synopsis: it’s his birthday, and he is one of your best friends while simultaneously being the most annoying person in your life, how wrong can it go?
cw: swearing, a punch and a lil blood, smut but with plot before, virgin!reader, piv, oral (both f and m), fem!reader, 9k words, MDNI18+
frenemies to lovers
You walked up to Steve Harrington’s house and knocked on the door. From inside, you heard someone yell, “Coming!” so you waited, arms crossed.
You and Steve were… complicated. Technically friends, constantly enemies, always bickering, always at each other’s throats. You shared the same friend group , so avoiding each other was impossible.
Today was Steve’s birthday. He’d invited everyone over, and even though you had zero desire to come, Dustin had dragged you along, insisting you’d look terrible if you didn’t show up. So here you were, gift in hand: a jacket from his favorite car brand and a few vinyls of his favorite songs.
The door opened. Steve immediately grinned at Dustin, pulling him into a hug, then did the same with Robin as he welcomed them both inside. When his eyes finally landed on you, his expression shifted. He crossed his arms.
“So,” he said, eyebrow raised, “you decided to actually show up, huh? Didn’t think you’d bother.”
You held out the gift to him. “Happy birthday, Steve. I can leave if you want, Dustin’s the one who dragged me here.”
He unwraps the jacket, and the moment he realizes what brand it is, his expression flickers. “Well shit… you shouldn’t have.” He slips it on, tugging at the sleeves, and it fits perfectly, like it was made for him. Then he opens the vinyls. His favorite band. His jaw tightens, and for a second he just stands there.
“Fuck off…”
“What? you like it?” you say, smirking, already knowing you won. You wanted to rub it in just a little,that you’d gotten him the best gift there. But fuck, he looks good in that jacket.
“Yeah, yeah… it’s fucking great,” he mutters, clearly trying to hide the smile tugging at his mouth. “You didn’t have to get me anything.” He adjusts the jacket, hair falling into his face. “So… are you gonna stay or what?”
“Do you want me to?”
He sighs, running a hand through his hair, messing it up again. “I don’t know. Do you wanna be here?” His tone is blank, but his eyes give him away. “The others are in the living room.” He steps aside, making space for you to come in.
You look up at him and smile,and immediately regret it. Why are you blushing? You hate this guy. “Thanks for having us, Steve.”
He swallows, your smile hitting him harder than he expects. He hates when you do that. It makes him want to kiss you instead of argue with you. “Whatever,” he mutters, stepping aside fully as you head toward the living room where everyone else is gathered.
You drop onto the couch next to Robin, and she hands you a beer without a word. Steve puts one of the vinyls you bought him on, the needle crackling before the music fills the room. You like moments like this, everyone relaxed, just existing together. You half-expected something louder, bigger, from the insufferable “King Steve,” but he’s changed.
You can see it now. He’s not the annoying, popular, wannabe bully from high school anymore. He’s grown up.
You still don’t like him.
At least, that’s what you tell yourself. To you, he’s always seemed like someone who thought he was better than everyone else just because he’s handsome and popular, everything your quiet, insecure self never was.
Steve drops onto the couch across from you, legs stretched out, leaning back as he closes his eyes and lets the music wash over him. He looks relaxed. Almost… approachable. He laughs with Dustin, jokes with Robin, easy and warm. But every now and then, his eyes drift back to you.
Sometimes he catches you looking too. Both of you look away just as fast.
As the night goes on, more drinks are passed around, the music gets louder, and the room grows warmer. Steve slings an arm over Dustin’s shoulder, laughing at something stupid he says. He looks like he’s having a great time.
Still, his gaze keeps finding its way back to you.
And every time it does, something unspoken tightens in the air between you.
Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door. Actually, multiple knocks. Steve jumps up and goes to open it, looking shocked,disappointed even. No, that can’t be right.
It’s Tommy and Carol. His best friends from high school. Mean. Bullies. Always hooking up with each other, probably because no one else wanted them. You thought they hadn’t been close to Steve for ages.
They scream when they see him and run up to him, but they aren’t alone. Behind them are what feels like a hundred people from your senior year. They’re yelling about a surprise party, about the birthday of King Steve.
