MAYA

🎥 18

[dixondevotee]

/ INTRO PAGE \

hello!!! my name is maya and i’m new to writing on tumblr but decided to start out a blog!!

i’m a big fan of stranger things, the walking dead, attack on titan, chainsaw man, and frieren amongst other things!!

there is mature content on here so, beware!!

for now.. i’ll probably center my drabbles on stranger things.. specifically.. jonathan byers.. drool but slowly open up to more requests!!

[dixondevotee]

j. byers || everclear

˚summary: both you and jonathan are at a college party until you make the realization that he may have had a little too much to drink. you take him back to your shared dorm but things get slightly heated..

˚cw: fem!reader, drunk jonathan, dubious consent, established friendship, ooc! jonathan, weirdly sober thoughts for drunk people, making out

˚a/n: this has been sitting in my notes for MONTHS,, i finally locked in and finished as much as i could.. however expect a part two in the future for obvious reasons

just by his breath alone, you know jonathan is wasted. and if that didn’t immediately alert you, his slumped body and slurring voice pointed directly to it. though to be fair, you weren’t too far off from his state, eyes glazed and posture relaxed with the help of a bottle of beer.

it was your first party. well, more specifically college party. was it even considered a college party? the semester hadn’t started yet, but the two of you were already in new york, deciding on coming early to better adjust to the city.

of course, the university wasn’t as lenient with you moving in early, pushing back slightly at the proposition before caving in. there were few others in a similar position as yours, and what wasn’t better than gathering and throwing a small dorm party?

sure, you and jonathan had dabbled in drinking back in hawkins with friends but it was never something that either of you did often.

jonathan stares down at you for a moment, swaying softly. in his right hand is a red solo cup, mystery liquid sloshing around as he moves to sit next to you. albeit clumsily, he eventually settles near you, thigh pressing against yours.

“heeey you.” he mumbles, leaning his head to hover over your shoulder.

you blink, eyeing his hazy form in the corner of your eye. jonathan breathes out slowly, eyes fixated towards a couple in the corner making out. moving slightly to accommodate his presence, you murmur a small greeting back to him before glancing back out at the party.

music thumps loudly in the space but it feels almost muffled in your ears. all you can focus on is jonathan’s head nestling in the crook of your neck. his breath hits your skin, damp, hot, almost bordering on uncomfortable. you feel a series of shivers run down your spine.

you were surprised you didn’t catch the smell of weed on him, something that was growing rare since your transition to the city. this was purely off of whatever he had been periodically downing from the solo cups strewn on the kitchen counter.

the first week had consisted of just the two of you everywhere, walking down the streets, in restaurants, holed up in the dorms. it wasn’t until the beginning of this week had jonathan finally decided to venture out, of course with some push from you. a handful of the people on your floor were also majoring in filmmaking, setting an easy common ground.

you had been less lucky, finding few people in your major and even less who wanted to actually converse. sure, there were people you were friendly with but it never moved past acquaintances. it was a miracle that jonathan was with you. imagining a college experience without knowing anybody wasn’t a pleasant thought process for you.

jonathan noses deeper into your neck, a steady hand coming up to tug at your sleeve. a foreign heat creeps up your nape at the action, lidded eyes flitting back to his slouched form.

jeez, just how drunk was he? he had been hanging around with you for the majority of the party, downing at least four cups before begrudgingly agreeing to spend some time with his new friends.

surely the mystery punch wasn’t that strong. right? you had been slightly anxious about it earlier, remarking to a sober jonathan that you were planning on drinking some beer from a cooler placed to the side. he had nodded, sharing a smaller percentage of your anxiety before eventually coming back with a cup of his own.

curious, you reach an arm over to gently prod at his free hand, nudging the cup. jonathan lifts his arm, hand bumping against yours to give you the cup in a dazed motion. his cheek is warm against neck, gaze still fixated on the couple making out.

“thanks,” you mumble, bringing the cup up to your lips.

immediately, your nose wrinkles at the pungent smell of everclear, hardly concealed by whatever cheap fruit punch had been added in. jesus christ. this was what he’d been drinking?

face still scrunched, you decide to finish off the remainder of the drink, debating on spitting it out once it was in your mouth. no wonder he was wasted out of his mind. taking a shot of this was like drinking three beers. did they even try to dilute anything?

you feel another tug on your sleeve, hand holding the cup coming down slightly. jonathan had lifted his head from your shoulder at some point and was now turned towards your face.

“can we go?” he mumbled, eyelids heavy and words slurred.

a good idea from him. in fact, a terrific one. with the growing warmth in your face from the mystery punch and his inebriated state it was a matter of minutes for your departure. you’d prefer not to pass out in some random persons dorm.

putting down the empty solo cup, you move your free arm to grab his waist. hopefully, there would be enough coordination between the two of you to even get back to the dorms.

“and uuup we go!” you huff, pulling yourself off of the couch with a drunk jonathan in tow.

he sways for a second, causing a delayed reaction of panic through your system before eventually straightening out. excellent. awesome. you had a chance of making it back.

you glance around the clearing with hazy eyes, trying to spot any of his friends that might want to bid jonathan a goodbye. after twenty seconds, you decide that you don’t recognize a single face, especially with the low lights. if they missed him then that was on them.

taking a step, you urge jonathan to do the same, mentally noting that albeit sluggishly, he was walking fine with your aid. his head lolled around, cheek pressing on the top of your head. blinking, you try and ignore the odd somersaults in your stomach, instead chalking it up to the everclear.

maybe finishing off jonathan’s drink wasn’t the best choice. especially since with each step you took towards the door, it felt like jonathan weighed an additional hundred pounds. the world wasn’t spinning yet, so giving up wasn’t an option. you would make it back to the dorms. on your own two feet.

when you finally pass the front door, trumpets play in your head. victory. only a hallway to go. you lift your head, staring at the dingy corridor with a hint of disdain. was it just you or was it getting longer? further. more challenging.

it feels like hours have passed by when you finally reach your dorm room. a sigh of relief leaves your lips, left hand reaching down towards your jean pocket to grab the keys.

you pressed your fingers against the denim, feeling the rough bump through the weathered fabric. it was a miracle that sober you had a rational thought process. usually, you and jonathan hid it underneath the doormat, both too anxious to carry it along in fear of losing it. bringing it with you earlier was a last minute choice.

after stumbling with it for a few moments, and almost dropping it at one point, the door finally opens and the comfort of your dorm envelops the both of you. the room was dark, barely lit up by light in the distance passing through the window.

you bring jonathan with you to his bed, letting out a noise of protest when he takes you down with him. cheek pressing against his chest, you break part of your fall with your forearms, finding yourself on top of him.

unnoticed by you, jonathan freezes for a moment, the air knocked out of his lungs. his eyes flit down to you, mentally cataloguing how you looked above him. unfortunately, the moment didn’t last long when you finally came to.

groaning, you roll off him and onto your side, head coming to rest on his upper arm. ouch. regardless of your less than graceful fall, you take the opportunity to cuddle up next to him, drawn in by his natural warmth.

“hey,” you mumble quietly, eyes fluttering shut when he pulls you closer, “feeling okay?”

jonathan swallows nervously, head still swimming with the copious amounts of alcohol he had swallowed from earlier. all that was on his mind was the couple from before, lips slotted together as they made out without a care in the world.

his arm twitches underneath the weight of your head and jonathan fights off the urge to curl it in, pulling you impossibly closer. close. god, you were so close to him. he could feel your breath on his neck and it only made him feel warmer.

“uh—“ he attempts to speak, choked up for a moment before continuing, “d’you like kissing?”

shit. that wasn’t what he was trying to say. sure, he was thinking about kissing but he hadn’t meant to admit anything out loud.

you blink, processing the sentence slowly.

what? kissing?

well sure, who didn’t like it. with the right person and the right mood it felt like heaven. or at least that’s what people had told you. you were yet to experience a decent make-out session, either having kissed a human wall or suffocated close to death by slobber alone.

hell, maybe it was you that was the bad kisser.

“s’okay.. i mean i haven’t done it in a while.” the words come out hushed, akin to a confession one might make in a confessional.

jonathan says nothing, eliciting a slight worry on your side. it was taboo for the both of you to talk about anything intimate, instead glazing over the topic or changing it for something else. late nights like these were usually spent playing board games or reminiscing about your time in hawkins.

it felt strange to talk about something like this with him, not in a bad way but in a sense you couldn’t describe. it felt natural. safe. like you could tell him anything about it and he would understand.

jonathan licks his lips, eyes moving to stare at the wall.

“d’you want to try? see if you remember how to do it?” he says it breathily, attempting to soothe the absolute blow to your mental state by laughing at the end.

you attempt to answer him, probably something to deflect his statement but the words only die on your tongue. because you do. you want to kiss him. you’d be lying if you said the thought hadn’t ever crossed your mind.

tentatively, jonathan decides to look at you after a beat of silence from your end.

his breath hitches.

because you’re not holding eye contact with him, not even close. instead, you’re staring directly at his lips, eyebrows strewn and lips parted. mind still not fully functional, he acts before he can stop himself.

his free arm moves, hand coming to rest on your jaw. you blink, about to ask him what he was doing until his fingers tilt your jaw up to meet his mouth.

you lips press together chastely, breaking apart after a few moments before you crash into him. jonathan hesitates for only a moment before pushing back with the same intensity, moving the arm underneath your head to your shoulders.

he curls you closer to him, lips moving in tandem with your own. your mind shifts between empty and every possible thought running at the speed of light.

you were kissing him. he was kissing you. the both of you were kissing each other. you move your hands feverishly over him, one holding the side of his face and the other resting against his chest.

you could hear your heart pounding in your ears, could feel it stuttering a beat when he parted for a second to whimper against your lips. seizing the opportunity, you open your mouth with the next kiss, tongue swiping against his lips.

in return, jonathan drops his hand from your jaw, slowly moving it down the expanse of your body before lingering in the sliver of skin in between your shirt and jeans. you shiver at the feeling, feeling his fingertips move over the light dusting of hair near your navel.

slightly overwhelmed, you pull away for a second, head leaning forwards to press against his forehead. his breath comes out in short pants, grip faltering as his eyes lock onto yours.

“are we really doing this?” you manage after a moment, unable to pull your eyes away from his shining lips.

jonathan only breathes out, a dopey smile growing on his face as he shifts his body to hover over yours.

“yep,” is all he says with a cheeky look, dipping down to capture your lips in his.

you stifle a laugh against his lips, eyes fluttering shut as you’re drawn in yet again. one of his arms rests above yours, bracing his weight while the other moves back to your stomach, lingering between the gap.

jonathan pulls away for a moment, glancing at you nervously. sure, he wasn’t a stranger to making out but it felt different with you. he wanted to be perfect.

you make a small noise of disappointment at the sudden distance, eyes opening slightly to glance at his position. wordlessly, you move your hand to his, fingers trembling as you direct it underneath your shirt.

jonathan takes the hint, tracing your skin and leaning back down to kiss you. however, both of your movements grow sloppy when his tongue makes its way into your mouth. you exhale through your nose, a heat growing between your legs. he tastes like everclear with a hint of strawberry, probably the other factor in the mystery liquid from before.

you almost wanted to moan at the sensation, instead moving a hand up to curl in jonathan’s hair. his hand trails up further, dancing over the lace of your bra. you almost want him to rip it off, desperate to get as close as you possibly can to him.

what you didn’t expect was for him to pull away, yet again, and ask you a question.

“can i eat you out?”

[dixondevotee]

j. byers || everclear

˚summary: both you and jonathan are at a college party until you make the realization that he may have had a little too much to drink. you take him back to your shared dorm but things get slightly heated..

˚cw: fem!reader, drunk jonathan, dubious consent, established friendship, ooc! jonathan, weirdly sober thoughts for drunk people, making out

˚a/n: this has been sitting in my notes for MONTHS,, i finally locked in and finished as much as i could.. however expect a part two in the future for obvious reasons

just by his breath alone, you know jonathan is wasted. and if that didn’t immediately alert you, his slumped body and slurring voice pointed directly to it. though to be fair, you weren’t too far off from his state, eyes glazed and posture relaxed with the help of a bottle of beer.

it was your first party. well, more specifically college party. was it even considered a college party? the semester hadn’t started yet, but the two of you were already in new york, deciding on coming early to better adjust to the city.

of course, the university wasn’t as lenient with you moving in early, pushing back slightly at the proposition before caving in. there were few others in a similar position as yours, and what wasn’t better than gathering and throwing a small dorm party?

sure, you and jonathan had dabbled in drinking back in hawkins with friends but it was never something that either of you did often.

jonathan stares down at you for a moment, swaying softly. in his right hand is a red solo cup, mystery liquid sloshing around as he moves to sit next to you. albeit clumsily, he eventually settles near you, thigh pressing against yours.

