#this one guy has a crush on two girls at once and can't seem to realize he needs to pick if he's going to do that

[uglyducklingofthe2000s]

Sting - LN

Summary: Rejection isn't something Lando is unfamiliar with in his love life and while it's never nice. This time it really stings and she's harder to let go than any other girl who has turned him away, maybe because she doesn't sound so sure about rejecting him.

Aston Martin employee!reader

Themes: smut

No part 2 requests please

"I'm really flattered, but I think it's a bad idea." Y/n smiles trying to make it so it's not awkward but it's really hard to reject someone who just asked you out and it not be awkward. "I'm sorry, Lando."

Truth be told the two have got really close. Y/n is Aston Martin's social media manager, though Fernando handles a lot of it himself. She sort of aids him through any confusion and Lance prefers not to be involved in it a lot so she handles all his accounts, though he can log in and do stuff himself. She has access to all the team and driver social media accounts.

But her and Lando befriended each other purely through continuously being around each other and Lando having grown an obvious crush.

"Why is it a bad idea?" Lando asks trying not to lose his confidence.

"I think we're just really good as friends." Y/n states looking as if she's trying to keep up a positive front. Though she quickly softens a little and speaks up again. "You're a great guy. But I'm just not at a point in my life that I want to be dating anyone. I'm so...focused on my job and I think right now, I would say no to anyone."

"So you're saying it's not me it's you?" Lando surmises making earn nod a little, the guilt on her expression beginning to get hard to hide. "Don't feel bad."

"Never feels great rejecting someone." Y/n mumbles before Fernando appears shouting her name. "I have to go. That's his I have the most marvellous idea and need your help call."

"Good luck." Lando nods then turning and sighing as he heads into the McLaren unit straight towards his drivers room where Jon is standing setting up some warm up stuff.

"You don't look happy." Jon comments making her look at him for a moment. "Y/n say no?"

"Exactly that." Lando grumbles then growing as he throws himself onto the physio bed. "She said she's not in the right place for a relationship and is focusing on her job...which I can't actually argue with. But I'm still not really happy about it."

"You know-"

"I know." Lando mutters, not actually knowing but not really wanting to be told something about the situation. He's not happy, but he can't be angry about it either. "It just stings."

And it does, there was something about being friend zoned that really hurt this time. It's not as if he's never been rejected before, hell despite his popularity he's found himself the victim of so many friend zones that he has lost count. Embarrassingly.

It never feels particularly good, but this time really stings.

Maybe it's because they are friends and they have to see each other and he really doesn't want to lose her as a friend. The problem is that he wants her as much more than a friend.

-

Y/n and Lando continued to be friends, to spend time together and to have the amazing back and forth of flirting.

"You know, it is a shame that y/n can't date you." Fernando comments as they walk around the paddock. Y/n not there with the older driver for once. "The two of you get along so well, when she told me why she said no I couldn't believe it."

"What do you mean?" Lando frowns not thinking her reason was all that unbelievable. She's prioritising her job. What about that is so shocking?

"Well Lawrence saying she can date within the team but no one from another team. It seems a little bit far fetch to demand. Her love life is not his business or even team business, no?" Fernando questions making Lando's face drop.

"Lawrence? Like Lawrence Stroll?"

"The owner of the team, yes. He has it written in everyone's contract. He even got reports about her getting close to you, took her in for a meeting and she left practically in tears. I had to get her flowers to help her feel better." Fernando states sounding almost fatherly towards the young woman as he speaks in disapproval of it all.

Lando actually feels like he's just been punched in the gut with this information.

Why didn't she tell him?

Maybe because he almost certainly would've said they can hide it. He would've tried to talk her into a plan of just keeping it secret. After all they're friends, so long as they keep the PDA to what it is now then there's no real risk.

"I know she did not tell you about the contract clause. But I think you should know. Maybe you can do something about it." Fernando explains, essentially admitting he informed Lando with an ulterior motive that was not as innocent as Lando had initially assumed.

-

It took some poking at Fernando, but Lando got her hotel room from the Spaniard.

So later he shows up knocking on her door with no relenting even when there's no answer. Mainly because he messaged her about an hour ago and knows she's there.

The door swings open and she is glaring at him, holding a towel tightly around her wet body which honestly stirs something in Lando that he wasn't expecting to be forced to deal with upon coming to see her.

"I-Lando, what are you doing here?" Y/n stutters out, pulling her towel tighter around herself.

"We need to talk."

"Now?" Y/n frowns almost feeling helpless about it.

"Yes. Now."

Y/n looks around before stepping aside and gesturing for Lando to come in, which he does before she closes the door.

"So what is so important that you couldn't wait and had to smash on my door loud enough for a noise complaint?" Y/n questions trying to figure if she wants to put clothes on while Lando tries to keep his hands from pulling that towel off.

"You didn't tell me it was in your contract that you can't date me."

"Well it's not you specifically." Y/n frowns earning a slightly look of annoyance. "It doesn't matter if you know or not. It's not going to change anything."

Y/n looks at Lando who seems to be visibly with the cogs turning in his head. The man couldn't hide an emotion on his face if he tried and right now, he's thinking.

"Ok, while you process. Can I put some clothes on?"

"I'd really rather you didn't." Lando shrugs making her sigh at him and adjust her towel again. "We could just not tell people."

"You realise I would lose my job." Y/n frowns while Lando frowns.

"I'll get you a new job. The same job but on a better team." Lando tries making her look at him in slightly amusement. "Don't give me that look."

"What look?"

"Like I'm coming up with some childish fantasy."

"That is exactly what you're doing. I don't know what you expect me to do when that is genuinely what's happening here." Y/n states with a shrug as Lando steps towards her. "Lando...don't do something we'll regret."

"Will you regret it?"

"If it costs me my job then yes."

"But we're not dating...or is it that you can't have sex with anyone from another team too?'

"You're trying to get into the fine print?"

"Depends what the fine print says."

"I can't have relations with anyone from another team. So actually yes, I'm not allowed to have sex with you either."

Lando hums biting his lip lightly as he looks at her for a moment and she tries not to ruin her freshly showered state by sweating as his hand comes up and tugs the damp towel away.

Once glimpse at her body had his head dropping back with a groan echoing through his throat.

"Fucking hell, y/n. You can't force me to leave, please don't make me leave."

Y/n isn't usually so eager to just give herself to a man who she has yet to even kiss, especially after having rejected him so recently but she doesn't say anything.

Lando's hand moves down her waist, stroking her exposed skin while she swallows thickly. She's already decided his touch feels far too good for her to move away from it or say she doesn't want this.

"Want me to stop?"

"No." Y/n mumbles and that's all Lando needs.

Hands on her waist as he pushed her back till her knees hit the edge of the bed and she falls back onto the soft surface.

"Are you sure you want this?" Lando asks stopping and giving her the opportunity to back out. He might be feeling like he'll die if he doesn't get to at least touch every inch of her body. But he's not about to do something that she'll hate both himself and herself for.

"Yes. Don't make me overthink this." Y/n mumbles and Lando really doesn't have to be told twice.

There's something about the situation that stops him from going completely feral on the young woman. Instead he's going to really take his time.

Lando has no problem just looking at her, keeping his gaze fixed on her before he leans over and gets to do the one thing that he's been waiting to do for far too long.

Just fucking kiss the girl.

She tastes like mint, presumably having brushed her teeth before or after the shower.

But he moves his lips down her body, leaving a trail over marks on her skin, his teeth nip as he shamelessly leaves love bites as evidence he was there. He doesn't care how childish might be. He's giving her a memory of this moment that goes beyond right now.

All he can hear is her almost panting and when he is low enough that he throws her legs over his shoulders and uses the position to push her further up the bed for a better angle and access to her.

"Lando." Y/n whimpers just feeling him spread her lips and his breath hitting her pussy which is admittedly still wet from her shower really, but he can see her quivering and the sound of his name from her voice is enough for him to know it's pleasure that he's causing.

"Tell me what you want." Lando instructs feeling her thigh tense to fight the urge of closing and bringing herself some sort of relief.

"You. I want your mouth on me giving me the best head I've ever got." Y/n states not even hesitating and Lando almost wants to applaud her for how impressed he is she actually answered and did not stutter meaning no area of confusion.

He knows exactly what she wants from him and he's more than happy to deliver on it.

"Lando please."

He didn't actually mean to hesitate to the point of hearing her beg, but it certainly isn't an unwelcome sound. But he doesn't waste anymore time and dives in between her legs properly lapping his tongue and groaning at the fact that she might've just showered but there's a slick there telling him that if he had any doubt of her being turned on. He doesn't need to doubt it from the taste of her on his tongue.

Y/n feels so completely desperate for Lando, she didn't realise how immediately addictive his touch would be.

"F-Fuck, L-Lando." Y/n moans, pressing herself heavily into the bed beneath her.

Her hand reaches down to his hair, tugs on his scalp pulling him closer much to his delight. He's face is smothered in her and he's feeling the side of him that wanted to drag this experience out suddenly disappear as soon as he feels her twitching in a build up and then completely spasming on his tongue. Her thighs locking on his head trying to contain herself as she almost tries to move away from him as if the sensation is all too much, but he keeps his hands on her thighs stopping her from getting anywhere till he's made sure she's rode out this orgasm for as long as possible.

Actually to his surprise, despite him making no effort to let up as she moans and moves her hands to the sheets trying to ground herself from the overstimulation.

When he finally moves off there's a matter of seconds which is him, his body drags up against her with the perfect amount of pressure on her that she's grappling for him.

"What do you want?" Lando asks, breath hot and his face wet. His lips look almost swollen and his face is flushed. She can't even stop herself from reach a hand to his face for a moment both of them slightly breathless.

"I want you, inside me. Right now. Please." Y/n pants which is all Lando needs to reach down, gently pushing the tip in before moving his hand to hook a hand under her knee, pushing her leg back for a better angle which is very much perfectly effective.

Lando almost chokes on his spit from the feeling of her wrapped around him. The idea of holding back on her crosses his mind, but that's all it does and then it disappears along with any sense of self-control.

He's only relieved to hear y/n whimpering and moaning through every thrust which is almost a no mercy approach from Lando, just pounding into her not able to even entertain the idea of slowing down. He already knows he abusing her g-spot from the 2nd or 3rd thirst thanks to her reaction and when he reaches down to pinch at her clit.

Y/n practically cries from the additional stimulation. Her nerves short-circuiting from such attention. He's touching her like he owns her body and knows it's every secret that even she had yet to make use of.

He feels her start to quiver around him, fighting off a second orgasm but it doesn't last long as she completely tightens around him, still trying to deny herself the high that her body is on the verge of being pushed over the edge of.

"Let it go, baby." Lando states with a voice so heavy in lust that it completely pours over her like he's setting out to melted her. She's arched up against him and clenched down around him. Her spasming around him in such a way that Lando is locked in her as he cums, both in a shared world of bliss.

Y/n's body takes it's time to actually relax while Lando keeps himself pressed as deep in her as possible, his face in her neck.

"Ok...Ok, maybe...maybe we could try keeping this hidden...just until I find another job that doesn't contractual obligate me to not date someone from another team." Y/n pants running a hand up through his hair as she tries to catch her breath and actually stop seeing start. "So long as you promise to do that again."

"I'll do that and more." Lando grunts pulling out and sighing as he looks at her from the shifted back position. "That's a promise."

"Good." Y/n smiles before he kisses her a couple times.

"I think you might need another shower."

"I'll do it in a bit...I still need just...a bit of recovery time." Y/n yawns almost feeling like falling asleep from the amount of energy that just completely burn through any energy she had. "Actually I might need food, water and a nap before I even consider getting up."

Lando smiles kissing her again, now loving to abuse this new privilege.

"I'll take care of you." Lando smiles then getting up while she frowns.

"What are you doing?" Y/n questions making him grin leaning back over her for another kiss. "Ok, that's lovely but not an answer."

"Don't move." Lando grins then pushing her back onto the bed. "I'm good at both orgasms and aftercare."

Y/n sighs taking a moment to realise this man really just turned her world upside down. But to her surprise it's in the best way. Even if Fernando is about to throttle Lawrence for the contract clause that is going to lead to her inevitable departure from Aston Martin just so she can pursue a relationship with Lando.

But there's pretty good reason (good sex) with a man who has very apparently made his point that he isn't wavering on his feelings for her.

Taglist: @namgification @hiireadstuff @jsjcue @geniusalpaca @itsjustkhaos @llando4norris @partyinpitlane @lpab @xoscar03 @harrysdimple05 @mellowarcadefun @cixrosie @scopeiguess @racingheartsposts @c-losur3

#f1 #fanfic #formula 1 #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #ln4 x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando x reader #lando #norris #lando norris mclaren #lando norris smut #lando norris fluff #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x you #lando norris fic #ln4 smut #ln4 #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #ln4 fluff #ln4 one shot #ln4 x you #ln4 x y/n #ln4 fanfic #lando norris one shot #mclaren formula 1 #mclaren #mclaren racing

[wwinterwitch]

cowboy like me — coriolanus snow

summary: it takes one to know one. you and him were exactly alike, which explains why you were inevitably drawn to each other

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

word count: 2k

tags: you can't fix him you're as awful as him, being delusional together, fluff??? (not really but u guys are in love and happy and married), mentions of/implied murder and being bad people, romanticizing everything

notes: idk where i was going with this i just had this idea in my head and taylor inspired me to write it. i'm also absolutely feral for young!snow it's not even funny at this point, i needed to find ways to cope lmao

i'd really appreciate a comment or reblog if you enjoy my work.

masterlists | read on ao3

A smile appears on your face the second you feel a hand on your lower back, turning around to meet your husband's loving gaze.

He stands directly in front of you, staring down at you in a way that to this day makes you feel butterflies in your stomach, like you're nothing but a teenage girl who's unlucky enough to have developed a blinding crush on a guy too charming for his own good— the thought of it makes you feel almost nostalgic, looking back at the early stages of your relationship.

Coriolanus Snow has always been a familiar face. Growing up together, you two have known each other for ages. You might've interacted a few times, but nothing beyond brief conversations between classmates.

You had a boyfriend at the time. A much too sweet and caring guy that made the big mistake of falling irrevocably in love with you. In all fairness, it was hard for him not to trail behind you like a lost puppy all the time when you were so good at making foolish boys believe you were the girl of their dreams.

Love is not a word you would use to describe your relationship. He was tolerable and clearly obsessed with you, so it made sense for you to stay with him. He learned with time that buying you very expensive gifts would get you to pay more attention to him, so that became his way of showing his affection for you.

In his mind this was perfectly reasonable. His girl likes being spoiled, so that's exactly what he did. The adoration for you blinded him enough to ignore the truth: you're just sticking around for the money. Some people warned him you were bad news, but you always managed to find a way to make him worship you all over again. Maybe you could've felt sorry for him at some point...if only he didn't have such good taste to pick things out for you.

But then Coriolanus happened. You started to notice him more and more until you inevitably started having feelings for him. How could you not fall for a guy like him? Especially after he started his quick ascend as one of the best Game makers in history.

Maybe it was the way he so fervently claimed his interest in you, willing to pursue you even when your boyfriend was still in the picture. Or perhaps it had to do with his growing popularity and power. After all, you can't deny how attracted you are to guys with ambition.

And Coriolanus is not exactly sure what made him fall for you either. There's many things he loves about you, that's for sure, but he can't say which came first. Was it your captivating beauty and intelligence, or the news that you recently became the only heir to one of the wealthiest families in the Capitol?

Whatever force pulled the two of you together, it really doesn't matter at this point. What matters is that he loves you with every fiber of his being, willing to do whatever is in his power to make sure you're happy (and what isn't, he'll do anything to get). And you love him too, of course, offering him a companionship he always craved— undying fidelity, the purest honesty and understanding.

You've never once judged him for being who he is. If anything, you seem to admire his strength to do whatever it takes to secure his place in society. No one has ever been this loving and accepting, almost encouraging him to be as determined as ever to get the two of you on top.

Whatever he did or didn't do is already in the past. Why should the past matter? Shouldn't you enjoy the present with your loving and successful husband? Be proud of the work the two of you have done to get where you are?

No, the past is gone. It already happened. There’s no need to look back at things you can't change and decisions you can't take back. It all brought you here. Every tiny little decision led the two of you to this moment; married, in love, happy, powerful. It was meant to be like this.

He didn't seem to mind about your own past either. Any other person would've judged you for the difficult decisions you had to make in order to become the wealthiest woman in all of Panem. You've seen it in the face of ex friends and lovers. They never understood your hunger for what you so rightfully deserve.

Good things don't happen to people because they're good. They happen because you make them happen. You fight, you take, you conquer. It's what life is, and it's something you and Coriolanus understand perfectly. That's why the two of you make sense. Why it feels so right to be together. You understand him and he understands you— understands you like no one else has in your entire life.

It was him the one who held you that night when you just couldn't hold it in anymore, and he sat with you while you cried and cried about your beloved sister, because even after all those years you still missed her and wished things could've been different.

If only your parents made it easier for you. They shouldn't have played favorites from the moment you were born. And they really shouldn't mess with something as important as inheritance. It's your goddamn birthright! How could they be so cruel to you? If they corner you against the wall with no apparent way to escape, it was a matter of time before you decided to stand your ground.

It's a shame your poor sister had to suffer the consequences, though. You really do love her...

Coriolanus couldn't judge you even if he tried. He could see himself in your tear-filled eyes and hear his own inconsolable sobs through your voice. It took him back to a particularly difficult point in his life where he had to make a similar choice.

He pours his heart out to you as he holds you tight against his body, revealing all the unfortunate things he was forced to do because it's all that was left. An act-or-die situation that kept repeating itself until he had no other choice but to do the unspeakable. What else was he supposed to do? What else were you supposed to do?

The regret in his voice is evident, and you know he does regret it because he’s a good person with a heart of gold. One of the best people you’ve ever met in your life. He’s good, and brave, and passionate…enough to sacrifice what he loves if the circumstances require that of him. Not many people have the privilege to claim to be as great as him.

"You did what you had to," your voice came out in a soft whisper, still affected by your sudden outburst with the thought of your sister engraved deep inside your brain. At the time you thought you were trying to ease his conscience, but maybe your statement was falling from your lips in a weak attempt to ease your own inner conflict too. "Life has been so unfair to us, Coriolanus. Is it too bad that we want just a little bit of peace?"

He stays quiet for a bit, stroking your hair in hopes to bring you some comfort as he processes your hopeless, pain-filled statement. That's probably the hardest thing about loving you; caring so much that he cannot possibly function if he knows you're hurting, and cursing himself for not being able to take that pain away. 

"We'll have peace," he eventually assures you. His voice is soft, yet fiercely determined. There's no room for discussion. He'll make it happen for the two of you. What's a few more difficult choices when he's so far gone now? When he knows it has worked perfectly before and it made all his dreams come true?

In that moment, snuggled up to his chest with his arms tightly wrapped around you, it was clear. That sense of familiarity you only get when you look back in the mirror, or when you quickly scan a room when someone speaks your name. He has suffered as much as you. He knows what it's like to be mistreated in life, and how difficult it is sometimes to live with the fact that you had to leave people behind to finally taste a drop of happiness.

The guilt comes and goes. Sometimes it's easier to remember you had no choice, but other times all you can think about is what life could've been if you weren't forced to take such drastic measures. Perhaps now that you have someone who truly understands, you'll learn to always remember you deserve all you managed to achieve.

When you move back from him to look up into his welcoming and comforting blue eyes, you knew you'd never be alone again. You'll never get to experience this free-fall, soul-consuming feeling with anyone else. And why would you even want to waste your time like that, when you already found the one person who sees the world exactly like you do? 

A love like this is hard to find. Most people spend a lifetime trying to find a love decent enough to make them feel like they're losing their minds. Like the air is missing from their lungs and everything looks much darker when the other is not around. Like they're willing to do anything to make the other happy. Like the fear of being consumed entirely by it is the sweetest of fates.

You thought you could only experience affection in the form of luxurious jewelry, fancy clothing and all that came with the important status your ex boyfriend provided. At one point, you could say you almost needed him. Or least needed his money. He provided a safety net you desperately needed after your stupid parents decided to leave everything to your annoyingly perfect sister.

After becoming the only heir in your family (it really is a shame that your sister was gone so soon, poor thing), your boyfriend was no longer a necessity, but a way of distracting yourself when you needed it. It's not like you're going to refuse his gifts and attention anytime soon, right?

But that was it. The furthest it can get to what being in love should look like. And that was what your relationship with Coriolanus should have been when you decided to make your way into his heart. Never in a million years would you have expected to meet a soul that matches yours in even the tiniest of details, that loves so deeply and cares enough to act like it's required to survive. 

With his arms still surrounding your body in a protective and comforting manner, you knew he’d be the guy you’d spend the rest of your life with. You knew it long before the day he got down on one knee, professing his undying love for you and offering the most beautiful engagement ring you have ever seen in your life. You pledged to always be there for him and, in return, he vowed to give you the world— he'd find a way to reach the night sky and collect every single star for you if that's what you ask of him. You kept each other's deepest secrets like they were your own. Two smart and ambitious people joining together in their search for greatness.

The hand on your lower back now rests against your cheek, tracing your skin in such a delicate manner that it almost makes you shiver. The white rose attached to his impeccable burgundy suit is slightly tilted to the right, fixing it with your hands as soon as your eyes notice that detail.

He smiles wider after your gesture, leaning down to capture your lips in an affectionate kiss to show his gratitude. You wish the moment could last longer, but you know it's impossible to stay behind these walls for longer when there's a loud crowd out there chanting your husband's name.

There's the briefest of interactions when he breaks the kiss, the two of you standing in front of each other with a smile of pure conspiracy— a silent recognition of the work individually done to get here, an unspoken ‘thank you’ to one another for the team effort, and the promise of a never-ending companionship that would only take you higher.

He grabs your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours before finally stepping outside to the marble balcony. Before you, a sea of people cheer and welcome the new President and First Lady of Panem.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes

[ruwriteshours]

CHASING PAVEMENTS (PART I) 𓇼 (P.JS)

✎ PAIRING: park jisung x fem! reader

✎ GENRE: angst, smut, brother's best friend trope

✎ WARNING: !!sexual content!! (minors dni) fwb relationship, jisung is slightly an asshole, reader is naive, ambiguous ending, might do a part two???

✎ SUMMARY: In which jisung's derived thoughts leads him to an unlikely arrangement with chenle's sister, where he fucks up (quite literally) when he realises how deep in the feels he has for the girl he is suppose to show disinterest to, in honour of 'BRO CODE'.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: since a few of you guys voted for jisung fic, here it is! it def took longer than i expected but i hope you like this one! <3

part two

PARK JISUNG HAD NO BOUNDARIES.

A man with desired sexual hormones isn't one to back down on steamy hook-up sessions, especially ones which are deemed promising. However, he didn't exactly knew how to draw the line when he began banging his best friend's sister.

(He thanked the heavens that Chenle had gone out that night to not witness the sinister act.)

But to be fair, the male didn't exactly plan to go black-out drunk at their usual dorm party on that particular Saturday night just to wake up naked with his best friend's sister on his side of the bed.

Especially since it's the same girl who had a thing for the said boy since their childhood, so much so that it was excrutiating for Jisung to watch her poor attempts at making a move on him. Even Chenle was used to it and was completely fine with your lovesick crush for his best friend, from the way you would stutter around the boy or the fact you used to give him flowers every Valentine's day, knowing deep down that your little feelings would fade away eventually.

But now, it's different because it's no longer a one-sided pining from you, rather a completely mutual friends-with-benefits situation. Though, it's far fetch to consider you and Jisung to be friends. He was always disinterested in you and even with this new arrangement, he only seemed content with finding a buddy he could released his pent-up sexual frustations with. Despite this, Jisung wouldn't initiate anything other than sex, making it clear that his intention with you is strictly for his selfish desires. His dirty little secret to be kept from Chenle.

You, on the other hand, couldn't be more happy than to pass up the only opportunity to be closer to Jisung. It was silly for you to expect anything more, but this was better than nothing. Jisung had fuck boy tendecies, it was nearly impossible for you to make him stay committed. However, a part of you was determined to make him fall for you.

No matter how wrong it was, it seemed that both of you can't get enough of each other.

Which is how Jisung ended up in your dorm room on Wednesday night, currently his cock buried deep inside of you as you suppress your moans. His hand digging your inner thighs as he lift you up to get a better angle, half of your body up in the air.

Grunting in frustation, his hair glued to his forehead from the layers of sweat. Rounds and rounds of endless pleasure. You could tell his anger that was built up a moment ago, was slowly dissipitating from the way his thrust begins to slow down, pausing briefly to brush the strands of his hair back. The view making you squeeze around him tighter.

"S-Shit. Do that again." He demanded, his hand coming up to grab onto your tits harshly as he pushed himself further inside you.

Squeezing once again, you made an attempt to wrap your hands around his neck only to have it shoved aside. His hands clutching your wrist to prevent you from touching him.

"I'm close!" You mewled, hip trusting against his as you made an attempt to inch closer towards him— if that was even possible.

"Me too!" He groaned.

With one powerful thrust, the both of you reached the awaiting orgasm. His breath close to your face as you stared into his eyes, entranced with the way he looks. Biting your lips, you lean in for a kiss only to have his warmth ripped away from you. Standing up to get himself dressed, much to your disappointment.

"You're leaving, already." You asked, not wanting to sound too desperate.

The male could only give a brief nod, "Yup, I have to get back before Chenle suspects something's up."