Steve looks annoyed. No,that can’t be. He’s probably just surprised. Before he can say anything, his entire house floods with people. Suddenly, it’s a full-on frat party.
Steve’s expression darkens as his high school friends pour into the house, loud music and laughter filling the space. He stands there with his jaw clenched as Tommy and Carol throw their arms around his neck.
“Surprise, motherfucker!”
They start shouting and singing Happy Birthday to him, but he doesn’t look happy. He looks miserable. His eyes scan the room, landing on faces he hasn’t spoken to in years.
Your friend group mostly ignores it. You hate frat parties. You’re into rock, not whatever this is. Still, you all stay for Steve, because Dustin points out how much he looks like he hates his life right now.
You don’t believe it. In your opinion, these are exactly his people,annoying, popular jocks. But Dustin is his best friend. Your best friend. You’re sure he knows something.
Steve’s eyes meet yours briefly, and you can see genuine discomfort in them. He doesn’t want this. Not the party. Not these people. He takes a beer from Tommy and forces a smile.
“Thanks, man.”
His voice is flat.
As the night goes on, Steve gets trapped in conversations with old high school acquaintances reliving their glory days. He keeps glancing over at your group, like he wishes he were there instead.
Suddenly, Carol grabs his arm and drags him toward the kitchen.
“Steve baby…”
She pushes him into the kitchen, shutting the door behind them. She presses him against the counter, her hands going straight to his chest.
“Steve, we always had the best times together. Remember senior year? You were the king and I was your queen.”
She tries to kiss him.
That’s when you enter the kitchen to grab more beers,but you stop suddenly in your tracks. Shocked. Repelled. Even a little… hurt? Fuck, why? Maybe you’ve had too much to drink.
“Shit, sorry… uh, continue,” you mutter.
You grab the beers quickly and leave as fast as you can. You were right. Steve is the same as he always was. He’d gotten into it. You saw him having so much fun with his old friends,more than with you. And now he’s kissing Carol. Wow. You were right.
Steve’s eyes snap open when he hears you enter the kitchen. He sees your expression shift, from confused, to disappointed, to… hurt? Before you can leave, he calls out,
“Wait…”
His voice is muffled against Carol’s lips, but loud enough for you to hear.
“Just…”
You’ve already left.
You push your way through the crowded living room and head outside to the porch with the others. But as you move between people, your mind keeps replaying it,again and again,Steve kissing Carol. Your eyes water. Fuck, why? You hate him.
Maybe you’re jealous of him.
Truth is, that’s why you started hating him in the first place. You were jealous of how good he looked all the time. How many friends he had. How popular he was. How easily he fit in. He wasn’t shy or anxious or stuttering over his words like you.
That’s probably it again.
He was kissing another girl. He’s had so many girlfriends. God, you didn’t want to be one of them, not in a million years, but you’ve never had a boyfriend. Never had anyone tell you they liked you. And he’s just liked by everyone.
God, why not you?
“Hello? Calling from Earth.”
Mike’s voice snaps you out of it. You’re finally on the porch, beers in hand, but completely lost in your thoughts.
“Shit, yeah, probably the drinks are getting to me,” you laugh, pushing the thoughts away and focusing on your friends.
In reality, that’s all that matters. Not boyfriends. Not looks. Not popularity.
Just your best friends,the ones who are always there for each other.
As you sat on the porch with your friends, laughing and chatting, Steve finally managed to extract himself from Carol's clutches inside the kitchen. He looked around frantically for you but didn't see you anywhere in the crowded living room or backyard where other people were gathered smoking and drinking.
Steve felt a pang of annoyance mixed with something else..
regret maybe?
as he scanned the crowd again without spotting you. He ran a hand through his hair frustratedly, "Fuck..." He muttered under his breath before grabbing another beer from someone's hand nearby and taking a large gulp.
After checking every room inside and out, Steve finally spotted you through the window,sitting on the porch with your friends, laughing at something Mike said.
He watched as you took a swig of your beer, your hair falling into your face, hiding your expression from him.
Steve felt something twist in his stomach as he watched you.
