it's okay to have a crush on your boss if your boyfriend does too, right? dennis whitaker x reader, wherein you both wish your older mentor with the sure, steady hands would touch you the way he shouldn't. accidental (?) voyeurism. that middle aged man is shaking with lust! ...might make a pt 2 ;)
the thing is, you can't really blame dennis for his admiration-bordering-on-crush. if you did, you'd have to take a hard look at yourself too.
besides, you love dennis. he's sweet and works the same shift as you, and who doesn't love working with their boyfriend? meeting in the pitt feels like fate. you get to go home together and blow off steam. you alternate between making dinner for each other, and trinity doesn't mind when you stay over as long as you keep it down. dennis is a boon, a quiet, merciful gift in the middle of chaos.
but. but. there's robby.
he's just... nice. when he found out that you and dennis were dating, he gave you both gift cards; one for marshall's ("to get what you need!") and one for applebee's ("for that precious day off!") he'd given them to you two after your shift, rubbing his hands like he does when he takes hand sanitizer, a self-soothing habit. you wonder if he realizes he does it.
"we take care of each other here," he'd said firmly, when you and dennis tried to protest. "you kids deserve it." and he'd clasped your shoulder and dennis', his large palm warm through your scrubs. there and gone. he smiled briefly, eyes scrunching, and then he returned inside.
and you and dennis have never discussed it, but you saw his flushed cheeks, the gratitude that extended beyond a reasonable amount from a starving med student. you know dennis likes your boss. you like him too.
robby always manages to catch your and dennis' brief moments of affection. a quick kiss, a squeezed wrist, a hand on your hip. robby politely looks away, but he smiles every time, like your young love pleases him, like he's a facilitator of it somehow. robby tells dennis to take care of you from time to time, and dennis always swears that he does, flushed from the praise. dennis is far more confident outside of work, happy to please when you’re both not exhausted. he's quiet, private, but focused. nothing impedes your pleasure; dennis fucks you like he's trying to save you.
robby sees you two doing far more than an innocent peck on the cheek or whatever he's witnessed at the hospital. you must've thought everyone was occupied with the party, and you're right. you're right except trinity asked robby to get napkins from the closet and he sees dennis on you, his hand most definitely in your pants, curling his fingers. and you're making little ah-ah's and squirming as dennis kisses your neck. you're pressed against the closet door.
you don't mean to get caught. but it happens and robby's there as always, purely by accident. this time, he sees more than he should. trinity and dennis decided to host a party to celebrate your and dennis' official graduation to residents. robby should've declined, he knows that. he can't see dennis' bed, your clothes thrown haphazardly across the sheets or dresser. robby can't see dennis' razor or your face wash. it's already unbelievably perverted of him to think the few things that he's thought about you two. knowing how you live will only make it worse.
he thinks you make a great couple. you're both good doctors, kind, beautiful, and full of youth. he can see you two making it through your residency and moving to pittsburgh permanently.
you see robby first, and robby prepares to ease your guilt or embarrassment or whatever else because, after all, he's a doctor, he's about twice your age, and there's not much he hasn't seen. certainly, two people heavily making out doesn't faze him. he was young once. he remembers being twenty-five and fumbling with a girl's jeans.
that's what dennis is doing, and robby finds it endearing that he's clumsy with you despite the fact that you've been dating for three months. robby, he'd deftly unbutton your jeans and play with your clit first, warm you up and get you so wet you can't think. then he'd stretch you with two fingers or three. but he doesn’t expect dennis to be so rehearsed with his movements. that comes with age.
when you meet robby's gaze, he tenses, prepared to see your worry. but the look you give him makes his stomach clench with heat. dennis' back is to robby, so he has no idea that robby's watching you get fingered and you're watching back, lips parted, eyes lidded. you whimper and robby flinches and you grin. you like it. holy fuck.
then you speak. "robby." not a warning. not a sign to stop.
dennis moans, which—what? robby's head is spinning. do you say his name often? does dennis like it?
you get dennis' attention properly, and robby's frozen as you both look at him. dennis is a little more modest than you, slipping his hand out of your pants, his cheeks flushing.
"dr. robby!" he says. "shit, we were—i—"
robby holds up his hands. napkins are the furthest thing from his brain. "no explanation needed, kid. uh, s-sorry."
robby jerks off hard and fast at home, thinking about you two in bed. he wonders how dennis fucks you, and he cums guiltily. he thinks about telling dennis to slow down while he's inside of you, guiding him to work you open, pet you until you're teary-eyed and begging for cock. robby squeezes his own cock hard, ashamed at the thought. it's not enough to stop him from cumming again.
You and Joe have been friends ever since you joined the cast in season two- best friends. By the time season five comes around, everyone knows it's not just a friendship anymore. Requested here!
It had started as many good things do: with a hello and a smile. A table read for Stranger things two- a chance for everyone to get reacquainted and for the next cast members to get to know each other.
Sadie Sink, Dacre, Sean Austin and you.
You remember it like it was yesterday. Sean Austin was sat with David Harbour across the table from you, Sadie was down a row next to Millie, Dacre on her other side. You were placed next to Joe Keery.
That's how it began. Since that day you hadn't gone a year, hardly a month without seeing him. Every day texts were exchanged, a bond deep in your bones settling there.
GQ magazine - Joe Keery ten things he can't live without
"This ring-" he took it off his index finger, the one he always wore it on and showed it to the camera. To anyone else it was simple design, a silver band that really didn't hold much to it. "A co-star of mine got it for me, whilst filming season five- actually on our last day of shooting. Um, yeah it means a lot to me, I don't take it off ever- except to show the camera-"
The camera didn't focus on the ring and it was for sure the thing nobody was focusing on when they watched the video. They watched Joe's face as he spoke about the ring, holding it tenderly.
"Yeah, she got it for me. We have matching rings, she has one. And um, inside there's an inscription but you don't need to know what it says," he laughed, making a display in sliding it back onto his finger.
He carried on like the rest of the video would go normally.
Everyone knew in the comments, there was only one who he could be talking about. They all named and shamed you, each other wondering what the inscription could have been.
Liked by… djotime, maya_hawke, finnwolfhardoffical and 991k more
Y/n: throwback Thursday or whatever
View all comments
Finnwolfhardoffical: it’s Wednesday
Gatenmatarazzo: it’s Wednesday
Milliebobbybrown: it’s Wednesday
Y/n: I hope my character fucking dies in the next season
You remembered third season, when other cast members joined but one night, you and Joe had steeled away to a bar down Atlanta. A September night together, nothing un-common.
