

Someone called a bomb threat in your college.

Well, at least, this is what the automatic email is telling you. The email that was sent to you, about especially avoiding the library on the second floor because the anonymous(not for long, since they have a knack for exposing who the hell is calling those threats each time) caller said that there is a huge chance of the bomb being placed here.

You know, the same library that you were sitting in, right now, reading this exact email on your laptop. You thought no one was around because it wasn’t a busy day, just after the major finals, with most people staying on campus only if they failed first tests or just wanted to get extra credits for some extra curriculum. Even if you were staying here just because you wanted to work on campus’s newspaper – the library is a good place to scoop for some rumors about the dean of the uni being three raccoons in a trench coat, or the lunch staff posing as Polish mafia.

The thing is – it seemed like you were the last fucking person to receive the email. The thing is, there are only a few weeks left before summer break, and the campus already started to turn off major announcement equipment since no sports or other events are planned. Are you going to die? Probably, there is a huge chance of you dying, as you can feel directly in your bones – god, there are probably some terrorists or uni shooters or that weird Christian suprematist who are going hysterical at the mere sight of religion other than theirs. You are going to die, you are going to die, you are going to…

— Scheisse! There is a civilian!

You were never particularly religious, maybe only at the time of finals and work submissions – and in situations like this, where you are already mentally preparing yourself to get blown up with unfinished articles and forgotten hopes and dreams and everything and…

You were never particularly religious – so you have no idea why your pre-death auditory hallucinations suddenly included an angel’s voice with devil's timbre and some huge, tree-trunk-like hands wrapping around your waist, checking you for possible injuries or explosive device.

These hands are really huge – and muscular, you can see how tense they are even through your black uniform, and they are roaming over your body in a way that would make you scream bloody murder and file sexual harassment if it didn’t belong to an obvious angel. Angelm in special forces uniform, an angel with a really nice boyish voice and warm hands that are sliding to your thighs, groping and checking for every possible outcome – for weapons, probably, because you are literally the only person in the room that was deemed as a bomb threat, and if you were this guy, you’d also think that you were the culprit.

His fingers linger on your hips perhaps a bit too long – you can him patting you down like you were heading to a club – and then he lets you go reluctantly, not finding anything except for your phone which he also checked for possible timers. The interaction lasted…a minute or so, but you are already hot and bothered, getting off the strong hands holding you, even though he already let you go.

— Are you alright?

He must have noticed your worried face and international student badge – his English is a bit accented but nonetheless confident. You never thought that small traces of German in a speech can sound so fucking hot but, perhaps, you are just traumatized and high on adrenaline and weren't getting laid for too fucking long.

He wears a badge – something something long German words, huge design construction that made you think he must be pretty high-rank – knowledge that you only had because of the movies and games you were playing, trying not to get off the military kink too much. Something in the situation told you that you’d spend the whole evening searching for porn with guys dressed in all black today. Maybe, a touch of cargo.

— Y…yeah. Fuck, sorry. I’m fine, fine. Yeah.

You are rambling and he tilts his head to the side. This large, looming hand goes to your face – you wait for either a harsh slap to return you back to reality, or a passionate and deep kiss from your fantasies and dirty novels. He slowly traces his fingers on your face, getting up, in the hairline, searching for something – perhaps, a nasty head parasite that got you acting so weird around this random guy. Random guy who is just doing his job, securing that you’re safe, sound, and not going to explode in the next few minutes.

— No head injuries. Gut.

You want him to touch your face some more. You want him to check for mouth injuries, to evaluate the status of your lips. Maybe do some chemical tests with that gloss you were using today. Check the reaction with his tongue.

He twirls you in place and you almost want him to press you against the wall. Search you some more, maybe get his hands a bit deeper, pass the oh-so-modest pants that made you look like a little bitch boy – his hand goes to cup your waist again, checking for anything that might catch his interest. Nothing – and you were never this sad about Hot wearing a concealed weapon that might force him to pin you down or get you into a chokehold with those massive biceps of his.

— What were you doing here, ma’am?

Studying in Vienna, you never found an Austrian accent this sexy. Never knew that you might like being handled like this before – it’s not romantic, not even in the slightest, but you smile a bit shyly, a bit awkwardly, and look at him from under your lashes, trying to look as innocent as possible. You are innocent – you weren’t doing anything, you were just trying to study and write in the last few weeks. Concentrated enough, so you never even noticed a fucking bomb threat. Didn’t hear soldiers running through the building, securing each room.

— I…study here?

You gulp loudly, taking a few steps away from the soldier. Allowing him to examine the room, deem it safe – the bomb threat called on your university was probably fake. Maybe a call from a paranoid individual, maybe someone with nothing better to do than pranking colleges. You seriously doubt anyone would try to blow up this place while almost none of the students are actually inside – especially the library during the low season. Even you almost decided to ditch the traditional writing atmosphere and just do something in the cafeteria.

— Oh.

His voice actually sounds…nice. Funny even, that small remark also makes him cough and look at you more seriously. He has a mask concealing his face, some weird hood or net on top of it – you try to see his eyes, but you can only occasionally catch glimpses of ice staring at you. Mysterious, you like it. Too mysterious, that little journalist club member inside of you is itching to get a look at his face better – you tilt your head to the side, contemplating just yanking it upwards and praying that he won’t kill you.

Although you wouldn’t mind being crushed in his hold.

— Let’s get you out of here, ja?

You don’t question him when he suddenly picks you up – when the world starts to spin and you are pressed against his chest, his hands are supporting you under your knees and back. Securing you in place, making sure you are nice and comfy in his hold. You don’t ask questions when he slightly adjusts your hold so he can touch more of your thighs – you think he is just getting you comfortable, and you appreciate just how thoughtful he is.

You don’t ask questions when he holds you almost like a bridal carry, even though you are certain you aren’t injured, and someone like him probably has more interesting things to do than saving poor college students who decided to ignore bomb threats.

His hands are warm, his chest is even warmer, and his muscles aren’t even slightly trembling. You don’t know what sort of training those guys are coming through, but it must work – his steps are light and decided even when he can’t press you firmly against him, vest standing in the way. You don’t know what to do with your hands and you don’t want to mess with the government property – you think there is a law against fidgeting with special forces soldiers on duty – so you just get them on your knees. Like a good girl. Polite girl. Girl who isn't drooling over the guy who is just doing his job.

— Thank you. For saving me.

You whisper it in his headset – you are worried about someone else also hearing you, but there is something intimate about tilting your head upwards and getting right into his face, your lips millimeters away from the edge of his mask. You don’t want to sound suggestive, so you sound weak instead. You don’t to sound ungrateful, so you sound pleading instead.

His hold on your thighs gets stronger. You lick your lips nervously, chuckling to ease the atmosphere a little bit.

Your leg brushes above his waist – and you swear that you can hear his breath hitching. It’s impossible, you think, he must be a tough and content little soldier, perfect to save damsels in distress just like you – but something in his posture, in the way his fingers twitch slightly at the edges of your body, makes you think otherwise. Maybe, you’re just dreaming. Maybe, you know nothing.

Someone slams into the room. Another man – shorter than the one who holds you, by a large margin, but none less intimidating. Burly, muscular, dressed up in full uniform which is expected – and with his face covered up by a similar veil or mask or whatever this is – which is unexpected. You thought that special forces would have something less eye-obscuring, but what do you know? You would be dead if the bomb threat was real.

— Other sectors secured. No bomb in sight. Commander.

He almost hisses, the similar accent in his voice makes your cheeks heat up even more. You feel weird, dirty even, thinking of those two large, intimidating men in such an intimate setting while they are just trying to save your life – but you try to silence that little annoying voice, to convince yourself that this is probably just adrenaline, ovulation and sudden urge to procreate before you would die.

You feel your entire body stir when the man takes a step closer, looking at you. You can’t see his face, not even the outline of it – but you feel the burning gaze on your scared expression and obediently folded hands.

— Gut. Other civillians? — 20 civilians in the building in total. University workers, some students. Already evacuated. — Any casualties? You hear a cruel chuckle from a shorter man. — If they were, you’d hear about it, sir. No, the sector is clear. — Gut. Dismissed – we’re finishing here. — What are you doing with the civi…

— Kruger, dismissed.

The man who holds you is surprisingly stern when he isn’t talking to you. He used a much softer, quieter tone when he was talking to you, observing if you were hurt or in danger – and he is much, much different now. A cold voice, serious tone, the image of the ruthless commander flying in your head – well, at least you were right about his patches meaning something important.

A shorter man leaves, and the door behind him swings open. To your surprise, the man who holds you – a mysterious stranger, you can’t even seem to find a name on his uniform – doesn’t let you go. His touches feel like you’re burning alive, he is igniting and brilliant and fucking perfect and…

He lets you down to the care of the local police department and some of the uni workers. His hand brushes over your face again – you think he was checking for the injuries but, then again, why would he touch your hair ever so gently only to move it out of your face to take a good look at your lips before letting you go? You’re imagining things, you probably must be – the man is just doing his job, he isn’t trying to fuck you in the nearest hallway even if you wanted him to.

— Sir. I…thank you, really. For the help.

— I didn’t do anything, Schatz. Someone must been playing a joke on everyone.

You are going to find the guy – or a girl, or someone else, you don’t discriminate, everyone is equally capable of calling on the false bomb threats – who informed the special forces about the bomb in the building, and then you are going to kiss them.

— What kind of joke is this?

— A dumb one.

He looks over to his unit – a group of tall, burly men, with weapons and uniforms and everything a girl could ask for – already packing in the vehicles to move out. You brace yourself to ask for his number – for his contact, anything, everything, maybe the favorite tree in the park under which you could meet again. You know that those guys aren’t supposed to reveal their identities, that he is probably out of town anyway, special forces aren’t usually called off to false threats, you know that your attempts are futile and yet, you lick your lips for added confidence and…

— Goodbye, Scahtzen. Stay safe, ja? Don’t want to save you from a real bomb one day.

— I…I…um, you mean you wouldn’t save me from a real bomb?

He was already halfway to the armored car before you could say anything. You aren’t nearly confident enough to yell across the whole fucking campus territory to get a number of this hot special forces guy, and something in his hunched shoulders, twitching fingers, and slightly less social and more abrasive manners tells you that he would hate the gesture as much as you would.

Just like this, your first even real-life military crush is driving away, leaving you bombless, hoeless, and, most certainly, more depressed than ever. Summer is going to be great, right?

*** — What do you mean calling a fucking bomb threat?!

Your friend wasn’t happy about the pick-up strategy you wanted to use.

*** — Of course, sir, let’s raid a fucking college dorm room.

Sergeant Sebastian Josed Krueger wasn’t happy about his commander’s newfound love for college girls.

Mostly because König refused to fucking share.

#cod #call of duty #cod x reader #konig x reader #cod x you #yandere konig #konig mw2 #reader insert #cod imagine #imagine #konig #sebastian krueger

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roosterforme · 2 months

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The Younger Kind Part 49 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley confides in you, loves you, and takes care of as much as he can. When he needs you to help him more than usual, you never complain. As the two of you get ready for a hectic weekend, Bradley makes sure he has his plans in order. And he reminds you that you're always one of his top priorities, even when things get busy.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff, oral, smut, cock warming, and age gap (18+)

Length: 5300 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

It was dark outside, and you were sitting on the couch with Skittles while you waited for Bradley to get home. Noah was already sound asleep, worn out from an evening of helping you make ants on logs and going for a hike around the block, but you were alert and antsy. All you got was a text from Bradley an hour ago letting you know he was on his way home.

Skittles aimed her puppy eyes right up at you. "I know. I miss him, too." It was kind of funny the way all three Bradshaws had the same brown eyes that made you want to give them anything they asked for. "Okay, fine. But don't tell anyone about it."

You stood and the pup followed you into the kitchen where you cut up a meatball and dumped it into her food bowl. Then you heard the front door open and nearly wiped out on your way back to the living room where Bradley was closing the front door behind him. He had his uniform belt and a ziploc bag filled with his pins in one hand, but he held the other out for you.

"What happened?" you asked as you tucked yourself against him and examined his face. His expression was unreadable. "Did she sign the paper?"

He nodded as Skittles ran in and sniffed his boot. "Yeah. She signed it," he replied, leaning to kiss your lips as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

"Wow," you whispered, standing in the living room right next to the area rug where you were laying the first time he ever told you about Meredith. "I'm... kind of surprised."

"Me, too." He tossed his belt and pins onto the couch and held you close.

You didn't want to pry too much, but you were so curious, it was killing you inside. "What was it like when you talked to her?"

Bradley rubbed his face against your hair as he undid the top few buttons of his uniform shirt before wrapping his arm around you again. "It went better than I expected. I was only in the room with her for maybe ten minutes. She..."

You rubbed soft circles against his back as he collected his thoughts. You didn't care how long it took him to get the words out, you just wanted him to know you'd always be here to listen. His heartbeat was strong and steady as you let your head rest on his chest, and he gave you a little squeeze.

When he spoke again, his voice was rough and sent a chill along your back. "She thinks she would have been better off if she had an abortion. And I tend to agree with her in some respects. But my god, I'm so happy she didn't. I can't even think about living without Noah. So I'm happy she didn't do it." His voice broke, and your eyes welled up with tears.

"Me too, Daddy," you whispered as you started to tug him toward the kitchen. He'd already had a very long week, but now you could take care of him so he didn't have to do it by himself.

"Baby, I'm fucking exhausted. I'm not hungry. Can we just go to bed?"

You nodded and changed direction. "Of course." You worked on the rest of his buttons and helped him out of his shirt. When he sat on the edge of the bed, you knelt to untie his boots and yank them off, and Bradley looked at you with such adoration, it made your cheeks feel warm. You peeled off his socks, too, and when you got up, you sat on his lap.

"I'm really proud of you for going to talk to Meredith," you whispered. "I hope Noah grows up to be just like you."

Bradley scooped you up and lounged back against the pillows with you on top of him. "Funny thing about that, Princess... I hope he grows up to be just like you."

Less than fifteen minutes later, you lulled Bradley to sleep while you played with his hair and softly kissed his face. "I love you, Princess," he muttered as you rubbed your nose against his. Then you crept back out of bed to make sure everything was in order for the three of you for the following morning, and you stopped in Noah's room to kiss him before getting ready for bed yourself.

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Wednesday and Thursday were both long days, and once again Bradley had to rely on you to pick up all of his slack when it came to Noah. Cyclone was running him ragged in preparation for the air show. Wednesday, he went to the bank to transfer the money into a new account with just his name and Noah's on it. Thursday, he went back to talk to Tracy as soon as he could leave base.

When he called and asked her if she could help him put up some extra safeguards for his own peace of mind, she told him she could. When he strolled into her office for the second time in one week, she was talking on the phone and drinking a Red Bull, but she pointed to the conference table and a large folder with his name on the front. He skimmed through a stack of paperwork; she'd really thought of everything. Tracy even had your name listed on several documents along with a few notes for you to read.

When she ended her call, he said, "Thanks for helping me with this. I want to get it all in order."

"You mean like I told you to do years ago?" she asked with one eyebrow raised.

"Listen. At least I'm doing it now."

"I hope you brought your checkbook this time."

When he eventually got home, you already had dinner on the table, and Noah was eating a piece of broccoli. And sure, he'd just dropped another couple hundred bucks when he wrote out a check, but he'd be damned if anything was going to mess with his family again. He set the folder and checkbook down on the counter and bent to kiss you between bites of your dinner while he tousled Noah's hair.

"You're home earlier than I thought, Daddy," you remarked when he leaned in for another kiss. "And that's a mighty fine looking checkbook you've got there."

"I've been late too much this week," he whispered, stealing a piece of broccoli from your plate. "It shouldn't be like this."

"Next week will be better," you promised. "After the air show and everything this weekend, next week will be quieter. And then maybe I can plan our trip to Disneyland."

"Shhh!" Bradley scolded playfully, reaching to cover Noah's ears as he started to feed his broccoli to Skittles who was begging next to his chair. "Not so loud." You laughed and pointed to the stove where a plate of dinner was waiting for him. "Thanks, Princess."

Once he settled in, you looked at him with a little smirk. "You know, all of these late nights meant I didn't get to my nail appointment. I wanted to have them done for the hospital tour and the air show."

Bradley grimaced. The tour was tomorrow, and you were already leaving work an hour early to get there on time with him. "I'm sorry. The week really got away from me. I should have reminded you to buy a new outfit or two if you wanted."

"Oh, I did," you told him. "I used my Princess card."

He swallowed hard. He could tell you were subtly asking him for a spanking, and he was more than happy to give it to you, but he had something else in mind for the remainder of the night after Noah was in bed. He glanced at his son who was now picking apart his chicken. "Can you take a raincheck, Baby? I have some other plans for the next few days, but I'd love to get my hands on you next week?"

You raised one eyebrow. "What are your other plans?"

He took a bite of food before he said, "I'll tell you after bedtime. After you show me the clothes you bought."

Eventually he sent you off to change into one of these new outfits while he got Noah ready for bed. "I'll be home more next week, Bub. I promise. We'll have time to read more books. And maybe one night you and I can go to the park and give Mommy a little break?"

His son nodded as he rolled over and closed his eyes. But Bradley didn't really want to give you a break. He wanted you with him and Noah all the time. And after this weekend, he anticipated that feeling would grow even stronger.

When he walked into his bedroom and found you examining yourself in front of the mirror with a form fitting black dress hugging your body, he groaned. "Are you wearing that for the hospital tour?" he asked, and you looked at him in the mirror.

"Yes?" you replied. "Unless you think it's too much."

He grunted softly. Of course it was too much. You looked sinful in it. All he had to do is put his hand on your ass, bunch the fabric up an inch, and everyone would be privy to the charms he got to enjoy on a regular basis. His cock grew a little hard just thinking about it, which is why he shook his head and told you, "It's not too much, Baby. Not if you're with me all night."

You smiled and peeled it off, baring yourself to him before reaching for the floral sundress on the bed. "What are you wearing tomorrow night?" you asked.

"My flight suit."

"You can't wear that! It's for work and for looking sexy at home!" you protested as you put the second dress on.

"Cyclone wants me in my flight suit both days. Please don't make me piss him off."

You laughed and spun in your second dress and he closed the distance to you. "I'll behave. Like a good girl."

Bradley kissed your forehead. "You're wearing this to the air show?"

"Yes," you whispered. "I got Noah a yellow shirt to match me."

Bradley wasn't sure exactly why, but that information sent his brain into a whirlwind. Matching outfits. Mommy and son stuff. "Princess," he moaned.

"We'll look cute next to you in your sexy flight suit."

"You will look hot as hell both days," he confirmed, helping you pull the sundress off again. "Now, I think I owe you a manicure and a pedicure?" he asked, making you gasp and smile.

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You quickly changed into one of Bradley's oversized shirts and met him in the kitchen with all your nail supplies. "Are you really going to do this?" you asked him, and he just nodded and smirked like he had a little secret. "Wait... are you secretly really good at painting nails?"

He shrugged and patted his knee, naked except for his black briefs. "I have no idea. Never tried it before."

It somehow made you feel giggly that he was going to sweetly attempt to do your nails for you even though he didn't know how. You settled down on his lap and set out some bottles of polish. "Which color?" you asked him.

He had his lips on your neck as he murmured, "Do you really need to ask? Purple, Baby."

You moaned his name as you pushed the other colors aside, and then Bradley's hand was up underneath the shirt, teasing your skin and checking to see if you were wearing underwear. You leaned back against his chest and looked up at him over your shoulder. "You feel like fooling around first?"

His thumb stroked softly along the length of your slit. "Kind of," he said, his voice deep and raspy. "You ever warmed a cock before?"

The pad of his thumb felt a little rough, sending goosebumps all along your skin and making your lips part in need. "No," you whispered, always a little sheepish to admit your lack of experience when it came to things that he liked. "But I've heard of it."

He hummed softly and kissed your ear as he continued to stroke you. "You want me to tell you a little more about it? And maybe then you can tell me if you think it's something you'd enjoy?" When you nodded, he kissed your neck and said, "You would take my cock inside you. We would make each other feel warm and safe, and I could paint your nails while we sit here. No thrusting or anything." He dragged his lips and mustache back up to your ear. "You could warm me with your mouth, pussy or ass." You moaned softly, already clenching as he stroked his thumb up and back down your slit. "But since you didn't give yourself some time with your plug first, we could try it with your pussy. If you want to."

Even the idea of it sounded hot and intimate, and you were surprised and delighted that he wanted to try this with you. All of it. The cock warming and the nail painting and just everything. You turned slightly in his lap and took his face in your hands. His skin was warm and rough beneath your hands where his stubble was growing back from when he shaved earlier this morning. His brown eyes were fixed on yours. "I want to," you whispered as you kissed him.

He smiled softly as you let your hands trail down his body to the waistband of his briefs. When he lifted his hips, you yanked them down and marveled at the sight of his half hard cock resting on his thigh. "You do that to me," he rasped, visibly growing harder. "Just having you on my lap, and the way you let me touch you. Baby, that's all you."

You whimpered into his mouth as he kissed you, and when you turned so your back was to his chest, you said, "This is what you do to me, Daddy." Then you spread your thighs and draped your legs over his, and you took his hand in yours. You eased his thumb along your slit again, this time letting him feel how wet you were when you were spread open for him.

He murmured, "I love you," into the crook or your neck while he cock bobbed up and tapped against your inner thigh. "You ready?"

"Yes," you sighed, and Bradley reached in front of you with his right hand and guided his cock through your wet folds and inside you. When you adjusted yourself and leaned forward a bit, the sensation of being so full made you gasp as you took him to the hilt.

"Feel okay?" he asked softly, pulsing gently inside you even though he wasn't thrusting. "If you don't like it, we'll stop."

You turned your head to look at him. "I like it. A lot. I feel so full. Do you like it?"

"Feels incredible," he whispered. "Like you're just holding me and gripping me with your sweet pussy." Heat rose in your face as the raspiness of his voice washed over you. Then he asked, "Want me to try to paint your nails?"

You sat there with Bradley's arms wrapped around you and your palms flat on the kitchen table while his cock was nestled inside you. Neither of you moved very much, and your voices were soft as he worked slowly. After he finished a nail, he treated your neck and cheek to a smattering of kisses, and his breathing was even next to your ear while he worked.

"I can't even look at the color purple without thinking about you," he murmured, and you clenched around him. "God, Baby," he gasped. "Fuck."

You couldn't help that you loved being loved by him. "You feel really good inside me," you told him as he swiped polish onto your left ring finger. He seemed to be taking extra time with that one, kissing and nipping at your ear between each dip of the brush into the bottle.

"Baby, you hardly wear any jewelry," he mused.

You laughed softly as he finally moved to your pinky. When you adjusted yourself on his lap, he grunted. "I don't really have any jewelry."

"And if I got you some, would you wear it?"