You looked so fucking pretty, laughing and smiling without a care in the world. He suddenly remembered why he always liked being around you, your laugh, your smart comments, your confidence with your friends... you weren't stuck up like his old circle or you weren't falling on his feet like those girls did.
You had wit, you were different, sure maybe the sort of different his friends would have picked on you if you were his grade, but you didn't care, you wouldn't even look at them twice. He hated who he was but he hated more how you couldn't notice how he tried and how he changed.
He hated how your hair is perfect even though you never take care of them, you wake up, late always, and just go.
He hated that, he took ages in front of a mirror, and for what? for a few girls that rarely had any personality?
He hated how you didn't care for anything, not boys, not looks not, any status.
He hated how much he liked you when you couldn't even bear to be in the same room as him.
It wasn't the drinks talking, he knew he felt that way and he knew how to cover it with looking annoyed anytime you spoke and being always argumentative with you, it was the only way to be close to you
Steve downed the rest of his beer in one go, his eyes never leaving you through the window. He pushed open the porch door and stepped outside. The cool night air hit him as he approached your group, standing tall despite feeling suddenly nervous. "Hey guys..."
“Oh, there is King Steve,” you say, smirking a little, annoyed. You know how he prefers his old friends, how quickly he slips back into his old self. That’s why it surprises you that he even came over after his make-out session.
Steve’s heart rate spikes at the sound of your voice, at the way you say King Steve. He hates that nickname, hates everything it represents. But coming from you, it lands differently. Less like an insult, more like something personal. Something that stings.
“Shut up…” he mutters.
You just look at him, simultaneously in awe and disgust. The image of him kissing Carol keeps replaying in your mind, and you don’t even know why it hurts the way it does. You’re so lost in your thoughts, and in him, that you don’t reply. You don’t even realize when you agree to go with Robin to buy more drinks. You barely register Steve offering to come too, only that you shut him down, annoyed and dry.
You grab your keys. Robin follows you to your car like she always does,she doesn’t drive, so she’s a regular passenger. The door needs force to open and twice as much to shut. It’s not new like Steve’s car, but it’s cheap, it works, and it has a radio. Right now, the radio is entirely controlled by Robin.
She’s rambling about Tommy Thompson,the girl both she and Steve liked in high school,and how she’s somehow become even more of a bitch than she was back then.
“Why is Steve acting more like a douche than usual?” you say, interrupting her. “I mean, he always shows off, but tonight he’s just like the old version of him. The one he tried so hard to bury. I mean, he only came to us after I caught him making out with Carol, and it was probably so I don’t tell Nancy or something.”
You pause, realizing what you just said. You probably shouldn’t have said that.
“Shit…”
“Please don’t tell anyone about, you know… him and Carol.”
Robin just laughs.
Apparently, when Steve came out to the porch, he told everyone that Carol practically threw herself at him, that he nearly punched her, and that he definitely didn’t forget how bad her breath was. You just didn’t hear any of it,you were too lost in your own head.
Robin also doesn’t understand why you think Steve was acting out of character. He tried to stay with the group, but either you ignored him or his old “friends” pulled him away. And he definitely didn’t enjoy it.
He looked sad. And regretful.
Robin laughed at your outburst about Steve acting like an asshole. "Girl, you know what his problem is? He's trying to be all cool and shit in front of his old friends. He thinks he's impressing them by being an idiot." She rolled her eyes dramatically. "And Carol?"
Robin continued, "I mean, he was totally grossed out by Carol. She was all over him like a cheap perfume. He told us she practically dry-humped him against the wall." She giggled. "And he said her breath was like a mix of puke and off brand gum."
You laughed as you parked and, together with Robin, stepped into the gas station. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as she went straight for the beers and other alcohol, while you grabbed mixers and snacks for all of you. As you were about to pay, your eyes landed on some peanut butter Boppers by the counter. You snatched a few quickly, shoving them into your bag.
Back at the house, the party had only grown louder, the music and laughter spilling into the night air, but your group remained huddled on the same couch on the porch. You tossed the bags of snacks toward them.
“There you go, fuckers,” you said, and they laughed immediately, diving into the food.