But you knew it was bullshit. Chenle didn't care if his best friend didn't show up to their dorm late at night. It was normal in a college settings. You knew that he was coming up with an excuse to not indulge further and as much as that should give you a blaring warning in your ears, you were still as stubborn as ever.

"Okay! Get back safely." You said cheerily, watching as he quickly buttons up his shirt.

Getting nothing but a hum of acknowledgement as he made his way out of your dorm, not even glancing back.

Laying down on your dishelved bed, you could only have the same feeling of regret wash over you. You wonder why you would let yourself seek love from someone who clearly could not care less about you. It had been four months of never-ending sneaky hook ups and there was still no hope that he was semi into you. You were stupid for thinking like a child.

Perhaps, you could let this go once again.

Again.

WEEK ONE.

Sitting from afar, you watch in subtlety at the disgustingly appaling view from a couple feet away. There stood, Jisung smiling with such admiration towards NingNing, a girl whom he was talking to. Her giggles echoed through the cafeteria as his friends were teasing him from the side. The sight of the sweet interaction made your heart clench, ultimately feeling defeated as you had once again expected too much of Jisung to reciprocate his feelings.

Too indulged in your thoughts, you didn't bother taking notice of the pity looks you were received by your friends. Chaeryeong glared at the audacious boy while Yunjin patted your shoulder comfortingly.

"You should move on." Yunjin mumbled.

"Yeah, you deserve way better." Chaeryeong chimed in.

You could only offer a meek shrug, "It's probably nothing, guys."

But even your own voice couldn't believe the words, knowing well enough that it was hopeless to string onto a thread that was never held onto on the other end.

It was evident from your persistence that you were determined to hold onto the shred of hope that maybe, just maybe it could work. That those years of pinning would be worth it.

"You know the guy from Econ is totally into you." Yunjin spoke up, redirecting the topic.

You perked up but remained an uninterested expression.

"Oh, come on. I'm not asking you to fuck him or anything." She said. "Maybe try get to know him, he's really sweet."

"Are you talking about that guy that helped her carry her stuff to class." Chaeryeong voice raised excitedly.

"Seungmin? He's nice to everyone." You justified, dismissing your friend's exaggerated story.

"But he's more nicer to you." Yunjin rebutted, earning an agreement nod from your red-haired friend.

"And I may or may not have heard him talking to Hyunjin about wanting your number." She added.

You scoffed playfully, "Thanks but no thanks. The last thing I need is another migraine from boys."

That was the end of the conversation. Luckily, your friends didn't push you further, allowing the three of you to eat in peace before the bell rang.

Bidding 'goodbyes' to each other as you parted ways to your assigned schedule. In some twisted way, you were glad that you were sharing this one particular class with Jisung. Both of you having similar major. Feeling the excitement rush through you as you made your way to the class. Students swarming in, looking for seats as you watched around in hopes of spotting the black haired boy.

To your luck, he was seated near the window with an empty seat beside him. In queue, you made a beeline towards his direction, only to have another bag placed itself against the wooden desk. Slightly flinching from the sudden intrusion, you looked up and saw the same girl at the cafeteria. Her sun-kissed face contorted into confusion.

"Oh, did you plan sitting here?" NingNing removed her stuff, "I can mo-"

"No!" Jisung interrupted abruptly, standing up to hold onto her wrist. "Sit here."

You couldn't help but watch with dull eyes as Jisung completely ignored your presence. His eyes gazing onto the girl as both of them shared a look of something that held a cruelly familiarity; a look of mutual liking.

"I-It's okay, I can find another seat." You stuttered, turning around quickly and grab onto a chair that was available and plopping down on it without looking back.

Biting back your tears, you didn't notice that the whole interaction was being observed by your classmate. Some whispered among themselves while others ignored it as if it was some normal occurence. You didn't have shame left to be bothered by their comment.

It wasn't news that your crush for Jisung was evident. Everyone knew, and you didn't bother to hide it because you were happy to admit it. You would broadcast to the whole street for your undying love for the boy and not a glimpse of embarassment would overcome you. However, Jisung would only continue to ignore you, of course, only on the outside. Afterall, it would ruin his pride for the class to know what he did to his best friend's sister behind close doors.

Staring distractedly at your unwritten paper, it was as if today wasn't one of your best when your lecturer had called you out, waiting for your answer.

Gulping nervously as you looked around to see students watching you, wanting nothing more than to burn a hole through the ground.

Just as you were about to utter your response, a hand swiftly moved a piece of paper towards your table, giving you a chance to catch the answer, making you read it aloud.

Your lecturer gave you stern look, as if reprimanding you before moving on to the next portion of the lesson. You sigh in relief, turning your head to the side to thank the person who helped you.

Seungmin chuckled at your flustered state, waving off as if it was nothing. He went back to his notes, scribbling down a couple of words before sliding it back to your desk.

'You okay?'

You smiled and began writing down before handing it back to him discreetly.

'I'm good :)'

He stared at the note for a moment before writting down a couple of sentence. You glanced slightly towards him, not wanting to make it obvious and pretended to focus on the lecture. Not a second later, the same yellow note slid itself towards your desk.

'Good enough to give me your no?'

You giggled silently at his bold flirting before deciding to give him your number. It was harmless, anyways. You thoughtlessly scribbled down. Little did you know, your little interaction didn't went unnoticed by the black-haired boy at the back of the class, who had been glaring holes behind you unknowingly. A sudden vision of green clouded his mind, a feeling that he hated deeply.

Jealously.

Pounding furiously against you as you were pressed up against the door to the janitor's closet. The cleaning tools were left scattered on the floor as he kept pushing himself closer to you, his hands snaking itself around your neck making your hips arched towards his cock.

Jisung moaned deliciously at the contact as he began placing love bites down your throat, slowly turning you around only to hoist you up by the thighs. You gasped at the new position, your legs wrapping around his slim waist, his hand coming to find itself in your hands, trapping you completely.

Just as you were about to release, Jisung completely removed himself away from you. His hands made is way to the zipper of his pants as he tidied himself up, you were left shocked as you watched him crossed his arms, as if waiting expectedly.

"Finish yourself for me. I want to see how you make yourself cum." He demanded, his demeanor not changing even for a moment.

You were hesitant with your moves, which only angered the male above you. Grabbing your wrist as he guided it towards your wet cunt, you maoned at the harsh contact before he lets go. His eyes urging you to continue.

If it was any other day, you would have felt shameful but considering he had denied you pleasure, you were more than eager to finish. Quickening the pace on your fingers as you shoved it deeper, scrunching your face in pure bliss, watching the way Jisung eyes were trained onto yours. His hard-on was evident yet he was more focus on the view in front of him, not bothering to fix his big issue.

Just then, the sense of euphoria came and your hand were painted with the colourless liquid. As you were about to wipe away, his hands held yours, stopping you. Inching his face closer to your cum-covered hands, he stuck out his tongue to lick it clean off. Your eyes widened at his actions, not expecting him to act so scandalous.

Once he was done licking like it was some popsicle, he gargled the remaining liquid and swallowed it down as if it was something tasteful, letting out a content sigh. Without saying a word, he left the room to leave you in a confused mess.

WEEK TWO.

Ever since that incident, you were only fueled by the same feeling in your stomach, the heart-fluttering butterflies aching your vulnerable heart. That had been the most intimate he's been and you were only craving more for his affection which, unbeknownst to you, was only the beginning. His texts were now more engaging and he seemed to want to make time whenever he would get. Despite your friend's disapproval, you were blinded by Jisung's false hope. You had even forgotten about Seungmin, ignoring his message on whether you would be available to hang out. All your mind could think of was Jisung.

Only getting disappointment when he would go back to a cycle of ignoring your existence and talk to NingNing on campus.

Oh well, it's a progress at least.

Though that meant that you were playing a very dangerous game when Chenle began suspecting the marks on your neck that were very prominent. Thankfully, he wasn't one to be nosy, passing off insults before walking off.

"Yo, could you stop staring at Jisung." Your brother snapped you out.

You had conveniently left your keys inside your dorm room and your roommate was not able to come back home as she was visiting her parents, which only gave you the only option to bunk in with your brother and his roommates. You would've slept with your friends, if it weren't for the fact that the both of them hadn't been home as well, making plans with their boyfriends. Luckily though, the boys had been kind enough to set up a room for you, which in exchange, meant that they were all sleeping outside to avoid any awkward circumstances. Hours had passed and you were getting bored with their loud cheering in the living room, struggling to tug yourself to sleep, you decide to observe the commotion.

Even without facing your way, his gaze focused on the video game in front of him, he could sense your unbearing stares for his best friend. Chenle groaned when he lost against Jisung, Mark offering the younger a high-five while Haechan cackled at Chenle's frustatated expression.

"Could you like, not be so weird around my friends." Chenle turned towards you, his friends watching you as you blushed deep red, walking off in a rush.

"Your sister's kinda hot." Haechan spoke up, earning a smack from Mark.

"What! It's the truth. Jisung, you're kinda lucky."

Chenle gagged, "Don't make me throw up. She's a nightmare."

"Well, you're saying that 'cause it's your sister. If any one of us has a hot sister, you would've totally went for it."

"I'm not having this sick conversation." Chenle dramatically declared before making his way to the kitchen, Mark following suit to grab a snack.

"You're lying if you're not in the slightest bit interested." Haechan whispered, taking extra precaution despite being away from their earshot.

"Of course not." The younger denied.

"Sure." Haechan's voice dragged on, indicating that he wasn't convinced. "So you wouldn't be bothered if she was talking to someone else, right."

Haechan provoked, smirking when he noticed that Jisung's hand tightened around the console. Despite his calm appearance, the older knew he was bothered by that thought.

"Less of a headache for me then." Jisung focused his gaze on the screen, not wanting to give Haechan the attention.

The older, of course, didn't like that. "So, if Seungmin were to make a move on her. You would be fine."

"No!" He blurted out.

That was when he could see the older's smugness through the screen, backtracking himself. "I mean— yes, I don't care! Why are you so worked up over this." He accused trying to keep the facade that was already cracked.

"Yeah, like I'm the one with the beet red face." Haechan fired back, finding humour in his reaction, happy that he has successfully got through him. "Dude, you know Chenle would be okay with it, right?"

"Shut up!"

Jisung rolled his eyes before throwing his console towards the older, facing the screen in a attempt to cover up his embarassed face. His heart accelerating from getting caught by a loudmouth like Haechan.

Luckily his embarassment was cut off short when Chenle and Mark came back in with snacks on their hand.

"So, you guys going to Sunwoo's party next Friday." Mark munched on his chips.

The sudden silence as the group checked their schedule.

1:56 am

"Oh, shit! We should probably stop soon."

"Yeah, soon!" Haechan mumbled, too engrossed in his game.

"But you guys are going, right?" Mark confirmed.

Earning a collective hum before the four of them went back to their video game, reminding themselves that it was only one game and that they would go to sleep afterwards.

Newsflash: It wasn't one round of gaming.

Which is why the three of them ended up being knocked up in the couch, Mark's loud snoring annoyed Jisung as he twisted his body back and forth, groaning when he realised he couldn't sleep.

Suddenly, a devious plan came to mind. Removing the blanket off of him, he tip-toed towards the closed door. Luckily, you were still wide awake, scrolling mindlessly on your phone. You perked up when you heard the sound of the door opening, Jisung's head peeking in. Stepping inside, you knew what he was in for...

Morning soon kicked in, rubbing your eyes. You wrapped the blanket around your bare body tightly, looking to the side to find Jisung no longer by your side. Groaning from the slight ache, you made your way to the bathroom, which was thankfully connected to the room, sparing you the intrusion.

All of your classes were in the afternoon, which gave you time to prepare breakfast. It didn't take long for you to find some ingredients, which was thankfully, not expired, knowing how lazy Chenle would get in cleaning up his stuff. The smell of freshly cooked pancakes awakened the boys. Yawning aloud as they sat down, as if awaiting for their meal. You rolled their eyes before setting a stack in front of them.

"Mm, you're the best." Haechan moaned dramatically, taking a bite. Mark humming in agreement.

"Don't you guys brush your teeth?" You asked in disgust, ignoring his compliment.

"We usually brush after."

"Gross."

A noise of protest erupt, which made you laugh. Just as you were about to make another one, in came Jisung. The last to be awake.

"Ji, come try this. She's such a good cook!" Haechan praised.

"It's just pancake." You humbled yourself.

"Yeah, you can chill out. This taste like ass." Chenle called out, which made you glare at your brother.

"Well, give me then!" You held your hand out.

Chenle only took the plate further from your reach, sticking his tongue out in mockery. Annoyed, you grabbed the spatula and whacked him across the face. Mark and Haechan laughed as Chenle began to chase you around, threatening you with a string of profanities escaping his mouth. You retaliated further by shoving him away. The sight of bickering between the siblings made Jisung smile, finding you adorable... wait, what?

"No thanks." He mumbled, quickly changing his mood back before you noticed.

"Oh, by the way, you should check your phone. NingNing's been texting you." Mark informed.

You tensed at the mention of the girl, pausing you actions briefly.

"Oh, right. I'll check it later." He said dismissively.

"So, what's your status with her?" Chenle asked, panting slightly from exhaustion.

You pretended to busy yourself in the sink, tuning in into their conversation without making it obvious.

"I don't know." He replied dryly.

"Oh, come on. She probably likes you, you've been pinning her since, what, last year?" Mark prodded.

You didn't want to hear the rest as you quickly excused yourself, telling them you had to meet your friends. Grabbing your stuff as you dashed out, in a hurry.

"Dude, we totally forgot your sister likes Ji. Oh, she's gonna be crushed." Haechan pointed out, his eyes widened comically as he pointed at the younger.

Chenle was the one to speak up, shrugging, "Who cares? She'll get over it." Chenle patted Jisung's shoulder, "Besides, we should be more worried about helping him ask the hottest chick out."

Jisung awkwardly chuckled.

"Right."

The day passed by unusually fast and Jisung still hasn't gotten a text from you. Don't get him wrong, he hated when you would get too clingy and risk the both of you getting caught but you would have usually been online by the time he opened his messaging app. It was rather impressive that you would be able to know the perfect moment to predict when he would text you. However, this time, Jisung saw that you were active three hours ago. He didn't think too much of it and switched off his phone, redirecting his attention back onto the lecture. Passing by the day as per normal.

Little did he know, that you were sulking on the other side of campus. Chaeryeong and Yunjin sitting on either side of you as you began to overthink.

"I thought we were doing okay." You mumbled, pulling your hair out in frustation.

"It's not you. You know what Jisung is like, you can't blame yourself." Chaeryeong scolded.

Just then, you watched as NingNing made her way towards campus. Her head hung low as she was focused on her phone. You could see her smile brightly, indicating that she was probably texting someone. For some reason you knew exactly who it was from how giddy she was acting. A part of you felt guilty for being selfish.

"Do you guys think I should really move on?" You asked meekly.

The both of them shot you a deadpanned look, as if ridiculing you for asking a dumb question. But the they didn't get to answer when you sat up straight, as if a lightbulb appeared on your head. "You know what?" You stood up, "I am going to move on!"

"Really?" Yunjin asked excitedly, standing up as well.

"Yes! Afterall, he only arranged this ordeal to get over his one sided crush." You waved off.

"What!" Both of them yelled in unison. "Yeah," You shrugged as if it was nothing. "He even moaned the wrong name in bed but that's besides the point."

"And you're only telling us this now?!"

You looked confused, "I thought I told you guys already."

"Uh, no you didn't. You said you guys hooked up accidentally and that's what made him want to do it again." Grabbing your shoulders, shaking them vigorously as if she was trying to wake you up, "You didn't tell us he was blatantly using you as a rebound." Yunjin said in fury, having been shocked by the sudden discovery. Chaeryeong, on the other hand wanted to punch the boy whenever he is on sight now.

"I mean, at least he got what he wanted now." You smiled, "It's totally fine, I should be happy for him."

Your friends looked at you in pity as you try to remain cheerful, not wanting to break down.

"I say we should forget about him completely."

WEEK THREE.

A few days went by and you were out hanging with your friends. Though, it would be a lie to say you weren't tempted when Jisung were to text you. It has been days without your usual sessions but he wouldn't really push the matter further, making you think that he didn't really care. In fact, you swore you saw him walking with NingNing on campus the other day. That thought had lessened the heartbreak and you soon got better at ignoring him completely.

Little did you know that Jisung began to worry about your absence. Growing more annoyed when you refuse to look at him whenever the both of you crossed paths in the hallway, even when you shared the same class, you weren't as eager to sit beside him. In fact, choosing a seat that was far from where he could see you. But in Jisung's classic way of dealing things, he ignored it, thinking that he might be exaggerating and that you were probably busy, opting to wait for you to approach him. Like you've always have.

Which was why you were fine with going to a party with your friends, knowing that if Jisung were there, he wouldn't even make an attempt to be near you.

But boy, were you wrong.

To say you were uncomfortable was an understatement, but to be fair, you hadn't had the best experience with parties. The first time you had gotten black-out drunk that you threw up all over Yunjin (you apologised later on, of course) and was forced to go back home earlier, with a massive hangover the next day. The next couple of times were consists of awkward mingling, considering you weren't one to be social. You vow to never attend a party ever again. Of course, until a few circumstances had changed.

Now, here you are, standing awkwardly while your friends were having the time of their lives. They were quite experience with the whole lifestyle, while you, on the other hand, just watched with a forced smile and they greet other college students. The liquid in the red solo cup was left untouched in your hands.

Walking through the crowds, you had lost your path with your friends, leaving you alone. As you frantically look around you, a hand clasped onto your shoulder. Turning around, you saw a beaming Seungmin.

"Didn't know you'd be here."

"Never really thought this through." You laughed awkwardly, "I didn't know why I bothered coming here."

"Parties are not your thing, huh?" He concluded, grabbing your hand as the both of you went to a more quieter area.

You didn't answer because if was fairly obvious, instead asking him back. He looked away before giving you a cheeky smile, "My friend dragged me here."

"The one making out with that girl." You pointed, watching his blonde-haired friend, Hyunjin, getting handsy.

"Yup. That's him." He scratched his head.

A moment of silence takes place before you decided to speak up, "I'm sorry for ghosting you, by the way."

He perked up, "It's alright."

"No, I'm serious. An asshole move on my part."

"Well, I can't blame you. You seemed pretty smitten with Jisung." He said, taking a sip of his drink.

"Yeah." You admitted, "But I'm over him now, well— in the process of."

He smiled, "Finally finding dignity for yourself, huh?"

"Hey!" You hit his arm, taking an offense at his words.

His laughter fueled in your anger but you soon find humour as you too, laughed along with him. And just like that, you spent the whole party talking to Seungmin.

That view alone made both of you appear to look like a couple, which was harmless. But in Jisung's eyes, it is deemed as a threat. Having had arrived an hour prior to the party, his gaze like a hawk as he eyed the both of you laughing away, ignoring Chenle's ranting.

"What have you been staring at?" Chenle moved his head towards the male, trying to match his view.

Just as Chenle eye's landed on your figure, he hummed in amusement, "Guess she finally got over you."

He joked, patting the male. But Jisung couldn't pick up on his words, not when he was fuming in anger.

Luckily though, Chenle got distracted by Haechan calling out to him, which served as a great escape for him to march towards you.

"You want to go outside?" He heard the voice of the sickening male, Seungmin's hands carressing your arms.

In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to take you away.

Which was what happened, because the next thing you could register was a sudden pull on the arm, dragging you away. It happened to quickly that not even Seungmin could utter in protest, which resulted you getting sucked into the mysterious hand. You didn't put up a fight though, knowing deep down the hand that it belongs to.

You sigh, getting tired of Jisung's mixed signals and wanting nothing more than to end the madness once and for all.

He pushed you towards an empty room before making his way in, locking the door while he slammed it shut. His back was turned towards you and you could only let out a grumble of complaint.

"So you dragged me here to give me the silent treatment." You provoked, "If you want to fuck me, just get it done and over with."

He turned around, facing you with eyes you could never read. Jisung was hard to understand and you couldn't figure out what he was thinking at the moment.

"That's not what I want to do."

"Then what is it, surely it isn't to talk. We never talk anyways, we just fuck." You scoffed, "So, try again." You scoffed, taking a step towards him.

He grabbed his hair in frusatation, "I don't know— fuck! I don't know, okay!"

"No! It's not okay because I'm sick of you treating me like a side piece. You got yourself a girlfriend now so why the hell are you still with me!" You yelled out.

"Because I like you too!" He blurted.

You widened your eyes at the sudden confession. "I like you, okay? I always have since we were kids too and I got scared so I tried to get over you by talking to her. I didn't realise how far I have gotten."

You shook your head, "Well, that's the thing. You don't think, you just do. I have made it clear from the start about my feelings but you just use it against me to fuck! You have never liked me so don't you dare fucking lie to me!"

"I'm not lying." He took a step forward, which only made you back away in disgust.

He didn't made an attempt afterwards, his eyes pleading as he watched you shuffle away.

"Well, isn't that a fucking useful information." Your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Fuck me then."

"What."

"You heard me, I said. Fuck. Me."

For the first time, it felt that you had the upper-hand. From the way Jisung seem to be more intimidated by your voice. You wanted him to feel the pain that you felt. Used like how he used you. You wanted to get back at him.

"If you don't, I'll leave."

That seemed to set a fire alarm in his ears because he was quick on his feet. His hand coming up to harshly grip onto your shirt to pull it off. You obliged, moving your hand to his neck to wrap it around his neck. With a quick tug, you pulled Jisung onto the bed, his back landed on the soft matress as you straddled his hips.

He groaned when you hastily reached his zipper, pulling down his cock. which slapped against his stomach in an instant. Veiny and red.

He was about to lean in for a kiss before you covered his lips, pouting slightly at your refusal. A smirk played on your lips as you whispered against his ear. "It doesn't feel nice, does it?"

He was about to utter your name when you began pumping his length harshly, causing him to let out loud moans.

"How pathetic, I haven't even started putting my pussy inside." You mocked.

Sliding your panties to the side, you guided his hardened cock towards your wet slick, quickly slammed your hips against him once it was slid in smoothly. Both of you moan at the contact.

Bouncing against him with such speed, you could only struggle to let out few whimpers as he held tightly onto your hips, urging you to move faster.

You could tell he was nearing from the way his grip tightened. You were sure that it would leave bruises the next day. However, that was the least of your worries as you removed yourself away from him. He groaned in frustation at the sudden loss of contact.

"Why did yo— ah!" He was interrupted when you began sucking him without warning. His noises began to grow increasingly louder, which only made you shove your throat deeper, determined to take him in completely.

He moaned aloud your name in ecstasy, finally being able to release. His load painting your mouth as you swallow it clean.

He was panting from the pure bliss, having had one of the best blow jobs he had ever gotten.

He watched as you began to clean yourself up, slowly putting on your clothes. "Wait— where are you going?" He asked, grabbing your arm to stop you.

"We're done here." You said coldly.

"But—"

"You got what you wanted. I hope you're happy so don't ever contact me again." You began, making your way towards the door.

"Consider this our last session."

And with that, Jisung was left shock. Sitting alone in a stranger's bed as he was left defeated with the fact that you were never going to feel the same way for him again.

He knew he had fucked up. Badly.

©ruwriteshours

#park jisung #park jisung imagines #park jisung smut #park jisung fanfic #jisung smut #nct smut #nct fanfic #nct dream smut #nct dream imagine #nct x reader #jisung x reader #park jisung x reader #park jisung fluff #jisung fluff #nct dream fanfic

[queers-gambit]

I Solemnly Swear That I Am Up To No Good

prompt: ( requested ) basking in the sunshine, breathing fresh air, bare skin tickled by tall grass, and Felix, who can't focus on the Half Blood Prince when his girl's got his full blooded attention.

pairing: Felix Catton x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Saltburn

word count: 2.3k+

note: i wrote this in an hour 'cause, you know, brainrot.

warnings: slight request variation (you'll see), there's probably cursing. anyways, suggestive language, no real spoilers, slight Ollie slander, college kids doing drugs, and no HP spoilers for those who haven't read.

All you could smell was his expensive cologne, barely breaking a sweat under the summer sun as he remained wrapped around you like a child did their mother on the first day of school. You were never one for suffocating affection nor clingy behavior, something leftover from childhood, but with your boyfriend, you craved it; and he knew it. He took advantage of it.

"Are you even listening or are you too busy trying to identify the smell of my shampoo?"

"Hmm? Yeah, yeah, 'M listenin', love, uh, you know, something about... Harry doing something stupid, yeah?"

You snorted lightly, head tilting back to look up at your boyfriend's amused expression. "A lucky guess - 'cause Harry's always doing some dumb shit."

"Yeah, you know, there's a reason he wasn't considered for Ravenclaw."

"Don't be mean, we all have our strengths and weaknesses," you gently reprimanded. "So he's not the smartest guy ever, but he's brave as hell, isn't he?"

"Has to be, being a Gryffindor and all."

"I doubt we would've done half this shit at 16."

"Totally right, we had other worries - like our first pregnancy scare."

"Felix!"

"What, doll face? Huh? C'mon, what's the quote? I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!"

"Oh, you absolute cheesy fuck!"

His laugh could've echoed across the field, the two of you laid out on an oversized blanket; crushing the long grass surrounding his home, Saltburn. 'Home' always felt so mundane when describing the freaking castle his family inhabited; after all, his father, Sir James, was literally knighted - making the Cattons feel larger than life. You'd known the family for over a decade now, meeting Venetia on your first day of school when a rude boy smacked your lunch tray right out of your hands, being inducted to their family almost straight away.