"That's a ridiculous question. Of course I would. But you already get me what I need, and you paid off my school loans. You don't need to buy me anything else."

He finished with your pinky and screwed the lid on the nail polish bottle. "But I want to." When his hands came to rest on your thighs, he remarked, "Your nails turned out better than I expected."

"They look so good, Daddy," you said, holding your hands up.

"How long does this shit take to dry?"

"Maybe ten minutes?"

He gently took both of your wrists in his hands and set your palms back on the table. "You want me to paint your toenails, too?"

"Please," you whispered as his hands returned to the tops of your thighs. He was humming as he cupped your pussy with his fingers while he dragged his other hand up to your breasts beneath the shirt you were wearing.

Hands rough against your nipples, he asked, "Will you let me fuck you first? Paint your pussy really pretty too?"

"Oh my god, yes."

As soon as the words left your tongue, Bradley groaned loudly and thrusted upwards while he stroked your clit, and you practically screamed. "You have to be quiet, Princess," he warned, and you pressed your lips together. "God, you got me so fucking worked up, just sitting here with your little pussy wrapped around me."

He fucked up into of you again and again until you were actually holding onto the table to keep yourself upright on his lap. "Daddy," you whimpered as he went a little faster. Each movement had your clit bouncing against his sure fingers, and when he started spanking you softly with them, you nearly screamed again.

"Oh. Oh, fuck," he grunted, panting next to your ear. His breath was warm, and his words were sinfully deep as he told you, "I'm gonna come." He moaned your name as he held you to his chest, fucking you with your legs spread wide on his lap. "It's so fucking good."

Bradley's hips rolled as he filled you with his cum, his broad chest rising and falling against your back. You were about to turn and kiss him when he hauled you to your feet as his softening cock slipped out of you. You squealed as he eased you down onto the floor on your back and pushed your legs open wide.

"What are you doing?" you asked as he knelt and eased himself into position with his hands on the backs of your thighs.

"You didn't come." He licked your pussy, making you gasp. You wanted to tell him that it didn't matter if you came tonight or not, because you loved the cock warming, but his face was already buried in your messy pussy. You felt so wet as you propped yourself up onto your elbows to watch him. His mustache was covered in his own cum and your wetness as he looked up at you and said, "You didn't get enough of my attention this week. You deserve more. I always want you to have more. I'll make you come."

He sounded so sure of himself, and as soon as you nodded he went back to work. "Daddy!" you whined when his tongue swept up around both of your holes before swirling around your clit like he was unwilling to leave any of his cum behind. Just the thought of it had you clenching, and then he started to fuck you with his fingers while he sucked on your clit. The noises were beautifully obscene.

As he started to add a little pressure, you realized something big was building inside you. "Oh god!" you groaned, once again loud enough that you should be concerned about waking up Noah. Your hips rocked up to meet his mouth and fingers, and your legs started shaking.

Bradley grunted as he licked a long stripe and then started to suck. When he released you, your hips bobbed to chase him for more. "So damn sensitive," he crooned, his face a glistening mess as he licked his mouth and looked up at you. "Squirt for me."

You don't know how he knew better than you did what you were about to do, but he licked you from your asshole all the way to your clit while you rocked against him. He pumped two fingers deep inside you, stroking you just right while he plucked at your clit, and you shook your head from side to side on the kitchen floor.

"Daddy." It came out as a gasp as you felt yourself gush.

You squirted on his face. You could feel it dripping down your butt to the floor. You felt wet everywhere as Bradley continued to pump his fingers gently in and out. "Baby," he whined, licking all around your overworked pussy until you shook. Then he kissed along your inner thigh and said, "I always want to make you come. You're mine. Now don't move an inch. You've done enough."

He leaned over your body, and kissed your lips, letting you taste the mess both of you made all over his face. It was intoxicating, licking his own cum from his mustache where he also tasted like you. But perhaps the best part was the way he slipped his tongue into your mouth before he said, "I love you."

-----------------------

Bradley took his time, making sure they looked as good as he could get them. Every swipe of polish on one of your toenails was accompanied by a press of his lips to your foot or ankle. You were laying on the floor looking like a perfect fucked out mess. He could still see a drop of his cum ready to drip out of your pussy if you moved just right, and you'd squirted all over him and the floor. The whole room smelled like sex and nail polish with your underlying wildflower scent, and he wished he could bottle it up.

You giggled when he pressed his lips and mustache to your ankle. "Tickles," you whispered, looking up at him in adoration. So he kissed your ankle again before finishing up with his painting project and blowing softly on your nails. Your eyes drifted closed as you told him, "You're such a dream, Bradley. You just painted my nails and made me squirt on the kitchen floor."

This was the life he wanted with you. He'd worship you and love you. Take care of anything you or Noah needed. Dote on his family. And if another baby came along, well, he was ready for that, too. After this weekend, he prayed you'd be sporting your engagement ring, because more than anything else, he was ready for that next step.

He kissed the side of your big toe before setting your foot down on the messy floor. "Your nails look damn good."

"Thank you, Daddy," you whispered as you pushed yourself up and crawled toward him. He picked you up and carried you directly to the bathroom where he got the shower ready for you and pulled his shirt over your head.

"I'll be right back. As soon as I clean up the floor." He kissed your smiling lips before dashing back into the kitchen. He took a deep breath and groaned. "Incredible," he whispered, wiping up the floor and cleaning up your nail supplies. Then he joined you in the shower.

"Will you sing to me?" you asked a little groggily when he wrapped you up in his arms. He sang his favorite song while he looked at your purple nails and thought about getting that ring on your finger. As soon as you were in bed for the night, he made sure Noah was asleep, and then he took Skittles outside. Before he climbed in bed, he checked the top of the closet for the ring box. Everything was ready to go. When he pulled the covers up, you scooted closer to him in your sleep.

"I love you, Baby."

Friday morning, he needed to be on base early, so he woke you up just before he left in his flight suit. When he pressed his lips to your forehead, you tried to pull him back into bed. "I can't," he whispered with a laugh. "But I'll be home and ready to leave for the hospital tour at five. And Amelia should be here by then, too."

"Okay," you croaked softly as you cracked one eye open. "I'll take care of Noah."

"I know you will," Bradley rasped, now desperately wishing he could climb back in bed with you and let you know how much he fucking appreciated you. "I'll leave the coffee maker on. I love you."

You waved from bed as he grabbed his wallet and keys and made his way to the front door. There was nobody out yet, and he got to base quickly only to find Nat and Javy practically groping each other by their cars. When she saw his Bronco pulling in, Nat jumped away from Javy like he was actually made out of fire and started to head for the building.

"Could have told you to stay away from that one, man," Bradley said as he closed his door behind him.

"I asked her out," Javy replied sadly. "Four times."

Bradley clapped him on the shoulder. "Either throw in the towel now, or get ready for the longest marathon of your life."

He started walking away when Javy called out, "So you think if I stick with it, she'll admit she's in love with me?"

Bradley shrugged. "The only thing I know for sure is that she's a pain in the ass."

Bradley dropped his stuff off in the locker room and headed out onto the tarmac where Cyclone and Mav were waiting for him. He saluted both of his superiors and then collected the paperwork Admiral Simpson handed to him. "This is your itinerary for tomorrow morning. Be here by 0500 to fly your aircraft up to Miramar to meet with everyone else you'll be flying with. Some are from Lemoore. Some are from out of state. Make Top Gun look good."

Then he left Bradley alone with Mav to go over the schedule and practice the maneuvers. "Listen," Bradley said as they walked toward his jet. "The earlier I can get out of here today, the better."

"Amelia's babysitting tonight, right?" Maverick asked. "You're doing the charity hospital tour?"

"Yeah, and I'll need to get some actual sleep tonight if I'm waking up at four in the morning tomorrow," Bradley replied. "It's not just about the air show at this point." When Mav gave him a confused look, Bradley sighed and added, "I'm hoping to go from boyfriend to fiancé this weekend." Maverick broke out into a toothy grin. "And don't you dare tell Penny!"

He held his hands up innocently before pulling Bradley in for a tight hug. "It'll be our little secret. But your mom and dad would have loved to see how good you are with Noah, and that you chose a partner with him in mind. And I'm proud of you, too."

--------------------------

"But I'm hungry," Noah whined as soon as you got him home. Casey pissed you off by taking so long to retrieve Noah, and now you were running late. The plan was for Amelia to order a pizza since you and Bradley would be enjoying food at the cocktail reception, but you still needed to get ready to go. Thankfully you usually always had a snack prepared.

"How about some ants on logs?" you asked him as you kicked off your shoes and opened the back door for Skittles. Before Noah could answer, you opened the refrigerator and pulled out the container of carrots and peanut butter. He settled in a chair at the table and started crunching through a carrot stick. You started to feel flushed and warm when you thought about last night's activities that took place exactly where you were standing now.

Skittles broke you free from your thoughts as she pawed at the door to come inside. You scooped some dinner into her bowl and then ran to the bedroom as you said, "I'll be right back, Noah."

Black dress, black heels, black thong. You smiled for the millionth time when you looked at your purple nails. You just needed to get your beaded clutch down from the top of the closet. As you stood on tiptoes, you brushed your hand along the shelf. Your fingers connected with Bradley's gym bag, and you pushed it out of the way. Then you felt the corners of a small, square box instead of your bag, and you wrapped your fingers around it just when you heard knocking at the front door.

You gave up on your quest and ran to let Amelia inside. "Hey," she said casually as you opened the door.

"Can you order a pizza and feed Noah?" you asked her as you handed her your purple credit card. "I really need to get ready."

"Sure," she replied heading for the kitchen where she greeted Noah with a pat on his head. You could hear her asking what kind of pizza he wanted while she got his coloring books out.

When you made it back to the closet, this time you got your hand on your beaded bag right away. "Perfect," you muttered. You took the world's fastest shower and got your hair and makeup perfected. When you heard Bradley walk inside, you were slipping your thong up your legs and then shimmying into your dress. When you looked in the mirror, you turned to inspect yourself. Everything looked pretty damn good.

"Hey, Princess," Bradley said when he let himself in the bedroom. "Wow."

The look he was giving you was so funny when he himself was standing there in a clean flight suit looking like a million bucks. "You look hot, Daddy," you said as you picked up your high heels and rushed toward him. "We need to go, or we'll be late."

He kissed you and wrapped his hands around your hips. "We could just stay home? I think we should stay home."

You pouted up at him playfully. "But I wanted to tour the hospital. Jake promised me he'd take me if he was flying in the air show. Remember?"

Bradley stroked your jaw with his thumb, a playful smile on his lips. "Don't be a brat."

You moaned as he took your shoes from your hand and knelt in front of you. "I'll behave," you promised, your breath catching a bit at the sight of him on one knee as he helped you step into your shoes. You let your fingers play with his wavy hair as he kissed your thighs just below the bottom of your dress, and when he stood, he scooped you up in his arms.

"As excited as you are about tonight, that's how excited I am for tomorrow," he whispered as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

"I'm excited for everything," you promised as he carried you out to say goodnight to Noah.

---------------------------

Daddy has some big plans for the weekend. And if she touches that box one more time, he might have a heart attack. But what I wouldn't give to have him paint my nails. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 50

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lunarw0rks · 8 months

Note

Hi! I hope your day has been well :]. If you don't mind, could you do some headcannons on Task 141 + konig or just 141 reacting to their s/o having boobs that just never fit in a button up?

Like the button up will just pop open after a long time of trying to close it. So their s/o just wears it halfway open and is completely oblivious to the "seductive/hot" look it gives her.

Thank you ^^

You're Killing Me // 141 Drabbles

Warning(s): suggestive language/content, brief mention of harassment, established relationship, fem!reader, no use of y/n Word Count: 1.4k ꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ 141 MASTERLIST // have a request? ˗ˏˋ ASK BOX ˎˊ˗

SYNOPSIS; you had spent nearly twenty minutes unbuttoning and re-buttoning the top. You twirled around, bent down, spread your arms—sometimes just breathed and they popped right out. It was a hopeless battle, and you had lost all your patience fighting the size of your chest. In return, you kept the shirt buttoned down about halfway. There was more cleavage showing than you were used to, but it was only you and him there, so why not leave the neckline free? They needed to breathe, anyhow.

Price

John was somewhere in the house, but nowhere in sight. Most days the clearing of his throat or an earth-shattering sneeze are the only things that let you know he’s even home.

Today was no different. He was probably somewhere in his office if you had a guess. You walked down the stairs and went to the kitchen, deciding to cook some brunch for the two of you. You brewed some coffee for him, easy enough because he liked it black. Then, began cooking some eggs and toast to go with the caffeine.

When finished, you carefully picked up the plate you arranged, then the mug. Before you could turn, you heard the familiar clearing of a throat.

❝What are you doing, sweetheart?❞ He asked, but his words began to quiet when he saw your shirt only buttoned halfway. His eyes bulged slightly, very slightly, but he was eerily good at maintaining a poker face. John sipped on the mug you handed him, but his eyes didn’t flutter shut like they normally did as he drank.

❝I made brunch for you,❞ you reply, an ever-innocent smile on your face. It was clear you really didn’t have any idea how seductive you looked. It wasn’t just some cleavage, the collar was open so much he didn’t need to use much of his imagination.

❝I see that.❞ John rasped, that cheeky smile appearing on his face. The one that usually followed a snarky remark—but he couldn’t spoil this now. Not with a day of work ahead of him, though he had an almost remarkable amount of self-restraint.

To sneak another look, he approached from the side, kissing your head. One where he allowed himself to ogle down your shirt. ❝You look gorgeous today.❞ He mumbled against your hair, then retreated from the kitchen.

Sure, it had a double meaning for later. But right now? He would have something to look forward to as he got through his stacks of paperwork.

Simon

❝I’m headed out.❞ You said from the entrance hall, scooping up your bag and keys. You were going out with a friend, perhaps to get dinner or do some shopping. After that heated dressing session this morning, how you’ve left your shirt, you’re definitely buying a larger one.

Simon’s back was visible as he sat on the sofa, barely turning his head when you announced your departure. You swore you could hear him mutter an “mhm” but other than that, he only nodded his head.

Then, you remembered. You walked towards the living room, close enough for your outfit to be in sight. You thought nothing of the way you looked. In fact, you just thought it was a slightly revealing outfit, nothing else. ❝Don’t forget, your uniform is in the laundry room.❞

Though it was impossible to see on your end, Simon’s eyes were scanning the way you’d dressed yourself. He shifted in his seat a bit, nodding at your reminder—though it had flown right past him upon seeing your protruding chest.

You walked away, no other words exchanged. To you, it was just an average conversation with him; dry and reserved, despite how strong your relationship had gotten. You just learned to accept it, because a man like Simon wouldn’t stick around if he didn’t want to.

—

Lunch with friends had just finished, as well as about an hour of shopping. Unbeknownst to you, Simon had tailed you the whole time, sneakily and with laser focus. Yes, he had your location on his phone. Yes, he trusted you not to get yourself into trouble. But his paranoia got the better of him, especially seeing you dressed so revealingly.

He lacked trust with strangers, not you—his fear of you finding someone better took years to get over.

You walked out to the parking lot of the mall, a few shopping bags in hand. Then, you spotted him leaning against your car, balaclava rolled up and a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. ❝You stalking me now, babe?❞ You approached him, never sure what to expect from him.

When he saw you, his position blocking your car door didn’t change, his eyes did. He stared down at your chest again, then met your eyes. ❝Did you enjoy yourself? How about the mocha latte?❞

His words made your eyes widen slightly. The bastard was even behind you in line at Starbucks, and you hadn’t noticed? His stealth was both impressive and bone-chilling. Your silence made his brows furrow under his mask, urging him to step a bit closer. ❝Relax. I’m not bein’ a prick. Was just worried about you being out.❞

Simon would never say why, or the awful scenarios he’d convinced himself of. He would’ve done it with or without you wearing the revealing outfit. All your clueless self needed to know was that you were protected.

Soap

God, what was taking you so long?

❝Film starts at 4:30, lass. It’s 4:15.❞ He said through the door, tapping his foot against the floor. Soap looked down at his watch, waiting outside the bathroom for you to finish getting dressed. You were taking longer than usual, though he hadn’t imagined it was because your boobs kept popping out of your shirt.

Upon hearing your gasps and groans of frustration, then the sound of clothing fabric shuffling, he furrowed a brow in concern. ❝Everything alright?❞

You swung open the door, slightly out of breath from your struggle with the button-up. ❝Yeah, let’s get going.❞ Let’s just say the beam on your face, it was the second thing he noticed. Your cleavage was on full display, only half the buttons fastened. Soap’s eyes glossed over a bit, expecting some sort of tease from your lips, but you were oblivious.

He had to take a few steps back, his expression dropping into a sneer. ❝You have the slightest clue what you’re doin’, bonnie? Those are gonna catch some stares…❞ As possessive as his words sounded, they weren’t preventing you from going out like that. What creeper in their right mind would try anything with him at your side? Next to none.

❝I couldn’t get the shirt buttoned,❞ your lips tightened into a pout, expecting him to ask you to change, or something to that effect—though he wasn’t the type.

However, he just smirked, lips pursing cockily. ❝Might even try to touch you. That’s before they lose their hands, though.❞ Soap winked, draping an arm around your shoulders as he led you to the front door.

As he snaked his arm around your shoulder, he snuck in a grope, one that was followed by a flushed expression on both your faces. He chuckled at the coy look on your face as if you weren’t dating the biggest flirt. ❝What? These are mine, lass. I’m allowed to touch.❞

Gaz

The heat was sweltering and unforgiving—especially in the prime of the afternoon.

You opened up all the curtains, allowing yourself to sunbathe as you moved about the house, but without leaving the comfort of the AC. The natural light gave your shared living room a warm, homey feel. The front door shut—he had gotten back from his daily run.

❝Felt like a bloody melting ice pop out there,❞ Kyle grunted as he went straight to the kitchen, pressing a chilled bottled water to his sweating head. When his eyes opened, he saw the shirt you had on for the first time that day.

Kyle not-so-subtly checked you out as you fanned yourself with a magazine. The shirt, already tight enough, was even tighter as the heat made you pant. And the dribble of sweat running down your exposed cleavage? What a sight to him. ❝Is there something on my face?❞ You questioned with a senseless giggle.

He had traveled across the kitchen at the speed of light, a hungry kiss on your lips. He pulled away for air, ❝you’ll be the death of me before the Sun is, love.❞ One hand pushed a sweaty strand of hair away, while the other tugged at the opening of the shirt playfully.

You knitted your brows while biting down on your now saliva-soaked lips, ❝aren’t you tired from your run?❞ Besides, he typically wasn’t that forward. You wondered if the heat really got to him, having no clue how aroused your chest made him.

❝Not anymore.❞

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usedtobecooler · 8 months

Text

this must be the place

eddie munson x steve harrington x afab!reader | 8.6k words

summary: the summer of 1985 is only just beginning when a trip to scoops ahoy! unlocks some deeply hidden feelings you have swirling in your stomach for steve harrington. eddie munson won't let you live it down, and maybe that’s due to his own feelings too, but a chance encounter on a hot night at lovers lake sends you all down a rabbit hole you could never of prepared for.

content warnings: 18+ only minors dni, sexual content (threesome, piv sex, oral sex male receiving, dirty talk, van sex), porn with plot, eddie and reader are fwbs with feelings, gentle bullying and banter, eddie is canonically queer, mentions of past king!steve, brief homophobia mentions, a heartfelt conversation. feelings are felt on all three sides, if you don't like it look away <3 reader isn't explicitly described as alt/goth but it's implied.

Steve Harrington is staring at you.

In his silly little sailor uniform, eyeing you up whilst you silently pick at your banana sundae. It’s strange, truly, because Steve Harrington was a certified ladykiller, and had been for as long as you’d known him. You’d seen him lay on the signature moves one too many times during previous encounters, always making the girls blush and ogle at him dreamily as he told them exactly what they wanted to hear.

So, why was he looking at you like a classified moron? Like a little creep who had no idea how to interact with women?

He was unfairly attractive, even when he was watching you like a dumbass. Dark lashes fanning his cheeks when he blinked — freckled, tan skin and juicy, almost glossy looking lips. He was so pretty it was kind of hard to look at him. Nobody was immune to the Harrington charm, not even you, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself he didn’t have an affect on you.

You take longer than you care to admit to before you catch yourself staring back behind hooded lids, and Steve notices, gives you a small smile. You duck your head back down, a heat spreading over your cheeks – why were you acting like a schoolgirl?!

“Don’t turn around, but—“ you barely even get the sentence out before Eddie’s whipping his head around like an idiot, facing exactly where Steve is standing, the poor guy frozen like a deer caught in the headlights, a dark flush spreading on his shocked face before he’s turning away. He hastily retreats through the barn doors to the back room, and you’re almost positive you see a cartoonish puff of air that his disappearing act leaves in his wake.

“What the hell was that, Munson? I fucking said not to turn around,” you hiss through gritted teeth, leaning forward to smack Eddie’s bare arm with your sundae spoon. Eddie feigns a little hurt noise in the back of his throat, rubbing at the red patch of skin where you’d spanked him with the silverware.

“Hey! No hitting,” Eddie whines, leaning forward and stealing the glazed cherry from your sundae, popping it in his mouth with a delighted grin. You go to make a noise of protest, and he’s already butting in, “Nuh-uh, I think not, brat. That’s payment for the tyranny of abuse I have to deal with.”

You roll your eyes, digging your spoon into the melting ice cream, grimacing — you never liked the texture of ice cream once it began to heat, “Stop being such a big crybaby,” it comes out as a grumble, no menace behind it, as you pay even more unneeded attention to the dripping cream that spills from the lip of the spoon, “I swear Steve was like… staring at me.”

Eddie snorts, swiping the glass from your side of the table. You let him, too — you didn’t want it anymore, and Eddie was a creep who liked melted ice cream, especially when all the flavours swirled together and created an almost grey-like colour, “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. You’ve got a giant zit on your forehead — I’ve been staring, too.”

“Oh, real cute, Eddie.” You roll your eyes, but your hand comes up to your face, fingertips gently running over your smooth skin to make sure there were in fact no pimples. Eddie chortles at that, too, knowing he’d got you concerned about the possibility of there being an actual zit that Steve Harrington was indeed staring at. The thought alone was mortifying.

You watch in disgusted wonderment as he tucks into the ice cream like a man starved. He always ate like he hadn’t had a meal in months, it bordered on gross. You grimace a little when ice cream dribbles out the corner of his mouth, though you catch yourself fighting not to lean over and swipe it away like the main character in a John Hughes movie.

“Remind me again why I suck face with you for fun?” You ponder, mostly to yourself, but Eddie’s looking at you with his stupid, big doe eyes and this goofy grin on his face, so you don’t even need him to tell you the answer.

You know why.