Before you and Robin could head into the kitchen to put the drinks away, Max’s voice cut through the noise.
“You should make your signature punch!”
Steve, who had gotten off the couch to help with the bags, agreed. The three of you moved into the kitchen, the clatter of bags and bottles mixing with the thump of music from outside. As you set the bags down, Robin tossed the Boppers to Steve. They had been in the bag with the beers. He caught them effortlessly.
“Damn, thanks, Rob, they’re my fav.”
“For real?” she asked, grinning.
“Yeah, didn’t know that…thank her, not me,” she replied.
Shit, that’s awkward, you thought, hoping he didn’t read more into it than you meant. You looked away from his stare, and your eyes landed on a familiar redhead, Vickie Dunne, Robin’s sort-of girlfriend. You weren’t hundred percent sure what was going on between them, but you nodded your head to Robin toward Vickie, and she quickly followed, putting on that ridiculous lovestruck smile.
“I have to go, uhhh, the ladies call me,” she said, running toward Vickie, leaving you and Steve alone for a moment. You both laughed, and God, you loved the sound of his obnoxious laugh.
You started mixing the punch while he just watched.
“Uhh… thanks for the… uh… Boppers,” he said finally.
“Yeah, don’t mention it,” you replied, smiling, continuing to stir the drinks as he stared at you, munching on his candy far too loudly for your liking. The crinkle of the plastic wrappers grated on your nerves, but you ignored it, focusing on the punch
As you finish up, he offers to take the drinks to the table, but before you can respond, his “friends” yank him away,some chat, some beer pong,leaving you ignored. You don’t care enough to follow the chaos.
“It’s fine,” you mutter, snatching the bowl and pushing into the living room, weaving through the crowd.
And then, disaster. Tommy, trying to catch a flying rugby ball, crashes right into you. Your world tilts as the punch splashes all over you, cold and sticky, drenching your clothes, your hair, your hands. You’re frozen for a moment, stunned, before he shoves you again.
You hit the floor hard. Your heart pounds in your chest. He laughs, loud and cruel.
“Watch where you’re going, freak,” he jeers.
Your cheeks burn. You feel every pair of eyes on you, sharp and judgmental, and then your gaze snaps to Steve. He’s standing there, still, silent, just watching. Not moving. Not saying a word.
You can barely speak, just manage a trembling, “Fuck you,” before pushing through the throng of people, ignoring elbows and shoulders. You need air. You need out.
You burst into the backyard, your chest heaving, tears stinging your eyes, fingers trembling as you fumble with your car keys. You slam the key in the ignition, but nothing. The engine won’t turn over.
“No, no, not now! Please, not now!” you choke, crying, sobbing into your hands, feeling helpless, furious, humiliated all at once.
Inside, Steve sees it all. He knows exactly how much you hate aggression, how deeply it cuts you. He waits, tense and controlled, until the moment you leave and then he moves. His fist connects with Tommy’s face with a sharp crack
Blood sprays everywhere, and Tommy stumbles back, clutching his face in shock and pain. For a heartbeat, the room goes silent, and then chaos erupts. His friends rush to his side while others turn to Steve, shoving and shouting angrily.
Tommy, sprawled on the ground and already drowning in blood, still has enough energy to spit out, “What’s gotten into you, Harrington? What is that, your freak of a girlfriend?”
Steve’s face twists into pure rage at the insult. He steps forward, ready to strike again, but his friends hold him back.
“Shut your mouth, Tommy,” he snarls, every word laced with venom. “And don’t ever call her that again.”
He struggles against their grip, his eyes scanning the room frantically, searching for you. Then he turns back to Tommy, spitting directly on his face.
“You will not come into my house uninvited, after not talking to me in years, trash this place up, and insult my friends, especially her.”
He whirls toward everyone else, his voice booming, unignorable.
“EVERYONE FUCKING OUT! I AM CALLING THE FUCKING COPS!”
Surprisingly, they obey. Slowly, muttering and glaring,
Frustrated, he goes to splash some water on his face, the cool liquid doing little to calm the storm inside him. Dustin appears, flanked by the rest of the group, all of them watching cautiously.