As it turned out, your mother and father were friendly with Sir James and his wife, Elspeth Catton, and after only a month in your new town, you were invited to Saltburn for a family meal.

It became a monthly occurrence.

And when you started dating Felix when you were both 15, it was like life was simply alining with the stars. Destiny being fulfilled. Fate smiling on you both.

Your parents tried to play off the relationship, but after you turned 16, they realized how serious you two seemed about each other. And when you both decided to attend Oxford together (rejecting your father's alma mater, the University of Edinburgh), your mother made constant jibes about your wedding. At first, it was just a few, little, sometimes funny, but mostly harmless comments here and there, and then it escalated to full-on conversations between your mothers.

Like they had flowers and color scheme picked out, deciding on hosting at Saltburn, even debating wedding dress ideas! Your mother wanted something lacy, Elspeth wanted something form fitting and "sexy" - being where their opinions clashed and the conversation elevated to near arguments.

Anyways, laying on the blanket in the field, alone, became a regular occurrence for you and Felix once you realized the absolute HOLD the Harry Potter series had on you both. Where the brother and sister had matching HP star tattoos on their hands, that had convinced you to get a set of three stars - your only tattoo, nestled behind your left ear. Venetia technically got you into the series, letting you borrow the first book, and then gifting you each book once published; but it was more like a "tradition" to read them with Felix.

See, when you were younger, you had a stutter that made you wildly insecure, but reading out loud helped you work through it. Was it a perfect system? Of course not, but your boyfriend was adamant that it'd help - and eventually, it did. So much so, you received top marks in each of your public speaking or debate classes, something the Catton's still praised you over.

Felix liked listening, and the times you got a little tongue-tied and frustrated, he would take over to let you a small reprieve. Today was no different, laid in the field, the grass tickling your bare feet and calves as the sun soaked into your bare skin. Either of you only wore a pair of sunglasses, Felix sat up on his elbow to support your body laid against his; his fingers dancing light patterns over whatever body part he could reach. Currently, it was your hip.

He laid quick kisses where he could, whispered sweet nothings in your ear, used his teeth to nibble your flesh. Anything to make you trip over your words, like the little shit he was.

You felt your breathing shift when Felix's lips and tongue ghosted up your neck, sweeping stray strands of hair from your shoulder before his fingertips were ghosting over your collarbone and down your chest to tweak your nipple. The cold of his bracelets and watch on your sticky skin felt like a drastic contrast to the warmth of the day.

"You're infuriating, I'm trying to read," you scolded, swatting his hand away; but smirking in amusement that assured him you weren't truly annoyed.

"Roll over, sweetheart, I needa rest my arm," he muttered in your ear, licking the shell - making you squirm with a small giggle.

"Can you behave? For once?"

"How can I? When you look like this? I mean, Goddamn, I really got the prettiest girl, don't I?" He smirked, watching you lift off his chest to roll onto your stomach; perched on your elbows. "Now, that's a sight, might be my favorite," he grinned, bringing his hand down to smack one of your arse cheeks - palming the flesh tightly, giving a jiggle for his amusement.

"Felix!" You squealed, fully anticipating this treatment; trying to hide your full-teeth grin.

"C'mon, love, let's get a bit naughty," he teased. "Oliver doesn't get here for another two days, we're not gonna be alone much longer."

You scoffed lightly, "You're the one who had to befriend The Clinger."

"Oi, c'mon now, tellin' me t'be nice about Harry? Don't call him that, love, he's just a lonely chap. Needs a friend."

You hummed, readjusting the book under you. "He's a bit creepy, Fi," you admit. "I mean, he stares - like a lot. And remember I told you, I saw him looking through your dorm window that one night?"

He sighed, "He was just drunk, love, we've been over this."

"You're so quick to excuse him," you noted, offering him a bewildered look as he readjusted to lean over your back. His head nuzzled between your shoulder blades, letting a hand pet down the slope of your spine; forcing a small tremor through your muscles.

"He's got no one else."

"Doesn't mean he needs you, my sweet boy. Honestly, you stretch yourself too thin. Maybe if you focused less on these so-called friends and more on your studies...?"

"I appreciate the worry, babygirl," he mused, laying three kisses to your shoulders, "but it's all right, got you quizzing me nightly. Swear, you know my coursework better than I do. And besides, you're the one who says there's no such thing as too many friends."

"Hm," you let your eyes roll slightly, "I was obviously high when I said that and probably didn't mean bloody Oliver."

"Speaking of," he grinned, reaching for the rucksack he brought with you; now hosting your clothes, but also carrying the Altoid tin he used to store pre-rolled joints.

"Are you even listening to the story anymore, baby?"

"Of course I am, toots, I can multi-task." You hummed in response, waiting for him to finish lighting up before continuing onto a new paragraph; feeling him shift on your back. But you faltered when smoke blew against your cheek, Felix's lips descending a moment later to noisily smooch your skin. "You're so fucking pretty," he mumbled.

"I think you have ADHD."

"We knew that."

"Maybe you need something for that."

"Because I'm not listening to Harry Potter?"

"I knew it!" You laughed, shivering again when his free hand drew up your spine to nestle in your hair; handing you the joint with the other. "Fi, you're still distracting me," you moaned slightly, leaning your head back into his touch - contradicting your own words.

"You're doin' great, love," he grinned, licking the skin behind your ear, at your tattoo. "Keep goin', c'mon, I wanna hear what happens next."

"You're gonna reread this chapter when I go to bed, aren't you?"

Felix paused, "Maybe."

You grunted, dropping your head to the book before lifting it again and taking an inhale from the joint. Felix grinned at you in mischief, rolling over onto his back; hand behind his head as he stared up at you. You shook your head at him, handing the joint over before shuffling so you were laid on his chest with the book spread open in one hand.

"Love?" He mumbled.

"Hmm?" You glanced at him.

"Maybe... Uh, yeah, maybe start the chapter over? I'm a bit lost," he snickered, coughing when you tisked at him and offered a slightly annoyed look. "C'mon, baby, you can't tell me you were totally focused, either! You love me touching you, I can see it on your face."

To prove his point, the arm he had wrapped around you drifted to, once more, take a handful of your ample bottom - causing you to gasp slightly.

But you pouted, "I kinda want to finish this chapter, baby."

"And I'm distracting you?"

"Obviously."

Felix laughed, "Spot on Professor Snape, baby."

"If I read like Snape the rest of the chapter, will you pay attention to me?"

"You know what? I don't know, that voice is kinda a turn on... Everything you do is a turn on, doll."

"You'd think the consistent fucking we do would rein in your hormones."

"Nah," he tutted, squeezing his hand, "not when I got a girl like you, gettin' me all riled up. I mean, Half-Blood Prince, who? Got me full blooded, right here." You chuckled when he glanced at his cock, folding the book closed and deflating onto his chest and accepting the joint again. "Oh, c'mon, don't stop, 's just gettin' good!"

"You were calling Harry stupid literally 5 minutes ago."

"Come off it, when isn't he?"

"When he's fighting Voldemort?"

"Hm," he considered, tucking his hand into your hair to massage your scalp; gently pulling through your hair. "You might have a point."

"And now Dumbledore's - "

"Hey, hey, no spoilers!"

"It's not a spoiler if you were listening to me!"

"I'm always listening," he whined, you blowing smoke across his abdomen; watching his abs contract from the slight tickle; his cock bobbing from the movement and making you flush with heat not from the sun. "You're just so much more interesting, hmm?" He mumbled.

"Hey, hey. Flattery gets you everywhere with me," you teased, loving the easiness of his smile. "C'mon, pretty boy, your turn."

He took the joint from you, watching you try to pull back - but tightening his arm. "Stay here, love havin' you close," he mumbled, placing the joint to his mouth and reaching for the book again. Not wanting his arm to retract from your form, you reached up to take the joint from him; listening as he went back to the beginning of the chapter while your leg hiked up his hips.

Every other puff, you fed Felix the joint until there was nothing left; wee small roach being stubbed out in the dirt, leaving you two relaxed, high, and laid over one another as he continued to lazily read. But his hand still traced invisible patterns over your skin, the warmth of the sun making you sweat, but the way your boyfriend touched you made you shiver.

He knew you loved it, yet didn't so much as stutter on a single word when his smirk would grow feeling your reactions to his touches.

At the end of the chapter, he glanced down at you and let his lips follow; tightening his arm to bring you in closer, leaving repeated kisses on your forehead. You squirmed closer, giggling and bringing your hand up to hook around the back of his neck, directing him to your lips as he rolled over so you were on your back and he was hovering over you. "You're distracting me, now, li'l minx," he teased.

"Oh, how unfair, what ever shall you do?"

He chuckled, pecking your lips twice more, then asking, "Another chapter or...?"

"Yes, one more chapter," you laughed, "but then we're gonna have to head back up, your mum wanted my help with something."

"Oh, she's got you some new dresses she wants you to try," he relaid.

"I thought she stopped doin' that?"

"She loves spoiling you," Felix eased. "And Venetia stopped letting Mum dress her, so, you know... Here, you read this one."

You agreed, letting him readjust so he was sat up again, keeping you between his spread legs so he could peer down at the book from over your shoulder. Was it distracting, feeling his fully blooded cock at your back? Absolutely. Was it mildly erotic for you to ignore it and continue reading - as if his warmth wasn't making you wet? Also, yes.

"Fi," you whispered when his lips danced across your shoulder. "Distracting me, again," you half-scolded.

"You're doin' great, love," he chuckled.

But he didn't stop, it was like he was turning himself on (more) by his soft, gentle touches; and being spurred onward when he noted the way your chest heaved when your breath changed.

"Keep goin'," he whispered in your ear, dragging his hands up to cup either bare breast and swipe his thumbs around your nipples to stiffen them into peaks.

"Felix - "

"Don't stop," he encouraged, "'s real endearing the way you're tryna fight this."

"You try to get between me and Potter one more time, we're going on a sex strike."

There was a pause as you looked up at him, both sharing growing grins before bursting into echoing laughter that Venetia heard from one of the loungers close to the house. She grinned to herself, turning the page of her own Half-Blood Prince book.

requesting rules and masterlist

Saltburn masterlist

#felix catton #felix catton imagine #felix catton fluff #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x reader #felix catton x fem! reader #felix catton x you #fix it felix #saltburn #saltburn 2023 #saltburn movie #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn felix #saltburn felix catton #saltburn imagine #jacob elordi

[dcxdpdabbles]

Hello ❤️

Can you please write something about Jason x Danny? Maybe something about Jason having a crush on this new guy (maybe Danny works in a library or helping people as a nurse) and just falling cause Danny is sincerely nice and isn't afraid of his Lazarus's rage

Jason first notices the new face volunteering at the soup kitchen when the guy hand-makes flour tortillas for the beans. Just like his mom used to make, alongside Mrs. Huerea before she got into drugs.

It's been years since he last had some, not because Alfred refuses to make it but because the butler never has the time.

It's usually a treat for Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanukkah, or his birthday. Sometimes if Jason is lucky, there is another important holiday for the many members of Wayne Manor, and there is time for Alfred to get them done. He can have them more.

But mostly, Alfred had them store-bought.

That's why he wanders to the other man's line, mouth already watering as the volunteer piles smashed beans with cheese and tortillas onto plates. A name tag has a simple "Danny" on top of a white NASA shirt coupled with slightly baggy pants is the whole outfit of the stranger - odd in Gotham's winter time.

He offers Jason a smile, then, with a wink, places two more fresh tortillas on his plate.

Before he can say anything, Danny pushes the plate toward him. "I can tell you're a man who appreciates fine food. Take them. I can always make more. "

He jerks a thumb to the back, where a press awaits use. It looks just like Mrs. Huerea's iron-clad tool that, for a second, he's six again, early happy the women preparing for Christmas.

When his mother was sober, the Huereas had always opened their home to them. The elderly couple had always felt like grandparents to him.

"Thanks," He says around a forming grin. It matches Danny's.

Jason accepts the food with an excited thrill; for once, the memories of his mother are not so bitter and ruined. He moves out of the way for the next person, making a mental note to tell his men to ensure Danny gets home safely after his shift. It would be in his employee's way.

He does this often, assigning some Red Hood boys to make sure no one bothers any of the volunteers. Jason knows he can't get rid of all crime, not like Bruce believes, but he can at least protect those trying to make this place less of a shit hole.

He sits, savoring the flavor with great appreciation. He's got time to relax a little.

One of his Lieutenant is in the back, speaking to the director of the Soup Kitchen. This is one of Jason's protected areas, but to make sure people know it's not to be taken lightly, the Red Hood gang does require protection money.

He doesn't ask a lot but Jason knows that any place that doesn't have protection money is a bigger target. Of course he also here pretending to be hungry just to make sure the place is actually doing what they promised to do and feed people.

When Jason first took over, this particular place had been known to only give out half of the money they donated in food. The rest was going into the old director's pocket. When he caught wind of the senior director often refusing kids just to save money to steal, Jason quickly fed him to the fish.

His Lieutenant, Rogers, would not be able to recognize him. Jason was eating without a mask. What better disguise than his own dead face? Much less the other people in the soup kitchen.

Although he was meant to observe his surroundings for any funny business, Jason glued his eyes on Danny the entire time. It seemed the man had an easy smile for everyone and a calming personality that seemed to put even the most hostile at ease.

Snow. Jason thinks while watching Danny make more tortillas while chatting with a street kid until the young girl feels she could make one. He lets her round the table easily, showing her how to press down on the metal lever with the same soft ease. He's like pure white snow.

He would not last long in Crime Alley. Nothing pure ever does.

Jason fishes his food, unable to look away from what he knows would be a broken man in only a few weeks.

He leaves just as Rogers returns to the front clutching a brown bag. It looks like he didn't need to worry about the upkeeping of this place. He needs to check on the other kitchens in his territory before the day is out.

After three other Kitchens, Jason is satisfied that he's secured two. He must send Rogers to the last one because a few girls seemed uncomfortable with the leering crew. He'll have the creeps removed by this Friday.

He's swinging around as Red Hood on his normal patrol when he catches sight of Danny again. It's close to two in the morning, so he's surprised to see the other man cheerfully strolling about without any signs of exhaust.

He's also not wearing warm clothing despite the snow slowly falling around them. The only difference between what he was wearing earlier is the large black backpack. Jason half wonders if Danny only has nothing else to wear until the man pauses at an alley entry.

He crouches down, unzipping his bag, before pulling out a plastic-wrapped package. Jason watches him cautiously walk into the alley, following on the roofs out of curiosity.

His eyes widen when he spots a young boy hiding behind a trash bin, squishing himself against the wall as Danny carefully approaches him.

Jason hadn't seen the kid when he had passed by earlier, likely due to the boy knowing how to hide himself in the shadows. How had Danny seen him?

"Go away!" The boy yells when Danny gets too close for comfort. Jason's hackles rise, pulling out his gun in case he needs to intervene. He remembers the days when the sound of approaching footsteps to his hiding places in the streets meant.

Danny stops just on the other side of the trash bin. He places the package on top of it and backs away quickly. "I don't mean to bother you. But I thought you could use these. Stay warm, and if you need to escape the snowstorm, go to the address in the right pocket."

The boy doesn't answer, and Danny doesn't seem to wait for one. He leaves with quick strides. Jason watches him from the roof, noticing he returns to a slow stroll once he's back on the main street.

Below, the street kid carefully pulls the plastic bag towards him once he knows Danny is gone. He unwraps the bag only to gasp in delight at the jacket, gloves, hat, scarf, and socks inside. He quickly slips them on, burying himself in the small amounts of warmth they offer him.

Jason watches the boy for a few minutes before jumping down. The kid scrambles away until he realizes it's Rood Hood. Everyone knows that he won't harm street kids.

"Hey," He says, noting that the boy's new clothes seem to be made from expensive material, all in black and neon green. "Do you have somewhere warm to sleep tonight? Snowstorm is coming."

"I can handle it." The boy scoffs despite the shivers that wrack his body.

"I know you can. But it's not safe out here" He kneels at the boy's eye level. He seems about twelve, likely new to the streets since he has yet to find proper shelter. Dirty blond hair and dark, weary brown eyes stare back at him as Jason offers. "Let me get you somewhere safe."

"I won't go back to the stupid system."

"Nah, that shit's broken. I got a safe house for you to crash in."

The boy thinks it over. "Just us?"

Jason isn't a mind reader to know what the kid fears. "No. It's full of other people."

It takes a few more minutes, but eventually, he convinces Max to follow him. They travel across Crime Alley to one of the empty warehouses he had turned into an illegal shelter. Inside are various Red Hood gangsters passing out blankets and setting up cots for people from the streets to sleep.

The heaters are on, but a few still refuse to remove their warm clothing- likely in fear of theft or that it proves an extra layer of comfort- as they settle down.

Max thanks him as the boy rushes to a corner that seems to be taken over by children. He doesn't approach the others to speak to, but he looks more comfortable picking a cot close to them. Jason's eyes widen slightly when he realizes that all seven children are wearing some form of the Black and Neon Green outfits Danny had given Max.

Rogers strolls up next to him, nodding his chin at the children. "Some street kids have been saying a man is offering them free supplies. He doesn't ask for anything in return and leaves them alone with they tell him to. His calling card is the little neon green ghost he places on each item. Want me to take a few of our boys and check him out?"

Jason grunts. "No need. I already know who it is. He seems like a non-threat."

Rogers appears flabbergasted for only a few seconds before pulling himself together. "If you say so, boss."

Jason turns to stare at the man, and Rogers raises his hands. "All I'm saying is that it's a little odd how good the guy is at spotting street kids."

"How good is he?"

"It's like he can see in the dark. He might be a meta."

Jason thinks back to Danny walking around in his light clothes like it's the middle of summer instead of winter and finds some weight in the meta-theory. "I'll pay him a visit soon."

Rogers lets the matter drop, even if he is confused by Jason's involvement. Usually, he has some of the newest members of the youngest ones who reckon a personable target- or new recruits.

But something about Danny called out to Jason. He couldn't say it, but the man's snow-like personality eased the Pit Rage in him. Strangely it felt like Danny was the calm winter promising rest to the wounded parts of Jason's soul.

He didn't want to see Danny's pure heart ruined by this city.

Jason wonders if he could keep it safe and if Danny will even give him the chance to try.

He hopes so. Danny has such a lovely smile.

#dcxdpdabbles #Dead on main #Red Hood's snow #Jason falls for the man trying to make Crime Alley less terrible. #Danny is just vibing being a help to anyone that he comes across #Jason was raised along side a sweet Mexican family cause I say so #Jason falls for a man with a pure heart. #Rogers is freaking out #His boss??? with a crush??? #Hope you like!

[blondephenobarbitol]

I actually fucking hate Mr. Jägerman here's why

Mr. Jägerman is a character in the Hatchetfield universe who is never onstage and only mentioned in 1 (one) line. This was enough to ignite my rage.

It's because in this one line, so much is revealed about Max's character. So let's dissect that.

Max is mean. We know this. The very first thing established about him is how threatening he is. But I think his character often gets lost in the 'bully' identity, because just like every other Hatchetfield character, he is layered and complex.

We also find out two other things about him pretty much immediately: He has a crush on Grace (we'll come back to that) and he needs to feel in control.

There's a lot of evidence to support this. He repeatedly refers to himself as the 'god' of Hatchetfield High. He creates arbitrary rules around who his friends can date. He creates arbitrary rules around where the nerds are 'allowed' to go. And the moment someone implies he is not as powerful as he thinks he is, he retaliates violently.

This isn't just Max being a jerk. These are all signs of someone who is almost certainly deprived of control in their home life, which forces them to find it elsewhere. Max likely has little to no say in what happens to him at home. He's clinging to a sense of control wherever he can find it. And that line basically confirms that his home isn't a safe place for him.

Back to the crush on Grace, when you look objectively at the actions Max takes in the show, you'll find that he's not really a bad person, he's a mean person. He's a little shit that processes his need for control in the entirely wrong way, but people are shaped by their surroundings. The actions that come from him are different.

His crush on Grace only supports this. Every other bully in every piece of media sees the girl they like and whistle and say "yo lemme hit that." And if the girl rejects them, they resort to "tease bitch." Not Max. The first thing he does is start a conversation with her, laughs at (what he thinks is) a joke, then offers to carry her books. Like, I wish my highschool bullies were that nice to their own girlfriends.

When she rejects him, it's true that he continues to pursue her and calls her "dirty girl," but that once again comes back to his need to feel in control. But he doesn't get aggressive, he doesn't do anything that screams 'bully.'

We don't get a lot of scenes with pre-ghost Max. But when we do, they're interesting to analyze. Like, have you ever noticed that when he finds Steph in the Waylon Place, his very first instinct is to tell her, "Get behind me, I'll protect you" from, as far as he knows, actual ghosts? He feels like his life is in danger, but he's still putting Steph's safety first, despite having no interest in her romantically. That's huge.

There's even some evidence to support that Max terrorizing the nerds is, from his perspective, not so one-sided. When he finds out they were the ones who pulled the pranks, he says "I thought you guys hated me."

And he's open to change. He's not stubborn, he's not brutal. He doesn't continue hating the nerds just because it is what it is. Moments before his death, he is showing signs of opening up to them, and actually seems like he's coming around.

And none of this is meant as trying to defend Max's actions. I know he's the antagonist. I know he treats people unfairly. But all of this has to come from somewhere. I'm trying to say that there was clearly a foundation of a good person underneath all that cruelty. So what toughened his shell?

Mr. Jägerman. Max reveals in that one line that if he were to go back home from the 'party', his dad would call him a 'little cuck.' "can't even fight off one lousy skele'uhn." In this, he reveals his dad is demeaning to him. He's the kind of man who would hear that his son was in a life-or-death situation, and instead of comforting him, he would have made fun of him.

What must that do to a person? As someone who grew up in a home where Dad wasn't always a safe person to be around, I know that when I was younger, a lot of my bad bad behaviours were something I learned from him.

The prank meant to scare Max was the nicest thing anyone's ever done for him.

I think a lot of what happens in NPMD is indirectly Mr. Jägerman's fault. "Knowledge is knowing Frankenstein is the doctor, wisdom is knowing Frankenstein is the monster" type of shit. It is directly because of his actions and the way he treated his own child that any of this happened.

or maybe I'm reading too much into this. But I fucking hate Max's dad so much.

#sincerely #nerdy prudes spoilers #npmd #nerdy prudes must die #max jagerman #max jägerman #hatchetfield #hatchetverse #tgwdlm #black friday starkid #pete spankoffski #ruth fleming #richie lipschitz #grace chasity #steph lauter #character analysis

[greg-montgomery]

i saw your post about jealous!hotch, so I was wondering if you can write something where there isn't an established relationship between hotch and bau!reader (yet ;))), the reader is a huge fan of an actor/character (kind of like how we, hotch girls, fangirl over Aaron 🤭) and Hotch got jealous whenever he hears her talks about the actor/character and then the reader was wondering why he's acting unusual, (like he would mutter something to himself like how he's much better than the man the reader talks about but they don't hear it, or he's suddenly not in a mood, etc.) and the team knows why he's acting unusual (he's jealous) and they're entertained watching the both of them be oblivious, and hotch kind of slipped or something that revealed his feelings for the reader🤭 if you can't write it, then it's okay!! feel free to change anything however you want<33

hehe what if aaron was jealous of thomas gibson himself 🤭🤭🤭

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

“I am definitely taller than him.”

“What was that, Hotch?” you asked, after hearing him mumble something under his breath.

“Nothing,” he said more clearly this time. “Go back to your very important conversation with Garcia. The meeting doesn’t start until ten, so you have plenty of time.”

“Thank you,” you answered with a smile, pretending you didn’t notice his sarcasm.

“So he’s tall and respectful? What else would a girl need?” Penelope swooned, picking up from where you two had left off.

“I’m telling you! Penny, I swear…Greg is my dream man.”

You had turned your spinning chair to the side so you could face Garcia, and missed the way Aaron rolled his eyes at your words.

“And they got married the day they met?” she asked, her hand on her chest.

“Yes! It’s so romantic. And don’t even get me started about all the physical touch. It’s definitely his love language.”

“Ugh…He sounds perfect.”

“He is.”

“So are you gonna show me how he looks like?”

“Right!” you exclaimed. “I have a whole album of pictures of him. Wait.”

You pulled out your phone and found a screenshot from the episode of “Dharma & Greg” you were watching the night before. “That’s my baby.”

Aaron should be feeling lucky you were still turned to the side and couldn’t see the way he was desperately trying to take a peek at your phone.

“Oh,” Penelope said. But it wasn’t the kind of ‘oh’ you were expecting.

“What?” you asked disappointed. “Don’t tell me he isn’t hot. He’s literally a doll.”

“No, I…” she said. She seemed startled. “He is…um…really good looking. But…Y/N…Do you not notice something in particular about him?”

“Like what?”

“Tall. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Cheekbones.”

“Yeah, like I said: my dream man,” you simply said, unable to understand where she was going with this.

“He’s not all that.”

That was Aaron.

“How would you know?” you were quick to ask him.

“I googled this Thomas Gibson guy who played Greg,” he said, acting casual. “He’s average at best.”

“He is not average,” you defended him.

“I can’t tell which one of you is more stupid,” Penelope said softly, mostly to herself.

“What?” you both replied at the same time.

She shook her head. “Nothing. I just remembered…I have to go make a phone call.”

Once you were left alone with your boss you crossed your arms against your chest and furrowed your brows. “Average…”

“He’s just some guy.”

“He’s not. He’s the most handsome man in the world,” you said.

“Sure.”

At his last word, you got up from your seat and walked so you could stand right in front of him with a smirk.