“Saw Harrington checking you out today,” Eddie says, almost conversationally, and you scoff — you’re literally riding his dick, what sort of fucking thing to say during sex is that?

“What?” You ask, bewilderment etched on your features as you stop your rhythm, planting your ass firmly on Eddie’s thighs and he groans, the tight heat of your pussy completely enveloping his length making him shudder.

“Shit, why’d you stop?” He whines, head landing with a small thump against your soft pillows, his big brown orbs rolling into the back of his skull. He grips onto your hips tightly, rucking up into you for emphasis, and you gasp.

“Why are you thinking about Steve Harrington when your dick is in me?” You counter, rolling your hips until your clit catches on the thatch of dark hair nestled on Eddie’s pubic bone, a shudder vibrating through your whole body from the sensation.

“I wasn’t,” Eddie argues, but it’s half-assed. He grows impatient quickly, slides an arm around your back and flips you over in one motion — it’s pretty smooth, especially for Eddie, who was mostly gangly and not in control of his own limbs at any given time. You keen into it, a shocked little moan escaping you when he bottoms out once more, ruddy head of his cock sliding against your front wall, “Jus’ think he wants to fuck you, is all.”

You narrow your eyes, a smirk playing on the corners of your lips, “Why do you sound jealous?” You cackle, sighing softly when Eddie ruts into you deeper, staking his claim without a single word, “You’re the one fucking me right now, not him. You worried he’s gonna steal me away? That maybe he’d be better? Bigger?”

Eddie’s eyes narrow at that, any sweetness in his glassy eyes vanishing when you speak. You’re in for it, truly. You’ve touched a nerve, and he’s wound up. You can’t help the way your chest tightens, a heat blooming in you that’s a mix of want and pride. It was so easy to rile him up.

“You’re gonna regret that, brat,” Eddie says through gritted teeth, gripping at the underside of your thighs, bruisingly tight, hauling your knees up to your ears. The new angle makes you cry out, his cock bruising into your cervix, “There you go, sweetheart. Cry for my cock. Beg for it.”

You can’t get Steve Harrington out of your mind. It’s not that you deliberately think of him, it’s just hard not to when he’s suddenly everywhere.

You watch from your bedroom window with a furrowed brow as said Steve Harrington climbs out of his ridiculously flashy Bimmer, dressed in too-tight faded jeans, a grey shell jacket and a plain white tee underneath. He’s so fucking tan, like he’s been out bathing in the heat of Indiana’s summer all day and not working under the harsh fluorescent lights in Scoops.

You bite at your glossy lip, wondering if there’s any tan lines there or if he’s truly that tanned all over. Wondering if his moles and beauty marks dip below the collar of his jacket, desperately wanting to trace them with your tongue and make him squirm.

Linda Curtis bounces out of her front door, adjacent to your own, permed blonde hair pulled back in a claw clip, dressed in the ugliest pink shirt you've ever seen. Linda was an ex drama club nerd, had vaguely run in the same circle as Steve used to during Senior year, once she got her braces off and Tommy considered her hot. Billy Hargrove drove her to school one goddamn time and that was it, she was hot shit everybody wanted. What Steve saw in her, you would never know, but it took all sorts. Or whatever Eddie said.

You watch curiously as the Harrington charm works it’s magic right in front of your very eyes, Steve steps in close to Linda, brushes a loose curl back out of her eyes — Jesus Christ, why was that doing something for you — and says something you can’t make out, but it’s enough to have Linda blushing and pulling nervously on the hem of her denim shorts.

Why were you jealous?

The telltale noise of an obnoxiously loud horn honking lets you — and probably the entire neighbourhood — know Eddie had arrived to pick you up, snapping you completely out of your daydream. Your lips curl up into a smirk when both Linda and Steve jump ten feet at the sound, Steve rolling his eyes and scoffing.

What a bitch.

Eddie catches you looking from your window and lets out an obnoxious laugh, grinning up at you with his annoyingly perfect teeth. You wanted to punch him, maybe, but Friday nights were for one thing and one thing only, and that was getting high at Lovers Lake in the flatbed of the van.

So it’d have to wait until you didn’t need him for the weed or the ride.

Summer meant the pretty sunset as a backdrop whilst you smoked the day's events away �� it somehow made everything that little bit more relaxing, watching the swirls of orange, pink and purple melt together as your brain fogged with the drugs, a nice settling in your tummy as your high took over.

It was second only to the heavy September rain that you loved so much, you found yourself yearning for it all year around. The loud patter of the large droplets clinking on the tin roof of Eddie’s van, buried under a nest of blankets to keep the cool chill off your arms and legs. Eddie’s hot breath fanning over your neck as he kissed it, chest heavy against your back. Warm, solid and comforting.

Maybe you were in love with him, or maybe you weren’t. You didn’t want to think too much about that.

You glide out of the house as quietly as you can muster, not wanting to arouse suspicion about where you were going. Even in your twenties, your parents would still have a few choice words for you in regards to Eddie Munson, and you were in no mood for the lecture. You’d heard it too many times in the years you’d known him, since fifth grade when he pushed you in the playground and you pulled his hair in retaliation.

From that moment on you were inseparable, to the dismay of your parents.

You’re aware of two other sets of eyes watching you from across the street as you bounce down the driveway, all smiles as excitement thrums through your entire body. Eddie’s maybe looking at you like you hung the fucking moon or something, but that’s probably to do with the fact you’re wearing his shirt and looking the epitome of hot.

Okay, maybe you had a complex.

“So that’s where my shirt went,” Eddie hums, giving you an appreciative once-over as you wrench the passenger door open with a horrific sounding crunch of metal, “looks better on you, I’ve gotta say.”

You clamber into the van with a huff, laughter spilling into it, “Yeah, yeah. You don’t need to woo me, Munson. We’re gonna fuck anyway, don’t worry.”

Eddie laughs loud and so fucking obnoxious, as if for somebody else’s entertainment, and it does catch the attention of the lovebirds on the other side of the road. You look over just as Steve catches your eyes, and suddenly your chest feels kind of heavy as he stares at you with a kind of intensity that you can’t put a finger on.

“Take a fuckin’ picture, Harrington,” Eddie cackles, head basically out the fucking window and he’s grinning at them both, snapping you completely out of it, “that’s as close as you’re getting to her, count your lucky stars.”

Linda turns her nose up, like she’s disgusted at the fact that Eddie even so much as looked in her direction, however Steve flusters. His cheeks flush with something akin to embarrassment, and he turns his head to hide from you both, instead busying himself with grappling for Linda’s hands once more.

Eddie laughs almost maniacally as you take off, tyres squealing and kicking up loose stone chips in your wake, “Little Stevie didn’t know what to do with himself!”

“He looked mortified.” You agree quietly, sinking into your seat with a little grin. Something about Eddie having that effect on Steve from such a simple little sentence was almost entertaining, considering how things once were.

Eddie and Steve weren’t friends. In fact quite the opposite. Steve and Tommy were miserable assholes for years, made Eddie’s life hell at any given turn unless they needed him for drugs.

You think back, and truthfully the turning point was during Junior year. Steve had tripped Eddie in the hall, called him ‘queer’. Eddie didn’t stand for that, sucker punched Steve right in the jaw, hard enough that his skull hit the locker adjacent to him.

“That shit might hurt you when your daddy calls you it, but you’ve gotta do a lot worse than call me exactly what I am as an insult, Harrington.” Eddie had grinned, vicious and seething, as he watched Steve clutch desperately at his bruised jaw, wide eyed and hair askew from the force.

Steve never bothered Eddie again after that.

In fact, not long after, Steve never bothered anybody again. Maybe the knock to the head had quite literally knocked some sense into him, or something.

“You good?” Eddie’s voice, his large hand gripping your thigh knocks you back into reality, out of the daydream, and the grounding is enough to have your entire body melting into the simple touch.

“You ever think about what you’re gonna do if the band doesn’t work out?” You ask quietly, shoulders aching from where they dig into the bulky metal on the backs of Eddie’s front seats. The ringing in your ears drowns out the cricket chirps now, eyes hazy and no doubt bloodshot to hell, two joints deep and all that.

You can feel Eddie’s gaze on the side of your face, like he’s trying to bore a hole into your skull and rummage around in your brain, those wide dark chocolate eyes staring you down with a serious amount of intensity. You wriggle slightly under it, suddenly uncomfortable — wrong question.

“Honestly, no,” Eddie answers honestly, tearing his eyes away from you in an instant, letting you breathe again momentarily. His curls curtain his profile, the bulbous tip of his nose the only feature now visible, he picks nervously at a loose thread on his jeans, “I’ll probably go work with Wayne at the plant, they’re always lookin’ for workers. Still sell on the side too, I doubt Rick will let me out of this deal, I bring in the most revenue.”

“Can come work at Sam Goody with me,” you sing-song, resting your head on his shoulder. You pretend not to notice the way he instantly melts at the press on his side, seemingly grounding him just as he’s beginning to panic about things like the future, “it’s a pretty good gig, and we get discounts on cassettes!”

Eddie huffs out a laugh, pulling a drag from the joint that briefly laid forgotten at his side, ash falling onto the scratchy blanket you both laid on top of, burning holes into the material, “That code for ‘and we get to watch Harrington’s juicy ass in those shorts!’?”

You cackle, all seriousness from the conversation vanishing in an instant as Eddie turns on his usual class clown persona, mocking you with his silly tone and grinning like an idiot, “Scoops is literally across the landing! I can’t see that far.”

“I can’t believe he got to you,” Eddie’s teasing tone continues, he shuffles on his bony ass and accidentally shoulders you in the temple in the process, causing you to whine quietly, “sorry, shit, sorry, sweetheart. I guess I just — didn’t ticket you as being the type to like what he had going on.”

“I could say the same for you,” your voice is barely a mumble as you drag your heavy head from his shoulder, looking at him properly.

Eddie hisses a sharp draw of breath in between his clenched teeth, passes you the joint that you take happily, sucking in a drag like a desperate woman. The silence sits heavy between you both for a long moment, weighs on you like a fucking shackle to your ankles, pulling you down into shark infested waters.

“He was always everything I wasn’t and I hated that shit,” Eddie mutters, fidgets — can’t look you in the fucking eye, “to begin with I was jealous and angry, he had it so fucking easy and people just fell at his feet, worshipped the asshole no matter how much of a prick he could be.”

You nod, extend your hand to pass the joint back to him — Eddie shudders when your cold fingers connect with his, and you allow them to linger for only a split second before you pull them back once again.

“Remember when I punched him in the hall, once? Think it was junior year or something,” Eddie recalls, and you have to pretend like you’re not two halves of the same whole for just a moment, like you weren’t just reminiscing on the exact scenario hours earlier, “he called me queer. And at that point I didn’t really know what I was, but him saying it just — fucking solidified it, or something. I said something mean, but I confirmed to him and myself what I sorta knew all along.”

“I remember,” you breathe, chest tightening, “I think you hit close to home, when you said his dad called him the same thing.”

Eddie laughs, mirthless, canines sharp as he smiles so wide, yet it doesn’t reach his eyes — he looks manic, “Yeah, well. I’d heard shit, and I used it to my advantage at that moment. Was wrong, I know. He had it fuckin’ coming, but after that I realised… I didn’t hate him. I thought I was jealous of how easy he had it with chicks and how they fell for it, but then I guess I realised I maybe wanted to be his conquest of the week.”

It tugs at your chest, and you’re caught between feeling relief and feeling utterly devastated that Eddie spent all this time pining and having to hide it from the world, when you could openly ogle and gawk at Steve without so much as a second glance from passersby.

You’re too high to truly comprehend it, and maybe you just chose to ignore the signs, but now it makes sense as to why Eddie would bring Steve up and use him to mock you, how his eyes would be ablaze with something that wasn’t jealousy, but wanting. He wanted you to bring him up, wanted you to tell him your sordid fantasies. Maybe even wanted to be a part of them, and yeah. That makes your tummy flip.

Your head thumps against the backing of the passenger headrest, a loud breath escaping you that you didn’t even realise you were holding, “God, we really are too fucking alike, Wayne was right maybe we were separated at birth.”

“Birds of a feather, sweetheart.” Eddie laughs, means it this time. He crowds into your space, plants firm hands on your bare thighs and leaves a chaste kiss on your chin, “Don’t worry, baby. You’ll always be my number one.”

You had wondered if Steve’s date had gone poorly when your designated smoke break on that following Monday had been infiltrated by Robin Buckley – the poor girl sighing frustratedly, claiming she just ‘needed a breather from Harrington’s excessive whining’, to which you’d both shared a cackle. You had offered her your cigarette that she declined with a wave of her hand and a small smile, ‘trumpet player and all’ she’d grinned.

You saw Steve on Tuesday, on his lunch break as he wandered into Sam Goody to pick up an order that Dustin Henderson had put in before he went off to Summer camp for six weeks. A Wham! album from late 1984 that had you raising an eyebrow.

“Kid kinda wants to be like me,” Steve had shrugged, cocky as he rolled his eyes, leaned his arm on your counter. Flashed you the goddamn Harrington smile that momentarily had you forgetting that his taste in music was vile, “the chicks love George Michael.”

“You’re setting the poor guy up to fail by recommending he listens to this shit,” you quipped, handing the plastic bag holding the cassette over to Steve, heat prickling up your spine when your fingers brushed over the handles, “I promise you it’s not George Michael that ‘the chicks’ are interested in.”

“And what exactly are they interested in?” Steve asked, quirking a brow and smirking at you, giving you a once over with those wandering hazel eyes.

The little shit was flirting.

“I think you and I both know what they’re interested in, Harrington.” You flirted back, your glossy lips smacking together, catching his eye immediately.

“Are you?” Steve breathed, focused solely on your lips, and you could almost see the second his upstairs brain shut off and his downstairs one took over for him, “Interested, I mean.”

“Oh, honey. I think you know the answer to that.”

Eddie had appeared on Wednesday, conned you into using your staff discount for the Armed & Dangerous EP — you didn’t even like Anthrax, and Eddie didn’t have a damn record player, yet you still got it for him.

Steve had been wandering past, hands stuffed deep in his shorts pockets as Eddie left with his bag of goodies and the most ridiculous grin on his face. So engrossed in pulling out a rolly that he slammed right into Steve’s side, sending the poor guy straight to the floor, unable to pull his hands from his pockets in time to stop himself.

You’d watched anxiously from your perch on the stool behind the counter as Eddie crouched into a squat to help Steve up, extending an arm that Steve took with a flush of colour on his cheeks and an embarrassed smile. You couldn’t see Eddie or the expression on his face, but you already knew he was saying something stupid, maybe even cracking a joke, because Steve laughed. Head thrown back and hearty enough that you could hear it faintly, their hands still clasped together even though he was already back on his feet.

Your heart fluttered, beating overtime as you watched the interaction with curious eyes, a nervous wave of butterflies in your tummy. They parted ways, and if Eddie asked, you pretended that you didn’t see him looking over his shoulder once Steve turned away, half buried behind the waves of his hair as he blushed red, his doe eyes soft and fond.

And if by some sort of confusing act of God, Steve was ever to ask you that same question, you never saw him do the exact same thing, just seconds later.

You were screwed.

Steve doesn’t arrive at the Curtis family home on Friday evening, and you can’t even pretend that you don’t let out a sigh of relief. Just as you had suspected, Robin had indeed been talking about the date during your short conversation, and Steve’s latest conquest was no more.

It’s raining lightly, thunder and lightning cracking in the distance, amplified in amongst the trees as you and Eddie pass a blunt back and forth between your bodies. You’re laid top-to-toe, his head basically hanging upside down out of the back door of the van, you in the resumed position up against the rock hard front seats.

“There’s somebody out swimming in the lake,” Eddie says, breaking the peaceful silence with his dulcet tones, words deep and heavy from the cotton mouth. His hand halts its movements on your bare calf, “did you see another car here?”

Your eyes narrow, catching a head bobbing in and out of the water at a far distance, way too far away for you to recognise who it was, though swimmers in the lake weren’t uncommon especially during the Summer months, “No, I didn’t. Could’ve walked here, I guess.”

Eddie’s head whips up at that, and he gets up on his elbows as if it’s going to give him a better look at you, “We’re about ten miles away from civilization, dummy. Nobody's walking out here unless they have a death wish. Maybe they parked in the trees.”

“Why do you sound so nervous? You think Hopper or his knucklehead deputies are out here taking a dip in the lake whilst undercover trying to catch a couple of shitheads smoking a joint on a Friday night?” You cackle, and Eddie rolls his eyes, lets out an annoyed huff and plucks the joint from your relaxed fingers.

“I’m on my final strike, asshole.” Eddie grunts, sitting up properly and craning his neck to get a better look as the person swims closer and closer to you both, the ripples of water as they glide along the only giveaway, as they keep their head underwater the entire duration.

You find yourself drifting off, hazy and blissed out, the noises and visuals a cacophony of brain scratching senses. Your eyelids go heavy, drooping, and before you know it Eddie’s fingers are brushing your skin and helping along, adding to the sanctity of your mind. You doze peacefully, sighing contentedly.

Footsteps closing in knock you out of your unconscious state, your brain alerting you to another person who certainly wasn’t Eddie approaching — panic creeps in momentarily, until the figure appears at the open door of the van, knocking the breath from your lungs in a mixture of relief and desperation.

Steve Harrington is in front of you. Dressed in nothing but a pair of shorts and a fucking cropped vest, exposing his toned stomach, his happy trail glistening as droplets of water clinging to the dark hair that disappears into the low waistband of his pants.

It’s. Sobering, to say the least. You’re suddenly conscious of how you’re sitting, legs spread wide in your own shorts, slumped down like an absolute slob. Eyes bloodshot from the weed, your shirt askew.

Okay, cool. Steve’s going to take one look at you and decide you’re in fact a completely disgusting creature that he absolutely does not find attractive. Great, just great.

Eddie breaks the silence, his voice knocking you out of your trance so quickly you startle yourself, jumping in your seat, “Steve Harrington, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Eddie smirks, shuffling back into the bed of the van until he’s propped up against the side, kicking his legs out flat right across the bottoms of your feet.

“Just thought I’d come say hi, thought it was your van from back there,” Steve’s nonchalant, shrugging, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he rocks on the balls of his feet, trying and failing to not watch Eddie’s every move as his gangly limbs manoeuvre, “you got anymore?”

Drugs, he means drugs. Could probably smell them a mile off, could tell you were both high just by looking at you, remembered Eddie was a dealer and wanted his own.

You try to hide your disappointment, though your face always had a way of talking for you, and you feel your nose scrunching in distaste before you can stop it. Steve fails to notice, dumbstruck bambi eyes watching Eddie like he wants to — you don’t even know, but it’s almost like he wants to ask something else.

“You want in?” Eddie asks tentatively, seemingly asking the question for Steve like he knew exactly what he wanted to say, holding a fresh rolly up in between his thumb and forefinger like an offering, “We were just about to spark this one up, and I’m sure you could do with the… relaxation after that show you just put on.”

He’s mocking, grinning like the Cheshire cat as Steve flounders, flushes a deep shade of red across his cheeks, but climbs into the van like he’s meant to fucking be there or something, sliding down right next to Eddie close enough that their thighs are touching roughly, the rivulets of water on Steve’s leg clinging to the material of Eddie’s jeans and soaking them in the process.

Eddie’s eyes widen like saucers, like he expected Steve to tell him to fuck off, yet there he was pressed against Eddie like it was the most normal thing in the world. Steve produces a lighter from the pocket of his shorts, plucks the joint from Eddie’s hand like it’s nothing, and presses it between his cherry red, plump lips. Sparks it up and inhales deeply, eyelids fluttering shut, thick eyelashes fanning his cheeks.

Your thighs clench as you watch Steve’s adams apple bob up and down, the vast expanse of his tan neck stretching as his head thumps back, whole body slumping as the sudden nicotine hit relaxes his body. You connect the moles and freckles with your eyes, fingers itching in your lap, resisting the urge to lunge forward and mark him up, connect the beauty marks with your mouth, suck bruises into his skin until he’s whining and begging.

The air lies heavy between you all, nobody saying a word as you pass the blunt back and forth, your high settling in once more, enough to have you light headed and itching to touch more and more and more. Ten minutes or maybe an hour go past, you’re not too sure which.

You can tell Eddie is starting to feel the same, from the way his thigh begins jiggling up and down — usually by this point he had a lapful of you, grinding against him and gasping for release as your drug-addled brains melted with the need to touch and to kiss and to fuck.

Steve wiggles in his place next to Eddie, his large palm coming out to slap Eddie’s thigh and keep his leg still, like he’s annoyed by the constant jerking movement, yet his flushed skin and agape mouth tell you otherwise. Somebody whines, needy, and you’re not too sure which one of you it is, but the sound goes straight to your core, has your cunt fluttering.

Eddie breaks first, pulling you into his lap unceremoniously, your arms instinctively wrapping around his pale shoulders to ground yourself as you’re flung like a ragdoll, his hands digging into the fat of your ass, fingertips pressing almost bruisingly, yet you keen into it, desperate for more.

Your bare calf touches Steve’s thigh, and he’s looking at you like a deer caught in headlights — pretty hazel eyes staring up at you in awe, watching as your body rocks against Eddie’s own, though you don’t dare settle down on his crotch properly, waiting for Steve’s confirmation that he’s good with this.

“Are you okay with this?” You ask, just to be sure, making it clear that you’re not adding two plus two and getting five, needing to know for certain this is what he wants, “Tell me what you’re thinking, Steve.”

Eddie’s own gaze lands on Steve now, soft and gentle, no teasing on his features anymore, pure sincerity. Steve looks back and forth between you both, bites that fucking lip of his as he ponders.

“I think-” Steve starts, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth, “that I just… really wanna kiss one of you right now.”

If Eddie’s surprised, drawn back or even nervous, he doesn’t let on, as he leans into Steve’s space with parted lips, a stupid lazy smirk tugging at the corners, enough to make your core ache for him.

You watch with hazy eyes as they share breath back and forth, two pairs of deep set brown eyes locking and conversing without words as you heave desperately, rutting gently against Eddie’s thigh. His rings bite into the soft skin of your waist, grounding you, letting you know he’s still aware of your presence.

Steve closes the gap first, slots their lips together and startling a desperate whine from the back of Eddie’s throat — a noise you weren’t even aware he could make. Steve’s large hand runs up along Eddie’s rosy red cheek, fingers splaying and nails raking into Eddie’s scalp as their mouths move together like ripples of water.

It’s beautiful to watch, you can’t look away (as if you even fucking wanted to), your hands bunching into the bottom hem of Eddie’s shirt to help you sway your hips back and forth. Eddie’s sharp tongue peaks out to swipe along Steve’s bottom lip, and Steve surges forward to deepen the kiss, their tongues dancing together as they pant breathily and moan quietly.