Steve turns to them, running a hand through his hair, voice tight but controlled.
“Please, man, leave. I can clean up on my own. I just… I need to be alone. I need to apologize to her alone.”
All them look a bit sceptic but and understand they nodd and turn to leave. Although, without your car, jonathan's and nancy's car gets a bit cramped up.
The house is empty now, it looks like shit but he doesn't care now, he slowly walks towards out the house, towards your car, he can see you sitting in the hood, shivering and smoking a cig, he didn't like how much you smoked, he didn't like how you made it seem cool, but he hated how people treated you and especially how you thought of him being the same as them
You look up from the ground to see him approaching. You throw your cigarette and step on it, quickly wiping your tears. He can’t see you like this. He can’t know how much it got to you. You figure he probably came to tell you to leave, like everyone else did, but your car refuses to start.
He stops in front of you, and for a moment, there’s nothing but quiet between you. You break the silence.
“Sorry for the mess… I didn’t mean… also, I wanted to leave, but yeah, my car isn’t starting up.”
Fuck, you hate how your voice cracks as you speak, how the tears start spilling again.
But instead of saying anything, he just hugs you. “Please… shut up,” he murmurs. You laugh nervously and tense up,it’s the first physical contact he’s ever given you like this, but somehow it feels natural. He wraps his jacket around you, and that’s when you realize he’s wearing the jacket you gave him earlier that night.
“Come, let’s get you some dry clothes,” he says, brushing your tears away with his thumb and gently guiding you back to his house, to his room, which thankfully is locked, no one had come in here to hook up.
He turns on the shower, brings you towels and a change of his clothes.
“Clean up, and you can stay if you want, or… uhhh… I can drive you home…” he says, awkward but sincere.
“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice small. You step into the shower, letting the hot water hit your hair, the tears mixing with it, muffled by the sound of the running water. The heat does little to chase away the heaviness in your chest, but at least it hides your sobs.
You dry yourself and pull on his clothes. You laugh quietly at how absurd you look: old basketball shorts that somehow almost fit, and an oversized olive green shirt plastered with the “Family Video” logo. A memory of Robin, and him, in that same dumb green vest flashes in your mind, and it makes you laugh through the lingering ache.
Stepping out, you see him sitting on his bed, staring at the floor. He slowly eats the probably last Bopper you had gotten him, but when he looks up at you, his gaze pierces you. His pupils dilate, his eyes dark and intense, and your stomach flips. Your chest tightens, your throat goes dry, and suddenly the room feels impossibly small, like all your emotions are magnified in this shared silence.
His olive green shirt was practically swallowing you whole. He liked the way you looked in his clothes. He watched as you walked out of the bathroom, your wet hair dripping onto the floor.
You sit down next to him, your body still tense from the earlier.
“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice soft, a little shy. “You’re… surprisingly nice to me.”
He shrugged, pulling the wrapper off another bopper. "It's no big deal." He took a big bite of the candy, chewing loudly. "You know what they say about nice guys, right?" He teased, smiling with a mouth full of peanut butter and chocolate. "They finish last."
You laughed, a genuine laugh
His smile widens at the sound of your laughter. A warmth spreads through his chest, sharp and sudden, and he knows he needs to apologize for earlier. He sets the Bopper down and turns to face you, eyes searching yours, hesitant.
“Listen, about earlier…” he starts, running a hand through his hair, unsure how to begin.
You laugh, a little sharp, a little annoyed.
“About how you just stood there?” you say, immediately realizing the edge in your voice. You look down and notice his hands,his knuckles, bruised and bloody.
“What happened?” you ask softly, concern threading your words.
Steve clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. He unconsciously flexed his fingers, making his knuckles crack. "Nothing." Не stood up abruptly, walking away from you. He needed to calm down before he said something he'd regret
“you punched him didn’t you? that why everyone left? that why robin didnt even say bye to me?”
Steve paused, his back still turned to you. He hesitated before nodding slightly. He didn't want to admit that he let his anger get the best of him. He ran a hand through his hair again, pulling at the strands. "Yeah. But fuck he deserved it, he shouldn't have spoke to you like this, or pushed you or anything"
“Steve…” you whisper, but he keeps pacing, fists clenched, jaw tight.