“heeey you.” he mumbles, leaning his head to hover over your shoulder.

you blink, eyeing his hazy form in the corner of your eye. jonathan breathes out slowly, eyes fixated towards a couple in the corner making out. moving slightly to accommodate his presence, you murmur a small greeting back to him before glancing back out at the party.

music thumps loudly in the space but it feels almost muffled in your ears. all you can focus on is jonathan’s head nestling in the crook of your neck. his breath hits your skin, damp, hot, almost bordering on uncomfortable. you feel a series of shivers run down your spine.

you were surprised you didn’t catch the smell of weed on him, something that was growing rare since your transition to the city. this was purely off of whatever he had been periodically downing from the solo cups strewn on the kitchen counter.

the first week had consisted of just the two of you everywhere, walking down the streets, in restaurants, holed up in the dorms. it wasn’t until the beginning of this week had jonathan finally decided to venture out, of course with some push from you. a handful of the people on your floor were also majoring in filmmaking, setting an easy common ground.

you had been less lucky, finding few people in your major and even less who wanted to actually converse. sure, there were people you were friendly with but it never moved past acquaintances. it was a miracle that jonathan was with you. imagining a college experience without knowing anybody wasn’t a pleasant thought process for you.

jonathan noses deeper into your neck, a steady hand coming up to tug at your sleeve. a foreign heat creeps up your nape at the action, lidded eyes flitting back to his slouched form.

jeez, just how drunk was he? he had been hanging around with you for the majority of the party, downing at least four cups before begrudgingly agreeing to spend some time with his new friends.

surely the mystery punch wasn’t that strong. right? you had been slightly anxious about it earlier, remarking to a sober jonathan that you were planning on drinking some beer from a cooler placed to the side. he had nodded, sharing a smaller percentage of your anxiety before eventually coming back with a cup of his own.

curious, you reach an arm over to gently prod at his free hand, nudging the cup. jonathan lifts his arm, hand bumping against yours to give you the cup in a dazed motion. his cheek is warm against neck, gaze still fixated on the couple making out.

“thanks,” you mumble, bringing the cup up to your lips.

immediately, your nose wrinkles at the pungent smell of everclear, hardly concealed by whatever cheap fruit punch had been added in. jesus christ. this was what he’d been drinking?

face still scrunched, you decide to finish off the remainder of the drink, debating on spitting it out once it was in your mouth. no wonder he was wasted out of his mind. taking a shot of this was like drinking three beers. did they even try to dilute anything?

you feel another tug on your sleeve, hand holding the cup coming down slightly. jonathan had lifted his head from your shoulder at some point and was now turned towards your face.

“can we go?” he mumbled, eyelids heavy and words slurred.

a good idea from him. in fact, a terrific one. with the growing warmth in your face from the mystery punch and his inebriated state it was a matter of minutes for your departure. you’d prefer not to pass out in some random persons dorm.

putting down the empty solo cup, you move your free arm to grab his waist. hopefully, there would be enough coordination between the two of you to even get back to the dorms.

“and uuup we go!” you huff, pulling yourself off of the couch with a drunk jonathan in tow.

he sways for a second, causing a delayed reaction of panic through your system before eventually straightening out. excellent. awesome. you had a chance of making it back.

you glance around the clearing with hazy eyes, trying to spot any of his friends that might want to bid jonathan a goodbye. after twenty seconds, you decide that you don’t recognize a single face, especially with the low lights. if they missed him then that was on them.

taking a step, you urge jonathan to do the same, mentally noting that albeit sluggishly, he was walking fine with your aid. his head lolled around, cheek pressing on the top of your head. blinking, you try and ignore the odd somersaults in your stomach, instead chalking it up to the everclear.

maybe finishing off jonathan’s drink wasn’t the best choice. especially since with each step you took towards the door, it felt like jonathan weighed an additional hundred pounds. the world wasn’t spinning yet, so giving up wasn’t an option. you would make it back to the dorms. on your own two feet.

when you finally pass the front door, trumpets play in your head. victory. only a hallway to go. you lift your head, staring at the dingy corridor with a hint of disdain. was it just you or was it getting longer? further. more challenging.

it feels like hours have passed by when you finally reach your dorm room. a sigh of relief leaves your lips, left hand reaching down towards your jean pocket to grab the keys.

you pressed your fingers against the denim, feeling the rough bump through the weathered fabric. it was a miracle that sober you had a rational thought process. usually, you and jonathan hid it underneath the doormat, both too anxious to carry it along in fear of losing it. bringing it with you earlier was a last minute choice.

after stumbling with it for a few moments, and almost dropping it at one point, the door finally opens and the comfort of your dorm envelops the both of you. the room was dark, barely lit up by light in the distance passing through the window.

you bring jonathan with you to his bed, letting out a noise of protest when he takes you down with him. cheek pressing against his chest, you break part of your fall with your forearms, finding yourself on top of him.

unnoticed by you, jonathan freezes for a moment, the air knocked out of his lungs. his eyes flit down to you, mentally cataloguing how you looked above him. unfortunately, the moment didn’t last long when you finally came to.

groaning, you roll off him and onto your side, head coming to rest on his upper arm. ouch. regardless of your less than graceful fall, you take the opportunity to cuddle up next to him, drawn in by his natural warmth.

“hey,” you mumble quietly, eyes fluttering shut when he pulls you closer, “feeling okay?”

jonathan swallows nervously, head still swimming with the copious amounts of alcohol he had swallowed from earlier. all that was on his mind was the couple from before, lips slotted together as they made out without a care in the world.

his arm twitches underneath the weight of your head and jonathan fights off the urge to curl it in, pulling you impossibly closer. close. god, you were so close to him. he could feel your breath on his neck and it only made him feel warmer.

“uh—“ he attempts to speak, choked up for a moment before continuing, “d’you like kissing?”

shit. that wasn’t what he was trying to say. sure, he was thinking about kissing but he hadn’t meant to admit anything out loud.

you blink, processing the sentence slowly.

what? kissing?

well sure, who didn’t like it. with the right person and the right mood it felt like heaven. or at least that’s what people had told you. you were yet to experience a decent make-out session, either having kissed a human wall or suffocated close to death by slobber alone.

hell, maybe it was you that was the bad kisser.

“s’okay.. i mean i haven’t done it in a while.” the words come out hushed, akin to a confession one might make in a confessional.

jonathan says nothing, eliciting a slight worry on your side. it was taboo for the both of you to talk about anything intimate, instead glazing over the topic or changing it for something else. late nights like these were usually spent playing board games or reminiscing about your time in hawkins.

it felt strange to talk about something like this with him, not in a bad way but in a sense you couldn’t describe. it felt natural. safe. like you could tell him anything about it and he would understand.

jonathan licks his lips, eyes moving to stare at the wall.

“d’you want to try? see if you remember how to do it?” he says it breathily, attempting to soothe the absolute blow to your mental state by laughing at the end.

you attempt to answer him, probably something to deflect his statement but the words only die on your tongue. because you do. you want to kiss him. you’d be lying if you said the thought hadn’t ever crossed your mind.

tentatively, jonathan decides to look at you after a beat of silence from your end.

his breath hitches.

because you’re not holding eye contact with him, not even close. instead, you’re staring directly at his lips, eyebrows strewn and lips parted. mind still not fully functional, he acts before he can stop himself.

his free arm moves, hand coming to rest on your jaw. you blink, about to ask him what he was doing until his fingers tilt your jaw up to meet his mouth.

you lips press together chastely, breaking apart after a few moments before you crash into him. jonathan hesitates for only a moment before pushing back with the same intensity, moving the arm underneath your head to your shoulders.

he curls you closer to him, lips moving in tandem with your own. your mind shifts between empty and every possible thought running at the speed of light.

you were kissing him. he was kissing you. the both of you were kissing each other. you move your hands feverishly over him, one holding the side of his face and the other resting against his chest.

you could hear your heart pounding in your ears, could feel it stuttering a beat when he parted for a second to whimper against your lips. seizing the opportunity, you open your mouth with the next kiss, tongue swiping against his lips.

in return, jonathan drops his hand from your jaw, slowly moving it down the expanse of your body before lingering in the sliver of skin in between your shirt and jeans. you shiver at the feeling, feeling his fingertips move over the light dusting of hair near your navel.

slightly overwhelmed, you pull away for a second, head leaning forwards to press against his forehead. his breath comes out in short pants, grip faltering as his eyes lock onto yours.

“are we really doing this?” you manage after a moment, unable to pull your eyes away from his shining lips.

jonathan only breathes out, a dopey smile growing on his face as he shifts his body to hover over yours.

“yep,” is all he says with a cheeky look, dipping down to capture your lips in his.

you stifle a laugh against his lips, eyes fluttering shut as you’re drawn in yet again. one of his arms rests above yours, bracing his weight while the other moves back to your stomach, lingering between the gap.

jonathan pulls away for a moment, glancing at you nervously. sure, he wasn’t a stranger to making out but it felt different with you. he wanted to be perfect.

you make a small noise of disappointment at the sudden distance, eyes opening slightly to glance at his position. wordlessly, you move your hand to his, fingers trembling as you direct it underneath your shirt.

jonathan takes the hint, tracing your skin and leaning back down to kiss you. however, both of your movements grow sloppy when his tongue makes its way into your mouth. you exhale through your nose, a heat growing between your legs. he tastes like everclear with a hint of strawberry, probably the other factor in the mystery liquid from before.

you almost wanted to moan at the sensation, instead moving a hand up to curl in jonathan’s hair. his hand trails up further, dancing over the lace of your bra. you almost want him to rip it off, desperate to get as close as you possibly can to him.

what you didn’t expect was for him to pull away, yet again, and ask you a question.

“can i eat you out?”

[clarktologist]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ SCHOOL GIRL CRUSH!

summary: you bring your elderly neighbor to the ER after a fall, only to be faced with your high school crush - who is hotter, more capable and just as charming. pairing: frank langdon x social worker!reader tags: afab reader, meddling elderly neighbor, just some flirting, vomiting is mentioned but not described, frank langdon was a problem child in high school truthnuke, shen & mel mention, hospital setting, small miscommunication, divorced frank langdon word count: 5.0k notes: frank langdon i love u. one day i'll be able to write a small fic. please reblog if you enjoy!

also, check out my masterlist!

The emergency department is not where you thought you’d find yourself at four in the morning. Especially not after you had made such a fuss to your friends about getting home early and going to sleep immediately afterwards.

It had been such a nice night. You had had a nice dinner, ran yourself a hot bath for the first time in ages. Put on a matching pajama set that felt silky on your freshly-shaved legs, curled up beneath a fluffy freshly-cleaned blanket. Sleep had come easily. That is, until the vibrating of your phone woke you up.

Miss Robin had lived in the house next to yours for four decades. As soon as you had inherited the house you now lived in, she had waddled on over, a Tupperware of still-warm cookies in her hands and a bright smile on her face. You had returned the favor by bringing over some leftover lasagna and your friendship had only sprouted further and further.

She was widowed young, her husband passing away from cancer when they were in their forties. Her only son had grown up and moved out, now a lawyer in New York. He was only a six hour drive away, but his job and family seemed to keep him too busy to come and visit his mother. You thought it was bullshit, but Miss Robin had constantly reassured you that her son had reached out enough to keep her happy, so there wasn’t much more to say.

Over time, she had become a close confidant of yours. It was silly, especially with the drastic age difference between the two of you, but she was kind and had wisdom you couldn’t even fathom. It made the lonely nights in your large house just a bit less haunting.

Which is why her voice over the phone, wavering about how she had fallen and she didn’t believe she could get up, had immediately gotten you out of bed. You had slid a baggy hoodie over your pajamas, slid your socked feet into the ugliest pair of sandals you owned, and immediately raced over next door. Luckily, she had given you a key a couple of months ago when she had decided to go on a trip with some friends from her book club, so you were able to barge into her home and find her.