Yet, the unspoken feelings in your soul, that knowing of him in your bones rose with the vodka. The two of you were sat at the bar, drinks in hand- drinks number whatever you'd gotten up to. He was looking at you. You were looking at him, messing with your hair just to put your hands somewhere on yourself, not him.
And Joe was looking at you with a thousand things to say.
"You know, this is good," he'd said that night.
"What?"
He looked at you like you knew the obvious, head tilting. "C'mon."
You chuckled. "Joe-"
"Is it awkward, I've made it awkward?"
"No, no-"
It was drunken slurs with sober thoughts, a desperation to get words on papers. To see if the wavelength was shared.
"You know," he said, peering close at you, his knee pumping yours with his entire attention on you. "You know, right?"
Of course you knew. That not every touch should've lingered like it did, that every glance got slightly longer and longer. That being one of the first to hear the music he was working on wasn't something he did sparingly. That nights out when (as much as you loved them) the rest of the cast were not invited.
You nodded, a sly smile on your lips. "I know."
You knew there were a thousand things Joe did that could've invited you into him, but they weren't invitations. They were just him and you falling helplessly.
Joe looked to his glass, chuckling to himself and rubbing at his eye. "Okay. So we... we both know that this-" he gestured between the two of you, dropping his hand on your knee.
You took a second, sipping your drink.
"I know that this could be bad," you said.
"Bad? What?"
You lifted your shoulders in a shrug, clasping his hand that was slightly higher on your 'knee' then you realised. "What if things went badly? I mean- one thing co-stars should never do is date, and on a franchise."
Joe was listening to you as he always did tipsy or otherwise.
Maybe you were making the greatest mistake of your life. Admitting your feelings to him, your closest friend only to tell him that you didn't want to date. You did. But it was scary. Scarier even the fact you'd see him every day, work with him, getting lost in movements and characters.
"If things went badly, if we weren't sure we'd have to carry on like it didn't.... hurt," you rambled. "And you are love, you a love personified in a human. I don't want to lose that ever in my life."
It went back and forth a little more, hashing it the feelings you both felt, the draw whether it being sexual or not. Hashing out the fears you both had and finding them similar. In the end, you carried on with a couple more drinks, got different cars to take you back to your apartments and it went on as always. A respect and understanding that lasted almost three years.
But when it was announced Stranger Things, season five, the end... well, rules went out the window.
Capital FM interview
You and Charlie sat, gently kicking yourself side to side on your spiny chairs, careful not to get the wires of your headphones tangled.
"So, y/n," they addressed you.
Your eyes went wide, your heels stopping on the chair.
"How annoyed were you when you found out Joe had written a song about Charlie?" they asked.
Charlie laughed, pulling away from the mic.
You chuckled but quickly feigned a serious hurt. "I don't speak to Joe anymore."
They all laughed.
You broke out into a smile as Charlie hit the back of your chair. You laid your hands out on the table, a certain ring kept on your index finger catching the light. "No, I actually heard Charlie's Garden before Charlie so there's that. If I didn't want that song out it would not have been out-"
"You have that much of a say in the process of the album?" they asked, eager to do their jobs at get the dirt with what fans loved to speculate about. Were you and Joe in a relationship or not? It was on every fans of yours and his mind.
"Yeah," you said. "But I love that song- I mean, I love every song on the album and we lived- while filming season five- right across from Charlie and Natalia and they got the best garden so we would always be over there, hanging out and yeah, it deserves a song."
Liked by… maya_hawke, y/n, SabrinaCarpenter and 809k more
Djotime: whatever man
View all comments
User1: THELAST PICTURE OMG
User2: is that y/n in the last picture?!?!?
Y/n: ❤️
↪️ Djotime: ❤️
Joe picked you up from your place, his role as the designated driver of you and maybe another when they needed it had been going since season two. There was a reason he was known as the best driver in the cast.
There was no reason for him to get out the car and greet you as he did. He saw you yesterday at a read through before filming began but he wrapped his arms around you like he hadn't seen you in weeks. Months. His arms were tight around you, squeezing you into him as his hand swept up and down your back.
You got into his car, talking, only slightly watching him drive from the corner of your eye. A hand on the wheel, his eyes on the road but his attention all on you as your body turned to him in the passenger seat. You knew it in the way he played with his bottom lip, pinching it between his finger and thumb.
By the time you guys got to set there was scripts ready to hand out for the day, a camera crew filming for the documentary you knew was being done.
Joe got out first, hurrying around to get your door for you.
He was smiling as you got out.
"Morning guys," she greeted as she handed you guys the scripts.
Joe already had an arm around your shoulder, drawing you in as you took the scripts on account of him also having his bag slung over his shoulder and yours in his other hand. "Good morning."
"Last first day," said the camera man.
It was like that every morning of the filming for season five, a compilation created of you and Joe walking onto set, arm around your shoulder, yours going around your waist.
Everyone noticed. Everyone had been rooting for you since they saw the way you looked at each other when filming your 'platonic' scenes together. Everyone rejoiced when you always sat next to him at readings, your head going to the crook of his shoulder like it was made to fit there.
As the months went on it just got better.
Your friendship hanging on a thread. With the early morning drives no matter if you had an early start and Joe didn't. He was there like clockwork. The touches got longer, the glances lingering more. The dinners became more frequent, a hand falling on your thigh or his knee nudging yours every time.
The park dates were an almost every time thing when you both had days off.
Nobody saw you or Joe without the other.
Noah, Gaten, Caleb and Finn interview,
"Do you guys have any crazy rumours you've heard about yourselves, or anyone on the cast?" asked the interviewer, holding her cards to her chest as she looked at each other.
They were silent while they thought.
"I've seen some crazy ones," said Gaten. "It's like when I look myself up and they have those options up top, I go straight to news."
There was a confusion and silence.
"I'm too scared to look myself up, I don't do that anymore-" said Noah.
"Sorry, I thought you said nudes-"
"I thought you said nudes," said Caleb, agreeing with the interview.
Gaten straightened. "Oh, no, Jesus Christ- news."
"That's a rumour we don't want to start," said the interviewer.
"I dunno, I think I've seen some crazy rumours," said Noah, looking around at them.