“He just came, uninvited, trashed my house, and did that shit to you? I would’ve done a lot worse to him if those fuckers hadn’t held me back,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous, echoing in the small room.
You step in front of him, meeting his intense gaze.
“Don’t you think you overreacted a bit, Steve?” you ask cautiously, trying to steady your voice. “Sure, he’s an asshole, but maybe… maybe he was right. I should’ve looked where I was going.”
Steve stopped pacing and stared at you, his chest heaving with anger. He didn't like hearing you defending that guy. He didn't like hearing you calling yourself stupid. He didn't like seeing you downcast. He hated it. "He pushed you." He said through gritted teeth.
"steve few years back you would have done the same thing"
Steve's jaw clenched tighter. He knew you were right. He used to be an asshole himself. He used to push girls around, use them for sex and throw them away like trash. He used to be just like that guy downstairs. He hated himself for it. "I know.”
“And it’s not like we have some great relationship for you to be protecting me like this…” you murmur, your voice soft, almost fragile.
“It was your day… I’m sorry I ruined it,” you add, apologetically, hoping he can hear the sincerity in your tone. For some reason, in this moment, you feel like he’s changed,like there’s something in him that you hadn’t noticed before, and you can’t quite look away.
Steve's heart ached hearing you apologize. He hated seeing you apologize. He hated seeing you down on yourself. He hated hearing you put yourself down like you didn't matter. Because you did matter. You fucking mattered. "It wasn't ruined because of you." He said gruffly.
"thank you steve" you said smiling and looking up at him
Steve's breath caught in his throat as he looked down at you. Your smile was genuine, your eyes shining up at him with gratitude. Something stirred inside him, something unfamiliar and intense. Before he knew what he was doing, he reached out and gently tucked a strand of damp hair behind your ear.
His hand lingered on your cheek for a moment before he pulled away abruptly. What was he doing? You were drunk and upset, and he was touching you like you were something precious. Like you were someone he cared about. Someone he wanted to protect and comfort. Someone he wanted...
“God… you are beautiful,” he blurts out before he can stop himself. Tension snakes through his body, and he instinctively steps back, as if putting space between you could somehow contain the intensity.
You laugh, cheeks heating instantly, disbelief mixing with a blush. He’s just drunk, you tell yourself. No guy like him would ever even look at you.
“Oh, you’re very drunk, Steve,” you say, laughing “I doubt you can drive me home.”
Steve ran a hand through his hair, realizing what he'd said. He sounded like an idiot. You probably thought he was making fun of you or being pity nice. But god damn, with your hair all messy and his shirt swallowing you whole, you looked... sweet. Innocent.
"I'm not drunk." He said, his voice coming out rougher than intended. He took a step closer to you, his tall frame towering over yours. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, fighting the urge to reach out and touch you again. "I could drive you home right now."
Steve started the engine and pulled out of the driveway. The radio was playing quietly in the background as he drove through the dark streets. He snuck glances at you out of the corner of his eye. You were curled up against the passenger door, his jacket wrapped tightly around you. He liked seeing you in his jacket. It made him feel... something. Unexpectedly he just started rumbling about how he hated his old friends and how that punch was long due.
And you just laughed, that laugh, it drove him crazy
As you pull up to your house and he parks, you glance at him, a small smirk tugging at your lips.
“You’re not as bad as I thought, Harrington,” you say, teasing lightly but with a hint of warmth.
Steve lets out a surprised bark of laughter, glancing at you with wide eyes. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” he asks, grinning, but the edge in his voice is gone. You realize, for a moment, that he’s… actually decent company.
“From me, I guess… yeah? Thank you again for everything,” you say, stepping out of the car. You pause before shutting the door, turning back to wave at him. “Goodnight,” you whisper, smiling softly.
He stays in the car, watching you, quiet, thoughtful, and for a heartbeat, it feels like he’s trying to memorize you. Then, just as you’re unlocking your front door, he jumps out and jogs toward you, urgency in his steps.