“What?”

“You sound almost jealous of him.”

“Why would I be jealous of him?”

“I don’t know, Hotch,” you replied, your smirk getting even wider. “Why would you?”

He stared at the picture of your celebrity crush he had previously googled. “He has nothing I should be jealous of. I mean my hair is better, and I’m pretty sure I’m taller.”

“I knew that was what you said earlier!”

“Shut up.”

You giggled and tilted your head looking at him. The way he said those two words almost reminded you of Greg.

“You kind of look like him.”

“I don’t see it,” he said, taking a glance at his phone again.

“I think I do.” You smiled softly.

Maybe your dream man was your grumpy, stubborn, and very very adorable boss after all.

#aaron hotchner #hotch #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #hotch 🪐 #ask

[lovebugism]

hi hello "love you on purpose" absolutely devasted me with it's cuteness and i cannot wait for part two!!!! 💗

✶ ┄ LOVE YOU, ON PURPOSE (ii)

part one | part two

summary: steve can't seem to stay away from the local freaks. he's more surprised to find himself falling for one of them. you have trouble believing that someone like him could want you in the first place. he wants to prove to you that he's not king steve anymore. (18k)

pairing: steve harrington / eddie's bff!reader

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, idiots in love, slight angst, hurt to comfort (sorta), fem!reader TW smut 18+, lots of intimacy and affection and awkwardness, p in v sex, talks of insecurities, reader has an allison reynolds-esque transformation but with a better ending (outfit inspo x, x), probable typos

a/n: welp. here it is. the final part of this 30k+ word fic. it was very fun and very painful to write and i'm very glad it's finally done and out in the world! thanks for all the love on the first part btw reading all the feedback has easily been my favorite part of writing this <3 with that being said, get comfy, get a snack, and enjoy! xoxo

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Falling over you is the news of the day.

If yearning had a shape, you’re pretty sure it’d look an awful lot like you. 

The clumsiest of humans, fresh into her adulthood but still feeling like a child most days. Soaking wet, born yesterday. A caterpillar weaving her cocoon and trying to figure out where she fits in the world. The girl who decides she belongs right next to this big, boisterous, multi-colored butterfly she couldn’t stand a year or more ago.

And Steve Harrington, he was… Well, he was the kind of poem people spend their entire lives trying to write. 

He was the perfect mixture of beauty and warmth, of mystery and obscurity — the line where the pink of a sunset meets the purple of a starry night. He was all of this rolled up into a twenty-something-year-old boy. A fumbling butterfly that’s getting used to his new wings.

Maybe if you were talented enough, you could write the thing yourself. There’s something powerful in knowing that you could compose some dainty requiem so much bigger than yourself. A beautiful thing that would stand the test of time because there would never be anything else like it. 

It wouldn’t be because of you, though. You passed Ms. O’Donnell’s English class by the skin of your teeth, so your writing leaves much to be desired. It would be your muse that would enamor the masses come the next several centuries, because there will never, ever be another Steve Harrington.

At the very core of this poem would read a universal truth: I have fallen in love with his enigmatic being, and now I’m dealing with the consequences.

Well, you’re trying to deal with them, at least. You’re not having a very easy go at it.

Most of the time, you feel like a thousand bricks have piled on top of you. The jagged edges scrape up your arms and press varying shades of purple into your skin. They crush you underneath their weight, but you don’t try too hard to climb out from under them. You couldn’t even if you wanted to.

You feel a little stuck underneath all the feelings you have for Steve. 

You’re not quite sure what to do with them all. They’re too heavy to lift; there’s too much of them to crawl out. It all leaves you feeling a bit trapped. 

It’s a good kind of trapped, though. 

Once the hurt passes, the weight starts to feel like you’re being swaddled in a blanket. Or a cocoon. 

As scared as it makes you, as overwhelmed as you feel, you don’t want this puppy-like adoration to end.

But sometimes, the scrapes sting more than they usually do. The scabs split and start to weep. The faded bruises turn purple again, then to blue and black, and they ache all over. They remind you that girls like you don’t end up with guys like Steve, and the harsh realization turns the comforting weight of being in love into feeling like you’re being buried alive.

Steve is a pretty boy. He’s a rich, prettyboy who wears vintage jeans and drives a new Beemer and has never wanted for anything in his life.

And you’re… whatever the total opposite of that is.

You wear whatever’s cheapest at the thrift store or what Eddie lets you steal from his closet. You drive a rust bucket that belonged to your dad until he lost his license, so the thing practically rotted in the backyard until you got yours. And all you’ve ever done is want for things because you’ve never had anything.

And the one thing you want the most is something you’ve never been able to admit to anyone. Not even Eddie. Not even yourself. 

Screw new clothes or a car fresh off the lot. You don’t want popularity — you don’t even want money (though it certainly wouldn’t hurt). You want so desperately to be loved that it makes your bones ache.

All you want is someone to hold your wrists and kiss your palms, to cradle you when the thunder is too loud and the cracks of lightning make you shake, to be a hiding place where you can keep every secret and be certain it stays safe.

You want someone to smile at you the way Steve smiles at you. You want to feel held the way he makes you feel held — without ever touching you. You want to feel wanted the way he makes you feel wanted.

You want Steve. 

And you’re not sure how long silly love songs will substitute your yearning.

“What do you think about Steve?” you ask Eddie out of the blue.

He was in the middle of a rant about his latest campaign, but you hadn’t heard a single word of it if you’re honest. The butterflies in your stomach were too loud.

The boy sits across the room at his desk, back hunched, while he scribbles ideas into his tattered Dungeons and Dragons composition journal. You’re sprawled out in the middle of his bed like you have been for the past hour, making constellations of Steve’s face from the marks on his ceiling.

“I think he’s an asshole,” Eddie answers without missing a beat.

It makes you roll your eyes. You shouldn’t have expected anything less out of him, really. You toy with the frayed hem of your crop top and rephrase. “Okay, but do you think he likes me?”

“I know he likes you,” he scoffs. “That’s the problem.”

You smile widely to yourself, then purse your lips to the side to keep it hidden. There’s no one looking to see you grinning like an idiot, but it doesn’t make you feel any less like one.

“He wants to take me on a date tonight,” you confess out loud for the first time.

It wasn’t like you to keep something like that from Eddie. Or anything. At all. But you found yourself hiding it like some kind of dark secret. A distant part of you was terrified that it was all in your head, but it’s been three days since Steve asked you now. Which means you’ve spent three days pinching yourself.

You haven’t woken up yet.

“Like, a date date,” you clarify and rise on your elbows to study the boy across the room. 

You feel the need to explain yourself because movie nights and rides around town and hanging out in the break room after closing don’t feel nearly as serious as Steve wining and dining you. It feels much more official now, as though the line between liking someone and like-liking them has been drawn.

“And I’ve never been on a date date before—”

“What about the one time you went out with, uh…” Eddie trails off as he aggressively erases something on his paper. He stills and squints over his shoulder at you. “What was his name? Matt? Marcus?”

“Mason,” you correct and try not to shudder at the memory. “And I left him at the restaurant because he asked me how big my boobs were within the first ten minutes, so he doesn’t count.”

A grin pulls at the boy’s face. He chuckles to himself. “Oh, yeah.”

“And I know I shouldn’t be so nervous about it ‘cause it’s just a dumb date, like… We’ve been alone together a billion times now, you know? It’s just…” you ramble in one breath, then trail off with a huff. You flop back onto the mattress rather dramatically. “Steve Harrington doesn’t date girls like me. He dates girls like Nancy Wheeler. And, as far as I’m concerned, they were a matching made in fucking heaven— I mean, I didn’t know them back then or anything—”

“Obviously,” Eddie murmurs. “That was a train wreck.”

“—But they looked fucking perfect together, Eds!”

The image of them walking the hallways of Hawkins High isn’t hard to picture. You can still see Nancy in her pretty pleated skirt and pink manicured nails and Steve with his stupid hair and brand new Ray-Bans. They owned the school like their parents owned Hawkins — it was practically kismet. 

You try to picture him and you together, and it doesn’t come as effortlessly. 

It’s like trying to wedge pieces from opposites puzzles together; it just doesn’t work. 

And it’s different from anyone Steve’s ever dated. It’s different from anyone you’ve ever dated. People look at him and his pretty girlfriend and gush, “oh, wow, they look good together.” People look at you and a guy with smudged eyeliner and heeled boots and whisper in disgust, “oh god, they deserve each other.”

You won’t get any of the kindness that Steve is used to, only stares from strangers as they try hopelessly to figure out whether or not you’re dating — because surely, he wouldn’t stoop low enough to date someone like you.

“And I don’t wanna…” you waver, trying and failing to put your fears into words. “I don’t know, I guess I’m just scared.”

Eddie shakes his head to himself. “You don’t need to be scared, okay?” he mumbles, his attention still turned down to his notebook.

“Oh, thanks, Eds. I’m cured,” you monotone.

“I just mean that—” he cuts himself off with a deep sigh and swivels in his chair to face you completely. “Steve’s a douchebag, alright? But he’s a good douchebag.”

Your brows furrow. “…What?”

“He used to be an asshole and everything, but… I don’t know, I guess he turned out to be a pretty good guy— and if you tell him I told you that, I will kill you,” Eddie explains in one breath. The half-hearted threat spills from his mouth,and he goes suddenly soft. “He’s not gonna hurt you, okay? I promise. I mean, the guy’s practically a fucking teddy bear.”

A smile pulls slow at your lips. 

It’s the nicest thing you’ve ever heard him say about Steve, despite having been friends with him for nearly a year now. The foreign kindness comforts you well enough. If Eddie didn’t think Steve was every bit the good douchebag he says he is, there’s no way he’d let you go anywhere near him.

“Yeah?” you mutter.

“Yeah,” he echoes with a huff, obviously upset about having to admit such a truth. Then he shrugs. “And if he does hurt you, I’ll beat him up. Which, with his track record, I’m guessing it wouldn’t be too difficult.”

A laugh tumbles from your mouth. “Thanks for looking out, Eds.”

He only grumbles in response.

And even though he complains the entire time, he drops you back off at your place and helps you agonize over what to wear. He sits on your bathroom counter to keep you company while you shower, then holds your makeup bag in his lap while you get ready. He only comments once about how differently you’re doing it.

Then the boy lounges on your bed, legs crossed and back propped on the headboard while you rifle through your closet. In true Eddie Munson fashion, he’s got something to say about everything you pick out.

Your white sweater is too tight, he tells you, and the fuzzy texture feels too weird. The plaid skirt you pull from the depths of your closet is too “christmas-y” and “totally not your color.” He tells you he likes your boots better as he helps you with the finicky buckle of your Mary Janes, then snaps the band of your knee-highs when he stands again.

Eddie tells you all of this because it’s easier to tease you than to say what he really thinks — that it feels like you’re in high school again and trying out styles that don’t suit you.

He loved you the way you were, in black and leather and silver chains and fishnets, because he knew that’s what you felt good in. You found your identity in your unconventional style and you sparkled in it.

And you were still pretty like this, dressed in brighter colors and looking like the girls that used to bully you in high school, but it’s so obviously not you. More than anything, it irks him that you’re doing all of this for Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.

But Eddie knows that you’re nervous — he can tell by the way you’re talking a thousand miles a minute and checking your appearance in the mirror every couple seconds like something might’ve changed. He also knows that you’re still skeptical about this whole thing. Because you have no idea that Steve looks at you like the whole world could crumble around him, and he wouldn’t even blink.

You don’t know that you have nothing to worry about.

So Eddie figures he’ll wait to make fun of you. Save all his teasing remarks for when you’re gushing about the date the next day.

But you’re already aware of all this — how different you look. You hardly recognize yourself when you look in the mirror. You’ve traded in your shades of black for something brighter. Your blowsy hair is clipped back out of your face. Your makeup is more conventional and modest than you’re used to.

You look less like the freak you usually are and more like a wild thing that’s been tamed.

You feel pretty. 

Or, at the very least, the idea that Steve will think you’re pretty makes you feel pretty.

It makes all the imposter syndrome worth it. 

You stand in front of the full-length mirror and tug the scratchy socks up and over your knee when they start to slip down. You rise once more, giving yourself another once over, then nod in approval — pleased with the costume you’ve put on.

A fleeting through with a mean, green, bleeding heart and a mind of its own scratches bitterly at the confines of your skull.

Eat your heart out, Nancy Wheeler.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

The ghost in you, she don't fade.

Steve, riddled with chronic feelings of inadequacy, overcooks the chicken and spritzes too much cologne on himself.

He had always been the kind of boy that loved things a little harder than he should’ve. 

Ask any plant he’s ever owned that he accidentally killed with every leaf he overwatered, frightened that anything less would be neglectful. He was always so scared of them dying that he suffocated them until they wilted anyway.

He thought he might’ve grown out of all that until he realized he did the same thing with Nancy. 

He squeezed her too tight and she squirmed at his smothering, called him bullshit and pushed him away so she could breathe again, then stomped on his heart until she was certain it stopped beating for her.

And therein lies the state of limbo Steve Harrington has lived in all his life — between loving something too much and not enough. He hasn’t yet found that balance that stops plants from dying and people from running away.

He isn’t quite sure how to be anything other than the man he is now. 

His conscious clings to your every move. He thinks about when he’s awake, and when he isn’t, he hopes he’ll be lucky enough to dream about you. He bothers you at work all day, then asks if you want to go for a ride when you’re off because he hates being away from you. The nights get too cold when you stray too far. And even though he’s never been much of a chef, he offers to cook for you because he wants to show you he cares enough to try.

Steve’s the kind of guy that overcooks his chicken because he’s terrified that you’ll get sick if it’s not done enough. He’s the kind of guy that douses himself in cologne, then breaks the bottle because he’s terrified of not smelling good enough. He wants everything to be enough for you. 

Steve Harrington, for once in his life, wants to be enough for somebody. 

But now all he is, is a stupid boy that never learns, who smells like he’s trying to overcompensate for being a terrible, terrible chef. 

When Nancy broke his heart, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to be this person again. Steve was scared he’d become someone he didn’t recognize — someone who didn’t care enough to water plants because, hey, they’re gonna die anyway, right? Because he gave and gave and gave, and had nothing to show for it but a stupid wilting flower.

Steve made a dark room of his broken heart. A boogeyman lived there, too. It made him scared that he’d never be able to love someone like he loved Nancy.

But then you came out of nowhere — this beautiful, loud, and mysterious thing that exudes every color of the rainbow when she laughs, despite her blacker-than-black wardrobe. You smile at him like you’ve never been hurt, like a sun that’s never known the night. It makes him feel like he can be that too.

The two of you seek a similar solace in one another. You fill each other’s voids without effort and without trying, like puzzle pieces or halves of an orange.

Steve met you and he realized that he didn’t get his ability to love from Nancy. He had always been a lover, a boy who could love something deeply, and that didn’t go away when she broke his heart.

And sometimes it was awful. It was painful and frightening more than it was anything else — love. It was doubtful and envious and distant. 

Love makes you selfish and creepy and uncharacteristically overbearing. Love makes you worry about your hair and overcook your chicken and drench yourself in cologne. Love takes a hell of a lot of hope, and that’s what he feels like when he’s with you — hopeful. Like he’s never been hurt before.

A surge of optimism and apprehension hits him like a bolt of purple lightning just behind his ribcage when the doorbell rings. Mostly because he knows you’re waiting on the other side of it. His hands shake when he opens the door, but not because he’s scared. He’s just full of hope and buzzing with its foreign intensity.

Steve finds the rest of his life standing on his front porch, dressed in all the trappings of his past.

You’re smiling wide when you see him, the same whizzing ball of hope that he is now, and clutching a bottle of wine. You’ve traded your usual grocery store alcohol for something bottom shelf from an actual liquor store. The sunshine grin you’re wearing is about the only thing familiar about you now.

With your hair pulled back, brows combed neatly to match the pretty makeup you’ve spotted gingerly on your features, dressed in foreign colors with knee-high socks and kitten heels — you look nothing like yourself. It’s a costume you’ve got on, still so pretty but pretending in some way.

It has Steve startled for a moment, thinking Halloween came a whole six months earlier and he never got the memo. Then he realizes you must’ve gotten all dressed up for him, even though you never had to. Just like he didn’t have to try and play chef to impress you.

Both of you are just stupid idiots who care too much, making it painfully obvious despite your best efforts to keep it hidden.

“Hi,” you grin sheepishly through a foreign, pale pink, and glossy mouth.

Steve’s too busy gaping at you to respond in a timely fashion.

The wind billows through your hair and sends strands of it flying in your face. And even though he can’t remember a time when you’ve ever worried about the wild halo on your head, you’re quick to tuck them back into place again. 

With most of it pulled back and combed with obvious intent, your face is left unhidden. Your neck and shoulders and collarbones are too. And you’ve got on this tight sweater and pretty skirt and tall socks that make your legs look longer. All of your usually concealed features are heightened. 

The dainty swipes of mascara, eyeshadow, and blush only accentuate them further, though your spots are attentively covered with foundation that isn’t exactly your shade. It’s a bit lighter than your skin tone, like you’d gotten it some time ago when you were still a bit paler.

You look less like the loud, plucky girl he’s come to know and someone more timid, delicate, and polished.

You’re so pretty he damn near forgets how to speak. His tongue swells and every word he could use loses meaning at the sight of you. But it isn’t you, and that only confounds him further.

It’s like you’ve covered yourself in body paint. The real version of you is hidden somewhere underneath it all, glimmering somehow more golden than the flaxen you’re playing pretend in.

When Steve realizes he hasn’t yet answered you, it feels like it’s been ten minutes or more. In reality, no longer than five seconds have gone by.

“Hey,” he greets finally, in an exhale that gets caught in his throat halfway through. He clears it and smiles shakily. “Hi.”

He steps to the side of the doorway and ushers you inside. He wipes his sweaty palms on his slacks when he thinks you aren’t looking, but you catch him in the act when you turn to face him again. Your grin widens and you trap it between your teeth.

“Smells good in here,” you compliment, walking slowly backward with your hands clasped behind your back.

“Thanks,” he accepts your flattery with an awkward hand on his neck. “Yeah, uh— I kinda burnt the chicken a little bit, but everything else should be good. At least, I hope it’s good. It’s kinda hard to mess up a salad, right?”

He laughs under his breath, then starts to ramble without realizing it.

“I’m not the best cook, as it turns out. I mean, I thought I could at least fake it, you know? Fake it ’til you make it, or whatever that bullshit saying is — but there is no faking the tornado I just had in the kitchen. I don’t think I’ve made a bigger mess in my life. But, uh, yeah… And don’t worry! I didn’t put tomatoes in the pasta. Or the salad. Or the sauce. I know you don’t think them, so…”

You’re in the middle of beaming and trying very hard not to laugh when he hits you with that one. 

Steve, like you, is having a very hard time shutting up just now. He’s in the same web of nervousness that you’re spun up in too. He’s all tangled and trying to weave words that make sense, though everything things his mouth in half-thoughts.

But then he says something so strangely profound out of nowhere, and it makes your pounding heart stop without warning. He’s just talking about fucking tomatoes, but you understand that — in some weird, roundabout way — that it’s much deeper than that.

You’d told him the mundane little detail in passing some time ago. At the diner, when you picked the fruit from your burger with a grimace on your face. You said it tasted like battery acid and tainted everything it touched. He took it back to the counter when you weren’t brave enough to. 

“Here you go, Punchy. Your battery-acid-free burger,” he’d joked when he set the fresh plate in front of you.

And he remembered all that. He tucked that tiny piece of information about you into the very back of his mind so that he could use it to make you happy later on.

That’s adoration at its core, you figure. Somewhere in all those minuscule remember-ings.

“You remembered that?” you wonder aloud in a bemused sort of whisper.

Steve has already moved on. He’s rambling about the broken spout of his cologne bottle but stops the second he realizes he’s doing it.

Of course, I did, scoffs the little voice in his head. I’m sorta obsessed with you, as it turns out.

He doesn’t tell you that, though, for reasons he finds are quite obvious — the most significant of which would be running you off entirely. So instead, he just shrugs and tries to be cool, despite having already established how terribly uncool he is.

“Yeah. I remember everything.”

When the two of you settle at the dining table, Steve realizes he’s eaten most of his dinners alone until now.

His parents stopped caring sometime around middle school. His dad got too busy with work, started staying after-hours to catch up on paperwork or screw his secretary. And his mom didn’t care because she was too busy getting wine-drunk on the phone with whatever book club friend that was just as miserable as she was. 

Steve would fork at his cold pad thai while he listened to his mother’s muffled rant about who went where and who wore a hat.

He couldn’t find it in himself to eat in his room. The empty dinner table was the only sort of stable routine he had in the swirling uncertainty of being a teenage boy.

But now he’s got you. 

He hopes he never stops having you. He doesn’t want to go back to being alone like that again, not after he’s found someone that can fill an entire room with their laugh.

The cackle you let out at Steve’s terrible, terrible cheese pun — “yeah, I guess you could say I cooked this all on my provol-own — echoes through the dining room. Even though he knows you’re laughing at him and not exactly with him, he figures it’s a small price to pay to keep hearing such a heavenly sound.

It reminds him of the real you, the one underneath all the foreign regalia. 

The rays of your usual sunshine peek from the clouds you hide behind. You’re way too bright to stay hidden.

Steve can tell you’re watching his every move. You eye him from across the table with the intent of doing everything he’s doing, lest you might do something wrong. He puts his napkin in his lap, so you put your napkin your lap. He cuts his chicken with his fork and knife, so you cut your chicken with a fork and knife — though you quickly realize you’re not quite as dexterous as he is for all that.

It’s endearing. The kind of cute that makes his heart hurt just a little bit. He hides his smile and happily abandons the conventional things he’d been taught to do. He eats with his fingers and then licks the pads of them, grinning when you giggle and do the same. 

It’s not something he’s used to — grabbing pieces of cut chicken with bare fingers and slurping noodles without having cut them first — especially not when he’s trying to impress a girl. But he can tell the lack of etiquette makes you more comfortable, and that’s all he really cares about.

He offers you another serving once you’ve finished your first. You decline politely with the mutters of “oh, no, I couldn’t,” but he’s seen your appetite. You could down five burgers at the diner and not break a sweat if you’re feeling hungry enough.

It’s one of those little heart-wrenchingly adorable things you do that both shock and enamor him. But, for a reason he can’t name, you’ve decided that part of yourself was too deplorable to add to your costume.

Steve only scoffs at you in response. He scoops more chicken and pasta onto your scrapped-clean plate despite your refusal.

You’re grateful he doesn’t let you get away with your stubbornness. Truth be told, you were still sort of starving.

He’s just grateful you don’t think his mediocre cooking skills total a complete dealbreaker.

Steve tries to fight you when you offer to help him clean up the kitchen. He tells you to make yourself at home on the couch while he tidies up, ushers you to pour yourself a glass of wine and pick out a record while you wait for him. 

But you have issues with authority and take little fondness in being told what to do. So, in true Punchy fashion, you do the exact opposite of what he tells you to do.

You roll up the sleeves of your pretty sweater and stand next to him at the deeply set sink in his kitchen island. “You wash, I’ll dry?” you offer.

He doesn’t argue, only nods. 

He’ll let you take the blame for not wanting to be too far away from him. It’s easier than admitting his own guilt in the matter. ‘Cause sometimes his heart breaks when he blinks and he has to miss you for the faintest fraction of a second. 

“You seriously don’t have to, you know—”

“Stop saying that,” you scold and snatch the dripping plate from his hands. You swipe a towel over the ceramic with a meticulous ease. “I actually like doing dishes, okay? I do them at all time. I’m practically a professional at this point.”

“Yeah?” Steve laughs, shooting you a grin as he dunks his hand into the warm, sudsy water.

You love that stupid smile so much you’ve started to hate it. 

It’s soft and so sincere, just wide enough to reveal the dimple in his left cheek. The gentle grin drips with so much honey you can practically taste it. It’s so tender it makes you feel unworthy, so full of love it fills you with a distant rage that he might’ve looked at someone else with it.

You have to duck away from his gaze before he can catch you blushing. 

“Yeah. That’s, like, my one chore when I’m over at Eddie’s,” you respond with a shrug. “Because, you know, Wayne’s always working and Eddie’s… Eddie, and he really shouldn’t be trusted with anything remotely sharp or breakable, so…”

“What about when you’re home?” he wonders, simply for the sake of keeping the conversation going, but noting how the mention of home makes you tense.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, considering every time I go back, it looks like there’s been a tornado, doing dishes is just one part of the shit pile that I need to clean up, you know? My parents are usually on some bender — or still passed out from said bender — to take care of the place while I’m gone.”

Steve sees how distracted you’ve gotten as you keep wiping down a bone-dry plate.

“But, uh, anyway. Point is, I think I’m destined to have a career as a professional dishwasher.”

When your gaze flits back to Steve’s, he forces a smile at you.

He’s noticed how you always seem to talk about your best friend and his uncle without ever mentioning your parents. He understands now that it’s because they weren’t your family, not like Eddie and Wayne were. The small Munson clan was your home, it seems, and he fights to steer you back that way.

“So, you stay with them most of the time, then?” he redirects innocently as he hands you a freshly washed wine glass.

“Yeah. I think I’m pretty much Eddie’s personal caretaker these days.”

“Wow,” he marvels playfully, wide-eyed and grinning. “On top of being a professional dishwasher? You’re really doin’ it all, aren’t ya, Punchy?”

“Mm-hmm. I am a real jack of all trades, Harrington,” you joke back with a commendable finesse and flash a teasing smile up at him. The pastel-colored lipstick has mostly disappeared from your mouth now. You look more like yourself.