"Noah-"
"Noah-"
They all warned in chorus, knowing his reputation as the spoiler, even if he did it by accident half the time.
Noah blushed, chuckling. "No I was just gonna say I don't get how people don't think Joe and Y/N are dating, remember there was that rumour they hated each other."
Caleb smirked. "Oh yeah."
It was well known between all the cast, especially the kids that you and Joe were practically dating and, as of filming that interview, were official to their delight. But not everybody knew that.
"Yeah, that's true," said Finn stretching out.
Gaten and Caleb shared a small look at the prospect of the secret being out.
Liked by…. Milliebobbybrown, Y/N, and 1m more
Djotime: that’s a wrap baby
View all comments
User1: djotime being a fan account to y/n is so real
User2: y’all can’t tell me they’re not in love that you seen their interviews?!
Y/N: ❤️
The wrap party was huge, large, held in a warehouse in a secret location that had been hard enough to find. There were people you were sure you'd never even seen on set there. Crew and cast, families and trusted friends of both adding to the number.
The bar was large and free for the night and where you went first.
It was manic, crazy, a tacky disco ball somewhere ahead of you shining down.
It had been five minutes, a personal best for you before you started searching the crowd for Joe. Maybe he wasn't there yet or maybe he'd brought his sisters and they'd all got lost in the crowd. It was possible.
You integrated yourself into the party, sipping your drink and chatting, laughing. Tears that had shed on the last day of set turning to smiles as you all remembered times together.
It must have been an hour in when you got away to the bar.
You'd just ordered a drink when an arm, strong and warm wrapped around your waist and squeezed, spinning you.
Joe. "I've been looking for you all night," he said, half yelling over the 50-cent song playing.
"And you didn't think to check the bar?" you laughed, hugging him back.
You felt his smile against your skin as his head dipped. He sighed like he was in relief at having you in his arms.
"You look beautiful," he said into your skin, the words tattooing there.
The two of you forgot about the bar, forgot about your friends begging for attention as you bathed in each others presence. You leant on the bar without ordering, leaning in to each other to hear, his hand steady at your elbow as he dipped his head.
You had no idea how long you guys were standing there, talking about everything and nothing with the heavy knowing sitting with you that Stranger Things was over. It would come out in less than a year and then you'd be free to... well, too ruin a friendship with your favourite person.
"I got you something," you said over the music, reaching into your purse while Joe waited, admiring you.
The box you pulled out was small, big enough for a ring only.
Joe took it, keeping a hold on your wrist with one hand and opening it with the other.
A band of silver sat there, polished and glorious. It seemed pretty simple at first, an easy statement.
"It's beautiful," he said, taking it out the box and looking at it in the low light.
"It has my name inside," you told him, breath fanning his ear.
He looked to you and then grabbed out his phone, not to take a picture- he'd never need a picture as every picture of him from that day forward had him and had the ring featured- he used the torch to shine inside of it.
In his hand writing there was your name engraved in the curve of the band.
Joe was speechless, only moving to look at you.
You were sliding off a gold bond that you hadn't worn till today and showing him. It was just the same as his, gold and in your handwriting his name followed the curve.
He only stared at you.
"If it doesn't fit or it's not your style don't worry. You don't have to wear it, it was just sentiment and-"
Joe had the ring slipped onto his thumb were it sat snug but it was the first place he thought to place it as he grabbed your neck and kissed you.
It was desperate and slow, eager to get the taste of you on his lips but knowing, finally, you had all the time in the world to enjoy the feeling. His lips were soft and your lipstick was smearing over him as his hands cupped at your jaw and worked your mouth open, the cool band of his ring slicing the burning heat on your face.
Your arms went up to his back, pulling him in closer.
Some Taylor Swift song started playing but you could hardly feel the rhythm over the feel of Joe and the pounding of your own heart.
It could have been another hour, or maybe the party was over when you pulled away. But finally you did to catch your breath.
"I got all of that on camera by the way!"
The two of you turned, realising almost half the cast had gathered, witnessing your make out.
Millie was grinning wide looking like she might shed a tear with her phone out, recording the two of you.
At her side Noah was making kissy noises.
Gaten and Finn had their arms around each other, jumping up and down like children.
"Shit, has this turned into an engagement party?" asked Finn when he caught sight of the bands.
No, it wasn't but it turned into a celebration of the ending of almost a decade of story telling and seven years of yearning turning into you and Joe entwined with each other.
Interview,
"So after ten years of all of you guys," said the interview as Maya, Charlie, Natalia, you and Joe all sat together, slightly cramped on a small sofa.
"Most of us," joked Maya with a grin.
You laughed with her, reaching over a hand and holding it up for a high five. "Late comers, baby!"
She did so, laughing, hand catching the gold band you wore on the opposite hand of Joe's own.
You returned back into you seat, shuffling between and settling in, Joe's leg almost on top of yours. He'd leant as far back into the corner as he could, stretching out his arm over the back of it just so he could un-knowing to the camera mess with your hair, taking a strand between his fingers.
Well, the both of you thought it was discreet but the fans wondered why you're hair was moving like that and where Joe's hands were disappearing to.
"Was there a party to celebrate?" asked the interviewer. "Or a get together."
Unknowingly all heads turned to you and Joe.
"Oh, there was a party," Maya chuckled.
"There was a party," agreed Charlie, looking down to where his hands clasped at his knee with a sly smirk.
"Yeah, it was crazy," said Natalia.
"There was a massive party in a warehouse, in a very secret location," Joe described. "We were all there." He looked down the sofa, giving a small nod to you. You nodded back.
"A lot of memories made," you agreed, leaning back into the sofa, un-consciously leaning in closer to your boyfriend.
"A lot," he agreed, with a wide grin on his face as he playfully tugged at your hair.
Maya laughed at the two of you. "But there was a strict no phones allowed to avoid, like, spoilers, I guess."
Charlie looked aghast. He laughed. "Was there?"
You all knew full well they had plenty of pictures of you all and you and Joe more so. After the rings were put on both of your fingers you each took turns in snapping shots every second: shaking hands stupidly with the bands on show, fingers wrapped around a glass or in each others hair.
They spoke of the party but Joe got your attention, splaying out his hand and you knew he was indicating for you to do the same. It was a little game the two of you played, putting hands next to each other to keep tabs on the rings.
Fans had noticed, of course they had and the next day after the interview was published, it was almost everyone's knowledge what had gone down at that party.