After sending her off in the ambulance, even as she had protested and ensured you that she was fine, you had jumped in your own car and driven to the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. Ruffled, still donned in the rattiest clothes you own and hair entangled in a rat’s nest, you had been brought back to her room to wait until she got back from a CT, whatever that meant.

Luckily, Miss Robin’s doctor seemed to be nice. A bit ditsy and attached to the coffee in his hand, but competent and kind. She couldn’t stop gushing about how handsome he was, anyway, so there was no time to question his doctor-ing between her trying to play matchmaker.

The clock on the wall now reads seven-thirty in the morning. Three and a half hours of sitting in this room after being woken up and you’re feeling it in every part of you, your elbow perched on the railing of Miss Robin’s bed and your chin in your palm. Every couple moments, your eyelids drift closed without your permission, only to be jerked open again a second later at the beep of the heartrate monitor attached to her finger.

You sit up at the sound of the curtain rustling, squinting at the extra bit of light that streams into the space. All of their rooms had been filled despite the early hour the ambulance had come in, meaning that you and Miss Robin were occupying a make-shift room made up of three curtains and a dream. It was loud, especially with the man on the other side of the curtain retching every few minutes.

How lovely.

“Hello, Miss Sheffield. I’ll be taking over your care from Dr. Shen so he can head home.” A voice hits your ears, perking up for more news. Hopefully, that meant you could leave soon and catch at least a few hours of sleep before work tomorrow. “I’m Dr -”

“Frank?” His name spills out of your lips before you can stop it, shoulders tensing as you sit straight up. 

“Dr. Frank? What a silly name.” Miss Robin muses playfully. You pass her a look and watch as she mimics zipping her lips closed.

Frank Langdon. Dimpled chin, thick eyebrows, blue-eyed Frank Langdon. He realizes who you are the minute you speak his name into the air, lips parting in surprise as his eyes flicker between you and Miss Robin. He’s frozen for only a moment, recovering with a shake of his head.

The corners of his lips tilt up in an almost sheepish smile. “Dr. Langdon.” He gently corrects the older woman as he looks at her. Then, he finds you again. “It’s nice to see you.”

It almost irks you, the professionalism radiating off of him while your heart thuds harder in your chest. You squirm as a blush naturally creeps up on your cheeks, reaching up to run your fingers through your hair. Your fingers snag on a couple of tangles on their way through and you make a mental note to shift into a ponytail as soon as possible.

Miss Robin’s eyes flicker from the both of you as you sit in an awkward staring contest, your words caught in your throat. “Do you two know each other?” she asks.

“Yes.” 

Langdon speaks at the same time as you, although his voice is way less squeakier than yours. He gives you a crooked smile before looking back at the actual patient. “I shouldn’t admit this as your doctor, but I used to get the answers to my math quizzes off of her.” He moves closer to the bed, pulling his stethoscope off of his neck. 

With intense focus, he presses the bell to Miss Robin’s chest, situating the eartips into his ears. He murmurs a quick “breathe deep” as he slides it along her chest and then back. His gaze flickers from where his hand is placed to her vitals, taking mental notes.

You stay quiet as he works, not wanting to interrupt. It was odd, seeing him after all these years. Taller, more muscle curving along his arms from what you could see through his scrubs. His hair had been constantly quiffed up as a teenager, but now it was settled into a mess of a middle part, loose strands falling over his forehead. Just as handsome as you had found him in high school, although manlier. 

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Miss Robin sweetly responds, practically beaming as he gives her a soft laugh. 

You’re not the only one that has been swooned by his charm, it seems.

“I appreciate that.” Frank looks between the two of you as he grabs a tablet off of a cart, gaze constantly moving. “How do you two know each other, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

Your throat feels dry as you swallow nervously, clearing it before you speak. “She’s my neighbor,” you answer. 

A loose string at the edge of your hoodie has become the victim of your nervous fidgeting, tugging on it and feeling the sleeve constrict just a bit. “And my friend.” You add, suddenly bashful about your friendship with a woman decades older than you. What if he thought you were a loser who couldn’t make friends your own age?

Robin hums her agreement. “She’s a darling,” she gushes. You pretend to miss the pointed look and smile she flashes at you. “She’s the one who called the ambulance for me today. Ran in there like Superwoman, you should’ve seen her.”

The urge to sink into your baggy hoodie consumes you, but instead you finally snap off the thread and turn it over in your fingers. 

“It’s nice that you have someone to help you out, Miss Sheffield. Although I doubt you need it most of the time.” One eye closes in a quick wink and you’re pretty sure you see a blush on her cheeks. “Now, Dr. Shen briefed me quickly on your case, but I’d like to hear from you what happened this morning.”

Your neighbor gets into a way-too-peppy ramble of everything that led to her fall and happened afterwards, clearly inflating your role in this story. Despite her hyperbolic storytelling, Frank listens intently, nodding in response.

Once she’s done, he gives her a friendly smile. “Alright. Looking at your vitals, you’re looking good. Your heartrate is steady, your blood pressure is stellar, and you look great to me. We are still waiting on your CT results, but I know you two have been here for a while, so I’ll see about getting a rush on them so you can get home before our morning rush.”

You’ve dozed off without closing your eyes as the two talked, eyes hazy as they try to focus on him. You’re brought back by his attention suddenly turning to you, sitting up straight and glancing away for a moment to cover up the fact that you had been staring. Not on purpose, of course.

“Do you want me to show you where you can get some coffee?” He offers, brows raising. That crooked grin blossoms again. “You look like you could use it.”

Miss Robin answers before you do. “She’d love some!” She chirps. 

She looks at you, swatting her hands to shoo you out. “Go. You heard the doc. I’m fine.” Then she gives Langdon a look, one that says “this girl, am I right,” like they’re good chums now.

You must’ve slept through the part where they decided to team up against you.

“Thank you.” You mumble as you stand up, legs stiff from sitting for so long. Curling your arm around your waist, you press your thumb into the small of your back, hoping to ease the dull ache there. 

Frank holds the curtain open for you to step out into the hubbub of the emergency department, shutting it behind you with a swish. His hand curls gently around your bicep to pull you out of the way of an incoming gurney, the touch disappearing as soon as it’s there. “Your back hurt?” he asks.

Taking a look around the sudden busy state of the ER, you shake your head dismissively. “It’s just from sitting down for so long. I’ll be fine.” 

Your next breath comes out as a long exhale as you walk beside him, shaking your head. “I can’t believe you’re a doctor,” you blurt.

“Why? Because I copied off of you in high school?” It’s a tease, but his face doesn’t change much. His hands come up to wrap around his stethoscope, pulling it flush against the back of his neck and letting his elbows swing.

You scoff playfully, shaking your head as you round the nurse’s station with him. A couple pairs of eyes follow the two of you, but you ignore it.  “I didn’t think you’d willingly choose to do more school, is all.”

His shoulders raise in a shrug, releasing his stethoscope to push open a door and duck inside. There’s cabinets lining one wall, a sink and a refrigerator. A table sits in the middle of the room, looking lonely with only four chairs. The rest of the room is bare, off-white walls and all. 

You freeze in the doorway. “Am I supposed to be in here?” you ask. “This looks suspiciously close to a breakroom.”

“Doctor’s lounge,” he corrects. “And you’re VIP. No need to go all the way to the cafeteria when I can just make you a cup here.” The door clicks shut behind the both of you, your shoulders relaxing at the sudden quiet.

Noticing your relaxation, Langdon gives you another soft smile as he steps towards the coffee machine. “Take a seat. Enjoy the quiet while you can.” He nods his head towards the chairs.

Flashing him a grateful smile, you sit down, even if your body still ached from being next to Miss Robin’s bed all night. You balance your chin on the palm of your hand, watching as he places the coffee pot into the machine and presses start. 

“So,” you start, desperate to fill the silence, “how have you been in the last decade?”

His arms cross over his chest as he turns to face you, leaning back against the counter. “You don’t have to say it like that, you know. Makes us sound ancient.” 

“I feel that way,” you volley.

“Fair enough.” 

Another crooked grin. He takes a deep inhale as he shuffles on his feet, looking up at the ceiling as if trying to remember everything that happened. “Well, I went to med school. Chose emergency medicine pretty quickly. I like the rush.”

You nod in response, eyes flickering down as he turns around to gather the coffee pot. 

He carefully pours some into a singular mug as he continues speaking. “I married Abby.” He notes, octave raising as if waiting for your surprise. “We have two kids. Tanner’s four and Penny’s two. I got them a dog, too, which she wasn’t too happy about..”

Slight disappointment blooms in your chest at the idea of him being married. You’re not sure why you’re shocked, however, as Abby and Frank had been connected at the hip when they had started dating in high school. It had broken your little teenage heart to see them together, especially after pining for him all year and hoping that asking for answers would turn into more.

The two kids were definitely a shocker. You tried to imagine the Frank that you had known as a father, reckless and loose-limbed. Did his son have the same charm to him that made him get everything he wanted? Was his daughter as discreetly empathetic?

He gestures to the cream and sugar, in which you snap out of your imagination and nod.

“Abby and I officially divorced a few months ago, though.” He reveals as he pours, tongue darting out to stick between his lips in focus.

You can’t stop the unhinging of your jaw in surprise, his nonchalant tone throwing you off. Langdon looks amused as he sets your coffee mug down in front of you, settling into the seat next to you. 

“Sorry. Uhm, I’m sorry to hear that.” The cup covers your blush as you bring it to your lips, taking a slow sip and trying not to wince at the sting on your tongue. 

He shakes it off with a shake of his head, another strand of hair draping over his forehead. There’s no move to push them away from his eyes.

“It’s okay. It was for the best.” The reassuring smile he gives you doesn’t contradict his statement, so you allow yourself to relax again. After a beat, he speaks again. “What about you? Husband? Wife? Kids? Pets?”

A laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it, fingers tightening around your mug as you shake your head. “God, no. Not even close.” Your tongue runs along your bottom lip to catch a stray drop of coffee, ignoring the way Frank’s eyes flicker downwards at the movement. “I inherited my grandmother’s house here in Pittsburgh when she passed, which is when I moved in next to Miss Robin. Since then, I’ve just been focusing on work.”

“What do you do?” He asks, sounding so genuinely curious that your heart skips one singular beat. 

The good news is that if you end up having a heart attack, there’s a doctor right in front of you. Did they still do mouth-to-mouth these days?

You squirm nervously in your seat, stretching out that one taut muscle in your back. “I’m a mental health social worker. I work at a community health center.”

That seems to sit with him for a moment, an unrecognizable emotion flashing across his face before he settles it. His eyebrows raise as he leans back more, a hand sprawled on the table in front of him. “Really?” he asks. “That means there could be a world where we ended up at a hospital together.”

There goes that heart fluttering again. You press the heel of your palm into the middle of your sternum to try and calm it, reminding yourself that Frank Langdon was just charming, not the prince of Pittsburgh. “What a world that’d be,” is the only response you can think of.

Langdon grins at you again, quiet for a moment. He goes to answer when the door to the doctor’s lounge creaks open, his attention immediately turning. 

“Dr. Langdon? I was wondering if I could get a consult on the toddler in South 15.” A blonde asks tentatively, poking just her head in. Her hair is tied back in a tight braid, thick glasses perched on her nose. She looks at you, eyes widening before looking back at the man across from you. “It can wait.”

His hand raises to stop her from leaving, pressing his palm into the table as he rises to his feet. “No worries, Mel, we were just catching up.” He takes a couple steps until just his fingertips are resting on the wood, looking down at you. “Do you think you’ll be able to find your way back?”

Not wanting to take up anymore of his time, you stand up abruptly, grabbing the cup. “Oh, yeah, no problem.” Your feet carry you towards the sink, ready to toss out the rest of your drink.

Frank’s fingers close around your bicep before you can do so, still sporting a soft grin. “Take it with you. I can grab it when I come to discharge your neighbor.” 

He lets go of your arm before heading towards the door, spinning around and walking backwards when he gets closer to it. His hand reaches behind him to grab it handle, pushing it down and opening without looking. “If you need anything, tell one of the nurses to get me, okay? I’ll be around.”

The door shuts behind him before you can finish saying “thank you,” leaving you stranded in the doctor’s lounge with a lukewarm cup of coffee in your hands.

Once you find your way back to Robin’s makeshift room, after fumbling around for way less time than you thought you would, you’re immediately greeted with a knowing grin.

“What are you smiling at?” You accuse, pinching your eyebrows at her as you hover near the wall. The idea of sitting down again makes every ache pulse.