“And Eddie— he’s got this crazy scar on his hand from when he was a kid, and he was helping Wayne wash the dishes. He, like, blindly reached into the water or something and stabbed himself. Knife went straight through his palm.”

Steve winces.

“Yep. Now he says he’s too traumatized to help do the chores,” you reminisce with a distant laugh and set the glass upside down on the drying rack. “I don’t mind, though. I like doing them on my own. Gives me time to think, you know?”

“I’m standing right here,” the boy beside you scoffs, feigning offense.

“You can be the exception, Stevie,” you assure with a grin.

Maybe it’s the look you give him. Maybe it’s the nickname he used to hate, but now makes his heart skip a beat or two — or three. Maybe it’s all those things and the way your fingers brush his wrist when you move to take the pot from his hands. Either way, something shifts and he forgets how to use his fine motor skills.

The pan slips from his fumbling hands and yours and plops back into the water. The metal bangs loudly when it hits the bottom of the sink. Both of you jump back to avoid the splash.

“Shit. Sorry,” he apologizes, eyes scanning your form to make sure he didn’t make a total mess of you.

“It’s okay,” you promise with a gentle laugh and swipe the towel in your hand over your sweater to remove the droplets clinging there.

Steve scrunches his nose. “I feel like I might’ve just ruined my co-dishwashing privileges.”

“Just a little,” you quip.

You give him no warning before bringing the waffle-patterned nettle up to his cheek to dry him off, too. He flinches at the suddenness of the action but melts into your touch without thinking twice.

“You know, you have a pretty cool scar, too,” you tell him, mostly out of the blue, while you dab at the stubble on his jaw.

Steve’s gotten used to all your abrupt mannerisms and the way you flip-flop between topics with an expertise only you seem to possess. He likes that about you, though. There’s never a quiet or still moment when he’s with you.

“Yeah?” he hums back.

You nod and move down to his neck. “I felt it a while ago, during our Night of the Living Dead marathon—” of which Steve has no recollection. He can’t remember a damn thing from those movies, but can still feel the tingle of your mouth against his own. 

“—On the back of your head. Felt pretty gnarly.”

You switch the towel to your other hand and use your free one to swipe through his hair. Your fingers muss at his hour or more of hard work, but your touch is a far better reward than nearly quaffed hair. You weave through the chocolate strands until you reach a marred, barren line.

“Right… there.”

Steve, still buzzing with your touch, manages a breathy chuckle. “Uh, yeah. It’s a… It’s a really long, really stupid story.”

“Wanna give me the short version?”

The grin you give him is impossible to say no to.

“I’m a super klutz,” he summarizes with a shrug and a sloppy grin. 

He mourns the loss of your touch when your hand slips from his hair. “Well, now I have to hear the story.”

“It’s dumb. Like, seriously—”

“I like dumb,” you assure quickly to stop whatever self-loathing he was about to spew. “I’m best friends with Eddie Munson. I think I can take it.”

“Touché,” he chuckles under his breath. The remaining dishes are left forgotten in the depths of the soapy water when he turns his back to him. He leans his weight on the countertop and grips the edges of it in his hands. “You see, I did this really smart thing when I was a baby where I’d, you know, crawl backwards—”

“Crawl backwards?” you repeat with an incredulous laugh.

“Yeah. I’d push with my hands — beep, beep, beep,” he flattens his palms and presses them against thin air to demonstrate it for you. “Always in reverse. I mean, it makes sense, right? You gotta push to move.”

“Sure,” you shrug. A laugh tumbles from your mouth shortly after.

“Did that until I reversed my way down a flight of stairs and hit my head pretty damn good,” he concludes with a wince. It’s like he can still feel the pain sometimes.

“Wow,” you marvel. “So, like… When people ask if you were dropped on your head as a kid, the answer would be—”

“Yep…” he sighs, then laughs when it makes you laugh. He looks over at you with sparkling cinnamon eyes. “It explains a lot, doesn’t it? I think, like, right out of the gate, I’m super confident, you know? But I’m also a total idiot, which is just a brutal combination.”

“I have noticed that, actually,” you confess with a gentle sort of smile.

“Yeah?” he winces.

“Yeah. You do this thing sometimes where you get all… suave and cool,” you tell him, squinting and lowering your voice a few octaves for effect. “Like you’re trying to be King Steve all over again. And then you, like, trip over a stack of DVDs or something because the universe is trying to humble you.”

“That is a… really good way of putting it, actually,” Steve confesses with a laugh.

“I think it’s sweet.”

“Well, the good thing is, I get a big enough thump on my head, I can change, you know? I can learn. So, I guess I’m pretty glad somebody bumped my head before we met. ‘Cause things probably would’ve turned out… a whole lot differently.”

Steve watches your face contort from understanding to confusion. Your manicured brows pinch together and your doe eyes squint over at him. He watches you break down his words in real time. 

“Somebody…” you murmur under your breath. “You mean… Are you talking about Nancy?”

“Yeah, uh… She gave me a— a pretty big thump, you know? Worse than the one I got falling down those stupid stairs,” he tells you with a reminiscent smile. 

It makes you feel like a total idiot, standing in front of him like this — a carbon copy of the girl that tore his heart to shreds.

“I deserved it, though. I mean, you knew me back then, I was a… a total asshole. And sometimes, I think I still would be if she didn’t, you know… if she didn’t… totally rip my fucking heart out,” he concludes with a sad sort of laugh. “Now I’m kinda grateful she did. As bad as it hurt — as angry as it made me — I think, in a lotta ways, it made me better.”

“Better?” you echo quietly.

“Yeah… If she didn’t break up with me when she did — if I didn’t get that dumb thump on my head — I wouldn’t have changed. I wouldn’t be… here right now. With you,” he confesses, revealing more of himself than he ever has before, to a girl he wouldn’t have been caught dead with a couple of years ago.

He looks beside him at this costumed girl — at you — and he sees someone he probably would’ve given the time of day back in high school. The lack of dark, baggy clothing makes you look approachable — like you won’t actually bite him for coming near you like the rumors always said.

And Steve’s self-aware enough to know he probably would’ve treated you like shit back then. He would’ve fucked you just to fuck you, then only talk to you when he needed you to do his homework for him. And you wouldn’t have been the first girl he did that to either, and the thought makes him want to puke.

He’s glad he’s found you when he did. He’s even happier you met him where he was at, in that awkward in-between stage of growing up where you’re trying to be someone different while still finding comfort in staying the same. You never complained even once when he reverted back to his old ways.

And even though you’re standing right next to him, your chest nearly brushing his arm with every heavy breath you take, he finds himself missing you. 

You’re not you — not without the fun outfits and the crazy hair and all your rings that clink together every time you move. He misses how the metal felt against his skin and the way they’d get caught in his hair.

You’re still beautiful like this, but it’s a strange type of beauty. One that both of you know doesn’t belong to you. You fit into it like baggy jeans or a too tight shirt. You’ve squeezed yourself into a ball to try to fit into a world far too small for you, because you thought that’s what Steve wanted.

“I’d still be that King Steve douchebag… Partying every night, getting drunk out of my mind, never settling down like I…” The words get trapped in his throat. He clears it to force them out. “Like I always wanted to, you know?”

“Right,” you murmur, voice not strong enough to be any louder than that.

“So, yeah, I don’t know. I guess, in some weird, roundabout way, I’m just to tell you that I’m not that guy anymore. King Steve,” he admits and presses his hip into the counter to face you fully.

When you gather the strength to look up at him, you find his gaze already dripping with honey and staring down at you. He’s all soft and mushy and twinkling with the adoration he’s got for you. And when he smiles, it’s so terribly sincere and coated with a distant sadness that’s been playing on the edge of his voice this whole time.

“And I know you might still see me as that guy. I don’t blame you. Honestly, I don’t really deserve to be looked at any differently, not after how I acted towards you—”

“Steve,” you breathe out in a tender sigh. “It’s okay—”

He shakes his head to himself. His eyes squeeze shut when his chin falls to his chest.

“It’s not. It’s… It’s really not. I just—” he inhales sharply, chest deflating on the exhale when his gaze turns back to you. He looks sterner now, but still so tender. “I just want you to know that I’ve changed, okay? I am changing. And I don’t want you to think I’m the kinda guy you have to change yourself for.”

When the weight of his words finally hits you, it feels a bit like being punched in the stomach.

It knocks all the wind out of you and makes it hard to think about anything other than the sudden loss of breath. Like a kid who’s fallen off the monkey bars and flat onto their back, you can’t do anything but writhe through the ache and hope you’ll be back to normal soon.

You got dressed that evening thinking you were the master of deception. You perfected your subterfuge and awaited Steve’s inevitable swooning because you looked like all the other girls he’d fallen in love with. 

But he sees through every inch of your pretending with his secret x-ray powers, and now you’re just a stupid girl standing in front of him, soaking wet with embarrassment.

It’s a little like when he and Tommy and all his basketball goons would make fun of you. They’d talk about you like you weren’t there while they tossed tiny crumbled up pieces of paper into your hair so they could watch you struggle to get them out. But, at the same time, it’s not like that at all. Because now he’s apologizing, and telling you that he likes you, and that you never had to change a single damn thing for him at all.

You’re equally as self-conscious, though, and feeling like a total idiot for thinking you could even pretend to be halfway normal.

“Oh…” is the only thing that leaves your mouth in that moment. Your mind is still going a million miles a minute. You want to blurt out an apology and an explanation all at once, while simultaneously turning into a puddle at his feet and disappearing entirely.

But rather than break down, you stay standing. Too stuck in your head to feel all there.

Steve seems to notice your trepidation almost immediately. His eyes widen and his brows raise and his pretty mouth falls open to let all of his reassurances spill out. 

“And it’s not that I don’t think you’re pretty! You’re— You’re perfect like this too, but I just…” he inhales and takes the tiniest step closer to you, putting an unsure hand on your waist. “I like you the way you were before. And this isn’t… This isn’t you.”

You blink back stinging tears and turn your gaze to where you toe your Mary Jane’s into the kitchen tile. You go to twist your rings like you always did when you were nervous before realizing you’d left them all at home.

“I just wanted to be like the girls you like,” you confess quietly.

“You are like the girls I like,” Steve corrects with a gentle laugh. “‘Cause I like you.”

Your eyes are all glassy when they flit back up to his. 

Even though you don’t look quite like yourself, the way you look at him hasn’t changed. You still gaze at him like you can see right through the nice hair and the dumb smirks and the stupid persona he puts on when he doesn’t feel good enough the way he is. You look at him like you’re in love with the boy he tries like hell to keep hidden.

The exact same way he looks at you.

“I think I just got a little spooked. Girls like me aren’t supposed to end up with guys like you.”

“I stopped believing in that shit a long time ago,” he admits with the shake of his head. “The whole soulmates-love-at-first-sight thing, it’s all… bullshit. If I’m gonna love someone, I’m gonna do it on purpose.”

Steve watches the lingering sadness in your eyes ebb to something sunnier. Your gaze sparkles and suddenly you’re beaming at him, not bothering to conceal the effect his words have on you. You don’t think you could even if you wanted to.

“I like that,” you murmur in approval, then more loudly proclaim: “Screw soulmates! Let’s start loving people on purpose!”

The two of you laugh about this promise you’ve just made to each other without really saying it to each other. It sort of goes unsaid — if I’m gonna love you, I’m gonna do it on purpose and let’s love each other on purpose. That’s what you mean, and neither of you has to say it out loud because you get it. 

It’s that exact realization that makes Steve’s heart flutter something fierce. Suddenly, the urge to touch you becomes too great to bear. He wants to feel you like he did on the couch of his theater room, when a film he could barely recall crackled in the background because the feel of you was too loud for him to hear anything else.

He needs you like that again, on him and all over him. The ache is a palpable one.

The boy squeezes your waist again, as though to remind you he was still there. Or, perhaps, to remind himself that you were still there —the real thing and not something his brain conjured up.

“It’s not totally insane how bad I want to kiss you right now, is it?” he wonders quietly to you. The low, sultry nature of his voice is not at all forced like it usually is when he’s trying most desperately to flirt with you. His words are just naturally weighed down by his desire for you.

You shake your head in a silent promise, then command through a grin, “Kiss me stupid, Harrington.”

Steve doesn’t waste a second.

He’s been anxiously awaiting his chance to touch you all night. He does so now with a vigor that makes you feel all of that anticipation. With one hand on your waist and the other cupping your jaw, you can feel his buzzing skin as it presses against your own — like the static of a television screen. His fingers settle between the strands of your hair while his thumb absentmindedly rubs along your cheekbone. 

The softness of his touch makes you hum against his mouth.

His lips are familiar like home — more than, because sometimes you think you’ve never really had one. 

There’s never been a cozy, warm, and tender place where you could rest your tired bones. Eddie’s trailer, maybe, but it wasn’t yours. No matter how often you slept within the four walls of his bedroom, no matter how hard you pretended like you’d lived there all your life, it would never belong to you.

But Steve could. 

Steve could be yours.

And you wouldn’t even have to pretend either. It would be for real this time.

His mouth was welcoming and pleasant and gentle, far more than you’ve ever gotten out of four walls and a roof. The plush pink of his lips — the cushion of his bottom one you like to dig your teeth into and the rough pad of his tongue that explores your mouth like undiscovered territory — is perhaps the softest thing you’ve ever known.

Even when he kisses you harder and guides you until your back is pressed against the edge of the countertop, it’s still so, so tender.

Steve’s hands migrate to your hips. His fingers clutch the fabric of your skirt as he cages you against his weight and the counter, as though out of fear you might slip away.

Your touch mirrors his desperate one. You cling to him with a similar intensity, balling the fabric of his navy blue Henley in one hand while you waltz through the pretty strands of his neatly styled hair with the other. You let him kiss you the way he wants to kiss you, keeping your obedient mouth plaint for him while he opens your mouth wider with his tongue.

His touches turn bruising, and yours go soft like summer rain.

Steve holds desperately onto you, like any moment he could wake up and none of this could be real. He kisses you like he won’t ever get to kiss you again, having no idea that you’ve already started to build a home in him. 

Meanwhile, your fingers tips trail like drops of water down his chest and stomach. They settle at his waist, on the top of his belt, and linger along the leather edge of it. You’re not quite sure what to do next — if you should wait for Steve to say something or if you should go ahead and take the lead.

Your sudden hesitation makes him nervous.

Steve’s lips click wetly as they part from yours. He peers down at you through heavy lids, amber eyes swimming with honeyed desire. His lips are pinker now, and swollen from being kissed so ardently. His brows pinch in concern. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t w—”

You barely let him get the words out before you press your mouth to his again. Your hands twist at the collar of his shirt to bring him back down to you. You stand on the tips of your toes to meet him halfway. 

“I want to,” you mumble, practically slurring from being so drunk on his touch.

“I wanna treat you right—” he tries to tell you. Some of his words are muffled against your mouth because you find yourself totally unable to stop kissing him now. “—Take things slow with you.” 

You smack a final kiss to his lips. When his honey eyes flutter open again, he finds you wearing a mischievous sort of smirk. There’s an accompanying teasing glint in your glazed over eyes.

“You can do all that when you’re inside of me,” you promise lowly, bold in a way neither of you are used to. The brazen nature of your dirty words is foreign but no less exciting.

They make Steve’s head get all swimmy and his cock tightens as it stiffens in his slacks. His spine tingles with his borderline overwhelming desire for you.

“Have mercy…” he murmurs within a heavy breath, more to himself than to you.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

And love, is only heaven away...

Steve’s curtains match his wallpaper.

It’s a questionable blue and gray plaid that you doubt he picked out himself. The framed pictures of sports cars only add to the boyish flair of his bedroom. It doesn’t look like him, though. None of it does.

The only real trace of Steve The Hair Harrington is the poster of Christie Brinkley hanging beside his window, diligently placed right next to his bed. It’s a blown-up Sports Illustrated cover — a beautiful, soaking wet woman posing less than effortlessly against a palm tree in all her blonde-haired, blue-eyed, perfected-bodied glory. It’s the most King Steve you’ve ever seen.

All the minute details of his bedroom make you giggle.

“You have great taste, Steve Harrington.”

He grumbles in annoyance at your teasing as he clicks his door shut behind you.

“Well, you can thank my mom for my great taste, okay? She decorated the place when we moved in, like, forever ago. I just haven’t, you know, gotten around to changing it yet.”

“I can tell,” you laugh and turn to him with a smirk. “Really cool bedsheets, by the way. I mean, seriously. This is state-of-the-art design here, Stevie.”

It isn’t until he’s being pelted with your relentless teasing that he remembers he’s got dinosaur-patterned linens spread out on his mattress.

Steve typically likes to alternate bedsheets in between washing them. His plain gray ones would’ve perhaps been more appropriate for times like this, but they were in his hamper along with another set of plaid ones. His dino sheets may be immature, but they’re no less comfortable. It’s not his fault they just happened to fall on the week you were coming over.

“Alright, Punchy—” The boy rolls his eyes and splays two wide hands on your sides, pressing himself into you rather shamelessly. You wonder if the clothed stiffness against your lower stomach is just your imagination. Any other teasing remarks dissipate from the tip of your tongue as your eyes widen.

Steve notices your silence and smiles. “—You wanna keep making fun of me, or do you wanna make out some more?”

“I think we can do both,” you answer with a shrug, resting your hands along his waist. “I’m quite the multitasker, Harrington.”

“Yeah?”

You nod.

“Wanna show me?”

You nod again, smiling wider now.

He smashes his lips into yours again. You meet him halfway. It’s all too easy to fall back into the swings of things — the desperate mouths and longing touches. Maybe because you’re always desperate and longing for him. And, with the way he’s clinging to you now, you figure he must always be those things for you, too.

You relish in all of his little touches, in the duality of them. He cups your jaw so tenderly yet clutches your hip like he’s still trying to discern whether you’re real or not. Then his palms slide around your waist and up your back until he’s all but hugging you. It’s too sweet a gesture for how he’s prying your lips open with his mouth to slip his tongue inside. 

His hands settle, finally, at the very bottom of your sweater. They linger at them hem, not pressuring you to do anything, just waiting for you to make a move. 

You part from him to abide by his unspoken want. Your trembling hands work together to free you from your top. You’re more than grateful to pry the itchy thing off of you.

Steve doesn’t get the chance to admire the bra you wear. He catches a glimpse of frilly lace, but there’s little time to praise your topless form before you’re pulling him into another searing kiss. It’s full of tongue and teeth now, far more hungry that just moments ago. Your fingers slither through his hair and curl in the strands. You keep him firmly locked against you as his lips trail down your neck.

He finds your most sensitive spot in record time — the one just under your jaw, right beside your racing pulse. Your legs nearly give out when his tongue runs over it. A breathy moan exhales from your mouth before you can stop it and you feel him smile against your neck. He doesn’t comment on it, just keeps kissing you there in the hopes that you’ll do it for him again.

You do.

Steve sucks and nips at your delicate skin, and you revel in the feeling of his mouth. Head thrown back, you let him paint your neck in varying shades of red. Some will disappear come morning; others will darken into souvenirs for you to admire for the next few days.

The thought of him marking you drives you nearly as crazy as the feeling of his lips against you. 

You stopped trying to hold back your whines somewhere around ten of them ago. It was easier, you found, for him to kiss you and to let yourself enjoy it than be hyperaware of all the sounds you were or weren’t making. Steve seems to like it when you moan for him, anyway. Every time you do, he kisses you harder, holds you tighter, and hums out his own subtle moans against you.

He digs his teeth into your skin. It makes you whimper. The desperate, high-pitched noise fades into a lower moan when the rough pad of his tongue rushes out to soothe the bite. He moves on to kiss you elsewhere. You shiver when your spit-slicked skin meets the cool air.

You don’t notice that you’ve hitched your leg up his hip until you feel his warm hand on your thigh to hold it up for you. His fingers inch up until the tips of them rest beneath the hem of your skirt.

You don’t bother to hide how much you want him.

He doesn’t bother to hide how badly he needs you close.

“Wanna make you feel good,” he mumbles into your neck, smiling when his words make you whine. “Can I make you feel good?”

You nod when the words get stuck in your throat.

He parts from you for the first time in several minutes. His heavy gaze meets your own. “Can you say it for me?” he asks, not teasing you, just wanting to make sure you want this. Him.

“Want you to…” you start, then swallow when your voice is tighter than expected. You manage the rest through bated breaths. “…to make me feel good.”

Steve kisses you again, a long and thorough stamp on your lips, followed by several tinier pecks. Then his mouth starts its journey down, down, down your body, stopping only to admire your exposed chest. He’s more than pleased to find that what you’re wearing is hardly a bra at all.

It’s a sheer thing with dainty lace detailing. He figures it’s more for decoration than to push up your breasts. There’s no padding at all. Just a pretty tulle number that leaves very little to the imagination.

You watch him intently with a smile, enamored by how enamored he seems to be by a pair of boobs. You never thought yours were much to ogle over, but Steve presses tender, wet kisses to them anyway. He takes the plush between his teeth, sucking on the delicate skin to leave a blossoming bruise there. He only trails further down when he’s satisfied with the mark he’s branded you with.

Steve falls to his knees with a soft thud upon the carpeted floor. The faint sound is much more obvious in the quiet of his bedroom. He looks somehow prettier below you — soft and delicate and sweet like chocolate syrup or marshmallow fluff. But he’s still got this air about him, something stern and domineering, that tells you he’s still got all the power.

He presses a kiss to your thigh, just above the top of your sock, then several more further up. His fingers raise the fabric of your skirt the higher his lips travel. And, strangely, you’re not all that nervous about being half-naked in front of him. It’s hard to be when he’s kissing you like you’re a beautiful thing that deserves to be touched so tenderly.

Steve keeps pushing up your skirt and stills when he reaches the apex of your thigh, right where the top of it meets the joint of your hip.

Your underwear doesn’t match the bra you’re wearing, he finds. It’s orange all over and spotted with bats — the color has faded slightly, like you’d bought them some number of Halloweens ago.

It’s endearing. Everything about you is endearing. Even when you aren’t trying.

“Hold it up for me, yeah?” he asks you with your skirt in his hands.

It shouldn’t surprise him when you do the exact opposite. You step back from him to shove the thing down your legs, then leave it in a pool of forgotten fabric on his bedroom floor when you gravitate towards him all over again. 

His hands rise to your outer thigh and rub soothingly along the warmed skin. You wonder if he can feel the goosebumps pebbling there. The smirk he flashes up at you tells you that he does.

He’s got a twinkle in his eye when he teases you. “Really cute underwear, by the way.”

“I was obviously very prepared for this,” you retort with ease, making fun of yourself just as effortlessly as you can make fun of him.

“I like them,” the boy assures. “I really like them. Very on brand, Punchy.”

“Would you like me better out of them?”

Your arched brow and knowing smirk, kept caged between your teeth, is met with a bemused gaze. Steve’s eyes go wide at your forwardness.

“Uh, yeah— I mean… yeah,” he nods with a breathless chuckle. Then, more sincerely says, “Only if you still want to.”

You scoff at his timidity, though it’s more at yourself than him. “Look at me, Steve,” you answer plainly, motioning to your half-naked form and the damp spot forming in your underwear. “If I didn’t want this, you’d know by now.”

Steve huffs out a laugh, just before pressing a chaste kiss to the black bow of your panties. He noses at the softness of your stomach while his fingers curl around the hem. He tugs them slowly downward, giving you ample time to stop him if you wanted. 

A part of him is still convinced that none of this is real — you, namely. Truth be told, he’s waiting for a smack to the face and a rant about how all of this was just bullshit.

It never comes, though.

Instead, he gets a sheepish grin and a sparkling gaze as you hold onto his shoulder to step out of your underwear. The giggle that spills from your mouth when he tosses them over his shoulder makes him smile. 

Your pussy is as pretty as the rest of you. It’s more manicured than he imagined for a girl as wild as you. There’s a tuft of hair on your pubic bone, cut down and shaved around the edges. It leaves your lips bare and glistening with your accumulating slick.

Steve’s all but salivating at the sight of you.

“You wanna put that mouth to work, Harrington, or do you wanna ogle some m— oh,” you try to tease him, all amused at how he looks like he’s never seen a naked girl before, knowing full well he’s seen plenty. But your taunts evaporate from your tongue when he finally puts his mouth on you. They ebb into a breathy, high-pitched moan.

The tip of his chiseled nose smushes against you while he licks at the rest of your pussy with a practiced tongue. 

It’s more than obvious he’s done this before. Enough to have become a borderline professional at it. He finds your sensitive button within seconds and with minimal effort. Your legs are already buckling, practically turning to jelly, and he’s only just started. 

He latches onto your lips with a swollen pink mouth. His warm, wide hands wrap around the backs of your thighs to keep you steady and anchored against him.

Steve kisses your cunt like he’s making out with you. He opens and closes his mouth in slow, rhythmic motions, rutting his tongue along your glistening skin all the while. He’s sloppy with intention. Every touch is meticulous. He’s trying to figure you out, trying to learn what you like the most and what makes you moan the loudest for him.

Steve’s attentive. He’s ambitious and ardent. It’s like he enjoys kissing you down there, and not like he’s doing you a favor so he can get something in return. He moans against you like it’s every bit as pleasurable for him, as it is for you.

He alternates his efforts while he discovers you like unexplored territory.

You giggled like it tickled you when he stuck his tongue into your cunt the first time, then moaned when his nose nudged your clit. “Your mouth is so good,” you’d praised through bated breaths, but your whines had gotten too quiet for his liking. He opted to give his tongue a break and latch his slick lips to your swelling clit.