I would just like to say thanks for the continuous love on these little fics. I see ALL requests and though I can’t type quickly enough to get the all out just know I’m working on most and am having so much fun (I have never wanted someone as bad as I want Joe Keery)
Warnings: jealousy, possessive behavior, alcohol & cigarette use, minor unwanted touching (brief), intense slow burn, bratty reader, heated argument, loaded silences, filthy talk, rough sex in a car (PIV, unprotected - wrap it up), fingering, overstimulation, marking (bruises/hickeys), name calling (playful), strong language, emotional tension, 70s vibes turned all the way up
Summary: You’ve always been part of the crowd, just on the edge of it. Too sharp to chase anyone, especially not Randall “Pink” Floyd. But Pink’s been looking at you like you’re already his, and when Obannion gets too handsy at yet another sweat-drenched party, Pink finally stops pretending. One ride in his car later, and the truth spills out faster than either of you are ready for — angry, breathless, jealous truth. You’ve spent months pushing his buttons. Now he’s going to show you exactly what happens when he snaps.
A/N: wow is crow actually finally finishing her Kinktober? Yes. Yes I am. Anyway take thiissss, I don’t see nearly enough Fics for dazed and confused and would love to write more because it is my favorite movie of all time. Active fandom so small we could all fit in my car 🫶
The music is already bleeding out into the neighborhood by the time you walk up the drive, that warbled, blown-out kind of loud, like the speakers are barely holding together. You can’t tell if it’s Foghat or Zeppelin until you’re closer. Everything sounds like a guitar being strangled through humidity.
It’s hot as hell. Even this late, the air is syrupy-thick, clinging to your arms and the back of your neck. You can smell beer and weed and charcoal drifting out from behind the house. Laughter. The hiss of a lighter. Someone yelling “Don’t be a bitch, just shotgun it.”
You hover outside the gate a second too long, then push it open and slide in.
The backyard’s full but not chaotic yet. The kind of party that’s still warming up, voices low, people pairing off in lawn chairs or leaning against railings. Just bodies and smoke and the thrum of bass rolling across dry grass.
You catch Jodi’s eye near the back porch. She’s holding a drink in one hand and waving with the other.
“You came,” she calls out, half-grinning like she wasn’t sure you would.
“Yeah, well,” you mutter when you reach her. “It’s Friday.”
She hums, eyes flicking toward the porch behind you. “He’s here.”
You sigh. “Don’t.”
“I’m just saying—”
“Jodi.”
She raises both hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. You’re not here for him. Not like that.”
“I’m not,” you insist, and it’s not a lie exactly. Just not the whole truth.
You’ve known Pink forever. He’s always just… been around. Football games. Parking lots. Parties like this one. He’s in your world, but not really in your orbit. You’ve never even told Jodi how he makes your stomach twist when he looks your way. You barely admit it to yourself.
Because guys like him — loose-limbed, easy-smiling, wanted — don’t look twice at girls like you.
And if they do, it doesn’t mean anything.
⸻
Still, you feel it when he looks at you.
Later, by the cooler, while you’re cracking open a warm beer, you glance up, and there he is. Leaned up against the porch railing, a cigarette burning between two fingers, his head tilted just enough to be watching you.
You freeze for half a second. Try not to let it show.
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t look away either.
Just holds your gaze like it’s no big deal.
Like he’s been doing it all night.
⸻
O’bannion shows up like a sour gust of wind.
He’s already buzzed, voice too loud, shoulders too squared, ratty tank top clinging to his sunburned neck. You don’t acknowledge him when he first walks past, but he still brushes behind you close enough that his hand skims your back.
You flinch.
He doesn’t apologize.
“You clean up alright,” he says over his shoulder like it’s a compliment.
You roll your eyes and mutter, “Jesus.”
⸻
There’s a circle forming out back — folding chairs, a half-smashed beanbag, a patch of dry grass. Someone’s rolling a joint. Someone else is swatting at mosquitoes. Jodi drags you over by the wrist.
Pink’s already sitting down, long legs stretched in front of him, one hand resting lazily over his knee.
You end up on the grass across from him. Not directly, not with him, but close enough to feel his presence like heat off asphalt.
The joint makes its way to you. You inhale, pass it to Jodi, and let your head tilt back. The stars are half-drowned in the haze.
When you glance forward again, Pink’s watching you.
Not obviously.
Just enough.
You exhale slow. Look away. Try to listen to whatever Don is rambling about.
But Pink’s eyes stay on you.
⸻
O’bannion sits down in the circle halfway through.
You stiffen when he flops into the dirt too close beside you. He reeks of sour beer and gasoline. His elbow brushes yours. He leans in when he talks.
“You don’t smoke much, huh?” he says, like he’s been waiting for the moment.
You don’t answer.
“You should let loose,” he adds, grinning. “Bet you’re fun when you stop actin’ like a nun.”
“Get a hobby,” you mutter, shifting away.
Pink’s still across from you, unreadable now. Silent.
O’bannion watches your eyes flick toward him. Follows your gaze.
He laughs under his breath.
“What, he gonna tell you what to do now?” O’bannion says low in your ear.
You shoot him a glare.
Pink tilts his head. He’s watching now. Not pretending otherwise.
O’bannion leans back and stretches, arm knocking into you again.
Pink’s jaw flexes.
But he doesn’t move.
Not yet.
⸻
Later.
It’s darker now, the porch lights yellow and sickly, the grass wet with spilled beer and humidity. You slip inside to cool off, maybe find another drink.
The kitchen is half-empty. Just the hum of the fridge and the clink of ice in a cup.
Then the door creaks open behind you.
O’bannion.
Again.
He doesn’t say anything right away. Just leans back against the doorframe, blocking it with his shoulder.
“You runnin’ off on me?” he asks, voice thick with liquor.
“I’m getting a drink.”
“I got somethin’ better.”
You don’t look at him. Just open the fridge.
He steps closer.
“I saw the way you were lookin’ at Floyd.”
You shut the fridge. Turn. “Back off.”
O’bannion grins. He steps in anyway.
“C’mon,” he says, dropping his hand to your hip. “Don’t be like that.”
You push it away.
“Stop touching me.”
“Why? He’s not even—”
But you don’t hear the rest.
Because suddenly — sharply — Pink’s there.
And before you can react, he’s got O’bannion by the shoulder.
And shoves him back.
Hard.