You’re not sure when it happens, but Eddie’s rough hand on your waist begins to guide you against the starchy material of his jeans, like he’s paying just as much attention to you as he is to Steve.

You take your opportunity, leaning forward to latch your mouth onto Eddie’s exposed collarbone, biting and suckling like a woman starved as you finally, fucking finally let yourself rock against Eddie properly – grinding against his half-hard cock until he’s whining breathily into the kiss, clinging onto your waist.

Maybe you’re feeling ballsy because of the drugs, or maybe it’s because you’ve just waited forever to get your hands on Steve Harrington, but soon enough your hand is ghosting up his inner thigh, pressing hot and heavy against the sizable bulge in his ridiculously short shorts.

“Y’r both gonna fucking kill me,” Steve groans against Eddie’s lips, breaking the kiss momentarily only for Eddie to surge forward once more and reattach their mouths, and your pussy flutters – hearing Steve so fucked out from the simplest of touches sends a hot, prickly flush up your body, settles in your core.

Your hand presses more firmly onto Steve’s cock, hips rutting against Eddie’s and they both roll their hips at the same fucking time, pressing into your hand and cunt respectively. Your brain short circuits, lips detaching from Eddie’s collarbone so you can moan, wet and panting against his damp skin.

“You wanna fuck her, Harrington?” Eddie asks, bites at Steve’s bottom lip and Steve keens into it, grunts and fucks his hips up into your hand again. Eddie releases his lip, trails kisses down Steve’s chin and to his jaw, rough and sucking, sure to leave a mark, “She wants you to, I know she does. Fantasises about you wrecking her, think you’re up to the task?”

Steve nods, feverish and almost pathetic, and you have to question if he’s always like this during sex or if Eddie really just has that effect on him, has Steve reduced to nothing more than a mess as you both finally lock eyes once again, “Please, nggh, please. Wanna fuck you so bad, baby, please? Will you let me?”

The begging does something to your insides you never would’ve expected, and you’re throwing yourself into Steve’s lap. His hands grab onto your waist, replacing Eddie’s and it’s noticeable, he’s gentle, almost unsure of how to take you – he looks up at you, leans up to press your lips together and you’re unravelling in his arms.

He kisses like a fucking boyfriend, lips gliding against your own just roughly enough to have you melting into it, tongue swiping your bottom lip the same way Eddie did to him just minutes earlier, licking into your mouth and gliding his tongue against your own in this perfect rhythm that has you rutting down into his lap. The thick length of his now fully hard cock nestles perfectly in the cave of your pussy, only covered by three thin layers of clothing.

You’re delirious with it, hands on his cheeks, fingers buried into his hair as you suck face like you might die if you stop. You can feel Eddie’s intense gaze on you both, his hand slipping in between Steve and your own torsos to tug gently at your loose shirt, pushing it up your chest to expose your tits to the cool air.

His fingers are everywhere, rubbing and pulling at your nipples, hardening them and sending shockwaves of want and desire down your entire body. Steve disconnects your lips with a string of spit, his eyes hazy and darkened with lust as he bends down to latch onto your tit, sucking and licking it into his mouth like a desperate thing.

You’re so turned on you might fucking die, rutting against Steve’s clothed erection fast and hard, desperate to feel that catch and drag rough against your clit.

“Feel good, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, breath hot against the side of your face, mouthing at the sensitive skin below your ear, “Harrington as talented with his mouth as you hoped?”

“I know now why the ladies love him,” you squeak, unable to contain it when Eddie’s fingers finally leave the swollen bud of your nipple and dip down below, hand hot and heavy as he pushes the offending material of your shorts away so he can press against your cunt, swiping over your clit with two fingers, the back of his palm digging into Steve’s cock in the process.

“Oh my fucking god,” Steve grunts pathetically, bites down on your nipple and punches his hips up into Eddie’s hand, rocks against him for a moment before settling back down again. He pulls off of you with a wet pop, chooses instead to trail kisses up your chest and to your neck that have you moaning unabashedly, “you sound s’fucking pretty, can’t believe it.”

You can hardly focus on a single thing, ears ringing as pleasure takes over your body. Eddie knows you inside and out, pushes with a perfect pressure on your clit, swiping over it in fast circles as he mutters sweet nothings, coaxing moans and gasps from you with every touch. Steve’s attacking your neck, biting and kissing, leaving a mark in a way that you’d practically wished for for too fucking long.

“Shit, Harrington,” Eddie’s voice raising a little knocks you out of it, his fingers slipping through the wetness of your folds and off of your clit like he was caught off guard, “like it a little rough or somethin’?”

Your half lidded eyes watch as Steve’s hand grips at Eddie’s thigh, ghosting closer and closer to the inside seam until Eddie breaks, uses his free hand to pop the button on his jeans and shuck them down his thighs, finally allowing his cock the damn release from those tight pants.

Eddie resumes his motions on your clit properly once he’s done shuffling, “Sorry, sweetheart.” He apologises, swirling the tips of his fingers over the bundle of nerves fast enough to have you seeing stars, “Know you well enough to know it won’t take you long, anyway.”

He’s right. The slick noises of your pussy being worked over invade your ears, the deep blooming in your core rising quickly as Eddie sets an almost brutal rhythm, desperate to get you there. You cling onto Steve’s biceps as he sucks another bruise just below your jaw, hot mouth leaving your skin finally, letting up so that you can breathe, if only a little.

You’re not sure why it shocks you when Steve spits into his palm like it’s nothing, wraps a firm hand around the length of Eddie’s cock like he’s done it a million times before but it does, and suddenly you’re flushing hot all over, the visual of Eddie’s eyes shutting and mouth falling open in a grunt the last thing you see before your eyes squeeze shut, your orgasm wracking your body with such force that you slump into Steve’s front — head on his shoulder, hips stuttering as Eddie works you through it.

“That’s it, honey, oh shit,” Steve’s voice sounds strained as he watches you stain the front of his shorts with your release, his hand heavy on your waist as you ride Eddie’s hand, his wrist glistening in the light, “you’re both so hot, fuck me.”

You flush at Steve’s words, whining in the back of your throat, “Sensitive, Eds,” you squeal, hips jerking back and away from Eddie’s hand – you get why he’s slow to move, when you see how Steve’s jerking his cock, how Eddie’s hips are fucking up into it, the dark red head leaking down his shaft and coating Steve’s fingers.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie’s apologetic as his hand moves, though he’s so breathy and fucked out that you can tell he’s hardly paying enough attention to care, “get your fucking dick out, Steve.”

Your trembling hands do it for him, and Steve willingly lifts his hips up to let you pull the offending material down. His cock springs out and — oh, oh fuck.

He’s so fucking big it makes your mouth water, so heavy under it’s own weight that it sits flush against Steve’s toned, heaving belly as he sucks in sharp breaths, slightly curved to the side and cut, the head almost purple with need, soaking wet with his own precum.

“Of course you’ve got a monster cock,” Eddie grunts, rolling his eyes, no heat to his words when Steve squeezes him tighter, jerks the head, flicks his thumb over the slit, “would’ve sworn you’d touched a hundred dicks with how good you are at it, fuuuck.”

“You’re gonna give me a goddamn complex,” Steve moans, stripping Eddie’s cock faster until the other man is literally shaking in his spot, hips vibrating, and you’ve seen this a million times — Eddie is close.

“Stop— mmph, stop, gotta stop,” Eddie pants, scrambling to halt Steve’s motions on his dick, which Steve does without a second thought, though his hand still lays loosely on the base as it pulses, slit weeping, “I’m gonna blow my fucking load if you keep doing that shit.”

There’s a heavy silence between you all for a moment, exchanged looks that say more than words probably could in such a highly charged situation — it’s like Steve was always here, the way he slots in and understands exactly what’s going on like he’d been with you both before in this way. It makes your heart clench, makes your tummy do flips.

You climb from Steve’s lap, rid yourself of your shorts and soiled panties whilst Steve and Eddie shuffle themselves around – Steve lying down, head propped up on the two sad looking pillows Eddie always kept around, and Eddie on his knees at Steve’s side.

It’d be truly ridiculous to look at from an outsider's perspective, like a bad porno movie, but you’re all so turned on that you can’t see past the want to care enough, as you climb back into Steve’s lap and resume your position.

“Want you to fuck me now,” you murmur, doe eyed and desperate as you cling to Steve’s shirt, rocking down onto his dick again, spreading your wetness over his shaft, “please, Steve?”

Steve whines pathetically, grabs a hold of his dick by the base, hazards a guess at where your opening is and fails miserably, unable to see anything at this angle. You try to help, wiggling your hips until the fat head catches on your clit — you both groan, a slight tinge of laughter in yours from the absurdity of it all.

“Damn Steve, can’t even find her pussy when it’s right in front of you,” Eddie huffs impatiently, yet his words are full of arousal you swear you’ve never heard, licking his wet, plump lips as he leans over to grab the base of Steve’s cock, slides the head against your wet cunt until you’re both whining and gasping for it, “sit on him then, sweetheart. Take his big cock like the good girl you are, yeah?”

Steve grips onto the meat of your thighs as you sink down, gasping at the sheer stretch — Steve really was bigger than Eddie and nothing could’ve prepared you for the intrusion. Your cunt leaks down his shaft, down Eddie’s hand until he’s removing it so you can sink down completely, adjusting to the stretch by wiggling your hips.

You can tell Steve is trying to keep his composure and failing miserably, if the way he’s grunting through his clenched teeth is anything to go by. You seize the opportunity, clamp your walls down around his length deliberately until he’s sputtering, grappling onto your skin even tighter, “D-don’t, can’t do that — I’ll come so fucking quick,” he gasps, staring up at you with wild eyes.

Eddie barks out a laugh from the side of you, and you can tell it’s from the sheer satisfaction – knowing that even though Steve’s cock is bigger there’s no way he’s going to be as good at fucking you as Eddie. Of course that’ll feed his ego, the town freak being better at fucking than Hawkins’ own certified slut.

“Go on, sweetheart. Show him what your pretty little cunt can do,” Eddie’s encouraging you, one hand loosely holding the base of his own cock, the other now placed on the small of your back, a grounding movement that keeps you from losing it all together.

You grip onto Steve’s broad shoulders, nails biting into the skin as you use your knees for leverage, take the first aching drag up the length of his cock. You feel like you’re being split apart from the inside, the dull hurting so fucking good that you’re sick with it.

“Oh fuck, that’s it, baby,” Steve’s eyebrows marry together as he watches you take him in fucking awe or something, unable to tear his eyes away from where you’re sinking up and down on him.

It’s torturously slow whilst you adjust to him, a tentative bounce and rock motion until your pussy is soaked from the constant press on your gspot.

You speed up your movements and Steve is all but wailing and begging beneath you, Eddie looming over the top of him and tugging lazily at his own cock, almost like he’s not entirely sure what he wants to do — or what he’s allowed to do.

Steve looks up at him, ripping his eyes away from your pussy sucking him in, leaving behind creamy rings of release on his shaft. He’s wide eyed and almost manic, watching as Eddie fucks his fist, “Put it– put it in my mouth, I wanna. Wanna suck you off.”

Eddie chokes on his own tongue momentarily, eyes bugging out of his head at Steve’s request, “You – I, what?” He laughs incredulously, though he’s already shuffling up next to Steve’s head, and Steve moves with him, craning his neck to the side and opening his mouth wide, tongue lolling out. Eddie fists a handful of Steve’s hair, sliding his cock into Steve’s mouth with an obscene fluidity, “You really are a fuckin’ slut, huh?”

Steve moans around his mouthful, nods what little he can manage as Eddie begins to rock in and out, building a slow rhythm, the loud slurping noises of Steve’s saliva adding to the noise of your soaked pussy fucking down onto him. You’re so turned on it hurts, the sight of them both together has you closing in on your second orgasm quickly, with a lightning speed.

The sound of wet skin, from sweat and ungodly amounts of body fluid is so loud you’re sure anybody within a five mile radius could hear you all, and that does something to your insides that you don’t think you could admit to out loud. Steve’s large hands move your hips, help you along as you bounce quicker on his cock, chasing your high, and you have to hand it to him that he’s a seriously good multitasker.

“You’re fucking — God, can’t believe you’re sucking me like this,” Eddie cries, ever the one to be so fucking vocal, and it’s clear as day he’s close to the edge already, “so fucking talented with that mouth — oh fuck, keep doing that. Yeah, yeah, oh fuck.”

“I hate you both so fucking much,” you gasp, arching your back and crying out as you bounce up and down on Steve’s cock in short, snappy motions. Steve grunts, fingernails biting into your hip, a clear sign that he wants you to keep doing that, and you do, “I’m-I’m, shit m’gonna cum –!”

It hits you like a goddamn freight train, your thighs trembling, hands gripping and nails biting at Steve’s abs as you come, gushing wet and walls fluttering as the feeling settles deep in your stomach. Your legs give up on you, body turning to jello within seconds.

Eddie can’t take his eyes off of you, watching you with such intensity that you feel his eyes basically burning holes into your head. You’re sure he doesn’t even blink as you rock through it, tits bouncing and mouth agape in the most delicious moans.

Steve’s patience wears thin, his hips fucking up into you from below, hands moving you on and off of his cock as if you’re a fucking ragdoll, but he’s not even really paying attention to you — he’s focused on Eddie, mouthing heavily at the other mans dick, taking and taking it as Eddie feeds it to him with nothing more than a few moans and grunts.

“Need to cum, let me cum on your face,” Eddie begs, tears his eyes from you finally to ask Steve the damn question, rutting into his mouth jerkily, practically sobbing as he reaches the end, “wanna ruin you so bad, fuck, please?”

Steve’s so far gone, nestled so tight in your pussy and drunk on it that he’d agree to anything, nods what little he can and Eddie takes barely a second to slip from Steve’s mouth. Tightens his fist around his own cock as he jerks it messily above Steve’s face.

“Your pussy is like heaven, fuck,” Steve grunts, voice worn and fucked out from being stuffed full for so long, and you’re so overstimulated you barely register what he’s doing, brain fuzzy. His fingers dig into your hips tight enough to bruise as he fucks you so hard you’re seeing stars, “cumming, I’m fucking cumming.”

Steve forces you down so hard on his cock that you wail, clinging onto him for dear life as he pulses deep inside of you, coating your insides with his release. You swear you’ve fucking died and gone to heaven or something, with how good it feels.

Eddie grunts from his place in front of you, “so fucking hot, shit, shit, oh fuck,” blurting from his mouth as he comes, his load shooting so far it kind of misses Steve’s face all together and instead spurts down his neck and chest.

A long wave of silence washes over you all as you all come down, a mess of sweaty limbs, coated in each others sex. You know the van had ought to fucking reek of it, the sheets below you all soaked and soiled. None of you find it in you to care as you pant heavily, hands all over each other as some weird form of aftercare, stroking and touching.

“Steve, where’s your car, man?” Eddie asks, breaking the silence yet again from where he’d finally slumped back on his ass next to Steve’s head.

Steve looks at Eddie like he’s stupid, furrowing his brows, “My car? Dude, I ran here. It’s only, like, six miles or something from my house, it’s not exactly far.”

You cackle loudly from your place in between Steve’s legs, “And you called me stupid for insinuating somebody walked out here!”

Eddie rolls his eyes, flips you both the bird, though there’s a little quirk on the corners of his lips.

You’re not sure what’ll happen from here, if anything at all, but the comforting aura you feel is enough to have you guessing that maybe it’s far from the final time.

to anybody who read this and took a chance on it, thank you all so much! this has been a little labour of love and i actually started on it before christmas, it was meant to be nothing more than a quick little smut fic but i felt it needed more. thank you all in advance for any likes, reblogs and sweet comments you leave, it means the absolute world.

#eddie munson smut #steve harrington smut #steddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #my fanfic #mine #x reader #steddie

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ventismacchiato · 1 month

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RAFAYEL HEADCANONS

canon complaint, established relationship

sorry guys, can u tell i have a favorite

matching everything. phone charms. earrings. nails. socks. you name it, he’ll buy everything in two.

begs you every other day to get a matching tattoo with him. he’s even drawn up multiple designs for you to choose from and will keep asking you until you eventually agree, how could you refuse?

hates cats, says he’s allergic (he’s not) but will run out the room when your cat walks in when he’s staying over. one time you asked him to feed it when you were away on a mission and you watched through your cat cam as it took him fifteen minutes to get the bravery to even get five feet near your cat.

so very chronically online. he’s a certified yapper. you’re his only follower on his private twitter and best believe he’s posting every single thought he has, and he expects you to reply to every single one. also asks you to match profile photos, but he has commitment issues so you guys change them almost every week.

you usually wake up to at least one voice note from him, minimum of five minutes long. you got used to playing them as podcasts as you got ready for work.

honestly he already probably gets his nails done, but will let you do them for him. more so force you, he’s lazy. but if you like to have yours done he would be able to do the prettiest designs for you.

aquarium dates are his favorite, no need to get a guide because rafayel will talk your ear off the moment you’re inside.

boy who cried wolf. fakes being sick for your attention so much so that you don’t even believe him when he actually is. not until thomas tells you that rafa has been whining about missing you in bed.

clearly has abandonment issues and gets upset when you don’t let him know where you are or if you’re okay. he’ll show up at your apartment the few times you pass out from a mission and forget to reply, ready to be mad at you. but the moment he sees your wounds and tired eye bags he loses any ounce of anger he once had.

love language is quality time, doesn’t matter what you’re doing as long as it’s together. he’s the type to tag along when you need to go grocery shopping or pick up something. he just likes to be beside you.

he is a brat, so he’ll laugh as he watches you struggle to carry all the groceries back inside. but it’ll only last a few seconds before he scoops them from you. if you guys go to a carnival together his immediate thought is to win every prize there. it’s only when he’s sucked the poor booths dry is when you have to tug him away.

claw machine dates are weekly and mandatory, but if you think you’re getting a turn think again. he gets too into it and forgets to share. you’ve come to learn you just need to pry him away from it

always follows the sidewalk rule but in return will make a big deal out of you opening doors for him since you’re his bodyguard. he’s the girlfriend in the relationship fr

that’s not the entire time though, when it’s just you two and he’s all worn out from being annoying all day his tone will go softer and his gaze warmer. he loves you he really does he just showcases it weirdly

constantly asking, morelike begging, you to stay the night. even if you have work the next day he says he needs you to fall asleep. it’s happened so many times you eventually brought one of your uniforms over and some clothes so you could spend the night and still go to work. it’s hard not to give in to him.

loves pda. if it was up to him he’d have his hands on you constantly. will get sulky if you don’t hold his hand when you go out.

much like xavier i don’t think he would enjoy working out. but if you need to go to the gym to train he’ll sit on a yoga ball beside your treadmill and talk your ear off. he’ll spot you on the machines but won’t go near anything. he will offer to sit on your back as you do push-ups though. you decline.

nsfw

probably a switch but after seeing his tipsy invitation and ebb and flow scenes he’s giving he prefers to be on the bottom. probably bratty at the beginning but he according to the cards he gives in pretty easily, letting mc tie him up and referring to you as master likeeee. i feel like he just wants you to enjoy it more than he wants to enjoy it. gets off at seeing you get off type of deal.

he’s giving pillow princess vibes but if you ask he’ll give you the same treatment but tease you the entire time tbh he’s sooo bratty but i can’t see him being a hard mean dom. like he’ll give into you but make you work for it. edging kink all the way

“hmm, should i stop? i can’t let you finish this quick.”

“wow i didn’t know you were so sensitive here.”

“i haven’t even used my fingers yet and you’re already this wet.”

100% down to try any sex toy can you imagine him buying some sort of tentacle dildo as a joke cus he’s a mermaid but then you end up actually using it on him one night

#rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #rafayel x y/n #rafayel x mc #rafayel x gender neutral reader #rafayel headcanons #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x you #love and deepspace headcanon #love and deepspace headcanons

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lighteyed · 2 months

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it's no big surprise you turned out this way

steve harrington x fem mayfield!reader

[3.7k] steve comes over for family dinner. it is absolutely not your idea.

disclaimer- no mention of blood relation to max, no physical descriptors of reader, they are sisters in any way you want them to be. trigger warning for shitty parents and billy h*rgrove. this is not a billy safe space.

dividers by @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

thanks for reading if you do <3 enjoy teehee

You drop a kiss on Steve’s head in greeting, which he accepts with a thrilled, in-a-new-relationship, glowing smile, before dropping down beside him and subsequently dropping your news, or rather, your request that’s not really your request, on him. “Neil wants you to come over for dinner.” You tense at the utterance of your stepfather’s name, even if it’s your own mouth doing the uttering.

His smile dissipates. Only a little, but enough for you to wring your hands together. You want to scoop all the words you’d just said back out from his ears and spoon them into your mouth again. Make him forget it’d ever happened. “Like, like family dinner?” He asks. He can’t fathom a world where he sits placid across the table from Billy Hargrove and passes him the salt respectably and doesn’t end the night with his fist colliding with his face (regardless of the outcome).

“No, it’d just be you and him, he’s dying to take you out on a date,” you deadpan in response, shaking your head. Steve rolls his eyes, no malice intended. “Obviously family dinner, Steve. You, me, Max, my mom, Neil… Billy.” You force out the final name. He swears he hears your teeth grinding as you say it.

“Don’t get grouchy on me.” He reaches over and smooths out the upset crease between your brows. Your shoulders relax in response. You’re always so wound up he’s made it his mission to give you that ease he knows you crave. He’s quite good at it, on days where he can steal you away and keep your mind occupied with the lovelier things in life. But there are some things he can’t spare you from, as much as he tries.

Really, he can only keep you out of that house for so long before your family starts demanding their 17-year-old back.

For the most part you keep away. Max roams the new mall all day with her friends now that June’s here and summer’s entered Hawkins in full swing, and you drive them there with your mom’s car if she doesn’t need it for the day, or Steve drives you all there and then home again if he’s not at work already that morning. If he has work you loiter in Scoops the entire day, lugging a stack of books acquired from the library and settling in a corner booth, popping your head up once in awhile to check on him and his misery in his new position in that ridiculous uniform. You brighten his days just as much as he brightens yours. And he really, really does. (And you like the uniform, as silly as it is, for the record).

“’M not grumpy,” you deflate, pressing your forehead into his shoulder. He rubs your back in a nice, soothing way when you lean into him. Ever since he asked you out he’s been taking every excuse to touch you and you’re not complaining in the slightest. He has the softest hands you’ve ever held and they’re perpetually gentle and kind. All the love in the world encased in the hands of some boy from Hawkins, Indiana, a place you never expected to find a home in, let alone find a boy. The boy, if you thought about it long enough. Early days to be thinking about it but you did think about it. Often. For hours. You sigh quietly. “I can tell ‘em you’re busy, you don’t have to come.”

“Max knows I’m not busy,” he points out.