You liked it most when he sucked you there. At least, he figures you must, with the way your mouth parts in a silent cry and your hands dart to his hair to push him further into you.

“You like that?” Steve asks you, just to be sure. He pulls enough away so the words are intelligible, but still close for you to feel the vibrations of them against your skin.

“Yes,” you answer in a broken sigh.

Steve barely lets you answer before he’s licking a flat stripe up the length of your pussy. He slows methodically when the tip of his tongue catches your puffy clit, just so he can see your legs tremble. They do, rather intensely so, and he revels in the way your thighs quiver at his temples.

He wishes he’d laid you down before putting his mouth on you. He regrets not getting to spread you open, to part your soft folds with his thumbs, and admire you the way you deserve to be admired. 

But to be under you this way is a reward in itself. To get on his knees for you, to let you grind your hips against his face, it’s heaven. He never wants to stop feeling you this way.

“Please, Steve…” you moan breathlessly. “Please, please, please.”

You plea like it’s a mantra. Your voice grows tighter and tighter the closer you get to your peak. 

Steve’s not entirely what you’re begging for. You’re not either, really. You just know that the pleasure is swelling. The wringing knot in your stomach is close to snapping. The thought alone is borderline overwhelming. You want to run away from the crescendoing feeling and keep it locked against your pussy all at once.

“Steve… Steve, please. I’m— fuck.”

“You can take it,” he promises, speaking the words into your cunt. His lips smack when he pulls away from you, just for a moment to catch his breath. His chest heaves and his tongue darts to graze his bottom lip. “It’s yours, baby. Just take it—”

You’re a goner the second he wraps his lips around your clit again. He suckles there like his life depends on it. Your hips twitch and you tug at his hair when you come, perhaps a bit rougher than you realize. Steve delights in the burn at his scalp. He groans shamelessly into you, a hearty grumble that rolls over every inch of your body.

You make the mistake of looking down at him in the midst of your undoing. You bring your chin down to your chest and open your fluttering eyes to peer down at the boy below you. He’s already looking up at you, you find, with his own bleary gaze. His cinnamon eyes glitter up at you and you melt for him.

Something about the sight of Steve on his knees for you, face snug against your cunt, and gaze lidded with desire makes you keen. Your hips flex, then still against his mouth while you gush for him.

“There you go,” he murmurs against your cunt. “There you go, baby.”

A high moan gets hung in your throat at his praise. It escapes in a delicate cry when your orgasm pummels into you full throttle. You’re whining and terribly sensitive when the buzzing feeling starts to ebb.

Steve laps at your weeping cunt while you writhe. 

He knows to leave your throbbing clit alone now, but seeks to prolong your pleasure in other ways. He gathers the honey you leak from your pulsating hole with an eager tongue and doesn’t relent until you’re twitching away from him. Only when you’re tugging him off by his hair is he satisfied.

Then he goes effortlessly soft again.

He presses little kisses to the burning flesh of your thighs and runs his palms along the backs of them to coax you back to the earth again.

When your cries fade to more contented sighs and your eyes find his again, he smiles sweetly up at you. Too sweetly. He shouldn’t be grinning so tenderly, not when his lips and chin and nose glisten with your slick.

Steve wipes his mouth with the back of his hands as he rises to his full height in front of you.

“Was that… Was that good for you?” he wonders, suddenly sheepish like he wasn’t lapping at your pussy a minute or more ago.

“Are you kidding?” you retort, trying to laugh at him. All that comes out is a fatigued scoff. Your hands twist in the fabric of his shirt and you lean heavily against him when his arms wrap around you again. “I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life.”

That nearly does him in right then.

He leans to press a languid kiss to your mouth. There’s a foreign musk to his tongue now that wasn’t there before. You hum a moan against him when you realize it’s you that you’re tasting.

“Can I suck you off?” you blurt.

Steve freezes. 

There’s hardly a thing he wants more than to feel your warm mouth on his cock. He’s been hard and aching since the second he got you into his bedroom. And that’s exactly why he knows he won’t last.

He usually jerks off before dates for that exact reason. At least, King Steve did because King Steve knew wherever he was going, he was getting laid. He wouldn’t have the reputation he did if he only lasted eight seconds.

He would’ve gotten himself off before you came around, made sure he was able to last as long as you needed him to if he’d expected you to need him at all. But he wasn’t expecting any of this to happen — especially not for you to come against his mouth and ask to give him a blowjob minutes later. 

He didn’t invite you to dinner in the hopes you’d put out after. Call him old-fashioned, but he enjoys spending innocent time with you. He would’ve been more than happy to cook you dinner and kiss you on the cheek before you left.

But here you are, wanting more.

You never stop surprising him.

“I mean, it’s only fair, right?” you shrug at his silence. “You deserve to get off too.”

“You don’t have to. Not just because I did it for you—”

“I’ve been hearing about your dick since the tenth grade. I’m pretty sure I’m the only girl in the class of ’85 that hasn’t seen it. The least you can do is let me give you a measly blowjob,” you confess lowly.

Steve, knocked senseless at your words, starts working his belt off without a second thought. His hands fumble with the buckle while he smirks at you. “Yeah? What have you heard?”

“Oh, you know. The usual,” you answer vaguely and saunter the short distance to his bed. You plop down on the edge of it and lean your weight on your palms. “Just that you have a monster-sized dick and that Marianne from Soc nearly broke it when you took her virginity.”

“That was a rumor!” he defends as he steps out of his jeans. His shirt goes next. He pulls the thing up and over his head with an admirable sort of finesse, leaving his toned torso and hairy chest on display for you. 

“The monster-sized dick or the Marianne from Soc thing?”

He doesn’t entertain with an answer, just drops his boxers and lets you figure it out for yourself. 

His cock is already hard and glowing a faint strawberry color at the tip with neglect. It curves to his right hip and hangs there, weighed down by its own size. The hair upon his pubic bone rises to meet the happy trail on his lean stomach, trimmed slightly but still a bit wild. Tanned skin, heavy balls, and a singular vein that trails like a river from the base to the head — Steve Harrington’s got the prettiest dick you’ve ever seen.

You don’t even realize you’re gawking at him because you’re too busy trying to figure out how either could be rumors. You’re looking at beast right now, a wild thing that tiny, little Marianne from Soc certainly couldn’t handle. You’re not even entirely sure if you can.

Steve blanches at your hesitation. He sees you retreat into your head and rushes to bring you back. “Hey, we don’t have to… We don’t have to do this if you do want to. We don’t have to do any of this if—”

“I want to,” you assure quickly, eyes widening when you realize how quiet you’d gone. You can imagine how mortifying it must’ve been, for him to get naked in front of you and be met with total silence. “You just… have the biggest dick I’ve ever seen.”

His concern ebbs to a relieved smile. “Well, thanks for stroking my ego, princess.”

“I would love to stroke something else,” you quip with a playful grin that’s far too proud of such a dumb joke.

Steve rolls his eyes but doesn’t bother to hide his smile. 

He wants it on record, though, that he’s not grinning at your mindless innuendo. It wreaks too much of Eddie. You both seem to possess a similar sort of humor in that way, in how you can make anything into a joke — particularly a dirty one.

“Thanks for stroking my ego,” Steve would say and Munson would joke, “Well, we both know nothing else of yours is getting stroked, Harrington, so it’s the least I can do.” And Eddie would’ve been right. But Steve would never let him know that.

The boy settles in the middle of his bed and watches with a glittering gaze as Eddie’s best friend climbs between his legs. She spits into her palm and starts tugging at his hard cock with it. Steve isn’t sure of what to do — if he should rub it in this boy’s face or keep this piece of heaven to himself. He decides on that latter when your lips wrap around his leaking tip.

You’ll tell Eddie about all this tomorrow. He’s your best friend, after all — Steve will be doing the same with Robin, no doubt. And that alone is a reward in and of itself.

Getting him into your mouth was easy in theory, but you quickly find that it’s a harder feat than you realized. Steve’s not just long, he’s wide, and the combination makes it nearly impossible to take him fully. 

You pay extra attention to his strawberry pink tip to make up for what you can’t reach. He seems to like that more than anything else. Pearly pre-come leaks from there and you happily lap up his dribbling honey. Steve shudders every time your tongue meets his mushroom tip. His cock keeps drooling for you, so you keep doing it.

You work the rest of him with your palm, made slippery with your spit. Your free hand anchors around his thigh.

The combined effort isn’t something Steve’s particularly used to. 

Most girls choose one or the other. They either try to swallow him whole or opt to use their hands when they know that they can’t. That is, if they even want to suck him off at all. The foreign attention you give him drives him to the edge embarrassingly quickly.

“Hey, we should, uh— we should maybe stop,” he cautions tightly.

You detach from the head of his dick with a soft pop, but keep working him slowly with your palm. Your brows pinch together with concern. “You okay? Is it not… Is it not good?”

“What? No! It’s not— It’s not that. It’s great. That’s the… That’s sorta the problem,” Steve assures with an awkward laugh. “I’m not gonna… I probably won’t last much longer. And if you wanna… you know…”

“Fuck?” you finish for him with a teasing grin.

“Yeah. Then we should, you know, maybe stop now.”

Your hand stills at the base of his cock. Steve can finally breathe without the worry of bursting entirely.

“I mean, we can stop if you want to. You know, no pressure or anything, but… I don’t mind. I was sorta looking forward to you coming in my mouth.”

And how the hell was Steve ever going to say no to that — to you? He’s never denied you of anything before, and with that godawful track record, he wasn’t exactly equipped to start now.

Your mouth wraps around him again. You kitten lick at his tip and moan at the musky taste before sucking at his blushing head.

It feels good — it feels great — but he’s plagued with a lingering worry. 

He wants so desperately to fuck you, more than he needs to breathe, it feels like. But your mouth is too perfect a thing to deprive himself of. He’s scared it’ll take him too long to get hard again, or worse, that he won’t be able to at all. 

The thought of embarrassing himself in front of you, of not making you feel as good as he wants to make you feel, is an unbearable one.

There’s no way he’s stopping you, though. How can he when you’re sucking him off like your life depends on it? Your hand tugs and squeezes at the base of his cock while your tongue laps at his drooling tip. And on top of all that, you moan against him like making him feel good is making you feel good, too.

“Holy shit,” Steve forces through a tightening throat when your tongue dips just below his head to lick where the pale blue vein fades. His neck stretches as he digs the crown of his head into the pillow, revealing all of the pretty tendons you want to sink your teeth into.

“Your mouth is— fuck… Your mouth is fucking perfect, babe, shit.”

All of his little reactions spur you forward. 

You want him to keep praising you. You want to keep making his legs shudder and his hips twitch and his cock jerk in your mouth. So you double your efforts, just to hear more of his pretty whines that get stuck in his throat.

When you duck your head to pay the same amount of attention to his balls, Steve’s a total fucking goner.

His hands, both of which were obediently fisting the bedsheets, immediately dart to your hair when you suck his sack into your mouth. One warm palm cradles your jaw while the other clings to the back of your hand. He doesn’t push you or force you to take him further — he just holds you.

“I’m gonna come,” he grunts before a groan climbs out from his throat. His head falls back again, but he forces it upright a moment later so he can keep on watching you.

His hips stutter when you hum a moan against him.

“Yeah? Is that what you want?” he manages through heavy pants. “You want my come?”

You nod with his balls still in your mouth, then pull off of them with a pop to put his cock back in your mouth. 

Steve gives you exactly what you want no more than ten seconds later, spitting several loads of his come onto your tongue. It tastes like what had been leaking from his tip, just a bit saltier and far more potent with so much of it in your mouth at one time.

Steve’s thighs tremble around you and hips buck wildly despite himself until he’s given you everything he can possibly give to you. 

He allows himself only a few moments to relish in the aftermath of his swirling pleasure before reaching for the box of tissues on his bedside table. He rises to his elbows to hand you the napkin when his dick slips from your mouth. 

“Here, you can—” he says, trying to offer you something to spit into. It’s a habit he’d developed after the tenth or so girl refused to swallow.

You’ve already wolfed down his come, though, and wiped the excess at the corners of your mouth with the tips of your fingers. You don’t let a single drop of him go to waste.

All this time, Steve assumed he just tasted bad. He figured that must’ve been why no girl ever swallowed for him — not even Nancy, the only other girl he was ever really serious about. And they were together for two years. On the off chance she ever actually wanted to give him a blowjob, he knew her swallowing his come was totally out of the question.

Steve never minded, though. He was a giver more than he was anything else and he preferred most to finish inside. But now, with you, he sees just how much he’d missed out on. It feels a bit strange and unearthly levels of gratifying.

The boy breathes out a laugh and falls back against the mattress. The tissue falls from his limp hand onto the carpeted floor as he revels in his post-orgasmic haze. With his head still swimming and his legs still tingling, his glassy eyes find the speckled ceiling above him but don’t focus on anything in particular.

“Was that—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” he interjects softly. 

There’s no use in asking if you were good or not. Surely, you could answer the question just by looking at him. He’s a puddle of a man in the middle of his bed, pliant and at your mercy.

You giggle and slither in beside him, pressing your mostly bare body into his side. One leg wraps over his own. The warmth of your slick pussy lingers at his hip. You prop your head up with your fist while your other settles along his chest, busying itself with the tufts of hair there.

“That was, like, really good,” you praise with a sheepish beam. You wish you knew bigger words that might be able to describe it better. Really good doesn’t come close to explaining how heavenly it felt to come in his mouth, for him to come in yours. “You certainly lived up to all the rumors, Harrington.”

“You say that like we’re done,” he chuckles at your conclusive tone.

Your eyes flit from his face to his softening cock lying limb on his thigh, then back to his face again. You arch a skeptical brow. “No?”

“Not even close,” he shakes his head defiantly. His honey eyes flit between the both of yours. “I need to fuck you, babe, I just… I need a few minutes. If that, you know— If that’s okay with you…”

“You just give me life-changing head. So, yeah, I think I can give you a couple minutes,” you promise with a playful, but not insincere smile.

Even after having his mouth on you, and your mouth on him, you still like kissing him the most.

No amount of pleasure can sate the feeling of having him so close in this way. There’s nothing equally gratifying as sucking his bottom lip into your mouth or feeling the wet muscle of his tongue running itself over your own. You’d be more than happy to kiss him like this until sunrise.

Steve’s hands stay locked on either side of your head while he pries your mouth open with his own. He’ll occasionally pull back to admire your spit-slick, kiss-bitten lips for a moment or two. Then he’ll flash you a smile, like you’re a piece of finished artwork he’s happy with, before pulling you back down again.

You lean just over him, elbow digging into the pillow beside his head as you rest your weight on your arm. That hand twists itself within the strands of his hair, fingers lazing in the chestnut halo on his head. Your other migrates down his body, touching him with feather-light grazes to coax him hard again. 

His stomach tightens when your nails sweep over the thin trail of hair there. His stiffening cock twitches where it lazes along his inner thigh.

“Top or bottom?” the boy mumbles between languid kisses. His eyes flutter open long enough to catch the brief flash of confusion on your face. You don’t stop pressing your lips to his, even amid your uncertainty.

“Like bunks?”

Steve sputters a laugh against your mouth. He pulls away so he can look at you. “No, like— I meant, do you wanna ride me? Or would you rather lay down?”

“Oh. Shit. Sorry,” you stammer quickly. You figure the question must’ve puzzled you because no guy has ever asked before. This kindness is still a tad bit foreign. “I just— I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay. It was cute,” Steve assures with a smile so soft it has to be sincere.

“Um… I don’t— I mean, I don’t know. Is that, like, something you want me to do?”

His right hand leaves your face to find his cock. He wraps his fist around himself, pumping slowly to keep himself hard for you. “It’s whatever you want, okay? Promise. I just thought it might be easier for you if you were on top. So you can take things at your own pace and everything.”

“Yeah,” you affirm within a heavy exhale. You feel yourself growing wetter at the mere thought of being on top of him like that. You nod until the words catch up with you. “Yeah. Okay.”

It isn’t your first time being in this position, but something about straddling Steve’s hips feels foreign. You’re starting to notice that most things you do with him feels that way — new and strange and alarming. Even the most innocent things, the mundane shit you’ve done a thousand times before, it’s all brand new with him.

You twist your hand behind your back to unclip your bra. Steve watches you with wide eyes like you’re doing some sort of magic trick. When you toss the piece of fabric somewhere on his bedroom floor, he spits into his palm to wet his cock.

His eyes flit from his hand, to your glistening pussy hovering just above his lap, to your face. “You can, uh— You can rub yourself on me, if you want. You know, to get it wetter. I don’t have lube or anything. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’m…” you trail off. I’m more than wet, you’d almost said. That felt a little too overzealous, though, so you settle on telling him: “I’m okay.”

“You’re still on the, um, the pill, right?” he wonders, feeling a bit lame for remembering something you’d said in passing so long ago.

You complained once that birth control made you feel crazy. You said it affected your mood so drastically sometimes that it didn’t feel worth it to take. That was weeks ago. A brief conversation you’d left in the Family Video parking lot. 

You nod wordlessly in reply.

Steve holds the base of his cock to keep it steady for you as you pierce yourself with it. 

Taking his blushing head was the easiest part. The sensitive tip slips so effortlessly into you, just bulbous enough for you to feel it but not enough to stretch you out. It’s a Goldilocks just right sort of feeling that has low moans crawling from the depths of your throats.

Down, down, down a couple more inches and that’s when the ache starts to set in.

His girth stretches you in an unfamiliar, but no less satisfying way. As good as it feels, the burning sensation is a hard one to ignore. It’s like a fire, a distant one. It’s sort of like reaching your hand toward a flame while your brain screams at you to not get any closer.

It’s a lot like that, actually.

Your brain cautions you about taking him any deeper than you have now lest he might totally split you in half.

“Sorry— Sorry. I’m sorry,” you sputter suddenly, a little embarrassed that he’s only a couple of inches within you and you’re already having so much trouble. With your chin tilted towards your chest and your eyes squeezed shut, you refuse to meet Steve’s concerned gaze. “It’s just… It’s kind of a lot.”

“It’s okay,” he assures quickly. He rubs two soothing hands along your hips and fights back the urge to thrust further into you. You don’t see the gentle smile he looks at you with your eyes closed. “Take your time.”

A little over a minute and a pep talk later, you finally build up the courage to sit on him fully. Come, you can do it, your inner voice spits at you. Stop being a baby. It’s just a penis, don’t be such a bitch. 

Your face scrunches when you slide slowly down upon him. Steve expects you to stop and take a break for anothera moment like you’d done just before. He’s more than surprised when you try to take him completely.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You don’t have to— holy shit, babe— don’t hurt yourself— fuuuck.”

You breathe out a heavy sigh of relief when he’s finally sheathed within your pulsating pussy. A lazy, lopsided smile makes its way to your lips, delirious with pleasure and pride. 

Both of you exhale faraway moans at the new feeling, heads falling back on their own accord. You’re already more than gratified and you haven’t even moved yet. He’s reaching parts of you that most guys don’t on their best day, making you feel full without trying. Even without his thrusting, the minuscule twitches of his cock are already driving you toward an orgasm.

“Can I tell you a secret?” you ask him suddenly, smiling lazily at the ceiling. 

Steve’s adams apple bobs as he swallows. Then he nods.

“I’m already really fucking close,” you confess with a breathless laugh, face crumbling under the weight of your pleasure halfway through.

Steve chuckles, then groans quietly. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I am, too.”

You laugh together and your coinciding embarrassment fades like an ebbing tide. The intimate confessions affirm what you were already more than aware of — that the both of you are just a couple of lovesick idiots who are head over heels for each other and in so far over your heads that you can barely breathe.

You’re spurred on by the sight below you. Steve’s wild hair and amber eyes and swollen pink mouth make you ravenous. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, looking like the sight of you makes him hungry too, as you start to grind your hips over his lap.

He guides your rhythm with two wide hands on your hips. Your pace is slow, every roll of your hips is experimental, and he revels in every second of it.

You start by rocking back and forth over his lap, then by moving in small circles to add stimulation. When get more confident, you lift yourself up and down over his cock. He’s able to hit your most sensitive spot that way. Steve seems to like it too, because you feel the subtle jerks of his responsive cock.

He accommodates your every move — thrusting his hips in time with your bouncing, then flexing them to reach as deep as he can within you.

“That’s it…” Steve murmurs, mostly to himself. He’s not exactly trying to praise you, but his words send lightning strikes of pleasure to your pussy anyway. He keeps babbling to himself. “That’s it, baby. Take it. Just like that…”

You support yourself with your palms on his hairy chest when you double your efforts on top of him. Steve groans at the lewd sound of your slick thighs clapping over his lap every time you move down on his cock. Your cunt quickly drenches his lower stomach and the small thatch of pubic hair just below it.

You too easily forget that fucking is a marathon and not a sprint. 

You overexert yourself quickly in your attempt to rush toward an orgasm and the effects of your sudden fatigue make your legs feel numb.

“Sorry,” you apologize breathlessly when you’re bouncing slows to a stop. You collapse to your elbows, nose nearly grazing Steve’s, as you swivel your hips slowly over his lap. You try to laugh at yourself. “My legs are just getting a little tired… I haven’t done this in a while if you couldn’t tell.”

Steve smiles sympathetically up at you. His hands leave the plush of your hips to cradle your jaw. He gazes at you with a stern sort of gentleness. “Stop apologizing. You’re good,” he promises, then pulls you softly down to peck your mouth.

He rolls his hips up into you and grunts when it makes you whine. “So fucking good…”

Steve tells you to tuck your knees further up his torso and you obey without thinking. You tuck your face into his shoulder and let him cradle the back of your head with one hand while the other settles on your ass. 

He grips you there rather shamelessly, fingers digging into your plump skin, while he bends his knees behind you. He plants his feet on the mattress and thrusts up into you without warning. 

His pace is already a relentless one, having no need to work himself up to a rapid pass as you had. Being basketball team captain has done wonders for his stamina, it seems. He drills up into you and keeps drilling into you without tiring. 

He keeps you securely pressed against him all the while and you relax into his embrace, happily letting him fuck you in his own delicious rhythm as he’d done for you.

The new position stimulates you from all angles. Steve’s hard cock pounds into your weeping pussy. Your swollen clit catches the coarse hair on his taut stomach with each of his thrusts. Your pebbled nipples drag along his furry chest.

It leaves you a whining, writhing mess on top of him.

“You like this?” he murmurs in your ear through broken pants. 

He’s partly teasing you. He knows you mustlike what he’s doing to some degree because you’re moaning something fierce into his neck, peppering too sweet kisses in between your pretty whines. But he also wants to know that you like it. He wants to hear you say the words.

He feels you nod against his shoulder. “Yes...” You sigh, then whimper. “Yes, yes yes—”

“I knew you did,” he affirms. You can hear the smile on his face. You’re not sure if he’s mocking you or not. You’re not sure if you particularly care either. 

His stubbly jaw grazes your cheek when he turns his head to press a kiss to the burning skin. “Knew you’d like it… Takin’ my dick like a fuckin’ champ, babe.”

“Wanna be good for you,” you confess against his sweat-slicked skin, your voice high and wet like you’re close to crying.

Steve tugs at your hair, not enough to hurt you, just enough to pull you from the refuge you’d sought in the nook of his neck. He finds that your eyes are glassy with unshed tears, brows pinching and swollen lips softly agape. His amber eyes are just as wild, heavy with hunger.

“You are good for me, baby,” he promises and seals it with a searing kiss to your wet mouth. He means it in more ways than one and prays you understand. “You’re so good for me… Fucking perfect, babe— shit—”

His cock twitches in your snug slick when you clench around him. He tightens the grip he’s got on your ass and spreads you wider to pound harder into you. You hope his scorching touch will leave bruises come morning. You want to remember how it felt to have him touching you this way.

“Steve…” you sigh, helpless.

“Hmm?”

“I’m gonna…” you start, then whimper when you feel the familiar pleasure start to crescendo once more. It takes a moment for the words to return to you. “I’m about to come.”

“Touch yourself,” he blurts.

Your lidded gaze widens. You peer down at him, bemused by his sudden request. “Huh?”

“Touch yourself for me,” he repeats, groaning when the request makes you tighten around him. “Want this to be good for you, too.”

He says this like you’re not already in heaven. You listen to him anyway, though, and squeeze your hand between your slick bodies to find your sensitive button. You rub at your clit until your thighs tremble around his waist. You try your best to ride through every bolt of lightning the pleasure shoots down your spine, despite the distant fear that you won’t be able to weather them.

“Yeah, there you go,” he praises lowly. “Keep rubbing your clit for me…”

Your free hand stays locked in his hair. Your grip tightens within the chocolate strands as you near your peak. Steve revels in the ache, groaning into your shoulder when the burn at his scalp spreads. 

You’re already gut-wrenchingly close. You can feel the coil in your belly tightening, a struck chord crescendoing — and then Steve changes the angle of his hips. He flexes them suddenly and his thick cock probes something much deeper inside of you. Something that’s never been touched before — not by another guy or a toy or you.

It’s tender, and much more sensitive than your clit. Your vision strays for a brief moment as a white-hot flame of pleasure makes you jerk against him. You gasp sharply, then forget how to breathe when a moan gets caught in your throat. Your hand stills between your slick bodies as you freeze on top of him.

The wet cry finally spills from your mouth after several long seconds. It’s as long and delicate and wet as the orgasm you gush around Steve’s cock.

The flame burns red hot just before you come, then turns to simmering embers when your cunt numbs from the intense pleasure. You blink, and suddenly the fire is burning blue. The rest of your body becomes a casualty to the inferno.