O’bannion stumbles, nearly hits the counter.
“What the fuck, man?” he spits.
Pink doesn’t yell.
Doesn’t even raise his voice.
He just stands between you and O’bannion, body solid and still, eyes narrow and dark.
“She said no.”
O’bannion laughs, trying to save face. “You’re real brave now, huh?”
Pink steps forward once.
O’bannion flinches.
And that’s enough.
He mutters something under his breath and storms out.
Silence.
Pink breathes out slow. Runs a hand over his mouth like he doesn’t know what he just did.
You stare at him — stunned.
Because Pink doesn’t do that.
He doesn’t lose it. Doesn’t grab. Doesn’t shove.
But he did. For you.
⸻
Pink doesn’t look at you at first.
He just stands there in the kitchen, shoulders tight, jaw locked like he’s biting down on something he doesn’t trust himself to say. The room feels smaller than it did a minute ago. The fridge hums. Somewhere outside, someone laughs too loud, like the party doesn’t know it just crossed a line.
You’re still staring at him.
At his hands—flexing once, then curling into fists before he forces them loose again.
Pink exhales through his nose. Hard.
“C’mon,” he says.
It’s not a question.
He reaches for your wrist—not rough, but not gentle either—and starts walking before you can answer. You stumble half a step to keep up, heart slamming so loud you’re sure he can hear it.
“Pink—” you start.
“I’m takin’ you home.”
“What?” You twist your wrist, trying to slow him down. “I didn’t ask you to—”
“I know,” he cuts in, not looking back. His voice is tight. Controlled. That’s what scares you more than if he were yelling. “You’re still leavin’.”
People glance over as you pass through the living room. Jodi’s eyes widen when she clocks Pink’s expression—sharp, unfamiliar. You try to catch her eye, but Pink’s already pulling you out the door, into the thick night air.
The cicadas are screaming now, loud enough to feel like pressure against your skull.
His car is parked crooked at the edge of the yard. He opens the passenger door and all but ushers you in, slamming it shut before rounding to the driver’s side.
The engine roars to life.
He doesn’t pull away yet.
He just sits there, hands gripping the wheel, chest rising and falling fast. The dash lights glow soft orange. The radio crackles with static before he shuts it off.
Silence.
Except for him.
You can hear his breathing. You can feel it, heavy and uneven, filling the car.
“What the hell was that?” you demand.
He laughs once. Short. Bitter. “You mean back there?”
“You shoved him.”
Pink finally turns his head and looks at you.
Really looks at you.
His eyes are dark, jaw clenched, something raw and unfiltered flashing there before he reins it back in.
“He put his hands on you.”
“I told him to stop,” you snap. “I didn’t need you dragging me out like—like I’m a kid.”
He stares at the windshield again. Swallows.
“I know.”
“Then why—”
“Because I couldn’t stand it,” he says, quiet but fierce. “I couldn’t fuckin’ stand watchin’ him touch you like he had any right.”
Your chest tightens.
“That’s not your call.”
“No,” he agrees. “It’s not.”
Another breath. Slower this time. Like he’s forcing himself to calm down.
But then he adds, softer, more dangerous:
“Doesn’t mean it didn’t make me see red.”
You turn toward him fully now.
“Why?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
The silence stretches, thick and humming, cicadas drilling into it from outside. Pink drags a hand down his face, thumb catching on his lip like he’s about to say something and hates himself for it.
“Because,” he says finally, “I’ve been wantin’ you since before I knew what to do with that.”
Your heart stutters.
“That’s not funny.”
“I’m not jokin’.”
You stare at him. “You’re the quarterback.”
He huffs a breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “Jesus Christ.”
“That’s not—” You shake your head. “You don’t look at me like that. You never have.”
Pink turns toward you then, fully. One arm slung over the back of the seat, body angled in like he’s closing the distance without touching you yet.
“You think I don’t notice you?” he asks, low. “You think I haven’t been clockin’ where you are at every damn party since sophomore year?”
Your throat goes dry.
“You don’t act like it.”
“Because if I did,” he says, voice roughening, “I wouldn’t be able to stop.”
Something in his tone—honest, stripped bare—makes your breath hitch.
“You don’t get jealous,” you say quietly.
He meets your eyes. Holds them.
“I do,” he admits. “I just don’t usually lose my shit.”
His gaze drops to your mouth. Lingers.
“I did tonight.”
Your pulse is everywhere now—neck, wrists, thighs. The car feels too small. Too hot.
“You don’t get to decide what happens to me,” you say, but your voice wavers.
“I know,” he repeats. “But I had to get you outta there.”
“Why?”
He leans in just a fraction more. Close enough that you can smell smoke and beer and that clean, familiar scent underneath.
“Because I was about two seconds away from breakin’ his nose,” he murmurs. “And I didn’t wanna do that in front of you.”
Your breath stutters out.
“And what,” you whisper, “are you gonna do now?”
Pink’s jaw tightens. He hesitates—just for a beat.
Then his hand comes up, slow, deliberate, knuckles brushing your cheek like he’s testing whether you’ll pull away.
You don’t.
“That,” he says softly, “depends on whether you tell me to stop.”
You should.
You don’t.
Instead, you grab the front of his shirt and pull him in.
The kiss is nothing like you imagined.
It’s not sweet. It’s not careful. It’s heat and frustration and months of things unsaid crashing together. Pink groans into your mouth, hand sliding to the back of your neck, holding you there like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.
He kisses you like he’s been waiting.
Like he’s been denying himself.
You gasp when his mouth drops to your jaw, your throat. His breathing’s still uneven, fingers digging into your side, anchoring himself.
“Tell me this is a bad idea,” he mutters against your skin.
You clutch at his shoulders. “It is.”
He pauses—just barely.
Then: “Tell me to stop.”
You don’t.
You kiss him again, harder this time, and that’s all the permission he needs.
He shifts, pulling you across the console, settling you into his lap. The seat creaks under the movement. His hands are everywhere now—urgent but not careless, learning you like he’s memorizing something he’s been scared to touch.
Your fingers slide into his hair. He groans, low and wrecked.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “I wanted this so bad.”
You kiss the corner of his mouth. “You should’ve said something.”
His eyes search your face like he’s still trying to reconcile this with the version of the night he thought he was gonna have.
Then he kisses you again—slower now, deeper, hands steadying, grounding.
The anger bleeds off him, replaced by something heavier. Hungrier.