A girlish giggle leaves her lips. “You have a crush on my doctor.” 

The crochet hook in her hands, produced from her stuffed purse, click against her wedding ring as she loops a green thread of yarn through a black one. Earlier, she had insisted that she was making you a scarf in exchange for helping her out this morning, but right now it just looks like a handkerchief. 

An unattractive snort quickly spills out of you. “I had a crush on your doctor before he was even a doctor. Don’t act like you just figured out the secrets to the universe.” You tilt your chin up at her before pointedly looking at the project in your lap. “Get back to your crocheting, grandma.”

By eight-thirty, you’ve called into work with a lame excuse about how you were sick with some odd stomach bug. Still, the curtain doesn’t peel open until an hour later, Frank’s head popping through first before the rest of his body follows.

“Sorry for the wait,” he apologizes immediately. The muscles in his hand tense as he closes the curtain, the flex not lost on you. “We always get a morning rush from patients who forced themselves to push through their symptoms for the night.” 

Unfortunately, the coffee from earlier hadn’t outweighed the exhaustion that stemmed from sitting in the emergency department longer than you had slept. You’re practically deadweight where you’re slouched against the wall, earning you an apologetic smile that you let yourself sleepily enjoy.

Pointer finger tapping away at a tablet, Langdon speaks without looking up. “Your CT shows no breaks or fractures. Your initial examination when you were brought in shows no signs that we should be worried for internal bleeding or head injury.” He glances up through his eyelashes at Robin, lips pulling into a friendly smile. “I’ll do one more exam just to make sure nothing’s shown up to surprise us, but we should be good to discharge you shortly.”

“God bless,” you grumble beneath your breath. It’s quiet, and meant to be private, however it’s obvious by the huff of a laugh Frank gives you that he heard.

Your focus is basically gone as he examines Robin, fingers gentle along her skin as he checks every spot she had banged and bruised. His hands press into her abdomen to check for sensitivity, those strands hanging in front of his face as he leans over.

You drift off to the sound of him and Miss Robin talking about what she was crocheting, your temple pressed to the cool wall.

An hour later, according to the clock on the wall, you’re roused by a hand on the shoulder. To your surprise, Robin’s standing above you, her other hand on her purse. “Sorry to wake you, but I do need a ride home.”

“Don’t apologize,” you rasp. You press your fingers into your eyes before standing up, jaw falling in a large yawn. “I’ll pull the car around for you.”

Glancing around at the emptiness of the room, the corners of your lips pull down for a moment. “Did I miss Fr - Dr. Langdon?” 

She glances at you knowingly, lips pulled into a reassuring smile. “He hasn’t come back since he did my exam earlier. A nurse brought me the paperwork.” Her pointer finger pokes into your shoulder. “Guess he didn’t have much to come back for since you were asleep.”

You fix her with a grumpy scowl before swatting her hand away, rising to your feet with a soft grunt. “I’m letting you sit here alone next time.”

The older woman’s laugh echoes behind you as you step out from behind the curtain. You duck through the swarms of people that have suddenly flooded the place in the hours you had been there. Blinking through the sleepy haze over your eyes, you move towards the exit, stopped only by the sound of your name.

“Hey! Did Miss Sheffield get her discharge papers?” Langdon’s way too peppy compared to your exhaustion, a bright light in his blue eyes. “I meant to stop by to say goodbye, but then a trauma came in, and then my patient coded.” He trails off, obviously not wanting to bring the mood down.

He shoulders up beside you as you continue walking, an airy swagger to his walk. There’s no move to stop you from walking, just simply joining you in your stroll towards the exit.

“It’s alright,” you assure. “Apparently some nurse brought them by. She’s still in the room while I bring my car around, if you’d like to say goodbye now.”

Frank looks over his shoulder for a moment before back at you, head tilting thoughtfully. “I’ll walk you out first. I can get her situated in a wheelchair while you’re driving.”

Next to you, he’s the picture of nonchalance. Despite the crazy job he has and the lives that are constantly in his hands, there’s not a single wave of nervousness radiating off of him. His shoulders are down away from his ears, his arms swinging at his sides, each step sure.

He’s always been more confident. A chatterbox inside of class, sat next to the quiet students in hopes it’d quell his attention deficiency. The type to toss a wadded up piece of paper into a trash can and holler when it actually goes in, despite only being a few steps away. A loser covered up in a cloak of charm and confidence. 

It’s odd to see it become useful professionally, for him to find the perfect place to turn that energy into something good. If someone had asked you what you thought his life-time career had ended up being before today, you would’ve guessed he had gone into real estate.

“It’s nice to see you again.” You repeat the same words he had said to you earlier, although there’s something gentler. “This job seems to really suit you.”

Frank’s head turns to pass you a grin, eyes flickering around at the emergency department like he’s looking at it in a different light. “I enjoy it,” he admits. “The rush of constantly moving, the ‘helping people’ aspect. There’s been more than a few bad days, but I try to remind myself that the good outweighs the bad.” A smile plays on your lips without you even registering it there, chuckling lightly. “Never thought the day I’d see you serious about anything.” You note with a playful raise of your brow.

His lips part in a puckish gasp. “What? I was focused,” he insists.

“Yeah. Focused on Natalie Jefferson,” you shoot back.

That turns his mock surprise into his signature coprophagous grin, eyes rolling and head rolling with them. “I was not focused on Natalie.” His tongue touches the corner of his mouth for just a moment as he watches you, shifting around the people moving through the halls like it’s a second nature. 

“You totally were!” Your energy has slowly returned, skipping your next step so that you could turn to face him more. “I’d turn around to look at you and you’d be staring directly at her when the board was in front of me. You stole her seat when she got up so that she’d talk to you when she came back.”

A laugh rumbles out of him, shaking his head again. He says your name with an emphasis, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. When he notices your pointed look, he exhales heavily, shoulders falling. “I wasn’t looking at her.”

You groan. “I may have worn glasses, Frank, but I could still see.”

“I wasn’t looking at her,” he insists. After a beat of you giving a blank stare, he tries to push down his smile. “I was looking at you. But then you’d turn around and look at me, so I’d look away. Usually at Natalie, who just happened to be sitting next to you.”

His focus moves to in front of him, giving a passing nurse a friendly smile. “And I’d sit in her seat so I could talk to you better.” Those blues return back to you, calmer and more knowing. “Because I liked talking to you, but could never find a reason.”

For a moment, you just stare at him, eyebrows pinched in confusion. You try to make sense of what he’s telling you, but can’t seem to find what he’s trying to bring up.

Finally, the two of you breach the doorway leading outside, right in front of the crosswalk heading towards the parking lot. His fingers curl around your bicep to stop you, turning you to face him. “Confession time?”

A bit dumbfounded, and definitely stunned by the feel of his hand still on your arm, you dazedly look up at him. Slowly, you nod.

“I didn’t need your answers.” Despite the confession, he keeps his bright grin. The only evidence of his bashfulness is the pink on his cheeks, slowly creeping to the tips of his ears. “I thought you were pretty, so I needed a reason to talk to you. I figured you assumed I was a stupid annoyance, which you were right, so I thought that asking you for answers to homework and tests would be the easiest way to get to know you.”

Frank shuffles on his feet, looking over your shoulder to ensure none of his coworkers were around. “But then nothing ever happened, so I thought you didn’t like me and I tried to move on.”

Your jaw has been dropped for the last couple minutes, taking in everything he was telling you. Disbelief crawls up your body like a hot flash, along with playful annoyance at the way he just keeps fucking smiling at you. Finally, your hand whips out to smack his bicep, scowling at him.

“Frank!” You scold, because you’re not sure what else to do. “I had a crush on you, you idiot! I didn’t talk to you outside of schoolwork because I thought that’s all you wanted to talk to me for! You idiot!”

You slap him again purely because you feel like it, only letting a smile grace your face when he takes a singular step back and laughs. 

After both of you finish laughing at the absurdity of it all, shaking off the remnants of your giggle, he raises his hand to rub it along his clean-shaven. “Wow. Teenage Frank really messed that one up, didn’t he?”

Rather than assure him, you purse your lips, nodding. “He did.” 

He sighs, eyes caught on your face like he’s unable to pull them away. There’s a moment of silence before he speaks again, softer. “Well, can’t repeat that, can I?” He shoves his hands into his pockets, shoulders still low and relaxed. “Can I take you out to dinner sometime?”

“Depends. Are you going to look at another girl every time I try to make eye contact?”

“I promise you that my eyes will only be on you. And the server.” Langdon holds up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

[dixondevotee]

this jonathan fic has been sitting in my notes for a month because i keep rewriting this party scene and it’s worse every time

[suprsnupi]

and that’s for all of time!

mark grayson x fem reader 4k

summer break, and mark’s got his first hot date lined up for him. except, he can’t kiss. good thing he has a best friend who can lend a helping hand—or mouth.

— set before senior year/pre powers mark!! finally had a reason to write denial and situations and two dumbasses sharing the same half braincell LOL

“Dude, you’re totally overreacting.”

Mark shakes his head, messy hair ran through by a million hands. A sigh, “No, I think I’m just reacting.”

Suburban Chicago summers are like this: necks shiny with the humidity and shorts sticking to your thighs. Mark could have turned on the central AC, but he had muttered something about electric rush hour when you brought it up.

So, now you’re sitting in the middle of his bedroom, the pillar fan in the corner working overtime to cool you down. Chut-chut-chut with every degree of rotation, mechanisms choppy and audible over the alt-rock mixtape you burned on a school computer for him. It doesn’t help that his ceiling fan is conveniently broken.

And here is Mark Grayson, a white shirt hiked up over his stomach to wipe the sheen forming on his face, baby hairs plastered to his forehead, breathing hard in the suffocating heat.

Not that you’re paying extra attention to his shirt, but there’s a reason why he isn’t dramatically tumbling down your leaderboard of best friends with each stuffy second that passes. In fact, he’s just below William, who has his own car with AC, and he isn’t afraid to turn it on.

If Mark doesn’t do something about this soon, though, it might just be the Funky Bunch without the Marky Mark.

“Mark, I promise you,” you say. The pillar fan tilts toward you, providing the barest breeze to kiss the sweat coating your forehead. “It is not that deep.” 

“You’re telling me that Violet making a point that she wants to sit in the back of the theater is ‘not that deep?’” Mark rolls his eyes, exasperated. He stumbles up, steps sluggishly to his bed and flops down without ceremony. 

You follow him. Sit on the edge of the mattress, the bottom of Mark’s (Séance Dog) socked foot pressing into the side of your thigh. “You always make me sit in the back with you. How is that not different?” 

It is completely and totally different, though. Here’s the thing: you and Mark are friends—besties, even, when you don’t roll your eyes or want grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. You most definitely don’t make out in the back of a movie theater like a pair of freaks. 

Case in point: you’re in his room, door shut all the way, and his parents are out on a date. Debbie doesn’t even have to give you the shovel talk any time she leaves you two alone. That’s how much integrity your friendship with Mark has. 

And Violet? You don’t really have much of an opinion to say something about her. Well, not if you want to sound like a real bitch. 

But just to put it out there in an unbiased manner, you know she’s been plotting on him since the middle of sophomore year, and you did not appreciate her joining Yearbook. You were even less appreciative watching her save random candids of Mark to her personal drive. 

(Alright, you did the same thing, but only for the ugly ones where his face is warped, blurry, or could star in a horror movie. And you do that for William too—with full consent from both, obviously, and totally not for the purpose of exchanging blackmail material.) 

You can’t blame her for liking Mark. He’s funny, kind, cute at the most inconvenient of times. Even though his grades are average and he looks like he would be an e-dater, you and the rest of the school know that Mark Grayson is one of sweetest, most genuine boys out there. 

You also can’t blame him for freaking out either. Violet is pretty; shiny hair and clear skin and natural makeup. Heart lips and doe eyes. His type, probably. It’s the first time a girl has given him her number, and this will be his first kiss or more. The realization hardens into a pit in your stomach. 

But back to what’s important—you just don’t think they’re good for each other. She’s in love with an idea of Mark found through candids and hallway talk, and you know who he really is. Not that it makes you a prime candidate to be his girlfriend or whatever. 

He sputters and kicks his foot. You grab him by the ankle, hot skin on hot skin. That makes something flip in your stomach; you swear it’s the pint of ice cream you polished off from the Grayson’s fridge. 