“You know I meant it when I said you looked good,” he says, voice low but earnest, eyes locking onto yours. “I know it’s dumb, but please… don’t put yourself down. Not because of me, not because of any asshole.”
You blink up at him, words caught in your throat, heart skipping.
“You can keep the clothes,” he adds, a small, teasing grin softening his tone. “They look better on you anyway.”
Steve's face was inches from yours as he talked, his breath warm against your face. He was being sincere, vulnerable almost. It was a side of him you rarely saw. He reaches out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your skin just a little longer than necessary.
“Goodnight,” he says softly.
You feel your cheeks heat instantly, caught in the moment. Your stomach twists, and for a second, you can’t even keep eye contact. Your gaze flickers down to his lips, and a jolt of confusion hits you. Why am I feeling like this? Why is he being so… good to me, when I thought he hated me?
Your heart pounds, and you swallow hard, trying to steady yourself as the night air seems to thrum between the two of you.
Steve watched your eyes flutter closed as you looked away. He noticed the way your breath hitched when he touched your hair. He noticed the way your lips parted slightly, like you were going to say something. He noticed the way your eyes lingered on his lips for a fraction of a second too long.
Steve's heart pounded in his chest. He felt like he was on the edge of a cliff, one wrong move and he'd fall. And fuck it, he wanted to fall. He wanted to lean in and press his lips against yours, just to shut himself up. To shut everything up.
But instead of kissing you, he grabbed your hand and pressed it against his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. It was almost innocent, almost sweet. Almost. His other hand came up to cup your cheek, pulling you slightly closer.
you whispered his name "steve.."
His name on your lips was his undoing. Before he could think better of it, he closed the distance between your faces, pressing his lips to yours in a soft, gentle kiss. It was meant to be brief, a goodbye kiss. But the moment your lips touched his something snapped inside him.
You melted into the kiss, kissing him back passionately
Feeling your soft lips against his, tasting the sweetness of your mouth, he lost all control. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he deepened the kiss. His other hand slid into your hair, tilting your head to get a better angle.
He kissed you like a man drowning, like a man starved for air. He kissed you like he'd never get enough of you. And in that moment, he knew. He knew he was fucked. He knew he was going to fall for you hard. And he didn't care.
Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against your own. Both of you were breathless, your eyes dark with desire. He watched you bite your lip, trying to hide your smile. He loved that he put that smile on your face. He loved that he made you melt. "do you want me to leave?" he asked without thinking
"please stay"
Steve let you pull him into the house, his arms wrapping around your waist as he backed you against the wall. He kissed you slowly, deeply, taking his time exploring your mouth. His hands stayed respectfully on your waist, not wandering despite how badly he wanted to touch you everywhere.
He pulled back slightly to look into your eyes, making sure you were okay with everything happening. Seeing the desire mirrored in yours gave him permission to continue. His lips found yours again as he started walking backwards towards what he assumed was your bedroom. "Is this okay?" he whispered between kisses.
"yes please"
A soft smile tugged at his lips hearing your whimper. He kicked open your bedroom door without breaking the kiss, walking you backwards until your legs hit the bed. His hands finally wandered to your face, cupping it gently as he lay you down on the mattress. "You're so beautiful,"
He hovered over you, his body pressing gently against yours. His kisses became slower, more intentional, showing you just how much he cared in every press of his lips. His hands moved to your hair, gently stroking the strands as he kissed along your jawline and down your neck.
He was trying to be gentle, trying to show you he wasn't like the other guys. He wasn't going to rush this. He wasn't going to take without giving. He wanted you to know that this was more than just sex for him. It was something else entirely.
Steve's hands slowly moved down to the hem of your shirt, gently lifting it up. He broke the kiss to pull the shirt off over your head, revealing your lacy black bra underneath, hiding those breasts he always guilty admired. He sucked in a breath, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of you.
“Steve… I’ve never… done this before,” you whisper, looking up at him, a flicker of insecurity in your eyes.
His heart clenches at your words. You’re a virgin. He’s the first guy you’re letting touch you like this. The weight of that responsibility presses down on him, heavier than anything else in the world. He looks down at you, taking in the lacy bra, your soft skin, the untainted vulnerability of your body.