“Yeah? Is that the spot, baby?” you hear Steve wonder. He murmurs the words in your ear, but you don’t hear them. They sound muffled and far away. 

You hope he doesn’t expect you to answer. You’re not entirely sure if you can form words anymore, or any actual conceivable thoughts. All you can do is suffer through every overwhelming wave of your orgasm that leaves you a crying and convulsing mess on Steve’s lap.

“Holy fuck—”

The boy slams his hips against you with a final, dense clap that sounds deafening in the quiet of his bedroom. Your gushing and fluttering cunt milks his cock. The feeling of your weeping pussy and the sound of your pretty whines throw him headfirst into his own orgasm. His thrusts still as he twitches within you. A moment later, you feel the subtle tingle at the base of your spine when he spits his come inside of you. 

His come paints your welcoming, rippling walls. It’s warm, like the first sip of coffee in the morning or fuzzy socks on cold feet. It blankets you in a sinful comfort.

Steve noses at your cheek while he rides the high of his climax. He rolls his hips slowly into you, much softer now that his cock has grown so sensitive. He clamps his mouth shut between his teeth to stifle his too loud moans and desperate whines. They’re forced to crawl from his throat as suffocated grunts.

You mourn the loss of not seeing his face while you’re tucked so securely into the nape of his neck. It’s a work of art you can imagine so clearly — his pinched brows and scrunched nose and parted lips. But you relish in the searing hold he has on you now, happy to hold and to be held.

The shuddering is slow to subside, especially from you. The aftershocks of your orgasm keep your hips spasming over his lap. Steve groans into your shoulder every time your pussy quivers around his softening cock.

And then the two of you just lay there. You hold onto each other and try to catch your breaths. With the both of you covered in a fine sheen of sweat, your skin sticks together with every tiny movement. The feeling of it makes you smile. You feel like the two of you really are melting together.

Steve’s fingers part from your wild strands of hair and take to tracing the expanse of your damp back. You hum in contentment at the feeling, nuzzling your nose up and down the right side of his neck. 

The moment is melted ice cream and early morning rain and marshmallow fluff. It’s spring mornings on the porch and warm breezes in the fall. It’s a soft and familiar thing that’s still so, so new.

You think you could spend forever here, if you had to. In Steve’s bed and in Steve’s lap and with all of Steve’s languid touches.

But sex is different when you’re an adult. 

When you’re a teenager, you get to be irresponsible. Carelessness sort of comes with the territory. You have sex in a dirty bathroom of a bar you snuck into and don’t think twice about the implications of any it. But as an adult with bills and a nine-to-five and groceries you’ve got to get once a week, all you can think about is how inconvenient a UTI would be.

“I should probably use the bathroom,” you murmur, already grieving the loss of his touch before you’ve even parted from him. 

You leave the safety of his neck to peer down at him. His heavy lids mirror your own. 

“I have this thing where if I don’t piss after sex, I feel like I’m gonna be, like, cursed or something. Kinda like when you break a mirror and you’re stuck with shit luck for seven year— or however that dumb superstition goes,” you ramble, voice heavy with fatigue and lingering pleasure. “Anyway. Yeah. Plus, I should probably clean up, too.”

Steve breathes out a laugh at your sudden prattling but humors you nonetheless.

Somehow you manage to pry yourselves off of each other — you, feeling significantly emptier without him inside you and Steve, already shivering with the lack of your warmth all over him. 

You separate just long enough for him to wet a washcloth in the sink while you piss just a couple feet away from him. The bathroom connected to his bedroom seems to be a foreign sight for you — a least, that’s what he assumes because you rave so enthusiastically about it the entire time. 

It’s all Steve’s ever known, though, so he finds it difficult to do anything but nod along with your rambling. More than anything, he’s glad you’re not as weighed down by the domesticity  of the moment as he is. Because he, for one, feels a little like he’s been hit by a freight train. 

Perhaps spending so many years all alone has made him sensitive to closeness.

You sit on the marble countertop and rest your forehead on his shoulder while he cleans you up. He runs the warm cloth along your delicate folds and wipes away traces of your slick and his come that glisten on your thighs. He pleats the rag and does the same to his softening cock and surrounding skin. 

It feels so strangely intimate, more than the sex somehow.

Steve tugs on a fresh pair of boxers and gives you a faded Hawkins Phys. Ed tee to change into. The loose fabric and baggy fit feels much more familiar than the costume you’d initially arrived in. He might be happier than you are, though, to finally get to see you in your most natural state — makeup sufficiently smudged away and ill-suited clothes forgotten on his floor. 

You crawl beneath the mussed navy comforter of his bed and smush your face into his pillow. “See? The dino sheets aren’t so bad, are they?” the boy teases when you hum in contentment. 

The mattress dips beneath his weight as he settles in beside you.

You smile but don’t open your eyes. “I’m just sleepy… Sue me.”

“It’s barely nine o’clock, grandma.”

“It’s your fault,” you argue, voice dripping with exhaustion. Your skin purrs as he reaches blindly beneath the covers to rub his palm along your forearm.

He grins softly to himself. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You wore me out, Harrington.”

“I’ll make it up to you in the morning, ‘kay?” he promises, then laughs when you smirk and raise your brows — eyes still shut. “Not like that, you perv. I was talking about breakfast. I make a mean scrambled egg.”

You tell him you’re looking forward to it, to breakfast in bed and breakfast in bed. He falls further for you somehow, despite his lingering disdain for your silly little innuendos. It’s the price you have to pay when you love someone, he figures, like when your crush gets a bad haircut or has shit music taste. 

It’s a quirk he welcomes along with your many others — your rambling and forgetfulness and social unawareness and inability to sit still. All your little idiosyncrasies weren’t obstacles he had to get over to love you, just more reasons for him to.

And it isn’t this one-sided thing, either. Most people would look at the two of you — at the dowager king and local freak — and they’d think he was doing charity work to love you. But Steve’s got peculiarities of his own. 

His best friends are a fourteen-year-old nerd and a closeted lesbian because they were the first two people in his life that didn’t judge him. He chews on the ends of pens and pencils, and his handwriting is shit because he never cared about school. He buys things without ever looking the price tag, then leaves them to collect dust in his room because he never really needed them anyway. He still feels the need to be the center of attention sometimes because the faintest hint of disregard makes him feel neglected.

These are all things you’re aware of. Most of them came with being the wealthy, popular kid from the right side of the tracks. And you liked him anyway — no, you liked him because of them. You adored him through all the heavy shit, and here he was, doing a shit job at pretending to like metal music and horror movies.

“Are you asleep?” Steve wonders after a few moments of velvet silence. He’s still looking at you, one arm propped beneath his hand and the other toying with your fingers splayed on the mattress between you. He hasn’t been able to stop looking at you.

“Almost,” you mumble in response.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Your heart stops at the innocent question, tired eyes flying immediately open and knocking you out of your fatigued stupor. 

All of a sudden, it’s 1984 again. You’re the weirdo who bites people and Steve’s royalty who’ll fuck anything that walks — and here you are, in bed with the asshole. For a moment, you expect Tommy Hagan to bust out of the closet with a tape recorder and for Steve to tell you this was all just some stupid bet.

It’s a pang of blue lightning, an ice pick to your abdomen, that lasts no more than a couple of seconds. 

Internally, you curse yourself for getting so worked up. You make a promise to yourself to work on all that — the regressing and the disbelief that comes with the not-feeling-good-enough bullshit.

“Yeah?” you finally answer.

“I don’t actually like Dio. Or Def Leppard,” he confesses, finding it hard to meet your gaze  like a child who’s been caught in a lie. He focuses on running his thumb over the irregular pattern of your chipped nailpolish. “And I don’t collect vinyls either, not really. I just… I kinda just said those things so you’d like me.”

And, compared to the web you were just spinning in your head, that’s nothing.

“Ooh,” you wince playfully. “Def Leppard I could take, but Dio? I don’t know… That might be a dealbreaker, Harrington.”

He only smiles because he can tell you’re making fun. “I could learn to like them, you know? If it means that much to you. That’s what we’re doing now, right? Loving things on purpose?”

You capture your smile with your bottom lip between your teeth. Your eyes sparkle at him when you nod. “Yeah… We are.”

“Which means you could learn to like football and Bruce Springsteen,” Steve jokes and shifts on the mattress so he’s closer to you. 

Your feet bump together, then entwine effortlessly. He plops his head on the same pillow you’re using. The proximity leaves your faces no more than a couple inches apart. 

You scrunch your nose, wondering if you should hide your disgust in his playful request or make a joke out of it. You don’t do either. “I could… If it means I get to keep you.”

“Keep me?” he scoffs. “Good luck, getting rid of me, Punchy.”

“Who said I wanted to, huh?”

“You will. When you get sick of me.”

He’s smiling like he’s kidding, but you can tell there’s an edge of self-loathing to his tone. 

Your hand crawls from beneath his own and settles on his stubbly jaw. You run your thumb over the cheek, effectively sealing your promise into the blushing apple of it. “I’m never gonna get sick of you, Steve Harrington.”

His brows raise. “No?”

You shake your head against the pillow, then shove the side of your face further into it when you get nervous. There’s a timid quirk to the corners of your lips and a more sheepish glint in your eye. “You don’t get sick of people you love,” you tell him.

Steve opens his mouth to retort. He wants to tell you that he gets sick of Dustin all the time, but that it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love the little shit. He gets sick of milkshakes and pizza and Cheers re-runs when he consumes too much of them in a single setting, but he loves all those things too. 

You get sick of things because you love them, he reasons, because you love them too hard and you hate how much you need them.

He doesn’t get the chance to argue any of this, though.

“Not when you love them on purpose,” you clarify with a sunshine-coated grin.

That shuts him up real quick.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #stranger things x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #stevie oneshot #st oneshots #punchy x steve

[sapphicisland]

There are a few things that irritate me about the way sapphic ships are treated in fandom spaces so I'm gonna rant about it:

First off I hate when fans pretend to ship a sapphic pairing because they want to get the girl from the hetero pairing out of the way of their mlm pairing. I'm looking at you merthur, jegulus, byler and steddie shippers. The thing is if they actually shipped the sapphic ship I wouldn't mind, make everyone gay it's better that way. The problem is when I click on the tab of the sapphic ship looking for some nice fics and see 600 works with 99 percent of them being background blink and you miss it mentions/appearances. I thought the reason the straight ship didn't work was because you just love this one sapphic pairing but I'm not seeing a lot of love right now.

My second gripe is with people who try to devalue sapphic ships saying they're just best friends, looking at you wenclair antis. First off people have been shipping best friends since the beginning of time whether they be two guys or a guy and a girl but when its two girls suddenly it's a problem. This also applies to the people always bugging catglass shippers like kitty isn't canonically bi with a crush on yuri. Which wasn't random stop saying that. However this is actually an example of the first point but switched around with people pretending to love yuri and her gf to get yuri out of the way so kitty and minho can happen but that's another conversation.

My third one may actually with the community why is it that two male characters who never once interact in canon can get over 20k fics but canon wlw ships fight to reach 5000? And when we do make similar ships to the ones I just mentioned they literally never leave tumblr. You guys will make 100s of memes and edits about ships but when I get to ao3 it's a wasteland.

The final one for now is how we can't seem to have more than one popular ship at a time like the stranger things fandom has three popular mlm ships coexisting but we can only have one and for some reason the queer bait ship always beats the canon one like wenclair vs yokovina why can't we have both. For the love of god someone write a solo yokovina fic I'll take a one-shot at this point.

Anyways....We need to do better people.

#wenclair #lgbtq #yokovina #lesbian #sapphic ships #steddie #jegulus #merthur #ronance #morgwen #catglass #byler #elmax

[heartsfourdazai]

Can I request a scenario where dazai and fem reader are hanging out together and suddenly some guy that went out with her once on a bad date sees them and assumes they’re together and is really sad about it and asking for another chance. Like lowkey embarrassing. And dazai is a bit jealous because “why didn’t she tell me she’s been going on dates?”

I just want a little funny Chaos with crushing!dazai.

when dazai has a crush on you - dazai x fem reader

synopsis: on which the osamu dazai had a massive crush on you; however he has no idea how to go about it and suddenly has an awkward interaction with your ex, who begs for you to get back with him.

a/n: when life gives you motivation, you use it all in one one-shot and never return!!

"what's your favorite ice cream flavor?" he asked you as the two of you were walking down the streets of yokohama. winter was finally here and snow covered what used to be green grass and the clouds were in the shades of grey and white.

"dazai, it's freezing!"

"ah, but that doesn't mean we can't have a special treat!" he grinned, quirking an eyebrow as he waited for a response out of you.

you rolled your eyes with a smile; "if you just have to know!!" you said dramatically, a hand to your chest, "it's pistachio..."

"you basic-"

"HUSH!" you clamped his mouth with your hand, laughing to yourself as he looked at you with a "GIRL WTF-"

"i don't care if calls me a basic bitch, THERE GOOD!!" he held his arms up in defense, "your words not mine!"

you slapped his arm once more as you both kept walking.

"are you going to pay?"

"didn't i tell you? i lost my wallet in the river, it belongs to the frogs now."

"osamu- that was 2 YEARS AGO!!"

"and those frogs MUST have a mansion by now!"

"oh my go-"

"but you, my sweet y/n, you must have some spare change to by your best friend in the whole wide world to get some ice cream for us??????"

he blinked at you with his fingers interlocked with each other and you sighed, shoving his face away from his own.

"i literally hate you..."

"you looooooove me~"

what he said may have been true; we'll, he hoped?

-

"have you ever wondered if atsushi purrs?"

you looked up at dazai; raising an eyebrow as you took a bite of your ice cream. "where does your mind go after work hours?" you shook your head as you chuckled; "wait, I'm serious. like if you scratch behind his ear, does he meow?"

as dazai went on and on about god knows what; you saw a familiar boy stand next to the store of the small ice cream shop...he seemed to be with other boys, around your age, and he was just kinda glancing over at you.

where do you recognize him from?

"are you okay?" dazais voice caused you to look at him quickly, "hm?"

dazai grinned, "something on your mind? is it my, witty charms? my gorgeous vocal cords, or perhaps-"

you shake your head chuckling at just how stupid your best friend is, "no- no, sorry. i just zoned out!"

he nods, not wanting to push further and once again started to talk about random things that popped into his mind.

after a bit, you notice the boy was gone however his friends were still there; you even recognized some of those boys as well. why does it look a little bit like-

"jeezus-"

"what was that?"

"i said "shoeless!"

"Y/N!!!!"

the sudden scream of your name from another man's voice besides dazais caused you both to jump.

you looked to your right, as dazai followed your stare...a boy who rushed over to you with blonde locks and baby blue eyes. he seemed to be in some sort of distress as he got on his knees.

"cody, what are you-"

"i'm so sorry i left you, baby, i was a fool to think i could find someone better!"

dazai was beyond confused as he said nothing but just watch. you glared at the boy who was on his knees; "cody, you cheated on me, and suddenly on your knees begging for me back?"

he nods, grabbing your hands as he looked you in the eye; "you were my everything, and i was stupid to believe i never needed you. I've been a mess without, i've let my hair grow up, i haven't shaved in 8 months, and i'm all alone!!"

"uhm..."

both you and your ex boyfriend looked at dazai who cleared his throat.

"y/n, what ...what is going on?"

before you could respond, cody shouts out; "YOU MOVED ON WITH HIM? what does he have that i don't? oh, OH, your into bandages?"

dazai gave him a "bitch what the fuck" look as he continued; "i can be better then anything he can be to you! i bet he doesn't even know what your favorite ice cream flavor is and got you one you didn't like!!"

"cody, i'm not dating anyone!!!" you blushed furiously, pulling your hand away.

both cody and dazai'a cheeks flushed, however dazai couldn't stop looking at you. 'you can date me' he thought to himself, but was knocked out of his trance as you dragged him away by the arm and said one final goodbye to cody, "your pathetic, cody! leaving me for a bastard who cheated on your ass as well because your a sad, cheating man who has nothing to live for besides eat and sleep all day long! at dazai has a job. you know, your right, he'll be a better boyfriend then you anyday!!"

and with that tou left the weeping man alone with his friends awkwardly standing there, giggling at the incounter that has happened.

as you and dazai got further away, you stopped and sighed. "i'm sorry dazai, that was so awkward! i never thought i'd see him again!" you rubbed your face and looked at the floor, but dazai chuckled and made you look at him.

"it's quite alright, y/n, but...when did you two break up? not that it's any of my buisness, but i had no idea you were even dating!?"

"you seem surprise, you believe a women like me can't pull a lover?"

he froze, "oh-n-no! not at all, i just- you know i just- well you never told-"

you rolled your eyes and punched his arm; "dude i'm kidding!!"

he chuckled, a couple minutes later the two of you decided to walk back home, however he offered to walk you home.

as the lights in yokohama lit up, the moon as set and the streets were quiet.

there was a calm silence as you both walked, the sound of dazais clicking heels caused you to always side eye him and smile. he's never walked you home like this before, he was always so talkative and have something to say.

"did you mean what you said, earlier today?"

ah.

there it was.

"you mean.."

"yeah.."

you smiled to yourself, looking at the floor as you stopped in front of your apartment. "of course i did, i'm sure you would try your hardest to be with the person you love, better then cody!!" you smiled, giving him a hug and waving goodbye.

"bye, dazai! see you at work tomorrow, I better not have to call you again so you won't be late!!" you waved, walking into your apartment.

"goodbye, y/n!" he waved, watching as you entered your apartment and your figure left.

"i love you..."

@justcallmesakira @atsquie @atlasnessie @riiwrites @ruanais @silverbladexyz @pinklacydovey @iisowks @haithamvoid-deactivated20240128

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd x y/n #bsd dazai #dazai x reader #osmau dazai #osamu dazai x reader #bsd dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #bsd dazai osamu #bungou gay dogs #dazai osamu #bungou stray dogs dazai #bsd fluff #my writing #bsd headcanons #๋࣭ ⭑ rue writes 🖋

[harusaki-hugo]

Hello! I uhm wanted to ask you if we can get another part of being like takemitches twin? Like specifically how the other gangs would react to you fighting and being a girl? Thank you 🫶💗

Fandom; Tokyo Revengers

Hcs; What's it's like to be Tokyo Revengers younger/older siblings .

Note; i didn't expect it to be this popular lmao. Also. warning might contain some spoiler for those who just start the anime. i thought about putting brahman too but it's still not out in anime yet. Also, you can my favorite and my least favorite here XD.

Being Takemichi twin sister part two:-

Black Dragon:

You just want to have one day without you being drag into Takemichi problem but no, you got a call from Takuya saying Takemichi got his ass beaten in church.

Just one day, but no, seem like holy spirit want to see you suffering because your mom told you to drag Takemichi back home so you guys can have dinner together.

So here you are, ignoring the fight happening around you as you go straight to the church. Yamagishi about to cheer your name when he sees the pissed expression on your face, and he start praying for taiju.

Imagine Taiju who about to punch Yuzuha stop when someone push the door open and yell out, "Hanagaki Takemichi!!" and Takemichi like, "Oh shit, full name. I f*ck up."

Inui already know who you are, he sees you dragging Takemichi back home one day by ear. See, he once tries to stop you since he wants to talk to Takemichi but you kick him between his legs, so he politely steps aside to avoid not able to produce heir anymore.

But Taiju is another story, he sneers at you and stop you from taking another step, "who the hell are you, can you see that-"

Just before he can say anything, you rush toward him, Taiju let out a small gasp not expecting you to rush head on. He throws a right punch, but you slip underneath him, clenching your left fist you aim for his family jewel and punch it hard that all male in the church share the same pain.

Taiju falls on the ground holding his crotch, he lifts his head up to yell at you, but you already pull your arm back, without any mercy you start repeatedly punching Taiju in the face, not giving him a chance to recover.

Inui now start thinking whether he should just join toman as he stares at you beating the shit out of Taiju, Kokonoi have a second thought about this event. And Taiju, he, well might need a ride to hospital.

"Takemichi sister is stronger than him." Inui say as he looks at you drag your brother away, " Wait, what?" Koko look at Inui with a wide eye, "Oh right, that's [name], takemichi twin sister." Yuzuha looks at the unconscious Taiju, "Well, damn. I think i like her more now."

Overal: Yuzuha now has a girl crush, Inui start planning on calling takemichi brother-in-law, Kokonoi will literally buy you anything because Inui like you, Taiju has a second thought; wondering if his siblings as strong as you will he end up in hospital sooner?

Bonus: Mikey who about to help the other stare in confusion when he sees you dragging Takemichi out by an ear, yelling and scolding him. He peeks inside the church and see Taiju laying on the floor, beaten up to pulp. "Gotta marry her someday." He thought.

Tenjiku:

Izana knows about you because Mikey like you, so he thought about, why don't we have a chat with you for a bit.

On your way back home from school, you see a group of males hogging around in front of your house. Curious you step closer to them and ask why they here.

Haitani brothers point out at how similar you are to Takemichi, which you answer with duh, obviously. But then you see Kakucho and you recognize him, you greet him saying it's been long time since last you see him. kakucho can't help but blush when you step closer to him because he *cough*haveacrushonyouonce*cough*.

Izana notice this obviously want the best for his servant and take the lead, he asks you a few questions. Mostly about your relationship with Mikey. Which the answers are no.

You sigh and tell them to leave you alone since you are not really an official member of Toman. You about to walk away when Ran stop you, without much thought you flip Ran over your shoulder making him crash on the ground.

Silence. Pure silence.

Izana being curious piece of art he is wanted to test your strength because why not? When you busy apologize to stunned Ran, Izana throws a fake punch at you, but you dodge it by reflex. Oh, now he really interested.

You two start fighting, well, more like you dodging and he is attacking. Much to the other surprise you manage to dodge every single one of it.

"What are you guys doing?" Takemichi who just come back from meeting Mikey look at you guys confusedly and worryingly.

You two stop the fight because Takemichi ruin the fun, izana word not you. Izana whisper something toward you before he walks away with the other following him.

'If Mikey want you then i want you too.' is what he whispers and you like, wtf? aren't you like eighteen? red flags much?

"[Name] never change. She still looks like her brother." Kakucho said out loud making them all look at him. "...That's a girl?" Izana asks, "Yeah? Don't you see she wear girl uniform?"-"...Well, damn!"

Overall: stay away from izana if you want to survive, kakucho want to see you again and maybe you two can get a drink together, Ran is intrigue and wonder if you are stronger than you look and Rindou wonder if you willing to go out with him.

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers #x reader #sano manjiro #taiju shiba #inui seishu #kokonoi hajime #izana kurokawa #ran haitani #rindou haitani #kakucho #hakkai shiba #yuzuha shiba

[pupyuj]

DID YOU SEE THESE Ah-

I love nerd reader x mean girl wonyoung BUT LISTEN! NERD WONY X popular reader would be 🛐

UGGHHH SHE WOULD BE SO CUTE?? 🥺🥺 you being one of those very rare popular girls who's actually nice and talks to everybody of any status including wony's nerdy ass 😭 instead of being strangers, imagine the two of you actually being pretty familiar with each other, having been grouped with projects and all that and she has like, a cute lil crush on you 💞 her blushing every time you chat with her before your classes start, and she definitely giggles and kicks her feet in the air in bed whenever she thinks about you... what a loser 😭

i like to think that nerd wony can be a bit of a perv too... like you would be texting her about some random interesting thing that happened earlier in the day and she'd have her hand inside her panties, massaging her clit and whimpering as she read your cute messages 🫠🫠 definitely gets off to your pics on insta too... fingering herself while looking at even the most innocent pic you have on your account, like you with a pet 🤭 has tons of sex dreams about you bcs you're all she thinks about 🤤 she even daydreams about you fucking her while you're talking face-to-face! she wants you to bend her over the desk and spank her ass so bad 😩😩

wony stays crushing on you in secret for a long time bcs she can't seem to build up the courage to try her shot with you ☹️ especially knowing the fact that she's ruined a lot of her panties with her slick just by thinking about you... wony thinks she's such a weirdo, but ofc you don't! but wony didn't know of your feelings until you invited her over for a party with some other people in your guys' program! wony getting so drenched bcs you kept putting your hands on her :(( whether it was her back, her waist, her thigh... every touch made her pussy clench, she needed you so bad :((( nothing actually happening until both of you are hiding away at some dark corner?? with you being so close to her, she just couldn't help but put her lips right up your ear,, "will you fuck me already, (y/n)?" and she wasn't even buzzed or anything!

and trust that as soon as your house is empty, wony will be all over you—like she's pulling you to your own room?? you didn't know she could be so bold! 🤭🤭 pushing you down to your bed, climbing onto your lap, grinding her pelvis against yours while she kisses you desperately :((( she's so whiny too :((( hands on your neck and longs legs locked around your waist, keeping you still as if you'd want to be anywhere else but with her 😩

see... you'd think that with how long wony has been pining for you, she'd want you to fuck her like she was nothing but :((( she actually loved how you were so soft with her??? giggling in between kisses, praises leaving your lips every second you watched her as you fingered her :((( "mmhm... you're so tight, baby. you made sure to save yourself for me, huh?" and she clenches around your digits even more 💞💞 covers her face with her hands when you show her your hand that was completely drenched with her juices 🤭 but she watches as you slowly lick and suck your fingers one by one, humming at how delicious she tasted... fuck, wony was horny beyond control 😵‍💫😵‍💫

never once broke eye contact with you while you went down on her 🫠 wony absolutely loved the look of hunger in your eyes, eating her pussy like it was the one good meal you'll ever have... "this pretty pussy's mine.. you got that, wonyoung-ah?" you whispered against her cunt before catching her little clit between your lips,, and the sight of wony's eyes rolling to the back of her head as she came undone on your mouth was such a turn on thay you ended up moaning when she climaxed... 😳😳

ok but like??? wony making you fuck her all night??? she's waited months for this, she wasn't just gonna let it be a one-night stand! you didn't complain when wony pleaded for your touch for the umpteenth time, however... you've crushed on her for a long time too, and this was just the beginning 🫣

#ive smut #ive imagines #ive x fem reader #ive x reader #jang wonyoung smut #jang wonyoung x reader #jang wonyoung imagines #jang wonyoung x fem reader #wonyoung imagines #wonyoung x reader #wonyoung smut #wonyoung x fem reader #girl group x reader #girl group imagines #girl group smut

[everythingne]

cloud circuit - ls2

Y/n Tiffany has always been a woman just outside of Logan's grasp. But a chance encounter at a bus stop and a new neighbor prove maybe somethings are meant to be. As long as he doesn't figure out her real name.

logan sargeant x business owner!student!reader

warnings/notes: I don't think I have any genuine warnings for this chapter specifically? me once again doing a slightly messy trope bc i live for drama

Logan had never assumed he’d be the guy to fall for someone the way he fell for you. It was happenstance, a complete coincidence, but you both kept running into each other. For two years. At least once a week.