“She doesn’t wanna be there, either. Look, I’ll just say you can’t come-“

“But I can.”

You lift back up, wary, but hopeful. A new flower poking its petals up from the earth, tilting right toward the sun. “I don’t wanna make you miserable.”

“That’s stupid,” he scoffs. He kisses your head this time, the perfumy scent of your shampoo fogging his brain up in a nice, lovey haze. “How could you make me miserable? You’re like, the best thing I’ve ever had, by a mile.”

You smile in spite of your gloomy mood. “The fuckin’ Hargroves have an innate knack for misery.”

“It’s a good thing you’re not a Hargrove then, hm, Mayfield?” He brushes your hair away from your face and takes your chin in his hand, angling your face up properly to meet his, and he kisses you like he well and truly means it, firm and adoring. You can feel his grin seared into your mouth when you pull away, in spite of your reluctance and Steve’s attempts to pull you back in.

. “You really wanna come? It won’t be fun. It’ll probably be shitty, actually.” You ask him in a tiny, hesitant voice, too overcompensating to someone who do anything you asked of him. Having Steve there sounds better than not having him there, and better than having to explain why he’s chosen not to come, but you know it’ll be weird. Worse than weird. After what happened back in November, him and Billy go out of their way to ignore one another, and it’s so deliberate it sucks the air out of a room. And even with that, Billy still makes it a point to direct snide remarks to you about Steve every chance he gets: alone, in front of Max, in front of your parents, in front of Steve himself while pretending he’s not there. And it’s gotten worse since you admitted to your mother in confidence that you and Steve were together now, and she told Neil, and Neil told Billy. But there’s no running from being at the same dinner table as him. You know you’re asking a lot. You wouldn’t be asking if Neil hadn’t insisted. In a loud, pointed voice, with a stare that unnerved you. You’d agreed to it hurriedly after that.

“Well,” Steve leans back, playful, “want to is a bit of a stretch but I can make an exception for ya-“

“Steve-“ you groan, pushing his chest, but he laughs, pushing himself back forward, smacking another loud kiss on your mouth.

“Kidding, I’m kidding, c’mere,” his fingers grip your waist feather-light, tickling, as he laughs, and you can’t help but laugh too through your head shakes and faux-exasperated sighs.

“I’m really asking you if you want to, I know it’s a lot asking you to make nice with Billy.” You interlace your fingers with his and he places them on your lap, all big brown eyes blinking up at you affectionately. You’re a sucker for his eyes. You can tell what he’s going to say before he says it.

“Nothin’s too much for you,” he says in his sweet, low voice, another kiss pressed to your cheek, his stamp of agreeance left blazing there on your cheek.

Late into the next day he arrives on 4819 Cherry Lane, as he has so many times before, but he parks right in front and gets out this time. He doesn’t sit by the wheel waiting for you to come running out, sometimes with Max in toe, usually by yourself, breathless and beaming, ready for him to whisk you away as fast as he can without breaking a million laws. He knows it’s not the gentlemanly thing to do, having a girl come to the car by herself instead of going up and ringing her bell, and normally he would, but you insisted he didn’t, not wanting to draw attention to yourself or him, and you were already waiting outside on the front steps when he got there most of the time, anyway.

And this time, too, you get the door before he can ring the bell, almost ripping it off the hinges when you throw it open to greet him.

“Thank God,” you mutter. You go to take his hand but remembers yours is sweaty and pull back. The sweater you’re wearing is pretty, complements your eyes and complexion and your everything, and your hair is down and soft-looking. He’d run his hands through it in other circumstances. “It’s not too late to make a break for it,” you lead him into the house quietly, throwing your head back and casting a dark look down the hallway. “Just say the words and we can flee, I won’t blame you.” He’s dressed so nicely, and you don’t even have the time to properly admire him. He did his hair all perfect (he always does but you can tell he put a little extra sparkle into it tonight), he’s in his nicest jeans that mold against his legs slim and fit, his sweater is a navy blue and it’s such a good color on him you might cry. You can see effort written in everything he does, tonight especially. His desire to make a good impression rings in your heart. You want to regard him warmly and turn your gaze on him with the utmost veneration but your skin buzzes with anxiety and it feels like one large, domineering fist is clamped around your intestines.

“It’ll be fine,” he says, squeezing your hand. He doesn’t even notice that it’s sweaty, though your anxiety is palpable and he amps up his happy exterior to balance you out. He’s probably just as nervous as you are, deep down. “Parents love me.” It’s an insistent sentence. “And I’m gonna turn on my charm.” He makes a clicking sound with his mouth and snaps his fingers around a little. You stare at him, blank. Neil is rumbling around somewhere in the distance and for the time being you are utterly immune to Steve’s banter.

Not completely, but enough. “I don’t know if that’s the kinda charm we need here,” you pat his shoulder.

“But it can’t hurt,” he points out with a raised eyebrow, pointing a finger gun at you.

“Oh, it can hurt alright.” You steer him into the living room anyway. “Steve is here.”

You announce it to the open air, waiting to see who comes when you call. Your mom, immediately, rushes out of the kitchen to greet him. She’s never met one of your boyfriends before. Her greeting is enthusiastic, to say the least. And she’s a hugger. It’s nice, actually, Steve thinks, no matter how embarrassed and nervous you are, to be embraced kindly by a mother. It’s familiar, like some distant dream from a faraway past. You have your qualms with Susan, he knows that, but he knows you love her hard, and that’s why you take so much issue with the way she lets herself be treated. It’s difficult to watch you grapple with all of this, all of the time.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Steve, or Steven? Whatever you want,” she rubs his back as she takes him into the kitchen alongside you.

“Steve is great, thank you, Mrs. May-“ he clears his throat, “Mrs. Hargrove, I mean.“ It’s hard to reconcile this woman in front of him with the domineering men bearing that same last name. It’s hard to distinguish her as anything but another piece of you and Max. A good piece.

“The girls talk about you all the time,” Susan says, still smiling.

“I do not,” Max huffs as she comes out of her room, abashed. She’s in a nice outfit, too. Not as dressed down as she usually is. She tugs at her tied back hair like it hurts.

“Ma, how tight did you do her hair?” You ask, beckoning Max over.

“It pops out of every scrunchie!” Susan says, patting her on the head with such clear affection it makes Steve ache a little.

“Maxie.” You open your arms for her. She stands in front of you obediently as you loosen the hold her hair ties have on her unruly locks, smoothing them out nicely as you tie it back up again, looser.

Everything’s so nice and homey that the shift in the atmosphere is almost imperceptible when a door creaks open a bit away from you four. But it’s there. He sees you draw back into yourself, your smile, at him talking to your mom and being so sweet, at Max, at the normalcy of this moment, sliding right off your face as Neil walks into the room. You’d almost forgotten him. You could’ve stayed in a bubble with your mom and sister and beautiful boyfriend forever. But Neil comes out from the hallway, from Billy’s bedroom, and Billy follows behind, fully clothed for once, his shirt buttoned all the way up his chest, his expression dark and cloudy. His jaw is tight as his gaze fixes on Steve.

But Steve, so gracious, sticks his hand out to shake Neil’s, smiling like Neil’s spawn isn’t the worst person Steve’s ever encountered as he introduces himself. “Nice to meet you, sir. Steve Harrington.” He keeps his mouth upturned sweet and polite even when Billy snorts in the background. He doesn’t even look in his direction.

“Nice to meet you, too, Steven.” Neil’s handshake is more like a clenched fist. You stare at their clasped hands like you want to commit murder. Steven.

“Steve, not Steven,” you mutter. Max touches your arm in warning before Steve can. You can’t help it. If there’s anyone you’re defensive over besides her, it’s him.

“Steven’s fine,” he chimes in, keeping that same old good-natured Steve smile on his face. He’s too appeasing and Neil has never deserved it. He rolls his shoulders back and talks to himself in his head. Just one night. For her, for her, for her.

“It’s the name your parents gave you, of course it’s fine,” Neil claps him on the back, and you know he doesn’t mean anything by it but you and Steve both flinch. From the words and the tap alike. Neil ignores your remark completely as he continues to talk to Steve in a way that makes your skin crawl. He brings Steve over to the dining room table and the rest of you follow suit, settling in around each other. You make sure you sit next to Steve, but you second-guess it when Billy takes the straight across from him. Neil drones on. “Y’know, it’s interesting how all this time, you’ve been driving the girls around for months now, but this is the first time we’re meeting.”

Steve checks on you out of the corner of his eye. Your jaw ticks. He squeezes your knee but before he can answer, you do it for him. “He’s been busy, that’s all.”

Neil looks toward you. For once. It is not a pleasant look. “For months?” He tucks his hands under his chin.

“I know you don’t like having strangers in the house after you work,” you say, placating in a way that turns your stomach.

“That’s true,” Neil says. “Billy doesn’t seem to get the memo on that, so I’m glad someone in this house is paying attention.” The degradation of Billy at the dinner table is nothing new. And you feel bad about it. You’d feel worse if he wasn’t so nasty and hateful to everyone because of it. Neil had run into Billy’s latest flavor, Miranda Brady from your Calculus class, while she was rummaging through the fridge the other night, and he hadn’t been happy. He was polite to her until she’d been hurried out the door by Billy, and then he’d reamed into him in colorful, awful ways. Max and Susan both hadn’t been home, but it was one of those nights where you had been, and you’d lingered by your bedroom door awkwardly, making sure it didn’t get too out of hand. You weren’t sure either of them even knew you were there. Accepting the praise seems wrong. You nod stiffly.

Billy, however, turns his gaze on Steve, the first acknowledgement he’s gotten in months. “Say, Harrington, you used to be quite the ladies’ man yourself, yeah?” A sick grin creeps up on his face. Steve sees your hand tighten around your fork. You’ve barely shoveled your pasta into your mouth. Max gapes at her stepbrother, her mouth still full of food.

Steve clears his throat. “I had a steady girlfriend for about a year, actually. I’m sure you remember that.”

“Yeah, but I mean,” Billy rocks his chair back. “That’s not what they were calling you King Steve for, is it?”

You lurch forward. Steve drops his hand over your knee again. “I think it was because of the whole captain of the basketball team thing. Or the captain of the swim team thing, I can’t remember when it started. Youngest captain the Tigers had seen in a decade, actually, when I got it sophomore year.” Steve grins again and the cocky charm he possesses but hardly uses much anymore comes out to play, just for a bit. You settle down again. You eat what’s in front of you, calmly. You hear Max gulp down her own food across the table. It’s almost cartoonish.

“Max, chew first,” Susan admonishes gently.

“I am,” she retorts, but she’s inhaling everything in front of her.

Billy cuts in. “See, that’s interesting, I thought it was because you hooked up with a lot of girls. Like half the class.”

Steve doesn’t even blink. He takes a sip of his water. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“Are you trying to upset your sister?” Neil asks him with raised eyebrows.

He goes quiet again, hardened. “No.”

“It seems like you’re trying to.”

His jaw ticks this time. “I’m not.”

“Do you remember what I said to you? About a half hour ago?”

His jaw ticks again. His eyes meet Steve’s over the table. Steve feels the merest twitch of embarrassment for him. He knows all too well what it’s like to have a dad who takes a weird sort of pleasure in berating his son. “Yes, I remember.”

You stare down at your plate, pinching the skin of your palm.

“If you remember so well, then you should stop talking.”

Billy stops talking. Neil turns to Steve again. “So, captain of two athletic teams, that’s impressive. I’m sure your college plans are impressive as well.”

Steve stutters in his answer and you hold your head aloft in your hands, suppressing a groan. Max finishes her food so fast, she’s excused from the table and gone within minutes of that conversation starting. You nearly fall out of your chair in your attempt to kick her shin under the table. She holds her hands up in her retreat while nobody’s looking, mouthing that she’s sorry at you and running away into your shared bedroom. You suppress a groan again.

Outside, after another grueling hour of Neil dominating the conversation and making dinner unenjoyable for everyone, you walk Steve to his car, fiddling with your hands again. He props himself up against his window and wrestles you out of the knot you’re in.

“That sucked, I’m sorry,” you say, knocking your foreheads together, your mouth drawn in a thin, perturbed line.

“It was fine, you’re fine,” he whispers the last bit. That’s what you’re more worried about, after all. You’re worried he’s mad, planning to leave you for someone with a more normal family, people who are warmer, someone capable of being warmer. You’re plenty warm around him, but you suppose you could be better. You start running over all the things you could do better and all the ways he could do better in your head. “Stop thinkin’ so much. Everything’s okay.” He nudges your foot with his.

“No, I know, it’s just, it’s awkward, it’s not fun, shitty way to spend your night, shitty way for anyone to spend a night.”

“It’s okay. It was good. I was good, wasn’t I?” He kisses your palm where you’d pinched it earlier.

“You were great, you’re always great.” You stroke his cheek, lingering on his lips for a second. “You look really nice, by the way.” You’d almost forgotten to tell him. “I like this color on you.” You smooth over and down his arms.

“Yeah?” He grins, lopsided, tilting his head.

“Looks good with your hair.” You reach up to tug on the strand that hangs down like an art form over his forehead. You’re the only one he lets play around about his hair.

“You look beautiful, too, for the record.”

“I was trying to make this about you.” You poke him.

“I like when things are about you.” He pokes you back.

“I hate when things are about me.”

“Yeah, I’m trying to fix that.”

You chuckle. “Good luck.”

He gestures back to your house. “I’m makin’ progress here. I think I get you a little bit better now, after all that.”

“And what exactly do you get?” You wrap your arms around his waist.

“Why you’re always so tense and grumpy.” He cups your cheeks like he’s holding the most delicate thing ever to be held.

“I’m not grumpy-“

“Just tense, then.”

You accept that, begrudgingly. “I’m pretty on edge most of the time, I guess.”

“I try to talk you out of it,” he says softly, stroking your face.

“You’re the best, I hope you know that.”

“I try,” he says again, and you nod. “It’s not easy. Night after night.”

“It’s not.” You bunch up his sweater.

“I get it, you know? They’re not here as often as yours, but I get it.”

“Dinner with yours next time?”

“Yeah fucking right.” He kisses you for it, though, because you mean it, you’d have dinner with them if he asked just like he did because you asked, a long and languid kiss that he hopes no one’s shifting around the curtains to be privy to. He withdraws first and says, “Your mom is sweet, I’d have dinner with her again.”

“I’ll let you know when she’s free, take her out, show her a good time,” you tease.

“If she’s anything like you I’m a goner,” he laments.

“You’re a flirt, is what you are.”

You kiss him again, beaming, heart swollen with affection.

When you go back inside and Susan tells you how wonderful and handsome she thought Steve was, how good he seemed for you, that rush flows through you all over again. You even bring her in for a hug.

thank u for reading ur super hot n sexy n we're kissing rn

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x mayfield!reader #mayfieldreaderverse #look at me finishing a wip

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headkiss · 4 months

Text

maybe this christmas time

pairing: steve harrington x sunshine!reader

summary: working as an elf during the holidays (which he isn’t a fan of) is not how steve would choose to spend his time, neither is doing a bucket list of your creation. you end up changing his mind.

word count: 9.5k

warnings: use of she/her pronouns for r, some grumpy steve (he’s still a softie underneath it, i can’t help it!), some family issues (a phone call from steve’s mom), a rude customer, christmas activities/themes, fluff, and a first kiss!

a/n: merry christmas and happy holidays from me to you!!! i hope u guys enjoy this one, i had a lot of fun writing it!! big big thank you to @bcyhoods for sending the request that inspired me to write this fic and to @bruisedboys who helped me out when i was unsure about things <333 ily guys i hope u all have the happiest of holidays!

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Starcourt Mall is decorated to the brim. Fake snow and garlands, giant ornaments hanging from the ceiling, a Christmas tree that stays lit all day long.

And, in the middle of it all, Santa’s Workshop.

That’s where you are, where you’ve been for a couple of Decembers now. Every other month of the year, you work at the movie theater, scooping popcorn and scanning tickets. But, for December, you trade in your cinema t-shirt for an elf outfit, striped tights and all.

“It’s really not so bad once you get past the itching,” you tell Steve.

“Great,” he says, the sarcasm clear in his tone.

“Great,” you repeat, cheery enough for the both of you.

He wasn’t sure how it could get any worse than the sailor uniform. That is, until he saw what he had to wear for this gig.

It’s Steve Harrington’s first year at Santa’s Workshop, and you’ve been tasked with training him, though the job is mostly self-explanatory.

But unlike you, Steve didn’t volunteer for this.

“I can’t believe they picked me to do this,” he sighs. “Don’t even like elves.”

“Well they had to pick someone, Steve.” You shrug, “who knows, you might end up having fun!”

“Not likely.”

“At the very least, you’re getting paid, right?” You nudge him once with your elbow, “plus, if you’re extra nice, some moms give pretty good tips.”

You and Steve went to school together, but he never really spoke to you then. It was only after graduation that you had any sort of conversation with him. They mostly consisted of him bribing you with free ice cream to let Dustin and the gang into the movies for free.

That was after you caught him letting them into the back rooms to sneak in.

Now, Steve’s wearing a pair of slippers that jingle with every step just like yours, and in the only two shifts you’ve had together so far, you’ve spoken more than ever. Even if it’s mostly been instructions from you and an unenthusiastic comment in response from Steve.

“Do I really have to wear these fucking shoes?” He asks, following you out of the staff room.

“Yes. It’s part of the uniform.” You turn around to face him, walking backwards while he walks forwards. “Don’t worry, you’ll tune out the jingling soon enough.”

“I’ll hear these jingles in my nightmares.”

“At least you look cute!”

You spin back around, and Steve only rolls his eyes as he trudges on behind you.

Steve’s not quite sure how he feels about you, whether he finds you a little annoying or endearing. At the moment, with an elf hat squishing his hair, he’s leaning a little more towards the first.

He didn’t know you during school. Admittedly, he was an asshole for most of his time at Hawkins High, so that explains that. Even still, he doesn’t know much about you, only that you’re kind enough not to snitch on him for sneaking the kids into the movies and that you seem to seep sunshine all the fucking time.

And your sunshine seems to be dialed up during the holidays. Like you really believe in ‘holiday cheer.’

Steve knows, deep down and buried somewhere he’s not quite ready to face yet, that he’s mostly just jealous. Because if you like the holidays so much, if you’re smiling the way you do so often, you must have it pretty good at home.

To him, nothing else makes sense. Not when Christmas at the Harrington household has been absolute shit for years. First, it was the gifts he never wanted, things his parents didn’t care enough to know he didn’t like. Then, they dwindled until, eventually, Christmas did, too.

There’s a travel discount during the holidays, sweetie. We’re visiting dad’s boss’ cabin. Next year, we promise. Excuse, excuse, excuse.

So yeah, Steve’s never really understood the appeal. Walking behind you in a pair of jingling shoes and a scratchy outfit, he’s not sure he ever will.

You lead him towards the area where Santa’s Workshop has been set up, right by the fountain. There’s bright red carpet rolled out over the usual tiled floors, an area set up for the cue of families, and of course, a bench where some guy playing Santa will sit.

“Since we’re opening today I’ll show you the whole set-up routine.” You step over the rope with the sign that says ‘Gone to feed the reindeer!’ with Steve in tow. “Easy peasy.”

Steve steps over the rope behind you, shaking his head at the sound his shoes make when he lands. He chooses to listen to your voice instead.

“First, we count the props,” you nod over at the bin that’s tucked away behind a small tree, “there should be four sets of antlers, two santa hats, a red nose, and some extra elf hats.”

He stares at you—because why on earth would you have that memorized—and raises his eyebrows. For a moment, as he watches you grab the clipboard that sits atop the prob bin and start counting, Steve wonders if maybe he should be more like you. The kind of person who seems to see the good in everything.

Then, he remembers what the outfit he’s got on looks like and shakes the thought away.

“Why would anyone want to be a clown in these pictures?” He says.

“The red nose is for Rudolph, dummy.”

You say dummy with a smile, like it’s something to admire. Steve huffs.

“Rudolph’s a loser.”

“Aw, come on, he’s got his own song and everything! I’d say that makes him the opposite of a loser.”

“Of course you would,” he mutters, cursing the tiniest twitch of a smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. “What’s next?”

“Right,” you grab the bag that you brought from the staff room and set it on the ground by the tripod that’s already set up. “Next is the camera. Here, I’ll show you.”

The only knowledge Steve’s got of cameras comes from whatever Jonathan has told him, which hasn’t been very much, considering the pair’s history on the topic despite them being friends now.

So, he steps closer to you, watches as you pull the camera out of the bag.

“You just have to switch it on and make sure the battery’s full, right there,” you say, pointing at the small symbol that lets you know if the camera’s charged or not. “And don’t forget to take the lens cap off. I did it once and this dad yelled at me, so...”

You pop the lens cap off, putting it in the bag. Steve’s standing close to you, right behind you, his chin hovering over your shoulder, the warmth of his chest just shy of brushing against your back.

“Finally,” you continue, ignoring the little skip in your heartbeat, the way you breathe just a tiny bit quicker. “Set it up on the tripod, and you’re good to go.”

He watches your fingertips move easily, securing the camera to the tripod. When you’re done, you turn around to face him, and it’s only then that Steve realizes how close he’s gotten.

Close enough that you stumble and land against his chest, his hands on your upper arms to steady you as you pull back quickly, like you’d been burned. Steve, however, doesn’t let go just yet and he’s got no idea why.

He doesn’t let go until the music in the mall is switched on, the opening notes of some Christmas song startling you both. Steve steps back and releases you, dropping his hands by his sides and ignoring the twitch of his fingers.

“Alright,” you say, trying to brush the moment off. “That sound means we’re open. You ready?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Nope!”

Your lunch breaks at Santa’s Workshop feel like a luxury, because no matter how much you enjoy the job, it’s nice to get away from the rowdy children it forces you to deal with.

Unlike your job at the theater, where your breaks are staggered, the workshop closes for an hour every day, meaning that even during lunch, Steve’s stuck with you.

The sign by the line for Santa is flipped, and parents groan whenever they see the festive font saying you’ll be back in an hour.

You take the hour spent in the staff room as a time to ask him questions, what his hobbies are (“does driving a pack of 13-year-olds around count?”), if he likes his job at Scoops (“I’m starting to appreciate it more. The lesser of two evils, or something”), if he’d introduce you to Robin someday (“I’m afraid of what that might do to my sanity.”)

Today, you’re trying to tackle the subject of his Grinch-like tendencies.

“What’s your favorite Christmas movie?” You ask.

Steve doesn’t know why he continues to answer your questions whenever you throw them at him—which is often—but he does. He thinks it might be like being mean to a puppy, ignoring you. Unnecessarily cruel.

“Don’t have one.”

“Ugh. Come on, Steve! Everyone has a favorite.” You slump in your seat across from him at the small table in the break room. Steve stares at you blankly as he takes another bite of his lunch. “You can tell me.”