“Look,” you start. Mark lifts his head, glares at you with a heat-addled blush. You want to push him off the bed. And you also, maybe, want to profess your affection. “Violet’s liked you for—I dunno, probably a while. Asking out a guy isn’t easy, so if you’re just gonna go to get some, don’t go at all.” 

She’d better thank you for this. Here you are, playing seesaw with your judgement and sticking your neck out for the girl you try to sit very, very far away from in the yearbook room. 

Pure denial, saucepan eyes and hands waving in a distraught flurry, “I’m not. She’s pretty, and nice, and I do want to go out with her. I just…” 

Mark rolls over onto his stomach with a long groan, squirms with discomfort. Pinching his calf, you raise your brows at him when he looks over his shoulder, whole face and neck splashed with pink. Spit it out, already.  

“I don’t know how to kiss,” he finally admits. Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes—barely five seconds since you told him not to go if he only wanted something out of it. Mark rushes to defend himself. You’d think he was sunburnt with how much pinker he gets. “Jesus Christ, just in case! And it’s not like you know how to do it, either. Books—or whatever you read—don’t count.” 

“At least I have a tutorial,” you mutter, giving him a once-over from your peripheral and scooting away. You know what your sneer must look like; some mix between judgy and terribly disappointed, and you’re probably right, because Mark lunges for your hand and pulls you right back. 

“Okay, Ms. Tutorial, you haven’t had any real-world experience,” he reminds you. He pokes your cheek with a lopsided smile. 

Singsonging right back at him, “Your tissue-lotion combo doesn’t count as experience either.” 

You know you’re evil, but it’s not like William doesn’t bring it up either. If they get to tease you for reading sometimes spicy romance stories, then you’re allowed to serve the ball right back into their court. 

If he wasn’t pink before, Mark lets your hand fall and turns scarlet. Mouth dropping and slow head turn and all, like he’s the butt of a sitcom joke. You can almost hear the laughing track playing in the background while he struggles to fish for his words. 

Just barely above the drone of the fan, nothing below a mortified, high-pitched squeak, “You wouldn’t.” 

You laugh and dig your hand into his hair, mussing it up. “You know I’m kidding.” 

And you’re telling the truth this time around. That makes him frown (fussy as always), but he still settles down with his head resting atop your thigh, eyes pinched shut. He’s so cute, whispers a voice at the back of your head, he pouts like an overdramatic baby. 

You trace a line between the two moles on his cheek and wish that your heart would stop trying to break open your ribs. 

Mark reopens his eyes slowly, a revelation dawning. Oh, you don’t like that look on his face. It’s the kind that landed both of you in detention before finals week for the parking lot incident. Curse Mr. Porter—forever remembered as the worst US history teacher, by the way—for insisting that you get your first transcript strike, all for a little eggshell on his car. 

“Don’t give me that look,” you sigh, exasperation creeping up your spine. You just started to forgive him for his AC grievances. Mark smiles at you innocently, brown eyes going soft like he’s the male lead of a romcom. “Why are you giving me that look?” 

“Since you read so much, you should know what girls like, right?” he asks, goading. He’s got that angle to his mouth that tells you he’s trying to fight back a fit of giggles. 

Is he still hung up on this? You speak with hesitance, hands fisted at your sides just in case you can’t hold back the urge to strangle him, “Right...” 

“So.” He draws out the ‘o’ all the way, until he runs out of breath. A quick inhale, and then, “You said it yourself. It’s basically a tutorial.” 

“So?” you can’t help but lead him on, even though you don’t like where this is going. Don’t say it. Don’t ruin it. Fingers finally uncurling, you press your palms into his duvet to fight how clammy they’ve become. “I’ve never actually kissed someone.” 

“So,” Mark says again, a hopeful smile gracing his mouth. Faint dimples and constellation freckles—compared to his reaction when you brought up the tissues, he’s practically stone-cold serious. “We could practice on each other.” 

He says it like it’s the simplest thing, kissing your best friend. 

You hold your breath, count to three. A high-pitched guitar riff from his CD player. It matches the ringing in your ears. 

You’re supposed to say no. 

On the Immortal’s soul, Mark is still your best friend, no matter how infuriating and impulsive and stupid he may be, or how many times you want to smother the lights out of him with his own pillow for being those exact three words. And fuck, how does he get his pupils dialed up to dinner plate diameters? 

But all that falls out of your unsteady mouth instead is a dumb, “I guess,” and Mark looks so happy that he could kiss you. Well, you just signed your soul away to let him do exactly that, but not before— “You gotta brush your teeth first.” 

—

You glare at Mark’s reflection in the mirror. 

He gives you a look with raised brows, toothpaste foam clouding around his mouth—what’cha looking at? You shake your head, expression blank—none of your business. 

Speaking only in shrugs and eyebrow wiggles gives you the opportunity to think about your actions without accidentally saying the wrong thing again. God, you’re so stupid for being weak to Mark’s I’m a beagle puppy and I just got kicked look. When you get home, you will be pulling up a picture of them and training yourself to fight back. 

The sink rushing snaps you out of your thoughts. Mark emerges from the basin with cold rivulets running down his face, dripping from his hair, racing down his...forearms. You’ve never paid attention to the faint veins and casual lean muscle your best friend carried, but now you’re struggling to tear your eyes away. 

That’s enough—you imagine slapping yourself across the face and your head snapping to the side from the sheer force—don’t be a fucking freak, you are not like those kids at school who sneak behind the dumpster to get freaky. 

The word repeats in your head: freak, freak, freak. 

Mark grazes his fingers along the small of your back, making a shiver rip its way up your spine. “You good?” 

“Uh-uh,” is all you can manage without choking on the toothpaste in your mouth. You’re getting dizzy with anticipation, chest and stomach organs staging a mutiny and going buck-wild inside your body. 

Telling yourself that this is just practice, you rinse off and drop your toothbrush in the holder beside Mark’s. You keep your face in the sink basin for a little longer than usual; cold, wet hands pressed to your burning cheeks, stars spiraling behind closed eyes. 

It’s just the heat, you tell yourself, disregarding the way your thoughts scramble upon the realization that Mark’s still standing by counter, waiting for you. 

Just the heat. 

—

Knees knock when you and Mark settle with your backs pressed to the headboard, side by side. 

You ball your hands in the yellow duvet that lays over his mattress, and Mark’s own fists are white-knuckling the hem of his basketball shorts. His hair is still drying, face beginning to bloom with that pretty shade of pink again. 

Heat digs its claws into your neck. 

“So,” you start, just as Mark asks: “Ready?” 

He swallows, drawing your attention to the way his Adam’s apple bobs. Strained; an awkward smile, “You go first.” 

He’s all tense, ramrod straight like a cardboard cutout. 

As earnestly as you can manage, you reach for his hands; they’re cool to the touch, veins rising to the smooth surface of his skin. His fingers twitch as you guide them up to your face. The tremors are infecting you too. When his palms finally cup your warm cheeks, your relieved exhale shivers. 

You might explode at the sight of Mark’s eyelashes fluttering. 

“’Kay.” You aren’t sure if he can hear you over the grumble of his fan. You get a little stuck on your words when Mark’s tongue darts out to wet his lip. 

“I think I should’ve turned on the AC,” he blurts, just as quiet. A stillness slips over the room. He sighs, wistful, “Too late, I guess.” 

You burrow your socks into the duvet for some kind of grounding and huff lightly. “Changing your mind?” 

Mark tugs you in to place a small kiss to the corner of your mouth. You swear you erupt into a pile of ash as he pulls away and gives you a sweet smile, eyes still lingering on where he’s just been. “Does that answer your question?” 

You nod a little too fast.  

Holding steady, mouth starting to go dry, “So, there’s this triangle thing that apparently makes girls go crazy—” Mark follows exactly, gaze darting from your eyes, to lips, and back up again, leaning forward slowly. You forget what you’re about to say for a long moment “—yea, that.” 

He’s close enough that if you moved just a hair width forward, you’d be— 

“Can I kiss you for real?” 

The question feels like getting shot in the back. He’s too sweet for your own good. You might be walking away with cavities in your teeth and your heart after this. 

“Wow, you can read my mental instruction manual?” you tease. 

You keep your eyes open when Mark ducks his head to kiss you. You almost snicker—he's got the half-closed eyes and Kermit mouth, the epitome of a boy kissing and the stuff of nightmares for your girlfriends. 

It’s weirdly endearing and calming at the same time. He’s just a guy who happens to be one of your best friends; he can be gross and stupid and a total loser, but you still love him. 

Love. 

That isn’t something you’ve ever consciously thought about with him in the way couples get comfy in the halls. Dreamt about, maybe.  

You love him in the way you burn CDs for him on the school computers and save up to buy compendiums when his birthday comes around. And Mark loves you enough to let crash in his bed and wear his sweaters when it gets cold. But those are best friend things just as much as they are romantic things. 

You push it to the back of your mind at the first press of Mark’s lips. It’s chaste, stilted, two seconds long, and still makes your heart leap into your throat. 

He’s your first, you remember belatedly. And you’re his. 

Tastes like mint toothpaste, and victory. 

Take that, Violet! jeers a voice in your head. 

Mark doesn’t pull away for long, but you chase him immediately. He surges back, a little looser, tilting his head to slot his mouth against yours. You blink, and then you can’t open your eyes again, too lost in the slide of your mouths. Fuck, is he sure that this is his first time? 

Parting his plush lips wider, noses bumping into each other, soft sighs drowned in the white noise of the fan and still-running CD. He holds you with a sweet reverence, like you’ve been bruised all over, one hand skating down your arm to settle on your waist. 

You gasp when he nips at your bottom lip, startling him. 

Your teeth clack together as he draws back, pulling a light giggle out of your throat. Mark blinks expectantly, a slim ring of brown around his huge pupils. 

Right. You’re supposed to be coaching him on how to kiss with your romance book knowledge. 

“Was that okay?” he asks, hoarse. His throat keeps bobbing, mouth still parted like he’s tasting the air. You think: fuck it. 

You kiss him back, hands tangling into his hair, the rough spikes of his undercut scraping your palms. He’s going to need a haircut soon; you can feel it, the tacky way the longer strands cling to your skin. Mark murmurs your name in a groan, a sound that makes your cheeks go numb with how hot they grow. 

Dizzy, breathless. A string of butterflies unspools in your belly. Everything not Mark fades out—forget the heat, the fan, the heavy bass line of the current song. All you know is that one of your hands is sliding down to rest on his sternum, feeling how his heart furiously tries to meet your touch. 

The thoughts catch up to you, in fragments. He kisses like you’re water and he’s a parched man. Like he loves you, and this isn’t just practice. 

Mark threads his fingers into your hair, hungry, pushing you to teeter on the knife’s edge between sanity and the beyond. You feel weightless, fuzzy in the way shadows are when a smudgy sun peers out from the horizon. You don’t want to stop. You can’t stop, and neither can he. 

In a flash, Mark is moving your leg to the side, settling in the space he’s made for himself. His mattress is forced to dip under his weight—a voice screams about general relativity before you smush it down—pulling you into the supermassive black hole of his gravity. 

You almost pass out when he pulls you closer, knee nudging the inside of your thigh, accidentally finding a strip of bare skin under your shirt. It must have ridden up. A shudder tears down your neck at the hummingbird flutter of his eyelashes on the apple your cheek. 

Moving again, Mark blazes a line of kisses along your jaw and neck. Playing connect-the-dots, or something. Ear lobe, larynx—oh god, collarbone. It comes like second nature to turn your head and bare your neck to him. 

Your cheek meets the cool, polished wood of his headboard. You can’t think straight. This is going to be burned into your memory like how you burn his CDs. 

Faintly, you register the player on his desk shutting off, the mixtape reaching its end. Something, somewhere far-off, sputters to a stop, plunging the room into a silence broken only by the sound of Mark chasing your lips again. 

“‘S just me,” you manage between kisses—Mark hums into your mouth, the tip of his tongue lazily tracing your bottom lip in a heart-stopping move, “or is it getting really hot?” 

You almost try to follow his mouth when he turns his head to check. Separation provides a little bit of relief; you hadn’t noticed just how warm it was with his body crushed against yours. You crack your eyes open, vision coming back to focus just as Mark groans. 

Voice rough with disuse, “Fan’s broken.” 