Pink kisses you like he’s starved.
Not desperate — he’s not out of control — but consumed. Like now that he’s tasted you, he’s not going to pretend anymore. Not going to hide it behind smirks and glances. The restraint’s gone.
His hands are everywhere. One braced tight around your waist, pulling you fully into his lap, the other sliding under the hem of your shirt like it belongs there. He palms your back, fingers spreading wide, dragging you flush against him.
“You got no idea,” he mutters against your mouth. “How long I’ve wanted this.”
You try to answer, but he kisses you harder, swallowing your reply like he already knows.
You feel the heat of him through his jeans — hard and straining beneath you — and it makes your head spin, the realization that this is for you. That Pink’s like this, breathless and hungry and pressed against the seat, because of you.
He kisses down your throat, slow at first, then sharper, teeth grazing that spot just below your ear.
“Pink,” you breathe, fingers digging into his shoulders.
“You say my name like that again,” he warns, voice wrecked, “I’m not gonna last.”
You grind your hips just slightly, testing him, and he groans — head falling forward, hands tightening on your waist.
“Fuck,” he says, low. “You tryna kill me?”
You shake your head, dizzy. “Thought I’d return the favor.”
He laughs, but it dies in his throat when you kiss him again, slower now, hips rolling with more intention. He grips your ass hard enough to bruise, pushing you down against him, and for a second, it’s too much — friction and heat and pressure and everything you’ve both been choking down for months.
His voice drops into a whisper, teeth against your jaw.
“You don’t let guys touch you.”
You freeze, breath catching.
“No,” you say, quiet. “I don’t.”
His mouth trails back to yours.
“But you let me.”
You nod, barely.
“Yeah.”
Pink kisses you like that means everything.
His hands slide up under your shirt, warm palms against your stomach, dragging slowly toward your chest. He doesn’t rush — just watches your face as his thumb brushes the underside of your breast.
You suck in a breath. He groans.
“You’re fuckin’ unreal,” he murmurs. “You sit across from me every goddamn party, lookin’ like that. Laughin’ with Jodi. Starin’ when you think I don’t notice.”
“I didn’t think—” you start, but he cuts you off with a kiss.
“You thought I didn’t see you,” he says between kisses. “That I didn’t want you.”
You nod. It’s all you can do.
He growls, soft but possessive, and lifts your shirt over your head. The warm air rushes over your skin, your bra still on, and Pink just stares at you for a second — jaw slack, eyes blown wide.
“Jesus,” he says, like he forgot how to breathe.
Then he leans in, mouth hot on your collarbone, hands sliding up your ribs as he mouths at your skin. His hands tremble slightly. Like he’s trying to take his time but doesn’t know how.
“I should’ve done this sooner,” he mutters. “Should’ve told you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He looks up at you, hair messy, lips red.
“Because I thought you’d tell me to fuck off.”
You laugh, breathless, and he kisses you again — deep, bruising.
You’re the one who reaches between you, fumbling for the button of his jeans. He hisses through his teeth when your hand brushes him through the denim.
“Shit.”
“You okay?”
Pink grabs your wrist, stilling you.
“Don’t ask me that,” he groans. “Not when I’m two seconds from blowing it.”
You kiss his neck, lips dragging down to his pulse.
“Then don’t wait.”
That’s all he needs.
Pink reaches between you, undoes your jeans, pushes them down just far enough to get his hands where he wants them. His fingers slip into your underwear, warm and confident, and you jolt against him when he finds you soaked.
“Fuck me,” he says, voice low, reverent.
“You first,” you mumble.
He grins, but his fingers start moving — slow, teasing circles that make you gasp and cling to his shoulders. His other hand tangles in your hair, pulling your face close so he can watch you fall apart.
“You’re killin’ me,” he whispers. “You got no idea how fuckin’ good you feel.”
You rock your hips, chasing it, and he speeds up, mouth grazing your neck, your jaw, your shoulder.
“I want you inside me,” you whisper. “Now.”
Pink groans like it hurts. He’s flushed and desperate, yanking his jeans down enough to free himself. He fumbles a little, then catches your hips in his hands, steadying you.
“You sure?” he asks, even now — still Pink, still checking.
You nod.
He sinks into you in one slow, aching push.
You both gasp — too loud for the car, too sharp for the night outside.
“Shit,” he pants. “You’re—god.”
You grip his shoulders, forehead pressed to his. He thrusts up slow at first, testing, hands gripping your waist like he’s holding himself back with everything he’s got.
“Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t hold back.”
Pink growls and thrusts harder — and finally the last bit of restraint cracks. His hands are everywhere, pulling you down against him, his mouth on your throat, your chest, your lips, his hips snapping up into you like he can’t get close enough.
You moan his name and he responds with a curse, slamming you down harder, the rhythm raw now, urgent.
“I wanted this,” he pants, “so bad. You don’t even know.”
“I wanted you,” you gasp. “Since forever.”
He groans — deep, wrecked — and kisses you like it’s the only way he knows how to say thank you.
It’s messy. It’s fast. It’s too much. You come first, gasping his name, body arching, clutching at his arms like you’re falling.
Pink follows seconds later, biting down on your shoulder, muffling his groan into your skin as he spills into you, shaking.
⸻
The car is silent afterward. Just the tick of the engine cooling. The fog on the windows. The sweat on your neck.
Pink hasn’t moved.
You’re curled against his chest, one hand pressed to his ribs, still catching your breath.
His thumb traces lazy circles on your thigh, slow and grounding. Not like before—there’s no urgency left, just something quieter. Warmer.
You don’t say anything. Neither does he.
Then, softly:
“You okay?”
You nod.
“Yeah.”
He exhales, brushing your hair back behind your ear.
“Didn’t think I’d ever get to do that,” he says, voice low, almost like he’s still unsure it happened.
You shift to look at him, your palm resting flat over his heart.
“You could’ve,” you murmur. “I’ve been right here.”
Pink smiles—small, a little crooked, a little stunned.
This funky little murderer really got my heart. This one’s really self-indulgent, but I can’t believe that Adrian isn’t soft as hell and Vigilante is a kinky shit.
Enjoy 4.6k words of some uneditted soft followed by pure filth, ya sinners.
Synopsis: After dating Adrian Chase for some time, you eventually find out that your sweet, mildly eccentric boyfriend is a masked vigilante with a hard-on for killing criminals. And you don’t have a problem with it - well, you do have one. You like it. You like it a little too much.