“I’m serious,” he says, nudging your foot with his when it comes close. “They’re cheesy.”

“Aren’t you secretly a rom-com fan?”

“How did you-”

“So, you actually enjoy cheesy movies!”

“Okay, well you don’t have to say it to the entire mall. Gosh.”

Steve wonders how you know that about him, how you’ve been able to guess a lot of things without him telling you. Briefly, just for a second, he wonders if that might mean something.

Like, if maybe you’re in his life now for a reason.

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me, Steve.” You smile what you hope is an honest, reassuring smile. “So, the cheesiness isn’t the root of the issue.”

“No, I guess not.”

“I’m gonna take a guess here,” you start, “and say that you’re not a fan of Christmas.”

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Steve, I’ve never heard someone complain about jingle bells so much in my life.”

“We can’t all behave like we’ve been injected with sunshine.”

You don’t think he means it as a compliment, but you decide to take it as one nonetheless. But you suppose he’s right, there’s always gotta be a balance. Dark and light, happy and sad.

“Thank you,” you give him a quick grin. “And you’re avoiding the question.”

He’s silent for a moment, twisting his fork around between his fingers. “My parents never really did Christmas.”

Your heart squeezes a little in your chest at his words, at the way his tone goes quieter, at the way he looks at the table to avoid catching your eye.

Immediately, you feel guilty for prying, because the last thing you’d ever wanted to do was force him to tell you something he didn’t want to. It’s not your place, no matter how curious you are, no matter how much you’d like to give him a hug or something right about now.

It’s not your place, but you find yourself wishing it could be.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Steve.” You reach for his hand that sits on the table and give it a quick squeeze before pulling back. “You don’t have to talk about it. I shouldn’t have bugged you.”

“It’s okay. I’ve had a lot of time to accept it.” He shrugs, like it doesn’t affect him. But from the scrunch in his brows, you can tell it does, at least a little bit. “The Harringtons have better things to do than sit around cleaning up wrapping paper.”

Steve feels embarrassed, his cheeks warm and his head bent. He doesn’t like scraping this wound open, doesn’t like to think about what he was missing out on while everyone thought his life was perfect.

He especially doesn’t want you looking at him like he’s injured or something after this.

Surprisingly to Steve, you don’t. You actually do quite the opposite. You smile brightly at him, like you’ve just had an excellent idea, like you can inject a bit of your sunshine into him with it.

“How about this: I’ll teach you how great Christmas can be.”

“I think it might be a little late for that.” Steve tries to shake his admission away, to clear the room. He points at the elf hat on his head, “this outfit has ruined any last shred of hope I had.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that you make a cute elf? You pull it off better than I do.”

“You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not!” Steve raises his eyebrows at you. You ignore that look. “Whatever. I cannot in good conscience, let you keep disliking Christmas. Think of how fun it could be. Plus, you owe me for all of those movies I let your children into.”

Steve already finds it difficult to say no to you, because of how kind you remain even when he’s snarky with you, because of the same kindness you seem to offer to everyone you meet.

So, even though he’s not sure what your plan entails, he sighs and says: “okay. Fine.”

“Wait, really?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

You cheer, clapping a little in your seat. “Oh my gosh, we can go skating, and go to one of those Christmas light festivals, and make cookies-”

“What did I get myself into?” Steve mutters, while you’re still rambling off ideas.

“-I’m gonna need to make a list.”

Even after your break ends, you seem to have an extra pep in your step, if that’s even possible. Your smile is a bit wider, your eyes brighter, and Steve can’t help but feel a little special for being somewhat responsible for that.

Really, what did I get myself into, he wonders.

In the time between him agreeing to your Christmas plans a couple of days ago and now, at yet another shift, Steve has realized that he actually likes you quite a bit. Even though your seemingly constant optimism drives him a little bit crazy.

You treat everyone with an attitude that’s so rare, he finds that his previous annoyance for you is slowly becoming overtaken by the endearment.

He won’t admit it, not when bantering with you seems to be the highlight of his days lately, but Steve is starting to be sort of grateful that he got selected for this job.

And that has absolutely nothing to do with the outfit he wears. He still fucking hates that.

“It’s alright, cutie,” he hears your voice say, all soft and understanding. He finds you, crouched down to talk to a little girl who seems to be wary of Santa. “I bet Santa will give you something extra from your list if you smile for the picture.”

The girl nods, like she’s determined. But, when you stand back up, she grabs onto your hand by your side.

“What is it?” You ask her.

“Can you do it with me?”

You look over to the girl’s mother where she stands to the side, and she nods, eager to get the picture done. So, with that, you say, “okay, then.”

Steve’s standing behind the camera as he watches you help the girl onto the bench beside Santa. Then you’re sitting beside her and telling her to look at the nice boy behind the camera.

It takes him a second to realize you’re talking about him, but when he does, he forces himself into action, bending to look through the viewfinder.

“Say cheese,” he says.

The click of the camera sounds, and then it’s done. You help the girl down, who goes over to her mom quickly and they head over to grab their picture.

Once they’re gone, the line dies down, giving you and Steve a rare pause from the pictures and overenthusiastic welcomes to ‘the North Pole.’

“I hope that family’s okay with my face in their picture,” you say, coming to stand beside Steve by the camera. “I mean, I know the mom nodded, but maybe they’ll cut me out of it.”

You’ve become more comfortable with Steve the more you’ve worked with him, getting to know him in how his grumpiness is more related to the holidays and early mornings than anything else, in how he turns the same grumpiness down when he talks to the kids.

You think he’s grown more comfortable with you, too, because he’s started bringing you a coffee in a festive cup in the morning, leaving it in your cubby without a word.

From Steve, you think that says a lot. His actions have always spoken louder than his words, you think. Like the free ice cream he gives you from Scoops, or the small nod he’d give you whenever he’d pick up the kids from a movie.

And now, there’s the small tug of his lips, the hint of a smile that has you saying, “Steve Harrington are you smiling right now?”

“Shut up,” he shakes his head at you. “That was sweet. What you did for that girl.”

Steve lets himself say what he thinks for once, because there’s nobody else around, because he wants you to hear it.

You hide your shy smile by looking down at your feet. You know that underneath everything, Steve is probably one of the best boys you’ve ever met, because even with his attitude, he’ll never say anything to truly hurt you, and with how little you know about his family, you also know that it’s rare for someone in his situation to remain so good.

Any resemblance of a compliment from Steve feels extra special, like its own gift in itself.

“Ruining her picture, you mean?” You ask, trying to cover up how you feel about him calling you sweet.

“You didn’t ruin that picture, sunshine.”

Sunshine. That’s new.

“Well I’m glad someone thinks so.”

Before Steve has the chance to respond, the line picks up again, and it’s back to business as usual. The routine click of the camera, the sound of parents telling their kids to smile nice and big.

You and Steve catching each other’s eye when a particularly entertaining family rolls around, laughing at the way he does an impression of a mom after she leaves. With work being sort of like this every day, you wish it could be Christmas all year round. You much prefer this to the theater, you think.

Steve can't say that he likes this job more than Scoops—Robin might call him traitorous—but he finds that you’d been at least a little right when you said that it would get better when he got used to things, when he hears the sound of your laugh rather than those stupid bells on his shoes.

He finds that he sometimes has to remind himself that he doesn’t like the holidays, that they aren’t like this all the time.

At the end of your shift, as you and Steve grab your stuff from the staff room, you turn to him, leaning against the wall as he shrugs on his coat.

“So, I made a list,” you say. “We are going to have the best Christmas ever, Harrington.”

“My standards are very low, so it wouldn’t take much.”

“Don’t care. I have plans. We can make gingerbread houses and get Christmas pajamas-”

“Absolutely not.”

While Steve already agreed to letting you show him Christmas your way, he thinks he can only take so much at a time. Small doses of your jolly spirit are plenty.

“Steeeve.”

“I am drawing the line. No Christmas pajamas. Not happening.”

“But the gingerbread houses are a yes?” You ask, hopeful and smiling like it’ll persuade him.

“I’ll get back to you on that one.”

That’s what Steve decides to say, instead of simply agreeing because he finds that he’d like to spend time with you outside of work, to see if you’re really so bright all the time, to see if he can soak it up a little better when he’s not dressed as a damn elf.

That’s what he decides to say because it’s easier than spilling the rest of it out there. Much, much easier.

“But you already agreed!” You pout at him a little, exaggerated dramatics on your part. “You can’t just tell me I can teach you Christmas and then back out, I mean, I made an actual bucket list. With glitter and shit.”

“Oh no, not the glitter,” Steve places a hand on his chest, sarcastically scandalized. “That makes it serious.”

You blink at him, giving him a blank look. “Don’t diss the list. By the end of it, you’re gonna be jolly as fuck, trust me.”

“Jolly as fuck,” he repeats, shaking his head on a laugh. “You’ve got a way with words, sunshine.”

“Thank you.” You push your tote bag onto your shoulder, fishing out your keys, they clink in your palm when you find them. “I’m not letting you back out of this, by the way. The list is binding.”

“Well in that case…”

You give Steve a little smile, the flash of a sunbeam, before heading out, and he’s left standing in the break room wondering what you’ve got on that list, why you seem to care so much about it.

Huffing, he supposes he’ll find out soon enough.

Steve definitely should not have told you that he’d never been ice skating before.

It all started when you’d been talking about that damn list at your most recent shift, a couple of days after he’d accepted the fact that he couldn’t back out of it (did he really want to?).

“Hey, you have a change of clothes in your bag, right?” You’d asked him in between families.

“Um… yeah. Why?”

“Because, Steve, our festivities begin today after work!” You clapped your hands together softly, excited and encouraging, yet delicate. “I haven’t quite decided what we’re starting with yet.”

“I thought you had a list.”

“I do! But it’s not in order,” you shrugged, “I’m more of a mood-based decision maker, anyways.”

“Of course you are,” he’d said, his usual sarcasm lighter, laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

“So I’m thinking we go skating-”

“Nope.”

“You can't say no to every idea I have. Then how will you get the Christmas experience?”

“I won’t say no to everything.” You looked at him like you didn’t believe him, so, quietly, he added, “it’s just, I’ve never been skating before.”

“Steve, that’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” you reassured him easily, your voice honest in a sort of natural way, like you couldn't lie even if you tried. “All the more reason to give it a try. The point is to have fun, not to be good at it. I’m really not that great, myself.”

“If I hate it, we’re leaving.”

“Deal.”

And that’s how he’d ended up here, standing next to you at the rental counter at the ice rink, telling some teenager his shoe size so he could get a pair of skates.

Steve looks at you as you talk to the teenager, paying before he even gets the chance. He looks at the hat you’ve got on your head, the way your jeans are cuffed just enough to let your snowman patterned socks peek out of your boots.

He realizes that he’s only ever really seen you in uniform, at the theater and as an elf, and he thinks, quickly, like a car driving by, that you look really pretty like this. With snowflakes stuck in your eyelashes and all.

Though he’s never said it, barely let himself think it, he’s always found you pretty in a sort of undeniable way, like it was just a fact. Now, he finds you pretty in a way that makes him feel it.

His heart beats like it feels it, too. The traitor.

“Thank you,” you say, grabbing both your and Steve’s pairs of skates. You turn to him, smiling like always, Christmas lights reflected in your eyes, “ready to go?”

“As I'll ever be,” he says, letting you lead the way to the benches by the rink.

He watches the way you tie your skates, copying your movements on his own pair, double knotting the bow at the end. When you stand, he stays seated for a moment, suddenly more nervous than before, because the last thing he wants to do is embarrass himself in front of you, in front of everyone around.

Like you can read his mind, you say, “it’s okay, the first step is only standing. It looks harder than it is, promise.”

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

“Why don’t you just stand up and find out, then?”

He rolls his eyes, more at himself than you, and pushes himself up from the bench. It takes him a second to get used to the feeling of the skates, of balancing on them, but eventually, he nods at you, eager to get it over with.

“‘Kay, so it’s gonna feel weird when you step on the ice, but you can just hold onto the side until you get the hang of it.” You start walking ahead of him, turning back to say, “I have a feeling you’ll be a natural.”

“Sure you do,” he mutters, shaking his head.

The rink is outdoors, the walls surrounded with string lights of all kinds, twinkling and colorful. In the middle, there’s a big tree, a shining gold star sat on top. There’s a hot chocolate stand to the side, the smell mingling with the freshness of the cold.

There are Christmas songs playing over the speakers (of course), and Steve thinks that if he hears one more rendition of “Jingle Bell Rock,” he’ll have to invest in a pair of ear plugs. On top of that, there’s the sound of laughter, kids with their parents, friends, couples, everyone seems to be having fun.

Everyone seems to be at ease except for him.

You step onto the rink first, skating a couple of steps forward to give Steve room to get on. He holds onto the side like you told him to, lifting a foot and stepping forward slowly, his foot slipping a little when it hits the ice.

You don’t say anything, don’t pressure him, only stand there with a kindness in your eyes that tells him you won’t be anything but patient.

Still, he doesn’t take too long to get the other foot on the ice, too, his feet carrying him forward a little bit, his hand gripping the side tighter.

“See? It’s not so bad,” you skate to his side, leaving space between you as Steve holds out his arm for balance. “Now all you gotta do is push yourself forward.”

“You make it sound like it’s easy.”

“It’s called being encouraging, Steve. Let me be encouraging!”

“Fine,” he stares down at his feet, his hair falling over his forehead. “So what do I do?”

“Use one foot to push, and then let yourself glide, switch feet, and repeat. You can do it.”

He gives it a go, and finds that it isn’t awful, but he moves slowly, and looking around at the other people skating, he’s not an impressive skater at all.

Steve has always felt the urge to be good at everything he does, basketball, driving, even fucking babysitting. He’s always tried so hard to do things well, like maybe, if he was talented enough, his parents would care more, would finally be proud of him for something.

He swallows that thought down and pushes forward again.

You follow his speed, gliding easily beside him, “look at you go!”

“I look like an idiot,” he says, his arm outstretched beside him, the other gripping the side, his knees bent.

When you look at him, though, all you see is the pink of his cheeks and nose from the cold, the way his hair brushes against his forehead, the focus in his eyes, the determination. No, you don’t think he looks like an idiot at all.

“You look like you’re trying, and that’s a great look on you, Steve.”

This time, it isn’t only the cold that pinkens his cheeks.

He doesn’t have time to muster up a reply, because the next time Steve skates ahead, he stumbles, his balance wavering until he feels your hand grabbing onto his arm to help steady him.

Then, your hand moves to hold his, and even through the layers of both of your gloves, he feels the warmth in his fingertips, some sort of tingling.

“This way, if you fall, so do I,” you say, squeezing his hand once, winking at him like the thought of falling doesn’t scare you one bit.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Super sure.”

You hadn’t been lying on that one, because eventually Steve does fall, and you fall right along with him, landing on the ice with a little, “oop!”

On his back, Steve turns his head to look at you, your hair a mess around you, some on your cheeks. He reaches out and brushes it away.

“You okay, sunshine?”

The response he gets is the sound of your laughter, a single loud cackle that has your eyes widening and a hand smacking over your mouth.

Your laughter fades into a fit of giggles, one so infectious that Steve—surrounded by all kinds of Christmas-themed things he swore he hated—laughs along with you.

And for the first time, maybe in his entire life, Steve thinks that the holidays might not be the worst thing ever.

Steve’s in a bad mood today, that scrunch in his brows you'd thought had been easing away back in full force.

It’s your first shift back together since you’d been skating only a couple of days ago, and you can’t help but worry that maybe it was too much, that you’d pushed him too far.

Even though, at the time, he’d been smiling more than you’ve seen him smile maybe ever, and you really thought that you had a shot at making Christmas better for him. You worry that he wasn’t as happy as he seemed, that he was pretending to have fun for your sake.

Steve, on the other hand, is actually glad to be at work for once, glad for the distraction it gives him. He’s unaware that his emotions are so visible on his face, that you think an ounce of his annoyance and anger is aimed at you.

All he knows is that after the morning he had, he needs this distraction.

This morning, it wasn’t the beep of his alarm that had woken him up, but the shrill ring of the phone on his bedside table. Groggy, with his eyes still half shut, Steve picked up the phone.

He wishes he didn’t.

“Hello?” His voice was almost a groan, scratchy from sleep, irritated at being woken up earlier than his alarm.

“Steve, sweetie!” His mother’s voice made him squint his eyes shut further. “Why do you sound so tired?”

“‘Cause it’s six in the morning, mom.”

“Oh, silly me. I forgot about time zones,” she said, though she didn’t sound the least bit apologetic. She didn’t even care enough to know what time it was for her son. “Anyways, I’m calling to let you know your father and I won’t make it home for Christmas this year. There’s this banquet we just can’t miss. You understand, don’t you?”

Steve doesn’t know why he’d been surprised, doesn’t know why her words, completely devoid of any kind of empathy towards the situation, made his stomach hurt.

“Yeah, okay,” he’d said, because it was no use to do anything but agree.

This was his normal: an almost monthly phone call from one of his parents from wherever they are in the world, no matter the time, always telling him that they’re missing this holiday, his birthday (which, at this point, he was shocked they even remembered), anything.

“That’s my boy,” she’d said, as if she knew him at all. She didn’t. Hasn’t known him—or cared to—for a long time. “I knew you’d understand.”

“Right.”

“Oh, there’s your father. Gotta go.”

And just like that, she hung up.

Steve almost wishes that they’d never call at all, because maybe then it would be easier to swallow their neglect. If they’d just forget him completely, he could get rid of that stupid, tiny sprout of hope he feels whenever they call, hoping things will be different.

At least it was his mother this time, he thinks. His father is a hundred times worse, only ever disappointed in Steve, asking about his job or when he plans on ‘getting a real life,’ never about him.

So yeah, Steve’s in a bad mood today.

The two of you don’t talk for the majority of your shift, you, afraid that Steve’s angry with you, opting to give him space, and Steve, stewing in every negative emotion that comes along with a phone call from his parents.

You don’t talk until one of the last families in line for the day comes up.

Once the kids are in place, you lean down to look through the viewfinder, counting them down and snapping the picture when they say ‘cheese.’ To the side, the children’s mom looks at you with so much judgment, Steve, even brewing in his thoughts, notices.

With the picture taken, you take the camera over to the mom, letting her see the picture the way you do with all the parents, making sure they approve.

Instead of approval, what you get is, “what the hell is that?”

You’ve dealt with your fair share of rude customers, at every job you’ve had, but this woman all but screams at you, and that’s rare. “Sorry,” you say, “I can take a new one, no problem.”

“I better be getting the new one for free with how these pictures are looking,” she practically hisses at you.

Usually, you can handle stuff like this, can smack on a smile and politely agree to get things taken care of, but today, the mixture of all your self-doubt and worrying about messing things up with Steve and this mother shouting at you, things pile up, and you feel your happy mask slipping.

“Um,” you start, voice small.

“You elves get worse every year,” she says to you. “I can’t believe people this incompetent even exist.”

Steve, hearing the whole thing, is quick to step in front of you, any thoughts about his shitty parents quickly fading in favor of helping you.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but she already offered to take another picture, and if that isn’t good for you, you’re free to leave,” Steve’s voice doesn’t slip one bit, standing his ground with every word.

You’re overwhelmed with everything going on, and when Steve turns around to look at you, nodding his head towards the staff room, you take the escape he offers you quickly, eyes blurry with tears you won’t let fall until you’re alone.

“You can’t speak to me like that!” The woman stomps her foot.

“I can, actually. She,” he points in the direction you’d gone, “is the kindest person I know, and you shouldn’t speak to her that way. I understand the holidays are a stressful time for everyone, but we spend all day helping people like you take these pictures, and the least you could do is say ‘thank you.’”

Rather than respond, the woman takes her children’s hands and stomps off.

Steve turns to find that the few families that had been in line before have decided to leave, and he takes the emptiness of Santa’s Workshop as an opportunity to follow after you.

He finds you sitting on the bench beneath your cubby in the break room, head buried in your hands, sniffling a little like you’re trying to be as quiet as possible. Steve can’t think about anything other than how much he hates seeing you upset, like a cloud covering the sun.

“Hey,” he says gently, sitting beside you on the bench. “Don’t listen to any of that. She was a bitch.”

You’re both grateful and unhappy that Steve came after you. Grateful because he’s kind, because he’s showing you that he cares. Unhappy because you’re embarrassed of him seeing you like this, because he calls you sunshine and you don’t feel like that right now.

It takes a second before you move your hands, wiping at your cheeks before turning to look at Steve, his brown eyes already on your face, unbelievably soft.

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I don’t know why I’m crying. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” he assures you. “She was awful to you after a long enough day. You have every right to be upset.”

“You’re being really nice,” your voice breaks a little bit, fighting any more tears that threaten to spill.

“I can be nice. I should be nicer to you.” He knows he should, but with Christmas and everything, it’s easy for him to be grouchy. “You sound surprised.”

“It’s just,” you shrug, almost defeated. “I thought you were mad at me today.”

Steve’s heart fucking aches at the sound of your voice, all small and lacking of the light he’s somehow come to like so much. And when another tear slips down your cheek, he can’t stop himself from reaching out and holding your face in his hands, thumbing the tear away lightly.

“I don’t think I could ever really be mad at you, sunshine.”

“Oh.”

His hands are warm where they hold your cheeks, a thumb still tracing back and forth over your skin. Not mad, then.

“I, uh,” Steve looks at where his thumb brushes against you, like he can’t believe it’s there, like he doesn’t want to look into your eyes for the next part. “I got a call from my mom this morning. They’re not coming home this year. Again. I shouldn’t be surprised but… anyways. That’s why I’ve been so quiet and shit today. Not because of you.”

One of your hands comes up to lay over his where it sits on your cheek, tangling your fingers with his and moving your hands down to your lap.

“I’m sorry, Steve.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry. I shouldn’t take this stuff out on you just because you like Christmas and I don’t.”

You smile a little bit, a twitch of your lips, but Steve takes it as a win all the same.

“I’m gonna change that,” you say.

“Sure you will,” he replies, the sarcasm in his voice still there the way it usually is when he teases you, but this time, he’s smiling, too.

Steve told you to go home after that, assuring you that he’d take care of the few families left, and when you’d opened your mouth to tell him you were fine, you could stay, he’d pinned you with a look and told you again to let him do it.

So, you did.

You’d thought it would be a day at least until you’d see Steve again, but it’s only a couple of hours after your shift ends.

There’s a knock at your door, your apartment one of the ones built above a shop on Main Street, and even though you have no idea who it could be, you get up, sock-covered feet padding against the floor as you go over to answer it.

You’re surprised to find Steve on the other side—one, because you don’t think you’ve ever told him where you live, and two, because you didn’t think he’d want to see you more today than he already had—a bag in his hand and a shy sort of question on his face.

“Steve? What are you doing here?”