Your gaze rolls along to meet his—you should have kept your eyes closed. You can only process the sight in fragments; Mark kneeling above you; chest rising at a million shallow beats per minute; eyes glassy, starstruck; lips swollen; skin flushed pink down to his collar; hairline damp with perspiration, the top messed up by your fingers. 

Another wave of sticky warmth crashes over you. 

He looks shit-faced drunk. You probably look the same way. 

“Shit,” you whisper, melting against the headboard. You’re gonna die of heatstroke, all because you kissed your best friend. 

Mark clears his throat, hurriedly fixing his hair. “Do you—do you wanna get fries?” 

“Huh?” 

“Fries,” he repeats. He dives for a shy peck at the corner of your mouth, back to his old chaste self. You don’t know how he keeps his composure. “New place a couple blocks down—free AC, you know.” 

“I guess.” You’ve been guessing a lot lately. Somehow, it’s landed you here. 

He stands up, somehow steady on his feet. “I think we could walk there.” 

“Isn’t it too hot?” 

“I mean,” Mark puts a sheepish hand behind his head, smoothing down the hair you dug your fingers into. Your eyes are drawn to the way his tricep stretches, magnetically attractive. “We just kissed. Can’t get any hotter than that.” 

“You’re gross.” 

—

Mark takes his bottom lip between his teeth, fingers dusted with garlic parm seasoning. 

“Spit it out,” you say, sticking your hand into the bucket perched between the two of you. 

The fry joint is small and reminiscent of a 50’s diner. Harlequin tile, vinyl cushions. You’re squished side by side in a booth, not unlike the way you were sitting against his headboard thirty minutes ago. Just infinitely less tense and sweaty and…intimate. Plus the fry bucket acting as an invisible wall. 

“Did I do okay?” he asks, lifting his thumb to his mouth. Mark licks the salt off his fingerprint—gross. If you didn’t get over your thing against (specifically) his germs a long time ago, you would’ve told him to get his own fries. 

Things are back to normal…not really. Now that you know what hides beneath his innocent exterior, you can’t help but watch his tongue darting out and think back to how it was just in your mouth. 

“I mean,” you pause, rolling back your mental tape, “I liked it, even if it was your first.” 

“And yours too.” 

That’s—what, the third reminder? Your brain activity is brought to a screeching halt. It doesn’t count, right? It can’t possibly. 

Mark looks at you sweetly, all innocent. You can hardly form a thought about his stupid face without having flashbacks to the way his eyes went foggy kissing you. 

Punctuating the long silence that follows, “We were just doing it for practice.” 

He nods right away, eager to agree. With you or his own rationale, you can’t tell. “Yeah. Like doing it with the back of your hand, right?” 

“Right.” 

“Except you’re a real person.” 

“Yeah.” 

You’re on the same wavelength, as always. 

Assured, Mark smiles. You’re strangely comforted by the confirmation that no, this doesn’t mean anything. Your relationship is still holding strong, minus the fact that you made out till you were almost tipsy. But Mark doesn’t have to know that you’re still thinking about it. 

“So when’s your date?” you ask, keeping your voice level. It still breaks off at the end. 

“Friday,” Mark responds, paying no mind to how you grip the edge of the bucket a little tighter. That’s closer than you thought it was. “We’re gonna see Descender.” 

Ouch. Everything he says just drives another nail home into your heart. You wanted to see Descender with him. Hell, it’s the first comic he ever got you into, so it’s special. 

You can’t believe just how stupid he is. 

“What if,” you swallow, inspecting the fry you just picked up, “it doesn’t work out, between you and Violet?” 

“I mean, I hope it does. But if not,” he grins at you with a glimmer in his eyes, dimples taunting you to pull him in, “I have my best friend.” 

“Is that asking for Round Two?” 

“Just saying,” Mark says. He puts his hands up, garlic salt and parmesan still dusting his fingertips. “Now that we’ve got it out of the way, just call me if you wanna practice again. Back of your hand, right?” 

“Except with a real person,” you repeat. A shadow passes over his face, but it’s gone just as quickly as it came. “Real feedback in real time.” 

Mark gives you dazzling smile worth a thousand watts; it’s the one he always pulls out when the matching halves of your braincells click together, all dimples and smug joy. Your heart flips. 

“Read my mind, there.” 

— title from weezer’s buddy holly! i just luv thinking about the “let’s kiss” part and it being the pre chorus riff.. anyways please yell at me & kindly leave feedback :))

[itslannabby]

[dixondevotee]

jonathan byers - first kiss 🎥

fem! reader | | first post !!

cw/tw : kissing, corny dialogue, past kissing(?), honestly this is pretty tame

summary: sitting alone with jonathan in the WSQK van leads you to think about your first kiss.. and why you hated it. cut back to the present and he’s looking at you like you hung the stars.. could this be a chance at redemption for your first kiss?

a/n: i kinda want to make a part two to this.. he’s so precious to me

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'(*)'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

kissing was something you never truly understood. as to why swapping saliva and mushing mouths together was an activity that could be done for hours on end was just so odd. maybe it was just one of those things that would click when you eventually did it.

fourteen hit, bringing new friendships and eventually a new boyfriend. he was cute, an athletic boy with a dimple in his left cheek and a head of curly hair.

a letter was hidden behind his hands when he confessed to you, slightly damp from the sweat of his palms and smelling faint of his personal cologne when you opened the envelope.

as to why a popular guy would even consider looking in your direction wasn’t something to be thought upon in the moment, instead you focused on the present. a cute boy had just declared a crush on you, and what fourteen year old girl didn’t want a boyfriend?

with a flushed face and equally sweaty hands, you accepted the letter and opened your arms awkwardly for a hug. it lingered all of two seconds before his friends began to jeer at him, some clapping and others grimacing at you.

as you two hung out more, the relationship naturally grew closer. hands were held in hallways, hugs exchanged behind lockers. months had passed and suddenly you were fifteen, biking over to his house with snacks in your basket.

your first kiss was still pending, still looming over you like a dark and angry cloud. the anticipation felt suffocating at times, whether it be from yourself or others around you. maybe today was the day.

his parents weren’t going to be home, something he had told you over the landline, words hushed in whisper as not to alert any eavesdroppers.

eventually, you found yourself sitting on his bed, twiddling your thumbs in your lap.

“..can i kiss you?” he spoke up, inching closer to you.

his knee was centimeters away from yours, head already dipping down to your lips.

this was it. your first kiss.

instead of answering him, you close the distance, pressing your mouth over his. for a few seconds, the two of you didn’t move, sitting still and unloving. okay, this wasn’t.. great so far. was this it? the awesome thing everyone raved about?

after a few moments of this awkward lip smashing, he moves his lips.

immediately, you attempt to copy this notion, accidentally bumping your teeth with his. a shared wince echoes between the two of you, drawing you away from each other.

“shit.. sorry.” you mumble, running your tongue over you teeth to try and soothe the sting from colliding with him.

maybe it was just because it was your first kiss, or you were nervous, but it just didn’t feel right. even minutes later, when you finally had started “making out” with him, your mind was somewhere else.

on the sounds he was making, the taste of his breath in your mouth, even the feeling of his lips was so odd. there wasn’t any sparks like your girlfriends had told you were going to be there.

all you thought was that your boyfriend was slobbering all over your face and you couldn’t get past it.

4 years later

this memory of your first kiss arises when you find yourself alone with jonathan in the WSQK van, parked underneath a streetlight at an abandoned shopping plaza. the car radio serves as background noise, adding to the serene atmosphere.

as to why the memory had even crossed your mind in the first place, you didn’t know. you and johnathan weren’t dating, probably not close enough to have any romantic tension whatsoever. yet, the air felt almost suffocating between the two of you.

right? surely the months spent hanging out with him didn’t contribute to becoming better friends. or moments spent looking hopelessly at his face when he wasn’t looking.

you were hyper aware of every movement he made, from his chest rising up and down to the occasional bouncing of his leg. he was nervous too, for whatever reason.

the plan tonight was for you, nancy, jonathan, and steve to go for a night out; try and spend at least a night outside of the living hell you all were in. unfortunately, the plan fell to shit as soon as steve and nancy drank too much, resulting in being dropped off at their respective houses.

so both you and jonathan were left alone, buzzed enough to feel warm and light-headed but sober enough to refuse calling the night off. the unfinished beers from earlier sit lonely in the cupholders, reflecting the glow of the street lamps from outside the windows.

this plaza wasn’t something new between the two of you, it had become a common place for late night conversations, gossip sessions, and even group hangouts when your friends were free. maybe it was the familiarity of it that had you on edge.

the abandoned stores felt like they had eyes on the two of you, anticipating your next move, the possible blur between friendship that could occur at any moment.

“so, uh— what’s.. new with you?” jonathan pipes up, his eyes flitting up to meet yours.

you study him for a moment, taking in his timid appearance and nervous tapping on the wheel. cute, was the first word that came up in your mind. he looked cute like this.

he’s still staring at you, flushed cheeks complimented by a hazy expression. it’s almost reminiscent of his highs, minus the pungent smell of weed that would usually accompany it.

unfortunately for you, the beer is happy to do the talking in the conversation. “hey j’, what do you think of kissing?” the words tumble out of your mouth, close to being slurred from your intoxicated state.

like that was an totally appropriate question to ask your friend. especially your friend who had previously been in a long term relationship with your other friend. for sure. super appropriate.

you can tell he didn’t expect your question, judging by the slight widening of his eyes. johnathan pauses his fidgeting at the wheel, eyebrows furrowing as if he was deep in thought.

after a few quiet seconds, which felt like minutes to you, he answers quietly.

“i like it.”

it’s honest, straight and to the point. but it serves as a slight disappointment in your heart. of course he likes it, everybody did. it was just you that didn’t fit in with the demographic that did.

you felt foolish, asking questions about kissing when the world was on your shoulders. with a sigh, you start to slowly lean away from him, pausing only when he opens his mouth to speak.

“you like it,” jonathan presses, his eyes dropping down to your lips, “kissing?”

your heart throbs in your chest, heartbeat drowning out your hearing at the action. why was he looking at you like that? were you crazy? was this just your imagination?

despite your shrouded sense of judgement, you decide to answer him with the same level of honesty he provided for you.

“not.. really. i’ve only kissed one person and it was.. awful. i don’t understand how people like it. its just pressing your lips together and pretending its something magical.”

the truth feels bitter on your tongue, feelings laid bare in front of you. this was it. the point where he awkwardly nodded, and you two moved past the topic.

“well, you know what they say.. second times the charm.”

♪…. playing.. hopelessly devoted to you ‧₊ ♪˚⊹

your eyes widen, head moving up to stare at johnathan.

“ack— sorry. that was stupid. just ignore that i said that.” he backpedals on his statement, a lopsided smile present on his face.

you’re speechless, rendered useless for words. he wanted to kiss you. you. not nancy, not somebody else, you. what a crazy realization to live through in all of five seconds.

jonathan takes your silence as rejection, his grin slowly ebbing away. the happy expression on his face has turned into a grimace, body language tense as he waited for you to say something. anything.

“okay,” you say, breaking the awkward silence, “second times the charm.”

— ‘. but now, there’s nowhere to hide….. ‘. ——

olivia newton-john’s voice sets the atmosphere in the background as you lean in and press your lips to johnathan’s.

every negative thought about kissing you’ve ever had goes out of the window when jonathan melts into the kiss. he leans into you almost instantly, warm palms cupping your cheeks and pulling you impossibly closer.

— ‘. since you pushed my love aside, ‘. ——

maybe it was the music in the background or the atmosphere of the street lights, but the moment felt cinematic in a way. like the ending of a cheesy romance movie where the leads finally kiss as the end.

he takes a sharp breath in through his nose, hesitating before pulling away from you. he looks lost, caught between wanting to kiss you again or catch his breath.

“…well? was it, ya’ know.. better?” jonathan smiles, his hands cupping your face lovingly.

you say nothing, still living the kiss that happened mere seconds ago. the only things on your mind are his lips and yours, itching to make them meet in the middle again.

“i’m not sure,” a dramatic sigh leaves your lips, “i might have to kiss you again to see.”

his grin widens, and he leans in to kiss you again.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'(*)'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

[dixondevotee]

hopefully this gets more attention now that I figured out how to spell his name LMFAO

[dixondevotee]

would u guys prefer I write about ex jonathan or drunk jonathan…. i have ideas for the two but i’m still deciding on which to do first…

choose…

ex jonathan

drunk jonathan

Voting ended onMar 28

also don’t be afraid to send in requests because the more the merrier!!