He went on a morning jog? You were at a crosswalk he had to stop at.

He was running out to get groceries last minute? You were buying baking supplies.

He had to go visit Oscar? You were also on the bus he had to take.

He went to the gym? You worked at the joint coffee shop, book store, bakery, florist shop, place next door, Cloud Circuit.

One thing he always found though, was there was always a book nestled in your arm. From Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow, to The Silent Patient, to For The Wolf, you always had a book, a black pen, and a highlighter and tabs you color coded to the books cover. It was something so minuscule for him to notice, but when a girl in a busy city like London was constantly curled up in a book—even on the clock, it seemed big.

The first time you spoke to him, outside of ordering him his usual orders—either a matcha latte and breakfast sandwich for the mornings, or a normal latte (sometimes with some extra sweetener) and a pastry for nights, was outside of some department store. He’d dipped in to find a coat his soon to be sister in law was begging anyone to find, and was happy to gloat about having the red jacket tucked securely into his bag, when he spotted you at the bus stop. It was drizzling, and you were tucked neatly under your umbrella, book held open with one hand as you scanned along the words. He noted, however, you were re-reading a fully tabbed book. His gaze must’ve lingered too long because you glanced up and caught his eye, making a flurry of an apology tumble out of his lips while you laughed softly and tucked a bookmark in and shut the book. He watches you tug it against your chest, chafing it to the fabric of your rain coat as you spoke,

“I’m beginning to wonder if you’re following me, Logan.”

Your voice was like honey, smooth and sweet. Your eyes sparkling in the yellow light from the street lamp and a playful smile tugging at the corners of your strawberry chapstick covered lips. He felt an odd pull to you and even with knowing he really needed to get him and get on the sim with the guys…he moved closer to you and lifted his hood against the drizzle. Your eyes flickered down to the Miami Dolphins logo, the hoodie itself an old favorite of his, you assumed from how many times you'd seen it.

“I could say the same to you, miss…” he hums, and before you can go to say your name he grins, “bibliophile.”

“Miss bibliophile?” You echo, eyebrows lifting as a small grin peeks at your mouth, “you make me sound like a criminal.”

“Well, tell me your name and maybe you won’t sound so villainous.” He shrugs as the bus rolls up to a stop. He steps back partly, trying to signal he won’t be following you onto the bus, and you smile as you toss your name over you shoulder with a quick ‘see you soon!’ and tuck into the red bus that’s pulled up. And when he sees you settle in your seat by the window, and reopen the same book you’d had tucked to your chest he takes a moment to read the name on the hot pink cover--Happy Place.

He doesn't see you for a month after that, you're not in any of your usual spots, he can't spot you in any crowds, and he feels a bit dejected. It takes both Alex and Oscar getting on his ass for him to finally admit, yes, okay maybe he has a crush on this girl he's only seen from afar. He knows nothing about her, nothing other than where she works and that she seems to like romance books, he can name every book you've read, every book he's seen you groan and slam shut (and the one time he watched you throw out a Colleen Hoover novel at work) and he can name every time he's seen you and okay, maybe he's a little obsessed but he's in love, damnit.

He's coming back to his apartment when he notices a new mat outside his previously empty neighbors apartment. It's a cute one, a pretty blue color, and as he opens his door and rolls his suitcase in he swears he hears movement in the hall. But he closes his door before he can see anything.

There's mail piled on the floor and he bends to pick it up, some bills he was expecting, spam mail, and then a little handwritten note. He hums, taking the letter in his hand as he drags himself and his bags to his bedroom and drops everything without much care before falling back on his bed. He thumbs the letter open, looking at the pretty handwriting and then read whatever the words say as he tries to not fall asleep.

'Dear neighbor in 221,

Hello! My name is Y/n Tiffany, but you can just call me Tiff! I'm a current uni student and small business co-owner (Circuit Coffee!) who just moved in next door! I'm a double major, Sports Business and Marketing and Advertising and Branding. I have classes at all odd hours of the day, and two cats who like to scream randomly so I'm sorry if me leaving early and coming home late, or Forza or Turi are a bother! If anything ever annoys you, I can make a pretty good matcha latte as an apology.

I would love to get to know my neighbors, so feel free to knock if you hear me inside!

thanks xx

y/n’

It takes Logan two weeks to hear you inside. He's coming back from a race late, letting Oscar crash at his for the night when he hears music from inside your room. As he fumbles for his keys Oscar gawks.

"Someone lives there now?" He asks and Logan nods, opening the door.

"Moved in two weeks ago, names Y/n, I havent had a chance to stop in and talk to her." Oscar nods as he lets his suitcase fall from his hand and slump against the wall with a soft bump. When he sets down his duffle bag, the music next door paused.

“Do you want anything to drink or something?” Logan asks, moving to grab a water as Oscar throws himself down on the couch and calls,

“Please! I think I’m actually dying.” Oscar groans and Logan laughs, tossing a water bottle over purposefully when Oscar not looking—causing a loud groan from the other side of the room. Through the wall, Logan can hear conversations as he kicks Oscar’s legs off the couch and sits down next to him.

“What time do you have to be back tomorrow? I can drive.” Logan leans back on the couch and rolls out his neck, the hours of sitting still on the flight making him sore all over.

“Not until like five, and I can always have Lily get me on her way back from university.” Oscar mumbles into his water bottle before taking a sip, “you don’t need to drive so out of the way.”

Logan goes to say it’s fine before he hears a few knocks at the door, he pauses, praying it’s not the annoying lady across the hall who always is asking him to quiet. Even if he’s silent. He gets up, Oscar leaning back to peek over the back of the couch to see, and neither of them expect to see you.

"Oh! It's you--uhm, shit," You whisper to yourself before snapping and pointing at him, "Logan!"

"Yes! Yeah, hi, hello," He stammers, cheeks bright red, "it's wonderful to finally meet you in a casual way."

"I heard you in here for the first time since moving in so I figured I'd swing by to say hello!" You grin, rocking from foot to foot. Logan looks at you and his throat goes dry, he doesn't know what to say and his face is red. You want to say something to break the silence but he leans forward to pull something off the side of your hoodie. A tab.

"Reading something new?" He hums, sticking the tab to your palm when you hold it up, "Haven't seen you use blue tabs before."

"Blue's the color the company I'm interning for uses," You giggle, but then pause and flicker your eyes up to him, "Wait, how do you know the color of my tabs?"

"You're reading For The Wolf, if I remember right thats a red book." He says softly, then his cheeks flush red when he realizes it is kinda a weird thing to notice, "I-I... you just always have a book on you, I caught on to paying attention to it. Figured I'd read some to give you some sort of real conversation next time I saw you."

"Well, I recommend For The Wolf. The relationship between Red and Eammon is really... sweet but also kinda dark? It's a good read, I can give you my copy with my little annotations..?" You suggest and Logan nods and he rubs his wrist idly.

"I'm not a big reader but I'll read it for you." He grins and you hold up a finger as you disappear into your room, to grab the book and to hide the fact every word he said made your skin bright red and made your heart feel like it was running a marathon. When he turns back to Oscar he gets a confused look, but before he can say anything you've returned to set the book in his hands.

"Enjoy." You whisper, and as he thanks you, your hands snag his arm and use it to elevate up to press a soft kiss on your cheek before you step back. Smiling at him, bright red cheeks in the low light making his stomach swirl, you disappear back into your apartment. Logan shuts the door, presses his back to it and looks at Oscar.

"I think...I think I've just fallen twice as hard." He whispers and Oscar claps, pointing at Logan and calling him down bad from across the room.

Oscar goes to sleep in Logan's bed, being a guest and all, and Logan sprawls out on the couch. He can't help but crack open the book, finding your little key for your tabs in the front, he trails his fingers along your loopy handwriting and grins to himself. The book starts off normal, pretty innocent, but he starts to realize just whats beneath the surface. With a fucked up sleep schedule to help, he ends up making it about halfway through the book before sleep finally takes him.

And when he wakes up, Oscar's making breakfast and teasing him about staying up too late to finish the book. And truth be told, Logan hated reading, but when it came to you he found he was willing to try. And he found even when Oscar poked fun at him, it didn't feel malicious, it made a warmth in his chest spread. Not that he knew why just yet, other than his silly little crush he'd never felt that jittery feeling.

Maybe it was really love?

Two days later he sees you when you're at work. It's right before the store closes and you're softly playing music as you scrub down the counters. Sunday shifts mean deep cleaning, and so you're stuck a bit later than usual.

"Hope it's not too late, Tiff." Logan says as the bell above him dings to signal he's shut the door. You turn down the music to a low hum as you turn to Logan with a bright grin.

"No, not at all. Still an hour on the clock." You move to make him his drinks as he pulls up a bar chair and sits down, digging in his bag to set down the book on the counter. You peek over and hum,

"How far in are you?" You ask and he can tell you expect him to only be a few chapters in when he says,

"Oh, I'm done."

You whip around, nearly spilling his latte on the counter and gawking at him, "after two days? I thought you said you weren't a reader!"

"I'm not, but your little annotations were so interesting I just kept going." He slides the book to you and notices you have a very similar one perched behind the counter, "Made it a bit easier to read, honestly--is that the same one?"

"The sequel, I actually just finished it." You take For The Wolf and replace it on the counter with For The Throne, "If you want another book to read. I need to know what you thought of Nevarah."

"She was kinda annoying."

"Right!" You groan and he laughs as you stir up his latte and hand it over before pulling out one of the last pastries in the container. It's some cinnamon thing, not that he really cares. It's probably not in his food plan either, but he doesn't care about that. He'd abandon all his rules if it meant he could be spending time with you. As you rant about how you didn't like her in the first book, but kinda did in the second, he leans forward to take in ever word that drips from your lips and you find that he's welcome company for your closing shift.

You're finished early, too, so you sit next to him on the only two stools you haven't lifted up. You'll mop tomorrow, you tell yourself as Logan recounts his reactions to Eammon and Red's connection and you blush when you tell him about one of their scenes you particularly enjoyed.

Which he matches your energy with by saying, "It didn't even say anything explicit and I was like--damn!"

Logan helps you lock up, since the coffee shop is open the latest all you have to do is lock the front door with the alarm system and your keys. He walks you home and bids goodbye in the doorway with For The Throne tucked in his arm and your instagram handle and phone number written on the back of his hand.

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liked by urbff, heidiberger, logansargeant, and 250 others...

urusername: i need to stop reading romance bc it makes me feel more single than i already am.

urbff: OMG MR WRONG NUMBER SHUT UPPP MY FAVORITE

heidiberger: give me those flowers.

⤷ urusername: bring ur boy to london and then we'll speak.

mickeyrickey: ti amo <3

taglist (thank u for the support!)

@struggling-with-delia

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #logan sargeant x reader #formula one fanfiction #formula one fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #formula one x reader #f1 fic #f1 x you #logan sargeant fic #logan sargeant fanfic #logan sargeant x y/n #logan sargeant x you #ls2 fanfic #ls2 fic #ls2 x reader #ls2 x you

[mari-lair]

Akane is a popular kid, arguably the most popular student outside Aoi and Teru, at least in his own class, so let's talk about it!

In his introduction, we are told the basics: how Akane is a childhood friend of Aoi, dutiful, obsessed with her, and so on. During this exposition, we get this small panel of two guys looking at him with a positive opinion of him:

It's important that the stripped shirt guy is the one who says "Akane is so nice" cause it is implied he has a crush on Aoi, or at the very least, that he considers her really cute, blushing when she is just living her life.

So even people who should consider him one hell of a romantic rival don't think badly of him. I would go as far as to say that they are invested in his obvious crush on Aoi because of the amount of attention he gets after being enchanted by the confession tree.

In an arc where everyone starts to get together, is hard to notice or even care about new couples.

But the whole class stops when Akane and Lemon claim to be dating. They surround the boys and talk about it, openly staring at them. (shout out to @bpzau-d-r-a-w-s for pointing out this crowd)

Which I would have assumed is homophobia if it wasn't for how many guys confess to Teru on the daily without being spared a single thought, or the way no one is trying to comfort Aoi.

If he was only known as 'that dude that follows Aoi' the class reaction should be "Great! Her bodyguard is not in the picture anymore! That's my chance!" but they don't spare Aoi a glance. No one cares that "our calm and composed popular queen is crying in the middle of class." right now. They are just... focused on Akane, too shocked by his change of heart to care about much else.

I know is Akane getting this attention instead of Lemon because the class reacted the same way once Akane started studying like crazy to win 'Teru's challenge' in chapter 59.

People don't dismiss his behavior as "hum, weird, well whatever" like when Nene talks to 'herself '(talk to Hanako) in class, they keep crowding and talking about Akane, they are invested, aware of the context of the situation (so they asked him) and familiar enough to take a guess that his behavior is related to Aoi.

So they care about what this weirdo is doing, he is a soap opera to the class! Just look at how invested people get when he says no to Aoi, even the background crew are open-mouthed or confused.

This idea Akane is a boy people pay attention to is everywhere in the manga.

Even for a class representative/council guy, it is ridiculous the number of people who want his help. He is always surrounded by people wanting his help.

I personally can't see that many people approach someone just to take advantage of them, he makes others go "Oh it's Aoi! I can trust Aoi to be of help :D" but I acknowledge that can be seen as a sign of how incompetent his class is or just people wanting to take advantage of him, so I'll talk about the cases people run to him that are nonrelated to his duties, is just his vibes:

Tiara gets super attached to Akane in no time, literally clinging to him out of everyone in the room, running to his side whenever there is an opportunity for it.

Hanako, who is apathetic towards most humans and supernaturals alike, loves his guts. Even if the admiration is not mutual.

Teru and Aoi are prideful people who have the whole school paying attention to them. They look at Akane the most.

Girls especially seem to like him.

We don't see him interact with many girls considering Aoi's jealous nature, but enough to tell the boys in his class call him 'Aoi', and the girls call him 'Akane-kun.' (shout out to @iamhereinthebg for pointing that out)

I am convinced the reason he doesn't get many confessions is because he brutally shuts down anyone who tries.

He isn't like Teru and Aoi, he does not believe in "I'll let them down gently, give them a cute smile to soothe the pain of rejection" he just crushes their hopes without hesitation and makes it clear they have no chance.

The one girl we explicitly see confess to him only ever hoped Akane would accept her chocolate, having no hopes her feelings would be returned but caring enough to let him know anyway.

And Akane still rejected her chocolates.

He seems to be relatively used to confessions, to the point he panicked when Nene said "I've meant to talk to you for ages" and immediately assumed she wanted to confess to him.

His answer is so quick, almost scripted "My heart belongs to another. I'm sorry." it makes no sense if he isn't at least somewhat used to getting love confessions.

Considering how... Unpleasant confessing to a guy who everyone knows has been madly in love with someone else for more than a decade must be, I am not surprised almost no one is brave enough to even try to pursue him. His blunt, borderline rude, way of expressing that his suitors are not welcome probably doesn't help either.

Bonus:

He is no idol, people do not trip over themselves when they see him like with Aoi and teru, but I do think he is considered a 'pretty boy' in canon.

Maybe I am reaching cause I am biased af, but I do find it wild that he is drawn super pretty in other's people pov when he is being playful or flirty, and the person always blushes about it.

#tbhk #toilet bound hanako kun #aoi akane #akane aoi #jshk #jibaku shounen hanako kun #character analysis #awful trio is also the popular kids trio and I find that beautiful #when i tell you this have been on my draft for MONTHS #only elise know how long i wanted to talk about this

[angelltheninth]

Can u do a meeting up with an online friend with genshin men who might have a crush on you maybe kaeya childe and ayato or anyone else you want. Also i absolutely adore your writing style

This hits hard cause I've made some friends online over the pandemic and have actually had the chance to meet them, it was the best thing ever.

Pairing: Kaeya, Childe, Ayato x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, developing relationship, friends to lovers, online friends, meet cute, flirting, texting, long distance

A/N: Not gonna lie, meeting some of my online friends really made me cry of joy.

KAEYA

He was the one who wanted to meet up bad but was nervous about it all the same. Kaeya is pretty cocky while talking to you online, through his texts and the photos he sends. When he's making plans to meet up he wants it to be more spontaneous then a full plan. After all he sends you things randomly so why not see where things go. Kaeya is the perfect gentleman in person, at first, but once he relaxes a little his flirty side comes through. Will most likely ask you out on a walk, something low pressure and casual for your first meet up. Only towards the end does he hold your hand and is the first one to text you a heart when the meeting ends, asking when the next one is.

"Hah, sorry if I seem a little nervous right now, some of my friends were telling me I'm overreacting but can you blame a guy when he's meeting such a pretty girl in person for the first time? My eye patch is real. Did you think I was just trying to look cool over camera all this time?"

CHILDE

Childe spends a few hours before the meeting going though his clothes. He's normally quite casual for when he talks to you but now you're meeting for dinner. Going on a first date with someone he's bein flirting on and off with for the past few months is scarier then he thought it'd be. Must be because he's so invested in you. He has something of a reputation as a ladies man so Childe wants to make sure you don't get a bad first impression. He would take a lot of photos of himself shirtless and even video chat while shirtless, after he just got back from the gym but having you actually touch him, wrap your arm around his while you walk, smile at him from across the table and leave your hand there for him to reach out and hold is something that has his head spinning and his stomach twisting.

"You keep looking up at me, didn't you get enough pics before? I can send more. Or maybe you want my abs? W-What's wrong? Oh. Am I coming on too strong? Ahg! Look I just... I don't wanna mess this up you know? I know I've got a reputation and I don't want you to think I was cozying up to you just to get in your pants or something. Can I start this over? I swear I'll be cool this time."

AYATO

He makes an iron clad schedule for the two of you. Too bad it falls apart quickly when it starts to rain. He'd been so excited to meet you that he forgot to look at the weather forecast for that day! Now you're stuck in this little café for who knows how long. Ayato tries to make the best of it, complimenting you at every turn, sitting close to you and inching his hand closer and closer until it covers yours. Will wait for you to kiss his cheek first but will be the one to ask for a second date afterwards, if you don't beat him to it. Ayato will always text you a good morning message first thing when he wakes up without fail, and after you begin dating its followed by an affectionate nickname.

"How could I forget this? I am so sorry, I told you all about these plans and you dressed up beautifully today and now... you know what we can still make the most of it can't we? Thank you, that you're not upset I mean."

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kaeya x reader #childe x reader #ayato kamisato x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact fluff #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin fluff #genshin impact x female reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x female reader #genshin x you #kaeya fluff #childe fluff #ayato fluff

[znitsamluv]

How would Baji,Chifuyu, Mitsuya react if they found out that their classmate (and Crush) is actually the boss/ Number two Boss of an enemy gang?

Aw oh !

Note : I had so much fun writing this one so I hope you enjoyed it !

Warnings: some mentions of gang fights but nothing detailed

Baji

Baji never really cared or paid attention to the other students with him in class well of course except for chifuyu .

Until that day he will never forget where you entered the classroom with that sweet smile you shined at everyone around you, Baji isn't the type to fall at first sight so it was lots of moments that made him set his heart on making you his , especially after that one time where peke j followed him to school and he didn't notice until he saw peke J in your arms as you cooed at the cute cat unknown to you that it belongs to Baji .

" I am telling you! She is an angel she looks like a beam of soft light !"

" are you sure it wasn't that big ass glasses you wear being fogged ?"

Chifuyu had to endure Baji talking about you most of the time that chifuyu already memorized your school routine from Baji's nonstop stories about you.

Baji saw you as a sweet girl who wouldn't hurt a fly so he almost passed out when he saw you in the front lines of the gang they were about to fight with, once the fight started his only goal was to find you first before another member does as the thought of someone hurting you made his jaw clench and blood boil , when he saw you in the field knocking toman members left and right he made his way to you, and you had the same reaction to seeing Baji as he did .

" Nerds can fight?"

The moment you said that you can see his soul leaving his body as he stared in disbelief, to his surprise you didn't hold back it was like a different person from the one he meets every morning.... he loved the contrast.

He lets you hit him as much as you want since he doesn't have the heart to hurt you and after the fight his face was all swollen and red from punches so chifuyu ran to him to make sure he was ok but felt weirded out when he saw a lovesick smile on His beaten up face .

" You ok ...? "

" She pulled my hair and I felt her soft hands from her punches"

" ??????"

The next morning at school you made your way to him and gave him a snack you had and left without saying anything, Baji understood you must have felt bad from hitting him yesterday and for the rest of the day he daydreamed about you, the snack you gave him is left untouched and taken care of on top of his bedroom drawer, he almost knocked chifuyu out cold for trying to eat it .

Chifuyu

He first noticed you when you were reading the last released volume of the manga he likes and got out his own manga from his backpack and walked in front of you 5 times back and forth trying to make you notice him until you finally did the 6th time .

You were happy to have someone to talk to about that underrated manga and Chifuyu was happy to talk to you, he listened to you as you talked about your favorite character and agreed with you on your hatred for that one side character , you guys also found out you live a block away from each other so for the last week you two would go to school together and walk back home together.

Chifuyu was worried and anxious to tell you that he can't walk home today since toman has a fight but he was surprised when you told him you will be busy after school he wanted to ask what will you be doing but he didn't want to seem nosy.

The poor guy had a heart attack when he saw you standing between your gang members all high and mighty , you stared back at toman as your eyes scanned the members and Chifuyu can see your eyes softened once you saw him , once the fight began you two didn't see each other as you two were busy but from time to time you two would look at the other fighting to make sure the other wasn't hurt , Chifuyu also acted like he was going to fall and took a member with him as he met the ground as that member was going to hit you when you weren't looking it was a sneaky move to protect you.

After the fight and after every one left you both sat in silence on the pavement, you two were exhausted and in slight pain but chose to stay like this for a while , neither wanted to talk first just sat in silence watching the sunset and the orange gradient of the sky kissing your skin , despite everything chifuyu felt his heart flutter. In that moment both of your phones received a notification in the same time so you opened it and immediately you both stood up happily.

" The new volume is out ! "

" let's go buy it !"

The people in the mange store looked at you weirdly seeing two beaten up teenagers giggling happily as they talked about nothing and everything, but chifuyu didn't care about the stares how could he focus on anyone else when you are in front of him with that sweet smile .

Mitsuya

Mitsuya is used to walking his little sisters to their kindergarten class even though it was far from the classroom building he attends but he wouldn't feel safe leaving them alone , the second his little sisters entered the class he turned his head once he heard a little girl call out his sister's name , he noticed you walking behind that little girl he assumes is your sister with a warm smile watching her interact with his sisters , you were wearing the same uniform as him so he walked to you to introduce himself, he was gentleman after all , he noticed the warm aura surrounding you, it was like a magnet attracting him the more he talked to you.

It all started as a friendship you joined the fashion club at school which mitsuya runs .

Mitsuya can't explain how he felt but the way his heart skips a beat when you compliment his work or the way his cheeks heat up when you lean closer to look at his designs , he loved watching you concentrate on your designs the way your eyes sparkle in passion and the way you hold your ground when receiving criticism, you were mature just like him .

It didn't take long for him to get attached to you , his day wasn't complete without you, he didn't even believe it was possible that he had come to hate the weekend because he couldn't see you , the way you move around the design studio, the way you insist on carrying the heavy fabrics around and the way you are sweet and kind to everyone made him love you more than he thought he was capable of .

Mitsuya came one day earlier than usual and saw you fixing a gang uniform, he asked you about it and you answered honestly, For the most part he was worried, he was worried you might get hurt but he knows you are capable of standing your ground.

It's your life and he can't pull you away from it just like you can't do to him , so you made a promise that what happens in the gang life stay there but outside of it they can do whatever they want .... in the end you were made for each other

#tr🎴 #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers headcanons #tokyo revengers imagines #tokyo manji gang #tokyo revengers fluff #tokyo revengers oneshot #tokyo revengers x reader #baji keisuke #baji x reader #baji fluff #tokrev baji #chifuyu imagines #chifuyu headcanons #chifuyu fluff #chifuyu x reader #chifuyu #baji imagines #baji headcanons #tokyo revengers mitsuya #mitsuya x reader #mitsuya takashi #mitsuya fluff #mitsuya headcanons #mitsuya imagines #tokyo rev x reader