He scratches at the back of his neck with his free hand before responding, a nervous gesture that he hasn’t been able to get rid of. “I thought that maybe, after the day you’ve had, you could use some cheering up. I could, too.”

You remember him telling you about the phone call from his parents, and something in your stomach flutters a little when you realize that his plans to cheer up involve you of all people.

“Okay.” You smile, you can’t really help it, “come in, then.”

He does, closing the door behind him and toeing off his shoes before stepping inside any further. Steve spots your kitchen table easily, and moves to set the bag he’s holding down.

“I thought we could do another thing that might be on your list,” he says. Steve tugs things out of the bag, gingerbread house kits, to be exact. “Gingerbread houses are Christmas bucket list worthy, right?”

“Absolutely,” you search his face, a little confused because last you heard, Steve was not into your whole bucket list thing, but here he is. “And you’re doing this… voluntarily?”

“I have the receipt. I can return them, if you prefer.”

“No! Don’t do that. I just mean- I thought you didn’t like Christmas or my list and that you were just playing along to be nice.”

“I might not be the biggest fan of Christmas, but,” he shrugs, opening one of the boxes of gingerbread, “you’re a good teacher, sunshine.”

You resist the urge to pinch yourself, like you might be dreaming because Steve, who you’ve grown to like an embarrassing amount, is here, offering to do this with you and giving you a compliment like it’s nothing.

When you respond, you hope your voice doesn’t give away how you really feel. Excited, happy, your heart jumping. “Can I get that in writing?”

“Shut up.” He shakes his head, pointing to the unopened box, “now will you come build this gingerbread house or what?”

“Mine’s gonna be way prettier than yours.”

Steve simply rolls his eyes, but there’s the hint of a smile there, too. He’s happy to see that your light is back, that you didn’t let what happened at work get to you too much.

You sit down beside each other at your table, gingerbread kits laid out in front of you. Icing and sprinkles, a cookie roof and chimney. You’re sure it’ll leave a mess, but right now you don’t mind.

There’s a sort of lightness in the air, the knowledge that this thing—friendship, more, whatever it is—between the two of you is something that you’re both happy to bask in. It’s unspoken, and that doesn’t bother you.

You and Steve start by unpacking all of the pieces, yours laid out neatly, his in a leaning pile that makes you bite back a laugh.

“The fucking roof won’t stay on,” Steve says once you’ve both started to put the houses together, and he sounds genuinely annoyed about it.

“Just put some more icing on it,” you say, “there’s no such thing as too much.”

“I don’t think icing will save me now, sunshine.”

You look away from your own gingerbread house over to Steve’s. His hands are holding the roof up, pushing them together so they meet at the top, and he’s staring at the thing with so much determination that you can’t help but giggle.

“You laughing at me?” Steve quirks a brow at you, but there’s a shine in his eyes. They smile even when his mouth doesn’t.

“I can’t believe you’re taking this so seriously,” you laugh, and that smile of his spreads slowly on Steve’s face, blooming like a flower. “It’s alright to admit defeat, Steve. My house is already better than yours.”

“Woah, this isn’t over yet, alright? Mine just needs time, don’t you worry.”

“Whatever you say, Steve.”

“Someone’s feeling brave tonight,” he teases, nudging you with his elbow without letting go of the roof of his house. “Don’t speak too soon, sunshine. I could be the underdog here.”

You lean over with your icing bag in hand, piping some more into the gap in Steve’s roof. “Here, let me help.”

Steve—always reluctant to accept help of any kind, even the smallest things—lets you. While he watches your face as you pipe the icing, the focus, the way your tongue pokes out from between your lips, you take his distraction as an opportunity to move, letting your icing fall onto his hand instead of the house.

“Oops,” you shrug, your tone suggesting that it wasn’t a mistake at all.

Steve gasps overdramatically, then leans closer to you, “Oh, looks like you’ve got something right there.” His hand reaches for your face, and he spreads the icing from it onto your cheek.

“You’re done for, Harrington.”

He only laughs, bright and quick.

Before you know it, you’re having some sort of food fight, putting a dot of icing on Steve’s nose, him tossing sprinkles at you. It’s a mess, but all you can hear is Steve’s laughter, all you can see is his smile. Unguarded for once, free and genuine.

By the time it dies down, there’s stripes of icing on your cheeks, red and green sprinkles scattered about the floor and on the table, and Steve’s got his own patches of icing to deal with.

“You better help me clean this, Harrington,” you say, your giggles still spilling, fizzling out softly. “What are we gonna decorate these houses with now?”

“Mine’s a lost cause,” he admits, the pieces now in a pile the way they’d started.

“So I won, is what I’m hearing.”

Steve looks at you, at the sparkle in your eyes that had been dimmed earlier at work, at the smile that spreads across your face when his eyes meet yours. Fuck. He thinks you’re completely beautiful, icing across your face and all.

His gaze snags on a piece of green in your hair, and before he can think about it, he reaches up and tugs it out for you.

“Sprinkle,” he says.

You look at his hands, messy from the gingerbread houses but never any less strong, and you remember how they felt in yours when you’d been skating. And when you flick your eyes back to his face, he’s already looking at you, gaze dipping to your mouth quickly, like he can’t help it.

And shit, you think. You really, really like this boy.

Before either of you can say anything more, you’re leaning towards each other, meeting in the middle and you’re not sure if you kiss him or he kisses you, but you end up with your mouths pressed together.

It’s featherlight at first, testing the waters. Then, Steve’s hands cup your jaw gently and pull you back to him, and you wouldn’t dream of doing anything but follow.

He kisses you again, still soft somehow, but more certain, his lips dancing with yours like you’ve done this a hundred times before.

You reach up and grasp his wrists in your hands, feeling his pulse under your thumbs. His heart is racing just as much as yours, you notice. Like your heartbeats have synced to a twin pattern, like this kiss was enough to do that.

And while you’re not sure what will happen after this, you know that something has shifted, that both of you are saying things you’re too afraid to say out loud.

When he pulls back, Steve presses one, two more pecks to your mouth, his thumbs tracing over your skin so lightly you might’ve dreamt it.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever think about kissing the same way after you. Steve feels warm the way he does when the sun beams on him in summer, and quickly, he thinks, I could get used to this feeling.

Then, he gets up and finds a small towel in one of the drawers by your sink, wetting it with warm water before coming back to sit with you.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, using a finger to tilt your chin up, swiping the towel over your cheeks to get rid of the icing there as lightly as he can.

And that’s that.

December twenty-fourth is your last day at Santa’s Workshop. Christmas Eve snuck up quick, and tomorrow, the twenty-fifth, the mall will be closed.

You’ve always enjoyed the job, but this year’s been your favorite by far. Usually, you and your coworkers would get along just fine, talking during shifts and laughing but never expanding outside of work, but it’s completely different with Steve.

He knocked on your door with gingerbread houses in hand and kissed you like it meant something. You like him so much that it’s in your bones, this feeling he brings out of you, how special you feel when you think about the trust he’s shown you.

But looking back, you think you were screwed from the start. From his scrunched brows asking you if the bells on the elf shoes were really necessary, to confiding in you about his parents, that list you made that seemed to be the beginning of what things have grown into now.

Green elf hat lopsided on his head, Steve smiles at you from where he stands by the camera. You smile back without thinking, like it’s natural, an instinct.

“Alright,” he says, talking to the kids sitting on the bench with Santa. “Everyone say ‘cheese’ on three. One, two-”

“Cheese!”

The camera clicks, and then it’s onto the next, the system you and Steve have created moving along smoothly, family after family.

If someone told Steve when he’d started this job, grouchy and prepared to pout about it every day, that he’d grow to like it, that he’s realized he’ll miss it when it’s gone, he would’ve laughed in their faces.

Never in a million years did Steve think he’d come remotely close to enjoying being an elf, but he has (he still fucking hates the outfit, though). You have everything to do with his surprising not-so-hatred of the job, of his careful fondness growing towards the holidays.

It’s all because of you.

Christmas Eve is a busy day at Starcourt mall, parents rushing about for last minute presents, teenagers taking advantage of holiday sales, and families lined up for their Santa pictures they’d forgotten about until now.

You don’t get breaks between families often today, but once you do, you and Steve are next to each other, making imaginary backstories for random people that pass by, dramatically reading lips of conversations.

The next time there’s an opening, you walk over to Steve, holding up your fist as if there’s a microphone in it. “So, Steve, tell me, how does it feel to have survived December as a Christmas elf?”

“I feel like I should get an award, maybe,” he says into your fake microphone. “I’ve gotten two rashes from this scratchy outfit. Two! And I’ll never hear jingle bells the same again.”

You laugh before clearing your throat and getting back into your news anchor character, “wow. You heard it here folks, North Pole outfits are not luxurious.”

“No, they are not.”

Steve can’t help but grin as he looks at you, as he jokes around with you so easily it feels like he’s known you for years instead of a month. He supposes he has known you longer, but never the way he does now.

“Now, will you be returning to Santa’s Workshop in future Decembers, mister Harrington?”

“Well, that depends,” he says. “I think I’ll require a certain presence to be with me if I come back. Can’t survive it without my doses of sunshine.”

My doses of sunshine.

You’ve never reacted to words the way you do with Steve, but when he says things like that, how can you not react? He compliments you in these indirect ways that only you could understand, and this secret language of yours has your heart skipping, your world tinted-pink.

That one makes you break character, “really?”

“Really.”

Looking up at him, at those soft, melting brown eyes that have always told you more than anything else about him, at the fondness in them, you think about that kiss.

You haven’t spoken about it, but you haven’t felt the need to. It meant something, you know that much, and by the way Steve sneaks touches—a squeeze of your hand, a palm on your back—he does, too.

“You make Christmas better,” he tells you.

He leaves you with that as the next family walks up for their picture, but you don’t miss the way his eyes linger on you, his gaze spreading sparkles over your skin.

It’s hard to focus when all you can think about is him calling you sunshine in that soft voice of his he’s only used when you’re alone, but you have to, so it’s back to work you go.

You don’t get to speak much again until your shift is over, the Christmas Eve evening rush swooping in and keeping you both busy.

It’s bittersweet, walking to the back room for the last time from Santa’s Workshop. You’re excited for tomorrow, because it’s Christmas and it’s one of your favorite days of the year, but it’s hitting you now how much you’ll miss seeing Steve nearly every day.

You’ll still see him, of course you will. Whether it’s him getting you to help sneak kids into a movie or maybe something more, something for just the two of you. Either way, you’re at least sure of one thing: Steve Harrington is one of the best people you know.

He’s the first to speak as you step into the staff room. “I have something for you,” he says.

Steve scratches the back of his neck, the smallest hint of pink on his cheeks. He’s nervous, and it’s the sweetest thing. He reaches into his bag, pulling out a small box, a white ribbon tied in a bow around it, a little lopsided, like he’d tied it himself.

You take it from him, smiling down at the box, because no matter what’s in it, he cared enough to get you a gift and that’s what matters, that’s what you’ll hold onto.

“Really?”

“Open it, please.”

You listen, tugging the ribbon loose and opening up the small box. Inside, you find a delicate chain, the pendant in the shape of the sun.

“Steve.” It comes out in a breath, your eyes welling the tiniest bit because this is the best gift you’ve ever received. He’s a gift himself, looking at you shyly, searching your face for a reaction.

“Do you like it?” He asks, his voice soft. “If it’s too much I can-”

“It’s perfect,” you say, and you mean it. “Put it on for me?”

He flashes you a grin, the corners of his mouth tugging up as he nods and takes the necklace from you, undoing the clasp as you turn around and move your hair out of the way.

You can feel his warmth against your back as he drapes the necklace over your collar, his fingers brushing the back of your neck as he fiddles with the clasp.

“There you go,” he says, taking a small step back to give you room to spin back around to face him.

You look down at the sun pendant sitting against your skin, touching it lightly. Steve’s actions speak volumes, and this one makes you feel so many things. But above it all, you feel like his.

He watches your face as you look at the necklace, the slope of your nose and the softness of your cheeks. The flutter of your lashes and the smile you don’t even try to hide. He’s been resisting the urge to kiss you since he’d done it the first time, but it’s stronger than ever now, with his present around your neck.

Your eyes meet when you look back up at him, his brown ones never failing to show how he feels, and your heart skips with how he looks at you. Like he cares, like he doesn’t intend on stopping.

He brushes your hair over your shoulder, fingertips gentle as ever when they brush against the side of your neck.

“I love it, Steve, really. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sunshine.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything, I didn’t expect-”

“Hey,” he cuts you off, his hand shifting to hold yours, fingers lacing with yours easily, “you’ve given me so much.”

Steve doesn’t know how he got lucky enough to get paired with you for this job, how he got lucky enough to have someone look past his slight grumpiness and really see him. You’ve given him Christmas as a whole, erasing bad memories, replacing them with new ones, and he doesn’t think any present could repay you for that.

“Oh wait!” You squeeze his hand before letting go and heading towards your bag, digging until you find what you’d been looking for. You hand Steve a folded piece of paper, “you should have this.”

As he unfolds it, he realizes it’s the bucket list you’d made for him what feels like forever ago, glitter and all. There are activities with check marks beside them, the ones you’d completed, and he shakes his head with the smile he seems to only wear when you’re around.

Very last on the list, your handwriting spells out words that make his chest feel light, his heart full.

‘Make next Christmas just as good.’

Steve finally stops holding himself back and kisses you for the second time, and you’re both certain it won’t be the last.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

thank you for reading!! if you enjoyed, please please consider leaving a reblog or comment and let me know what you think! it would mean a bunch <3

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azulashengrottospiano · 10 months

Note

I have a request: Hugging the octotrio in their merforms?

SUMMARY: Hugging the fishies <3

WARNINGS: None!!

COMMENTS: thank you for this request angelfish!! i hope you like it <3

The water is a bit chilly, but you find you don’t mind that much. You know Azul is somewhere near the bottom of the pool, but you don’t go looking for him. He’ll come to you when he’s ready, and if he’s not ready tonight then you’ll wait as long as he needs you to.

A small splash of water hits you in the back and you turn, coming face to face with the top half of Azul’s face. You don’t look down at the rest of his body. You keep your promise of not looking at him.

He notices. He knows and he’s thankful, so he drifts closer to you and raises the rest of his face above the water, too. You offer him a smile but say nothing, allowing him complete control over how the conversation goes tonight.

Although his yearning for control can be obsessive at times, it makes him feel safe. And safe is all you want him to feel right now.

And so when he bumps his head against your shoulder, mumbling something about how he’s still on the clock and you’re his client so you have to repay him for letting you in the pool, you pull him into a hug and float with him.

Jade swims circles around you as you wade in Octavinelle’s pool, occasionally pinching the fat of your thighs. You kick your legs out on instinct but you never make contact with the squishy flesh of his tail, thankfully. You’re sure he’d bite you if you did.

The next thing you know, he wraps his arms around your waist and yanks you on top of him. You’re resting on his bare chest now, legs split open around his tail as he smiles down at you. He flicks his tail from side to side lazily, a wide grin on his face.

You whisper his name and he hums, squeezing you against him. Jade lets his head fall back in the water as he whispers your name back, the syllables resting on his tongue like a blessing.

You press your hands to his shoulders and pull yourself up, sliding on the slick surface of his skin. Mucus, you assume. Despite the foreign texture, it works in your favor, and you’re able to kiss the tip of his nose without much difficulty.

Jade’s eyes fly open as his lashes flutter. The way he tilts his head reminds you of a curious puppy, and the gentle smile he gives you is the only warning you get before he flings his tail out of the water and playfully douses you in a deafening splash.

There’s very little that can stop Floyd when he has a wish he needs to be fulfilled, and although people have tried to use you as a human shield from Floyd before, it never works. Just because you’re precious to him, does not mean you can sway his moods.

A low, gravelly growl is all you hear before your ankle is grabbed from the side of the pool. Even though you were expecting Floyd to do something like that after dragging you to the pool, you still jump.

He giggles and flicks his tail at you, splashing you with what feels like half the pool. You wrinkle your nose and try to cover your face, but it does no good and you’re officially soaked in your school uniform.

He darts towards you and stretches out his arms, scooping you up from the floor and dropping you into the pool. In your panic not to swallow any water, you cling to him, pressing your hands against his shoulder blades and wrapping your legs around his waist.

Floyd swishes his tail through the water, cutting through the waves as you cling to him. His speed and recklessness only make you cling harder, but really, wasn’t that his plan all along?

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steddie-island · 4 months

Text

@steddiemas day 7 - mall and/or workplace WC: 952 | Rating: M (for language) No content warnings, full tags on ao3

Update: @doomcheese made lovely lovely art of them and you should go look at it and show it and her all the love!!! 🥰

Jingle Boy Rock

Wearing the usual Scoops Ahoy uniform was bad enough 11 months out of the year. Wearing it in December was fucking miserable.

Gone were their usual hats, and in their place were elf hats– the kind that were red with green trim, with a bell on the end and giant felt elf ears on the sides. They were given bright red shorts, with a green and red striped shirt that had bells hanging from the spikes around the collar.

Steve would have preferred to wear the regular uniform everywhere every day for the rest of his life than wear the goddamned elf outfit all month long.

Especially when Eddie fucking Munson, the goddamn bane of his existence, worked right across the mall, at the record store. Eddie had taken one look at the Scoops uniform and decided that he was going to be the biggest nuisance in Steve’s life. Every lunch break, every time he was bored, every time he just felt like it, he was there. Leaning against the freezer and smiling that crooked smile. Steve really didn’t want to know how much worse the wheedling was going to get when Eddie saw their holiday uniforms.

“Jingle boy!”

Steve groaned– he hadn’t been at work for five fucking minutes, and already Eddie was calling across the mall to him. He pushed both hands over his face and grabbed the hat to pull it off. “He only does that because he always gets a reaction out of you,” Robin pointed out. At least her outfit– a red dress with a green shirt underneath it and matching white and green striped tights— was cute.

“He does that because he’s a pain in the ass,” Steve said. He dropped the elf ears onto the counter and leaned back against it with his arms crossed over his chest. “I can’t deal with this today.” “Right. Like you don’t love it.” Robin shook her head. “Just kiss him already, dingus.” Steve had heard this at least five times already, and just like he had every other time he waved it away. “Do you say that shit to him, too?”

“No, just to you.” She pushed away from the counter. “Hey, Eddie.” “Hey Buck!” Eddie sauntered over to the counter. Surprisingly he was wearing a hat, too, but it was black velvet with white fur trim.

“Santa’s goth now?” Steve asked. “Metal, actually. I have to shake things up somehow, right?” Eddie leaned against the freezer. “I like the new getup. It’s very… ‘Hallmark threw up on me.’”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Do you need something, Munson? Some of us actually have work to do.”

“No one’s here,” Robin pointed out. She just grinned when Steve glared at her.

“I’m actually here ‘cause I have something for you,” Eddie said. For the first time that Steve could recall, Eddie actually looked… nervous.

“You have something… for me?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Eddie pulled a box out of his pocket. “It’s not a big thing, just… something that made me think of you.” He slid the box across the counter and tapped the lid with his fingers. “Go ahead, open it.”

“It’s only the 7th,” Steve said.

“I know, but I want you to open it early.” Eddie tucked his hands into his back pockets. “Please?”

“You said ‘please.’ Does that mean something’s gonna jump out of the box at me?” Steve joked. He untied the pretty red ribbon and took the lid off. Inside was the cutting of a plant, just a stem with a few little shoots that ended in green leaves and little white berries. There was a matching red ribbon tied around it.

“Is this…” Steve looked at Eddie. He wondered vaguely if his cheeks were as pink as Eddie’s were. “...mistletoe?”

“Yeah.” Eddie ducked his head so his hair fell into his face. “I, um… I realized that I don’t think my flirting has been working? And I figured, before I turned you off of me forever…”

“Wait– wait, you’ve been flirting with me?” Steve asked. “Since when?”

Eddie looked at him with those big, deep eyes. “Since I walked in and said ‘hey, big boy’? What did you think I was doing?”

“Trying to get under my skin!” Steve said. “Are you– really?”

“I wasn’t trying to get under your skin. Maybe in your pan–” “Hey! Maybe you two should go to the breakroom to finish this conversation!” Robin said. “Quickly, though, Santa’s almost here and that means we’re gonna be packed.”

Steve caught Eddie’s hand and tugged him towards the back room that had a couch, two folding chairs, and a wobbly card table. “You’ve really been flirting with me?” he asked.

It made sense, when he thought back to all the time Eddie spent tugging at his scarf or flicking his hat, talking about his shorts and–

“Oh my god, I’m an idiot.” Steve shook his head and lightly hit himself in the forehead with his fist– a move he wanted to repeat when the bells around his neck jingled with the movement. “Oh my god!”

Eddie giggled and wrapped his fingers around Steve’s hand to stop him from doing that. “Be nice to yourself,” he said, and Steve was shocked when Eddie leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “Anyway, Stevie… my gift. What’d you think?”

“I think… that it’s bad luck, if we let it go to waste.” Steve lifted it out of the box by the stem and leaned in with a smile.

He wasn’t sure what the mistletoe was supposed to mean exactly, but as their lips met, and as his fingers curled into Eddie’s soft hair, Steve found that he was more than willing to find out.

#steddiemas #Steddie #Steddie ficlet #Steddie holiday drabble

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v4mp-wife · 4 months

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What if you and Levi rescued a baby on a scouting mission?

You're in a village taking out some titans, most people got eaten, some ran away. After you take out all the titans, you and the squad are searching for any survivors and you hear crying coming from one of the houses. You look around to see if you can spot Levi anywhere to call him over but you can't, he must be somewhere else. You go into the house to get the baby but you see someone already beat you to it. And that someone was Levi.

He was holding the tiny human in his hands and rocking it in an attempt to calm it down but it wasn't working. His brows furrowed in concentration as he tries to figure out how to calm the baby down. You watch in silence before saying anything. The scene is so precious.

You quietly approach him and place your hand on his back to let him know you're there. "Hey." He turns to look at you, he's frustrated that he can't get the baby to stop crying but he also can't be mad at it. He can't Imagine what it could've witnessed, the loud noises of the titans, the screams. "Need help?" You ask him. He looks at you then back at the baby before he grunts. "Yeah", he does need help. You scoop the little thing in your arms and hold it close to your chest, you sway a little from side to side and start humming softly. Once the baby picks up that it's not in danger it starts to calm down and the screaming ceases.

Levi is in awe. He didn't know you were good with kids. He had been struggling with it for so long and the second you took it in your arms it calmed down. He quickly snapped out of it though, he knows neither of you have time to take care of a child. "The kid counts as a survivor, we have to take it back. We can drop it off at one of the shelters." You agree. As much as you want to stay with it a little longer, you still have a job to do.