Warnings: NSFW, Consensual Non-Consent. Weapons Kink. Fucking in a Forest. The Mask Stays On. Criminal/Anti-Hero Roleplay. Dirty Talk. Established Relationship.
Primal play with Adrian but it’s genuinly terrifying how serious he takes it. Running through the woods and he’s pulling you across the floor by your ankles, sticks scraping up your soft thighs while you’re scrambling to get away
⭐︎ warnings: 18+, nothing happens but still mdni, hurt/comfort, some jealous!Steve, fluff, pining, one bed ehehe, word count: 2.8k, anon asked for no smut but I couldn't help but crave it so if anyone wants a part two lemme know because I'm dying to expand on this. not proofread!!!
⭐︎ pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader
⭐︎ summary: Steve's jealousy drives him into finally making a move on his best friend.
♡
It’s not the first time you share a bed with him. You can’t even begin to count the amount of times you have fallen asleep in Steve’s bed. Usually it’s never this quiet though, especially not after a night out that was filled with drinks and laughter. And usually he is also never this far away from you. There’s much more distance between you than on any other night you have come home with him and given the silence that hung over you for the past two hours or so, you know that something is going on in that pretty big head of his. You didn’t want to ask right away, you didn’t want to push him, you wanted to wait and that you did.
You waited and waited and he never spoke up – that is something you both have talked about before. Communication is healthy and key for a strong friendship. Clearly he is still struggling. He is trying his best but still struggling.
You can hear his heavy breathing, the sighs that fall from his lips and it’s beginning to make you feel a little frustrated. You know he probably wants to speak up and get the thing that’s bothering off his chest but he is afraid of messing up, he is afraid of saying the wrong thing… as always. If only you knew that he is afraid of spilling something much more deeper.
His back is turned to you. His hair is messy and you so badly want to reach out and run your fingers through it but that’s much too intimate isn’t it? Just like sharing a bed is… But that’s something you don’t like to dwell too much on. Steve is your friend. And it’s perfectly fine to share a bed with your friend, right?
“Steve…” You whisper, finally killing the silence between you.
He tenses up, knowing what is about to come. He blinks as he stares into blank space. The room is dark, the only light coming from the muted TV that he is not even looking at. His stomach flutters at the sound of your voice. The smell of your perfume lingers in the air, on his pillows… like always and he loves it, he loves it more than he should. You are his friend. His best friend. The best friend that sees him as only that and nothing more. He should accept that and try to move on but instead he finds himself yearning for you and your touch, breathing in your scent when he goes to sleep at nights – or when he lies awake, struggling to fall asleep as thoughts of you curse through his mind while his hand is in places it shouldn’t be when he is thinking of you.
“Yeah?” He whispers, feeling guilty for giving you the silent treatment. He doesn’t mean to do that, he is just afraid of facing you and accidentally spilling all his feelings to you after witnessing another man make a move on you.
It’s stupid. His jealousy is stupid and he is acting like a jealous boyfriend. But how can he not? He was having a great time with you, up until Billy Hargrove decided to ruin his night by making a move on you when he stepped away from you for a fucking minute. Steve went to the bathroom, he wasn’t even gone for two minutes and when he came back, Billy had taken his place at the counter, sitting on his barstool, talking to his girl. He was flirting with you, that much was clear, using that stupid smirk of his as he probably threw some cheap pickup line at you – and it seemed like it worked because you giggled and you blushed and Steve wanted to throw up.
“Talk to me.” You whisper softly, his coldness beginning to sting a little.
He nearly crumbles at the softness in your voice. It almost hurts how much his heart flutters every time you speak up. His 18 year old self would think that by now he would have either moved on or made you his girlfriend but Steve is 21 now and still hiding his feelings for you.
“Did I…” You pause as your voice cracks. “Did I do something?”
His eyes widen at your question and the way the emotions in your voice have shifted. He turns around instantly. Finally facing you again as he shakes his head.
“What? No!” He shakes his head and scoots closer on instinct. Every time you even give a hint of discomfort, he is there to comfort you, to reassure you, to give you warmth and love that you only see half of because you are so unaware of what he truly feels for you. You think he sees you as a friend and nothing more, and he was always so desperate to keep making you believe that out of fear of losing you but lately he has been struggling to keep that up and he can’t even blame himself, it was only a matter of time until his facade would start to crumble.
And despite the sliver of denial in you, you have begun to notice too. His touches started to linger and you would catch him staring at you in moments he should have looked anywhere else but at you. Hugs started to last longer and began to feel more intimate than before. He would stop by your work place to spend lunch breaks with you, bringing you the food you talked about the night before and sometimes he’d come bearing gifts. Every chance he gets, he lends you his jacket… just like tonight, even after he started acting so weird.
Steve is your best friend. You were convinced it was just that, you were.
His eyebrows are furrowed and his hazel eyes are filled with guilt as he takes in the sadness crossing your features.
“Then why are you not talking to me?” You whisper as you sink deeper into his pillow. Your hair falls against your cheek and Steve can’t even stop himself from reaching out and tucking it behind your ear. It’s a small gesture, nothing out of the ordinary for you both but it makes your cheeks heat up and it makes his heart swell when you lean into the palm of his hand.
Steve blinks. He stares at you for a moment, not really knowing what to say.
Can he tell you the truth? Absolutely not. But his silence is hurting your feelings, he can see that and he can’t have that. He can’t. Hurting you is the last thing he wants to do. He wants to protect you from it and he does, every chance he gets.
“Is it because of Billy?”
Steve tenses up, you can feel it because his hand freezes in your hair and his eyes darken.
“Are you angry at me for–”
“I’m not angry at you.” He sighs, cutting you off. He closes his eyes for a second, taking a breath. “I promise.”
You furrow your eyebrows, moving closer to him now as you take in the sight of him. Clenched jaw. Heavy breaths. Tense shoulders. Flushed cheeks. Is there a chance that he could be… jealous? You don’t quite understand why your heart flutters the way it does at the thought of him feeling jealous over you, but it does and it fills you with excitement and it causes adrenaline to rush through you.
“Are you jealous?” You blurt out.
And when it dawns on you what just left your lips, your eyes widen as his open suddenly. You suck in a sharp breath as you blink at him. You are just about to apologize, say your question was a joke but his reaction keeps you from doing so because he looks like a deer caught in headlights – with his brown eyes wide, his cheeks pink and his mouth open he gives himself away.