[dixondevotee]

u all are freaks…. but you voted and you shall receive soon

[dixondevotee]

would u guys prefer I write about ex jonathan or drunk jonathan…. i have ideas for the two but i’m still deciding on which to do first…

choose…

ex jonathan

drunk jonathan

Voting ended onMar 28

also don’t be afraid to send in requests because the more the merrier!!

[dixondevotee]

j. byers || polaroids

˚summary: jonathan is jacking off to lewd photos of you.. in your room waiting for you to get there… little does he know that you’re closer then he thinks.

˚ cw/tw: mature content, mention of nudes, perv! jonathan, mentions of panty stealing, slight stalking, slightly ooc jonathan,, fem! reader, childhood friends

˚ a/n: pervy johnathan brainrot.. yum.. wc : 0.8k

˚✧₊⁎ ⁎⁺˳✧༚

jonathan is sitting on your floor, back pressed against your bed frame as he attempts not to groan. in his right hand, is a polaroid of you, just.. not of entirely of your face. it’s a nude, your bare tits on display, nipples stiff with a cheeky smile in the top left corner. a few other polaroids are scattered nearby on the floor, each more vulgar than the last. in his left hand, he holds his dick.

he feels guilty, so so so guilty that he’s jacking off to photos of you, his closest friend he’s known since the first grade. he shouldn’t be doing this.

he feels so bad that he can’t meet your eyes in the photos, opting to stare anywhere but your face. it haunts him, a reminder of where your relationship stood, friends. nothing more and nothing less, despite just how badly he wanted the former.

jonathan lets out a whimper when a particular thought enters his mind. rather than having the sloppy, erratic movement of his own hand fisted around his shaft, he imagined your hand instead. soft, steady, slicked with your saliva. it felt filthy to even picture, his hips bucking up to meet an imaginary grasp.

“fuck.” he chokes out, eyes screwed shut.

it didn’t matter if you weren’t actually there. didn’t matter if you weren’t aware of just how many times jonathan had found himself thinking of you like this. nor was it important that your panties just so happened to disappear whenever he visited. you would mention it to him, complaining that another pair of your favorite undies had gone missing yet again and all he could offer you was a smile and a pat on the back.

or whenever he snuck into your window late at night, just so happening to catch you in your towel after a shower. he’d hardly knock, barging in whenever you looked like you were seconds away from dropping it to change.

of course, you were comfortable enough with him to change, trusting that he’d turn away as he always did, even covering his eyes as an additional extra step. but lately, you could feel eyes burning into your back whenever you did change, peeking over your shoulder only to see nothing out of the ordinary.

jonathan wasn’t a stalker by any means, just.. observant. observant enough to capture you on his camera through your window, one hand underneath your thin pajama shorts and the other covering your mouth, smothering sweet sounds. it was art. how could he not take a photo? he was a photographer after all.

it was hard for him to stay away from you, to be truly honest. wherever you went, he went too. lurking behind you in the hallways at school, staring at you longingly from across the lunchroom.

but it was normal. something comfortable between the two of you, relived that the other was safe and in vision.

of course, there were times when you weren’t together, family events, hangouts, emergencies, natural separation always occurred. despite this, you never left his mind. always lingering heavy in the back of his thoughts, your smile, your eyes, your ass..

jonathan breathes heavily, drawn back to the moment as another spurt of pre dribbles down his tip, coating his hand.

he grips his dick tighter, eyes screwing shut as he finds himself close to release. pace quickening, jonathan’s eyes flutter open, immediately locking onto the polaroid again. but this time, his gaze tentatively drifts to the upper corner, focused on your soft smile over your chest.

“haah— shit!” jonathan throws his head back, the polaroid dropping from his hand as he lets out a slew of moans. whimpers follow suit, a telltale sign he was close to cumming.

truly, it was a miracle he could even let out as much noise as he was. your parents weren’t home, out for an early dinner at enzo’s to celebrate their anniversary. you weren’t supposed to be home for another thirty minutes, having told jonathan previously that you had planned to stop at the library before heading home.

unfortunately for him, his mind is too clouded to notice the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, droning closer to your room.

all that was on his mind was you… and cumming. he sort of wanted to do that too.

the doorknob jiggles, stopping once the door has been pushed open. a small creak accompanies this, socked feet stepping through the opening.

“jonnie?” your voice calls out softly, head glancing around the room until you find him. hand pumping up and down his shaft, surrounded by your polaroids.

his head whips up, eyes wide and jaw falling open. you were here. right in front of his face, lips parted slightly as you take in the scene in front of you.

and with a final groan of your name, jonathan cums all over his hand.

[dixondevotee]

kissing jonathan byers 🎥

fem! reader | | bare with me, this is my first post

content : kissing, backstory before the present, two losers stuck together in a van, questionable writing

.

sitting alone with jonathan in the WSQK van leads you to think about your first kiss.. and why you hated it. cut back to the present and he’s looking at you like you hung the stars.. could this be a chance at redemption for your first kiss?

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'(*)'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

kissing was something you never truly understood. as to why swapping saliva and mushing mouths together was an activity that could be done for hours on end was just so odd. maybe it was just one of those things that would click when you eventually did it.

fourteen hit, bringing new friendships and eventually a new boyfriend. he was cute, an athletic boy with a dimple in his left cheek and a head of curly hair.

a letter was hidden behind his hands when he confessed to you, slightly damp from the sweat of his palms and smelling faint of his personal cologne when you opened the envelope.

as to why a popular guy would even consider looking in your direction wasn’t something to be thought upon in the moment, instead you focused on the present. a cute boy had just declared a crush on you, and what fourteen year old girl didn’t want a boyfriend?

with a flushed face and equally sweaty hands, you accepted the letter and opened your arms awkwardly for a hug. it lingered all of two seconds before his friends began to jeer at him, some clapping and others grimacing at you.

as you two hung out more, the relationship naturally grew closer. hands were held in hallways, hugs exchanged behind lockers. months had passed and suddenly you were fifteen, biking over to his house with snacks in your basket.

your first kiss was still pending, still looming over you like a dark and angry cloud. the anticipation felt suffocating at times, whether it be from yourself or others around you. maybe today was the day.

his parents weren’t going to be home, something he had told you over the landline, words hushed in whisper as not to alert any eavesdroppers.

eventually, you found yourself sitting on his bed, twiddling your thumbs in your lap.

“..can i kiss you?” he spoke up, inching closer to you.

his knee was centimeters away from yours, head already dipping down to your lips.

this was it. your first kiss.

instead of answering him, you close the distance, pressing your mouth over his. for a few seconds, the two of you didn’t move, sitting still and unloving. okay, this wasn’t.. great so far. was this it? the awesome thing everyone raved about?

after a few moments of this awkward lip smashing, he moves his lips.

immediately, you attempt to copy this notion, accidentally bumping your teeth with his. a shared wince echoes between the two of you, drawing you away from each other.

“shit.. sorry.” you mumble, running your tongue over you teeth to try and soothe the sting from colliding with him.

maybe it was just because it was your first kiss, or you were nervous, but it just didn’t feel right. even minutes later, when you finally had started “making out” with him, your mind was somewhere else.

on the sounds he was making, the taste of his breath in your mouth, even the feeling of his lips was so odd. there wasn’t any sparks like your girlfriends had told you were going to be there.

all you thought was that your boyfriend was slobbering all over your face and you couldn’t get past it.

4 years later

this memory of your first kiss arises when you find yourself alone with jonathan in the WSQK van, parked underneath a streetlight at an abandoned shopping plaza. the car radio serves as background noise, adding to the serene atmosphere.

as to why the memory had even crossed your mind in the first place, you didn’t know. you and johnathan weren’t dating, probably not close enough to have any romantic tension whatsoever. yet, the air felt almost suffocating between the two of you.

right? surely the months spent hanging out with him didn’t contribute to becoming better friends. or moments spent looking hopelessly at his face when he wasn’t looking.

you were hyper aware of every movement he made, from his chest rising up and down to the occasional bouncing of his leg. he was nervous too, for whatever reason.

the plan tonight was for you, nancy, jonathan, and steve to go for a night out; try and spend at least a night outside of the living hell you all were in. unfortunately, the plan fell to shit as soon as steve and nancy drank too much, resulting in being dropped off at their respective houses.

so both you and jonathan were left alone, buzzed enough to feel warm and light-headed but sober enough to refuse calling the night off. the unfinished beers from earlier sit lonely in the cupholders, reflecting the glow of the street lamps from outside the windows.

this plaza wasn’t something new between the two of you, it had become a common place for late night conversations, gossip sessions, and even group hangouts when your friends were free. maybe it was the familiarity of it that had you on edge.

the abandoned stores felt like they had eyes on the two of you, anticipating your next move, the possible blur between friendship that could occur at any moment.

“so, uh— what’s.. new with you?” jonathan pipes up, his eyes flitting up to meet yours.

you study him for a moment, taking in his timid appearance and nervous tapping on the wheel. cute, was the first word that came up in your mind. he looked cute like this.

he’s still staring at you, flushed cheeks complimented by a hazy expression. it’s almost reminiscent of his highs, minus the pungent smell of weed that would usually accompany it.

unfortunately for you, the beer is happy to do the talking in the conversation. “hey j’, what do you think of kissing?” the words tumble out of your mouth, close to being slurred from your intoxicated state.

like that was an totally appropriate question to ask your friend. especially your friend who had previously been in a long term relationship with your other friend. for sure. super appropriate.

you can tell he didn’t expect your question, judging by the slight widening of his eyes. johnathan pauses his fidgeting at the wheel, eyebrows furrowing as if he was deep in thought.

after a few quiet seconds, which felt like minutes to you, he answers quietly.

“i like it.”

it’s honest, straight and to the point. but it serves as a slight disappointment in your heart. of course he likes it, everybody did. it was just you that didn’t fit in with the demographic that did.

you felt foolish, asking questions about kissing when the world was on your shoulders. with a sigh, you start to slowly lean away from him, pausing only when he opens his mouth to speak.

“you like it,” jonathan presses, his eyes dropping down to your lips, “kissing?”

your heart throbs in your chest, heartbeat drowning out your hearing at the action. why was he looking at you like that? were you crazy? was this just your imagination?

despite your shrouded sense of judgement, you decide to answer him with the same level of honesty he provided for you.

“not.. really. i’ve only kissed one person and it was.. awful. i don’t understand how people like it. its just pressing your lips together and pretending its something magical.”

the truth feels bitter on your tongue, feelings laid bare in front of you. this was it. the point where he awkwardly nodded, and you two moved past the topic.

“well, you know what they say.. second times the charm.”

♪…. playing.. hopelessly devoted to you ‧₊ ♪˚⊹

your eyes widen, head moving up to stare at johnathan.

“ack— sorry. that was stupid. just ignore that i said that.” he backpedals on his statement, a lopsided smile present on his face.

you’re speechless, rendered useless for words. he wanted to kiss you. you. not nancy, not somebody else, you. what a crazy realization to live through in all of five seconds.

jonathan takes your silence as rejection, his grin slowly ebbing away. the happy expression on his face has turned into a grimace, body language tense as he waited for you to say something. anything.

“okay,” you say, breaking the awkward silence, “second times the charm.”

— ‘. but now, there’s nowhere to hide….. ‘. ——

olivia newton-john’s voice sets the atmosphere in the background as you lean in and press your lips to johnathan’s.

every negative thought about kissing you’ve ever had goes out of the window when jonathan melts into the kiss. he leans into you almost instantly, warm palms cupping your cheeks and pulling you impossibly closer.

— ‘. since you pushed my love aside, ‘. ——

maybe it was the music in the background or the atmosphere of the street lights, but the moment felt cinematic in a way. like the ending of a cheesy romance movie where the leads finally kiss as the end.

he takes a sharp breath in through his nose, hesitating before pulling away from you. he looks lost, caught between wanting to kiss you again or catch his breath.

“…well? was it, ya’ know.. better?” jonathan smiles, his hands cupping your face lovingly.

you say nothing, still living the kiss that happened mere seconds ago. the only things on your mind are his lips and yours, itching to make them meet in the middle again.