You were down for the rest of the day after handing over the kid. "How did you get attached to it so quickly." He said it more as a matter of fact way instead of a question. "What?" You reply, you'd been out of it, only thinking about what must have happened to the kids family and its well being. Levi is no fool, hes well aware that you were upset because you had to let go of the kid so quickly. "Come on." He says with a sigh. He doesn't wait for an answer and stands by the door of your shared room. You raise an eyebrow. What is he doing? "Do you want to see the kid or not?" You excitedly get up from the bed and follow him out.

The walk to the shelter is silent, but he can tell by the look on your face that you're happy. The corner of his mouth curls up slightly into a smile. He's glad you're happy.

You hold the little baby in your arms as you play with it on a chair. Levi is leaning on the wall next to you, watching silently. You look so at peace and happy with the kid. At one point you get up and tell him to play with it while you go to the bathroom. He does as he's told, taking the little one in his arms and trying to keep it entertained while you're gone. He doesn't really know what to do so the baby ends up getting bored and falls asleep. The sun was setting and he realized how tired he was. It wouldnt hurt to rest his eyes for a bit. It was just him and the kid anyway. He sat down on the chair and closed his eyes as he waited for you to come back. You return shortly after, adjusting your clothing as you walked not quite realizing what was going on before you. "Sorry I took so long, I couldn't find the..." you trailed off when your eyes landed on him. His head was hanging slightly forward and the baby's head was resting on his chest. He looked so peaceful, it was adorable. "Mm..." He grumbled as he opened his eyes. He looked up at you squinting, taking a second for his vision to adjust. "Ready to go home?" You ask him as you take the baby. "Yeah." Maybe it won't be so bad come visit the kid every once in a while, he though.

That was until he got home and realized it had drooled all over his uniform while it was sleeping.

#levi ackerman x reader #dadvi #levi fluff #i love him so much #and yet again i got carried away #it was supposed to be something short #<- me when i lie

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miniwheat77 · 1 year

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141 + König finding out reader has had long term struggles with Self Harm.

This was a request, you can find the ask here.

!CW! Self harm, talk of attempted suicide, (sorry if I missed any.)

König:

Tears stream down your face, you’re looking desperately for anything. Any kind of Razor or sharp object. It’s late at night, you can’t find anything. Usually you would just break a mirror, or anything glass around you. But this isn’t your house. This mirror isn’t yours to break. You’ve done so good but recently, it’s been hard. You’re struggling every day. You managed to cover up the scars to enter the military and hid them very well with your uniforms. You’re sitting on the edge of the bathtub in the bathroom you’re in, trying to calm yourself. You don’t hear the bathroom door open because you’re in your own head. You don’t notice anything until large hands are grasping your wrists. “It’s okay, liebling.” His deep accented voice pulls you out of your thoughts. He sees the old scars that litter your wrists, holding onto them tightly. “You’ve made it so far, done so good. Why ruin that now?” He mumbles. His hood covers his face but you can see the sadness in his eyes. “I’m just struggling lately.” You sniffle. “It’s okay. We all struggle.” He breathes. He holds onto you tightly, he’s trying to ground you, bring you back down to earth. “Look at me. Take a deep breath with me.” He breathes. “You’re okay.” He takes in a deep breath, and you follow him. Taking in a deep breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He lifts your hand up so that he could get a better look. There’s clearly years of scars littering your wrists. Tears stream down your face. “I didn’t think that you would like me.”

König laughs bitterly behind his hood. “Sweetheart.. nothing is going to change the way that I feel about. Especially not scars. Scars mean you’re healing. Heilung ist alles” he lifts your chin up to look at him. “When you feel like this, you tell me. Verstanden?” He is stern. “Understood..” you look down. “Now, time for bed. I got you.” He scoops you up, carrying you back to your bed.

Ghost:

Your hands tremble, blood pooling at the bottom of your wrist before dripping onto the linoleum flooring. Your right hand holds a razor, now coated in your own blood. It’s a curse. The way that you relied on the shiny metal to ground you. Bring you back to earth. Your eyes are bloodshot, tears stain your cheeks. You should have been better about locking the door, because the handle twists, and Ghost steps inside. You scramble up, throwing your wrists behind your back. “Shit- sorry.” He mumbles, voice deafening as he notices the blood on the ground. “Are you hurt? What happened?” He takes a step toward you. “I.. I just scratched myself earlier. No big deal.” You lie.

He narrows his eyes, eyeing the way you’re holding not just one of your hands behind your back, but both. “Let me see them.” He demands, taking another step forward. “There’s no need for that, I’m okay.” You laugh. He grasps hold of your arms, pulling hard on you. A cry leaves your lips and he forces you to show him what you’ve done. Not only are there fresh cuts, but there’s more. There are some faded, clearly from years of self harm. He swallows hard, choosing not to say anything. He pulls on your arms, forcing you toward the sink, running the fresh wounds under the water. “Deep breath.” He mumbles, reaching into the medicine cabinet and pouring peroxide over the wounds. You hiss and try to pull away but he keeps you there. He helps you bandage up, not saying anything and you worry about what he’s going to say. He doesn’t say anything, instead, pulling you into him and hugging you tightly. “No more. I mean it. I will chain you up to a pipe and you will suffer if you do this ever again.” He grumbles. Hearing you laugh. “I mean it Y/N. No more of this. You’re too good to be doing this to yourself.” He hides the fact that he has tears in his eyes.

Captain Price:

His eyes catch a single glimpse by accident during a meeting. He often wondered why you only ever wore long sleeves but now, it all made sense. “Y/N, my office.” He nods. You nod your head, following behind him. He opens the door, closing it after you walk in. “What did you need?” You ask. “What did you need me for, John?” You ask. He grasps hold of your wrist, pushing your sleeve up. You try to pull your hand away but he has a tight hold on you. They’re old, none are new. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a past with this?” He asks. You swallow hard. “I don’t know.. it was just something really dumb that I did as a teenager. I stopped right before I joined the military.” You mumble. “Do you still feel this way?” He asks. “I’ll always feel that little devil on my shoulder, but I can control it now.” You shrug. He nods. He grasps your hips, pulling you into him. Kissing you a little harder than he usually would, pressing his forehead to yours once he pulls away. “You come to me whenever you feel like hurting yourself. Okay?” He is stern. You nod your head. “I love you. And I need you here with me.” He lifts your hand up, kissing your wrists. You weren’t sure how you ended up being with someone so kind, someone so gentle with you. But you needed it. You almost never felt like hurting yourself when he was around you. He was too supportive and reassuring. He did his best to keep you safe and that’s everything to you. “I love you too John.” You smile. Kissing him again.

He lifts you up by your thighs, setting you on top of his desk and cupping the sides of your head to kiss you even harder. “I’ve got you now, we all do. And I’m proud of you for doing so good. So fucking proud of you for overcoming this.” He breathes.

Soap:

You only ever wore shorts when you were alone. Because you had scars on the tops of your thighs. They were easier to hide. You forget to set your alarm one night, so Soap makes his way into your room to wake you, catching a glimpse of one of your exposed thighs. Seeing the small white lines. They’re old, but the meaning behind them breaks his heart immediately. He swallows hard, sitting down on the side of your bed, running his fingers along them. When he leans down and kisses them, you stir in your sleep just a little, eyes opening. “Johnny? What are you doing?” You mumble. “You didn’t tell me.” He mumbles, you realize he’s running the pad of his thumb over the raised lines. Your lips part slightly and you can’t explain yourself. “I’m sorry…” you breath. He looks up at you. “Do you do it anymore?” He asks. “Not for a couple weeks.” You breathe. He nods his head. “Every time you do this to yourself, I’ll do it to my own thigh.” He looks at you, what he says is toxic. He knows it.

“What?” You ask. “Every little bit of damage you do to yourself, I will do to myself. You cut yourself, I cut myself. And I’ll look, everyday if I have to.” He mumbles. “Johnny.” You sigh. “No. Your skin is too fucking beautiful for this. You’re better than this.” He breathes. He leans down. Kissing your forehead. “I’m here now. I’m here to talk to, vent to. Anything. I’ll keep you safe. But you have to promise me you’ll never do this again.” He raises his pinky up, like you taught him. “Promise?” He swallows hard. You smile, eyes filling with tears. “Okay Johnny.” You link your pinky with his. “I promise.” He leans down, pressing his lips to yours. Hand cupping your scars. He didn’t want to draw his hand away from you. He hated that you’d do this to yourself. You were so perfect. Too good for this.

Gaz:

Gaz is who found you. It was an accident, but he didn’t know it. You had cut too deep. He found you a few minutes later.

He sits beside your hospital bed, eyes burning and bloodshot. He’d almost lost the love of his life. And not even at the hands of a terrorist. It burns him inside, how he didn’t know sooner. It stings even more that you hid it from him. He went through your entire house, finding razors taped under the sink. He threw everything out. He was mad, sure. But he was heartbroken. Shattered by the fact that you were struggling so hard but chose to keep it to yourself. When your eyes flutter open and he sees you, you’re confused at first. “Kyle? What happened?” You ask. He nods to your wrists, and you move them to look at yourself. Blood running cold. “You barely made it.” He mumbles. “I.. I didn’t mean to.” You mumble. “Why?” He asks. It’s the one question he almost never got to ask you. “I.. I don’t know.” Tears stream from your eyes. “I almost lost you. You would’ve left me. With unanswered questions. With nothing.” He sighs. “I’m sorry Kyle.” You cry. He lowers his head. Tears spilling from his eyes. He sniffles, trying to force them back. But he can’t. “I didn’t mean to, I swear. I just.. I get so angry at myself. I was just trying to take my anger out. I didn’t mean to.. to..” you can’t even say it. He sighs. “You come to me. No more of this Y/N. If I lose you…” he can’t finish his sentence without his voice breaking. “I’m here. I have you now. No more of this. We’re getting you the help you need. And I’ll be right there with you along the way.” He stares at you. You nod your head. “Okay.. okay Kyle.” You breathe. He was right.

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daughterofyore · 11 months

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hiii !! loved your george post your writing absolutely amazing.. i was wondering if you could write about george and readers honeymoon or george fucking reader on even days (intense smut and angst i beg)

thank you anon who I definitely don’t know- ;) I’ll do two different stories for you, one for the honeymoon and one for even days :)

Honey Sweet.

King George x f!reader

[[Queen Charlotte (netflix)]]

category; heavy smut, fluff

wc; 2,783

a/n; You and King George have been friends for years, playfully teasing each other and sneaking improper meetings with each other. You marry and your honeymoon is very, very spicy. The naughtiness you both tried to tame flares.

!!W!!;; nsfw, light bondage, virgin, degradation, praise kink, lowk rough sex, gagging, breeding kink

The wedding had been a grand affair. Lavish, sprayed in the finest jewels and freshest flowers. All those of importance in attendance. Anyone who was someone sat along the gallery and watched as you walked up the aisle. Your train felt miles long, the skirts of your wedding dress billowed around you as you traveled up the aisle. You could see him, standing at the altar. Your first time seeing him since your secret rendezvous in the garden. He looked, spectacular. You admired him, devilish smile grinning down at you. You swore his eyes were glazed as he watched you approach.

When you finally stepped onto the altar he took your hands in his, he whispered a gentle “You’re beautiful.” Before turning to face the Bishop. The pair hearing the bishops words but not really listening. The tension between the pair of you was palpable. You watched him in your peripheral, a smile creeping onto the corners of his lips. A man of mischief, it seemed.

“I now proclaim you man and wife, King and Queen of the United Kingdom’s.” The bishop smiled, looking between the pair of you as you both turned to face each other. “You may kiss your Queen, sire.” George smiled down at you, grinning from ear to ear. How lucky were you to marry the love of your life? Your childhood best friend? The man you truly, utterly adored. George stepped close to you, holding your hands close to his heart.

“I love you.” He whispered, loud enough for only you to hear. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. Quickly before you could register what had happened he bit your lip, sly enough nobody else could notice it. You withheld a yelp, looking at him with slightly widened eyes. “That’s a hint for what’s to come later.” He smirked down at you, squeezing your hands as you turned to face your court. The Ton rose, applauds erupting in a cacophony of celebrations. The pair of you strode down the aisle, hand in hand, united before all.

You entered Birmingham House, fresh into your honeymoon respite. The house staff applaud you as you entered, and George thanked them gratefully. You nodded and thanked them, the pair of you beelining for the grand stair case. Red carpet and flowers from the reception lining the bannisters. George leaned down to your ear, whispering “I would run up these stairs right now with you in my arms if I could, but your wedding dress is much too heavy for me.” You chuckled, looking up at him. “You look ravishing in it, I must say.” His grin widened, you couldn’t help but scoff at his flattery.

“And you, my dear husband look delicious in this white and gold uniform.” George bit his lip, looking like he could devour you this very moment if given the chance. He would, once you were in your chambers.

“I cant wait to rip that beautiful dress off of you.” You felt butterflies erupt into flight in your stomach, your knees almost buckling. “But for now, I’ll admire your strength in carrying the thing.” He stopped at the stairs. He stood behind you, waving handmaidens away as he scooped up your train and skirts, lifting the weight so you could climb the stairs. “First act of marital duty, help my wife to bed in her wedding dress.” The pair of you laughed, climbing the stairs in tandem. The staff admired the pair of you, if this was your first night they were sure the pair of you, were a match made in heaven.

George swung open the doors to the chambers. A crackling fire blazed in the hearth, a grand ordained varnished mahogany four poster bed sits at the far centre wall. Curtains drape across its corners, and of course the room is themed in the famous royal reds. The moment the doors closed behind you, George dropped your dress, turning you around to face him. “I’ve been wanting to devour you the moment I saw you at the bottom of the aisle.” He slipped his fingers beneath the lacy sleeves in your shoulders. “But I have had to wait, and now, my dear wife, I need your attention.” You gulped, your core ablaze. He stood before you, breathing deep as if to calm himself. “I must ask you, I knew we have had our own improper dealings…” he was referring to all the times the pair of you slipped away in gardens, never going the full mile but, playful kisses, bold touches were most certainly exchanged. But never did you expose your bodies or go a step too far. You were friends first, then this romantic attraction had grown. And now here it was, in full display as you stood before each other. Wedding rings brand new and heavy, the sexual tension pulsating between you. “Are you comfortable with going the whole way tonight?” You looked up at him, through your lashes and sucked in a breath.

“I’m ready for anything if it is with you George.” He smiled, immediately leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. His kiss was feverish, desperate nearly. He yearned for your attention, your body. He had controlled himself for so, so long. He had desired you from the moment the pair of you had met and now it was finally coming to fruition. He slipped an arm around your waist, pressing you into his front. He licked your lips, nipping at them gentle. He sucked the tiny sting away, before finally slipping his tongue against yours, dancing around your mouth. Your breath escaped you, gasping against his kiss as he explored you. He took it as an invitation to delve deeper, gently guiding you backwards to the bed.

He lay you out like a feast. Bracing himself over you with a hand each side of your head, he lowered himself down to kiss you again. He brought his head to your neck, sucking at the sensitive skin where your neck and shoulder combined. Your skin popped out of his mouth with a wet smack, and he grinned. “Marked as my wife, I think I’ll do that more often.” You smirked you at him, wrapping your hands behind his neck.

“You dirty thing you.” You chuckled, guiding him back to your lips to kiss him again. He pulled you up, kneeling onto the bed and stepping around you, undoing the various buttons and ribbons with meticulous care. Ever so slowly he undid each fasten, achingly slow and you felt the fiery need in your core grow. Once you were free he came to stand in front of you, pulling you up as he slipped hands beneath the sleeves and pulled down the dress. Teasingly dragging the fabric over your skin and watching it fall from your body. You were adorned in lacy white lingerie, specifically for this moment. The dress fell to the floor, piled at your feet. The white garter around your thigh squeezing your flesh. He sucked in a shaky breath as he admired you, drinking in the sight before him.

“Oh the things I will do to you tonight my queen.” Without another word he ripped his own suit off, throwing the shirt to the side and yanking his trousers down till he stood in briefs. He guided you back to the bed, laying you down and crawling on top of you once more. He pulled you up till you lay completely on its mattress, then he began to turn his attention to your breasts. He grabbed the corset, yanking at the ribbons and pulling it off of you. Your breasts fell free, without a moments hesitation his mouth latched to your nipple, sucking and grazing his teeth over it. Your fingers snaked through his hair, tugging slightly. Your leg raised to wrap around his waist. He groped your other breasts in his hand, massaging it, squeezing and pulling gently. He turned his attention to the other nipple, leaving the other swollen and puffy. He brought his fingers to it as he sucked the other, pinching your nipple and causing you to squirm from the sensitivity. He chuckled against your skin, loving your reaction. The soft skin was heaven for him, this was perfection. You were perfection. He could not imagine himself in any other reality than this one, right now.

His lips left your nipple with a pop, and he licked a trail to your stomach. Kissing you lovingly and snaking his way to your waist. He toyed with the hem of your panties, playing with them as he looked up to you. “Ready my dear?” You nodded, gasping a quick breathless yes as he pressed two fingers to your slit. Rubbing the fabric between them and savouring your juices as they soaked it. He bit the hem of your underwear, dragging it down over your thighs and off your legs. He took it from his mouth, gently turning you over and bringing your hands behind your back. So smoothly he created a makeshift handcuff with the lacy white fabric, tying your hands behind your back. He rolled you back over, spreading your legs and diving into your cunt.

You squirmed beneath him, trying to pull away. He only yanked you closer to him, holding you still as he explored your folds. Licking long lazy lines up your centre, tasting you. He reached your clit, immediately beginning to lick and suck it. You arched your back, unable to contain your ecstasy. Moans escaping you as he played with you. He brought a finger up, inserting it agonisingly slow and working it in and out of you. Feeling you widen and soak his hand, he stuck in a second, then a third. He pumped his hand in and out of you, curling his fingers to reach that particular spot that made you cry out his name. Your moans rang through the room, your hands clawed at his head, simultaneously begging for him to continue and stop. He never slowed his pace, keeping steady rhythm in playing with your clit and pumping his fingers into you. “Oh George you’re going to- to make me cum!” You could barely speak between your moans, yet you felt him smile against you. He didn’t miss a beat, working you towards that orgasm. It was your undoing when he placed his other hand on your swollen clit, rubbing it fast and without mercy.

“Cum for me darling, show me what a good girl you are.” You cried out beneath him, his touch electrifying. The orgasm ripped through you, and he continue his ministrations throughout. Riding it out for you, leaving you a pile of mush and sweat. Breathing heavy. He grinned down at you, watching you catch your breath. “We are far from done my dear, I still have to put a baby in you.” You swore it was almost your undoing again, before he climbed off the bed and stood at its edge. He grabbed your thighs, pulling you off the bed with great care and guiding you to your knees. He pulled off his briefs, admiring his handy work at your makeshift handcuffs. “Show me what a good slut you are, wife. Suck me dry.” His cock stood hard and tall, he pressed it against your lips. You licked a slow line from its base to its tip, George moaned above you.

You took him in your mouth, sucking the tip and only taking him half way into your mouth. His size made it hard to full take him, so you made up for it in sucking him hard and licking his tip as beads of precum leaked. He looked down at you, grabbing a handful of your hair and guiding your head up and down on his dick. He began to face fuck you, creating a steady rhythm of in and out. Working his way deeper into your throat each time. “Such a pretty little slut aren’t you wife? Sucking my cock like this.” He admired the way your tits jiggled with each thrust he pushed into you. Without warning, he pushed himself into you to the hilt, his balls against your chin. “Take it, take it like a good girl.” Your toes curled, gagging on his cock as your eyes watered. He pulled out allowing you to catch your breath, before slamming back in. He repeated this over and over again, choking you on the sheer size of his cock. He was a moaning mess above you, muttering ‘yes, yes’ with each thrust.

“Oh I’m going to cum, drink it all wife. Don’t let a drop go to waste.” He thrust into you three more times until finally, it was his undoing. He came long strings of cum into the back of your throat, forcing you to gulp it down or choke and gag. He watched you swallow, admiring you and how pretty you looked. “My beautiful little slut, drinking my cum so eagerly.” Once he had finished he pulled out, leaving you gasping for air. He let go of his grip in your hair and picked you up, walking to a desk in the corner. With one hand he swiped the contents to the ground, grabbing the panties tied around your wrists he lay you across the table, ass in the air and your breasts pressing into the smooth cold mahogany. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to stand my dear.” You could hear the grin in his voice, this side of George was something you hadn’t expected, but you loved it. You wanted more of it. You needed him, every inch of him.

He spread your legs with his foot, then grabbed your ass cheeks and spread them for a clear view of your cunt. He pushed two fingers inside you, lubing them up before quickly pumping his cock. He lined the tip with your entrance. You could feel the head of it slipping inside, he slowly entered, letting you adjust to his size. He stayed pushing in till he was completely inside you. He waited until he felt you adjust, then slowly pulled out. He gritted out behind closed teeth how tight you were, how wet you were. Your moans and pleads of him to fuck you pushed him to the edge. He knew you were accustomed to his size, so without warning he pounded into you. Shoving you up the table and a resounding clap ricocheted off the walls.

“Fuck George, yes!” You cried, your front flush with the wood. He pulled out and slammed into you again. He kept your legs spread, yet held onto the panties tied around your wrists and used them to hold you in position. He fucked you relentlessly, moaning above you as he pounded into your pussy.

“Oh fuck, you delicious heavenly thing. My wife, taking my cock like a good slut.” He rammed himself into you again, picking up the pace and without mercy slammed himself into you. His balls slapped against your clit, it was overstimulating. “You look so pretty like this, bent over my desk, bare to me and being fucked so brutally.” He pounded into you with each word, not giving you a moments rest. “I’m going to cum in you, you will look so beautiful while you grow our heir inside you.” This realisation fuelled him, and as you cried out his name he slammed himself into you to the hilt, over and over again.

“Fucking hell I’m going to cum!” You yelled out, followed by a chorus of moans and pleas. He smiled at you, watching you rock back and forth on the desk with each thrust.

“Cum for me pretty slut.” He said as he reached a hand around your thigh and rubbed at your clit. It was your undoing, you released and a moan so loud escaped you. George muttered a ‘fuck, yes’ and suddenly you could feel a pool of warmth growing in core. His seed spilled into you, filling you. He stayed inside you, breathing deeply for a moment. The pair of you could barely catch your breath, stars dancing in your eyes from the level of ecstasy you had just reached.

George lifted you with such gentle care, he stayed inside you, but guided you to the bed. He lay down and placed you above him, he kept himself inserted into your weeping cunt. “I refuse to let any leak out my lovely wife.” He smirked at you, but you couldn’t help but kiss him.

“If this is how we fuck my love, we will have a lot of babies.”

#bridgerton series #bridgerton spoilers #queen charlotte #king george x reader #king george bridgerton #king george x f!reader #king george smut #king George and reader smut #king George x reader smut #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton smut #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton

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