He is jealous. Steve is jealous.
Your best friend is jealous over you and… it makes you feel something.
You stare at each other for what feels like forever. Eyes gazing into each other and while your mind runs with millions of questions, Steve panics out of fear of having just ruined the friendship. His heart is pounding against his chest, his mind screams at him to do something, to deny it, to come up with some stupid lie but then… you giggle.
“You are!”
“I-I…” His stuttering gives him away even more and it’s as though you can see clearly now, see all that he’s been hiding for god knows how long.
Your cheeks are burning and you can’t help the giggles that keep falling from your mouth. You turn on your back and stare up at the ceiling before you hide your face behind your hands – an action that has Steve’s lips curling into a smile despite the lingering anxiety. Your reaction to this, to him feeling jealous clearly doesn’t make you feel displeasure, if anything it seems to excite you which leaves him wondering if he’s just been an idiot all this time.
“Stop that…” Steve murmurs and pokes your waist, making you squeak.
“Hey–”
He pokes you again… again and again until his fingers are digging into your sides and he is tickling you. And you don’t know how or when it happens but suddenly he is on top of you and his hands are under the shirt you stole from his closet and he is close, much too close for a friend. His palms are against your bare stomach, he is now holding your waist and you have stopped squirming under him. His nose bumps against yours, his lips now inches away from your lips. He can feel your minty breath against his skin and he can see the way your smile slowly fades as your eyes skip between his eyes and his mouth.
You have been close to him before. You have woken up in his arms before. You have kissed his cheek before but Steve had never gotten you this close before. And now his heart is pounding like crazy, and everything in him is yelling at him to do something because the way you look at him can’t be for nothing.
Your breaths mingle together as you stare at each other. Your eyes widen a bit more when it dawns on you just where he’s got you now… under him. His face is right there, right in front of you, his lips so dangerously close to your own as his hands slide further up your sides. A strand of his hair falls in front of his eyes and normally you would have brushed it away by now but you are frozen, unable to move, unable to say anything but his name that falls from your lips in a hushed whisper.
Is it crazy to want something more?
You haven’t thought of this ever before, have you? Up until now, he was just your best friend. He was just Steve. Your Steve but… that was it right? Or were you just so blind and unaware of your own desires… of your own feelings?
Because wanting to kiss your best friend isn’t normal, is it? Wanting him to stay on top of you, to do more than just tickle you and tuck your hair behind your ear isn’t what friends should feel for each other right?
“Steve,” you whisper again as you slowly bring your hand up to cup his cheek. You don’t have to tell him what to do next, what you want now for him to make his next move because his hand on your waist tightens and he moves an inch closer.
“Can I?” He still asks because he needs to be sure.
You nod.
His lip curls up at the sudden shyness on your face and the way your big eyes stare up at him. His left hand leaves your waist, moving up to cup your burning cheek. He can see the nervousness in your eyes, the emotions that cross your features, ones he hasn’t seen on your face until now. All he had to do was make his feelings known, huh?
His heart is about to explode at this point, the anticipation driving you both crazy and when you whisper his name again, he can’t hold back any longer. He closes his eyes and he takes a deep breath before he slams his lips against yours, kissing you the way he’s only ever dreamed of.
And it’s even better, it’s so much better than his dreams. A whimper falls from his lips when he feels you kissing him back. He sneaks his hand under your back and pulls you flush against him, holding you like he needs to do it, to be sure that this is actually happening.
Your eyebrows are furrowed as you kiss him back with the same need you feel from him. You are confused, so confused about this, about what you are feeling, about what is happening – not in a bad way, no, not at all. Confused about how you have been so blind and unaware of all of this.
You wrap your arms around him, pulling him much closer as you deepen the kiss, making him whimper once again. It makes your stomach flutter so strongly. It makes you feel crazy because suddenly all these feelings come bursting through you.
His lips are so soft, so perfect, molding against yours like they were made just to be kissed by you.
The kiss is slow and you can tell that he is savoring each second that passes since his lips crashed against yours, like he is afraid that this won’t happen again, like he is trying to memorize it so he can at least think back to it when this is over.
But you are only getting started.
He doesn’t know how he is still functioning. The way you kiss, the pretty noises falling from you, the feeling of your hot skin against his, the feeling of your chest rising up and down against his own… Oh. Now he is doomed forever.
When you break the kiss in need of air, he doesn’t stop just yet, he pecks your lips again and again, desperate to not end this yet. His lips touch every inch of your face and his heart swells when you giggle and sink your fingers into his hair. He continues, smiling against you as he sloppily leaves kisses all over your face, wanting to take them further down your neck but he stops himself from doing that… yet.
He leans his forehead against yours, and gazes into your eyes. He can see confusion, he can see foreign emotions cursing through them but he knows, he knows he felt something from you too, he knows this meant something to you just the way it means something to him. Now he knows.
He is still holding you the way he did before. He is still breathing heavily against you. And you are still staring at him like you are trying to figure him out, like you are trying to figure yourself out.
The air between you is thick, filled with raw emotions, filled with feelings from you that you were never even aware of as his own finally burst free.
Your smile fades a little as a serious look crosses your face and your eyes lock on his lips again, making his heart skip a beat in his chest. This isn’t over, far from it, this is only the beginning of something he’s been craving for years.
You intertwine your fingers on the back of his neck, pulling him closer.
“Honey,” he whispers against your lips, pecking them once more. “You have no idea how long I…” His voice cracks a little. His hazel eyes burning with more than you thought there was. It steals your breath and it makes your breathing stop and it makes you want more.
“Show me,” you whisper as you lean up, being the one to kiss his lips this time. “You can show me.” You murmur softly against his mouth, being unaware of how his heart combusts at your words.
He takes a moment to let it sink in.
He stares at you, watching the way your eyes are begging for him to make another move, to show you the feelings you have been so blind to all these years.
Will this ruin the friendship? Most likely.
But he can’t find it in himself to care right now. Not when he gets to have this, to have you. His emotions are in overdrive now. All these years of pining and yearning, of hiding the love that he holds for you and now this – how can he not ruin the friendship? It’s all he ever wanted to do anyway.
“You’re gonna be the death of me.” Steve murmurs softly before he pulls you into a soft yet heated kiss, one that tells you both that this will change everything between you.