“i’m not sure,” a dramatic sigh leaves your lips, “i might have to kiss you again to see.”

his grin widens, and he leans in to kiss you again.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'(*)'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

[dixondevotee]

reblogging because i spelled his name wrong like a chud

[dixondevotee]

j. byers || polaroids

˚summary: jonathan is jacking off to lewd photos of you.. in your room waiting for you to get there… little does he know that you’re closer then he thinks.

˚ cw/tw: mature content, mention of nudes, perv! jonathan, mentions of panty stealing, slight stalking, slightly ooc jonathan,, fem! reader, childhood friends

˚ a/n: pervy jonathan brainrot.. yum.. wc : 0.8k

˚✧₊⁎ ⁎⁺˳✧༚

jonathan is sitting on your floor, back pressed against your bed frame as he attempts not to groan. in his right hand, is a polaroid of you, just.. not of entirely of your face. it’s a nude, your bare tits on display, nipples stiff with a cheeky smile in the top left corner. a few other polaroids are scattered nearby on the floor, each more vulgar than the last. in his left hand, he holds his dick.

he feels guilty, so so so guilty that he’s jacking off to photos of you, his closest friend he’s known since the first grade. he shouldn’t be doing this.

he feels so bad that he can’t meet your eyes in the photos, opting to stare anywhere but your face. it haunts him, a reminder of where your relationship stood, friends. nothing more and nothing less, despite just how badly he wanted the former.

jonathan lets out a whimper when a particular thought enters his mind. rather than having the sloppy, erratic movement of his own hand fisted around his shaft, he imagined your hand instead. soft, steady, slicked with your saliva. it felt filthy to even picture, his hips bucking up to meet an imaginary grasp.

“fuck.” he chokes out, eyes screwed shut.

it didn’t matter if you weren’t actually there. didn’t matter if you weren’t aware of just how many times jonathan had found himself thinking of you like this. nor was it important that your panties just so happened to disappear whenever he visited. you would mention it to him, complaining that another pair of your favorite undies had gone missing yet again and all he could offer you was a smile and a pat on the back.

or whenever he snuck into your window late at night, just so happening to catch you in your towel after a shower. he’d hardly knock, barging in whenever you looked like you were seconds away from dropping it to change.

of course, you were comfortable enough with him to change, trusting that he’d turn away as he always did, even covering his eyes as an additional extra step. but lately, you could feel eyes burning into your back whenever you did change, peeking over your shoulder only to see nothing out of the ordinary.

jonathan wasn’t a stalker by any means, just.. observant. observant enough to capture you on his camera through your window, one hand underneath your thin pajama shorts and the other covering your mouth, smothering sweet sounds. it was art. how could he not take a photo? he was a photographer after all.

it was hard for him to stay away from you, to be truly honest. wherever you went, he went too. lurking behind you in the hallways at school, staring at you longingly from across the lunchroom.

but it was normal. something comfortable between the two of you, relived that the other was safe and in vision.

of course, there were times when you weren’t together, family events, hangouts, emergencies, natural separation always occurred. despite this, you never left his mind. always lingering heavy in the back of his thoughts, your smile, your eyes, your ass..

jonathan breathes heavily, drawn back to the moment as another spurt of pre dribbles down his tip, coating his hand.

he grips his dick tighter, eyes screwing shut as he finds himself close to release. pace quickening, jonathan’s eyes flutter open, immediately locking onto the polaroid again. but this time, his gaze tentatively drifts to the upper corner, focused on your soft smile over your chest.

“haah— shit!” jonathan throws his head back, the polaroid dropping from his hand as he lets out a slew of moans. whimpers follow suit, a telltale sign he was close to cumming.

truly, it was a miracle he could even let out as much noise as he was. your parents weren’t home, out for an early dinner at enzo’s to celebrate their anniversary. you weren’t supposed to be home for another thirty minutes, having told jonathan previously that you had planned to stop at the library before heading home.

unfortunately for him, his mind is too clouded to notice the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, droning closer to your room.

all that was on his mind was you… and cumming. he sort of wanted to do that too.

the doorknob jiggles, stopping once the door has been pushed open. a small creak accompanies this, socked feet stepping through the opening.

“jonnie?” your voice calls out softly, head glancing around the room until you find him. hand pumping up and down his shaft, surrounded by your polaroids.

his head whips up, eyes wide and jaw falling open. you were here. right in front of his face, lips parted slightly as you take in the scene in front of you.

and with a final groan of your name, jonathan cums all over his hand.

[heartlocketdiares8]

i need the sloppiest make out with a perverted whiny guy NOW

[simjyunz]

hi im back 😳 i NEED perv johnathan byers i feel like i read them all 💔💔🤤🤤🤤 pls make more everyone i‘ll make out with you i NEED

[dixondevotee]

wait bet

[rainedravens]

"holy shit they finally confessed, what comes next--"

[dixondevotee]

jonathan byers - first kiss 🎥

fem! reader | | first post !!

cw/tw : kissing, corny dialogue, past kissing(?), honestly this is pretty tame

summary: sitting alone with jonathan in the WSQK van leads you to think about your first kiss.. and why you hated it. cut back to the present and he’s looking at you like you hung the stars.. could this be a chance at redemption for your first kiss?

a/n: i kinda want to make a part two to this.. he’s so precious to me

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'(*)'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

kissing was something you never truly understood. as to why swapping saliva and mushing mouths together was an activity that could be done for hours on end was just so odd. maybe it was just one of those things that would click when you eventually did it.

fourteen hit, bringing new friendships and eventually a new boyfriend. he was cute, an athletic boy with a dimple in his left cheek and a head of curly hair.

a letter was hidden behind his hands when he confessed to you, slightly damp from the sweat of his palms and smelling faint of his personal cologne when you opened the envelope.

as to why a popular guy would even consider looking in your direction wasn’t something to be thought upon in the moment, instead you focused on the present. a cute boy had just declared a crush on you, and what fourteen year old girl didn’t want a boyfriend?

with a flushed face and equally sweaty hands, you accepted the letter and opened your arms awkwardly for a hug. it lingered all of two seconds before his friends began to jeer at him, some clapping and others grimacing at you.

as you two hung out more, the relationship naturally grew closer. hands were held in hallways, hugs exchanged behind lockers. months had passed and suddenly you were fifteen, biking over to his house with snacks in your basket.

your first kiss was still pending, still looming over you like a dark and angry cloud. the anticipation felt suffocating at times, whether it be from yourself or others around you. maybe today was the day.

his parents weren’t going to be home, something he had told you over the landline, words hushed in whisper as not to alert any eavesdroppers.

eventually, you found yourself sitting on his bed, twiddling your thumbs in your lap.

“..can i kiss you?” he spoke up, inching closer to you.

his knee was centimeters away from yours, head already dipping down to your lips.

this was it. your first kiss.

instead of answering him, you close the distance, pressing your mouth over his. for a few seconds, the two of you didn’t move, sitting still and unloving. okay, this wasn’t.. great so far. was this it? the awesome thing everyone raved about?

after a few moments of this awkward lip smashing, he moves his lips.

immediately, you attempt to copy this notion, accidentally bumping your teeth with his. a shared wince echoes between the two of you, drawing you away from each other.

“shit.. sorry.” you mumble, running your tongue over you teeth to try and soothe the sting from colliding with him.

maybe it was just because it was your first kiss, or you were nervous, but it just didn’t feel right. even minutes later, when you finally had started “making out” with him, your mind was somewhere else.

on the sounds he was making, the taste of his breath in your mouth, even the feeling of his lips was so odd. there wasn’t any sparks like your girlfriends had told you were going to be there.

all you thought was that your boyfriend was slobbering all over your face and you couldn’t get past it.

4 years later

this memory of your first kiss arises when you find yourself alone with jonathan in the WSQK van, parked underneath a streetlight at an abandoned shopping plaza. the car radio serves as background noise, adding to the serene atmosphere.

as to why the memory had even crossed your mind in the first place, you didn’t know. you and johnathan weren’t dating, probably not close enough to have any romantic tension whatsoever. yet, the air felt almost suffocating between the two of you.

right? surely the months spent hanging out with him didn’t contribute to becoming better friends. or moments spent looking hopelessly at his face when he wasn’t looking.

you were hyper aware of every movement he made, from his chest rising up and down to the occasional bouncing of his leg. he was nervous too, for whatever reason.

the plan tonight was for you, nancy, jonathan, and steve to go for a night out; try and spend at least a night outside of the living hell you all were in. unfortunately, the plan fell to shit as soon as steve and nancy drank too much, resulting in being dropped off at their respective houses.

so both you and jonathan were left alone, buzzed enough to feel warm and light-headed but sober enough to refuse calling the night off. the unfinished beers from earlier sit lonely in the cupholders, reflecting the glow of the street lamps from outside the windows.

this plaza wasn’t something new between the two of you, it had become a common place for late night conversations, gossip sessions, and even group hangouts when your friends were free. maybe it was the familiarity of it that had you on edge.

the abandoned stores felt like they had eyes on the two of you, anticipating your next move, the possible blur between friendship that could occur at any moment.

“so, uh— what’s.. new with you?” jonathan pipes up, his eyes flitting up to meet yours.

you study him for a moment, taking in his timid appearance and nervous tapping on the wheel. cute, was the first word that came up in your mind. he looked cute like this.

he’s still staring at you, flushed cheeks complimented by a hazy expression. it’s almost reminiscent of his highs, minus the pungent smell of weed that would usually accompany it.

unfortunately for you, the beer is happy to do the talking in the conversation. “hey j’, what do you think of kissing?” the words tumble out of your mouth, close to being slurred from your intoxicated state.

like that was an totally appropriate question to ask your friend. especially your friend who had previously been in a long term relationship with your other friend. for sure. super appropriate.

you can tell he didn’t expect your question, judging by the slight widening of his eyes. johnathan pauses his fidgeting at the wheel, eyebrows furrowing as if he was deep in thought.

after a few quiet seconds, which felt like minutes to you, he answers quietly.

“i like it.”

it’s honest, straight and to the point. but it serves as a slight disappointment in your heart. of course he likes it, everybody did. it was just you that didn’t fit in with the demographic that did.

you felt foolish, asking questions about kissing when the world was on your shoulders. with a sigh, you start to slowly lean away from him, pausing only when he opens his mouth to speak.

“you like it,” jonathan presses, his eyes dropping down to your lips, “kissing?”

your heart throbs in your chest, heartbeat drowning out your hearing at the action. why was he looking at you like that? were you crazy? was this just your imagination?

despite your shrouded sense of judgement, you decide to answer him with the same level of honesty he provided for you.

“not.. really. i’ve only kissed one person and it was.. awful. i don’t understand how people like it. its just pressing your lips together and pretending its something magical.”

the truth feels bitter on your tongue, feelings laid bare in front of you. this was it. the point where he awkwardly nodded, and you two moved past the topic.

“well, you know what they say.. second times the charm.”

♪…. playing.. hopelessly devoted to you ‧₊ ♪˚⊹

your eyes widen, head moving up to stare at johnathan.

“ack— sorry. that was stupid. just ignore that i said that.” he backpedals on his statement, a lopsided smile present on his face.

you’re speechless, rendered useless for words. he wanted to kiss you. you. not nancy, not somebody else, you. what a crazy realization to live through in all of five seconds.

jonathan takes your silence as rejection, his grin slowly ebbing away. the happy expression on his face has turned into a grimace, body language tense as he waited for you to say something. anything.

“okay,” you say, breaking the awkward silence, “second times the charm.”

— ‘. but now, there’s nowhere to hide….. ‘. ——

olivia newton-john’s voice sets the atmosphere in the background as you lean in and press your lips to johnathan’s.

every negative thought about kissing you’ve ever had goes out of the window when jonathan melts into the kiss. he leans into you almost instantly, warm palms cupping your cheeks and pulling you impossibly closer.

— ‘. since you pushed my love aside, ‘. ——

maybe it was the music in the background or the atmosphere of the street lights, but the moment felt cinematic in a way. like the ending of a cheesy romance movie where the leads finally kiss as the end.

he takes a sharp breath in through his nose, hesitating before pulling away from you. he looks lost, caught between wanting to kiss you again or catch his breath.

“…well? was it, ya’ know.. better?” jonathan smiles, his hands cupping your face lovingly.

you say nothing, still living the kiss that happened mere seconds ago. the only things on your mind are his lips and yours, itching to make them meet in the middle again.

“i’m not sure,” a dramatic sigh leaves your lips, “i might have to kiss you again to see.”

his grin widens, and he leans in to kiss you again.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'(*)'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*