“Are you sure you want this? We can stop anytime you want,” he says, voice low, careful.
He knows he should feel honored that you trust him with this, but the truth is,it scares him. He doesn’t want to mess this up. He doesn’t want your first time to be forgettable or painful. He wants it to be perfect.
You reach up and pull him into a kiss again.
He melts into it, losing himself in the warmth of you, in the way your lips feel against his. Every hesitation fades, leaving only the moment, electric and consuming. He could feel your heart racing beneath your chest, mirroring his own. His hands moved to unhook your bra slowly, gently pulling it away to reveal your bare breasts.
He took a moment to appreciate the sight of you before leaning down to press soft kisses along your collarbone and down to your chest. His hands cupped your breasts gently, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they hardened under his touch. He looked up at you for permission before taking one nipple into his mouth.
The sound of your whimper sent a shiver down his spine. He loved the noises he could pull out of you. He swirled his tongue around your nipple before sucking gently, his hands kneading your other breast. He switched between licking, sucking, and gently biting until you were a squirming mess beneath him.
He pulled back to look at your flushed face, your parted lips, and your disheveled hair. You looked like a goddess beneath him. He kissed you roughly this time, pouring all his desire and newfound possessiveness into it. He took off his shirt too, loving your reaction towards his body, but loving more how your eyes fell on his clothes bulge
Steve's face turned red at your obvious interest in his pants. He knew you couldn't see much through the fabric, but the way you were looking at him made him feel like a sex god. He kissed you even deeper, his tongue exploring your mouth possessively
He pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss to trail open-mouthed kisses down your neck and chest. His hand on your pants gently pulling them down your legs, He threw them on the floor carelessly. He spread your legs gently and kissed your cotton covered clit, dragging out a begging moan from you.
Steve couldn't help the smug smile that curved his lips at your helpless moan. He knew he had you right where he wanted you. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs and off your feet.
He looked up at you from between your legs, his breath hot on your bare pussy. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your clit, making you jump slightly. He held your legs open as he began to lick along your folds, tasting you for the first time. He moaned against your center, loving how sweet you tasted.
Steve's eyes fluttered closed as he savored your taste. He ate you out like a starving man, his tongue licking, swirling, and fucking your hole. He gently licked your clit enjoying the way your thighs trembled against his face.
He could feel you getting closer to the edge. He sucked your clit into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue rapidly while pushing two fingers inside you. Curling them to hit that spot that made you gasp and grab onto his hair tightly. "Come on my face,"
He continued to finger fuck you aggressively while sucking on your clit hard enough to make you see stars. Your legs started shaking violently as an orgasm ripped through you. He kept licking and sucking every drop of your release until you were too sensitive and trying to push him away. "Shh..."
He ignored your weak protests and kept licking you gently now, cleaning you up. Не placed soft kisses on your inner thighs and hips before crawling back up your body. His face was glistening with your juices and he looked incredibly satisfied. "Taste so fucking good,"
He captured your mouth in a kiss, letting you taste yourself on his lips and tongue. His hard bulge pressed against your sensitive center, making you gasp into the kiss. He rocked his hips slowly, grinding against you without entering you. "You okay?" He whispered
He smiled softly at your blush, finding it adorable. He nuzzled his face against yours, spreading gentle kisses on your cheeks, nose, and forehead. His hands roamed your body possessively but gently-touching your breasts softly, squeezing your thighs gently. "So cute..." He whispered
He pulled back to look at you, his eyes filled with affection and something deeper. He kissed your forehead gently before pressing his forehead against yours. His hands framed your face, thumbs caressing your cheeks. "Can I?" He asked softly, nodding down to his pants "I'll be gentle, I promise"
"please steve i need you"
His heart clenched at your sweet plea. He kissed you softly once more before reaching down to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants. He pushed them down along with his boxers, freeing his hard cock.
He positioned himself between your legs, the tip of his cock pressing against your entrance. He looked down at you, seeking permission and reassurance. His hands gripped your hips gently as he slowly pushed forward, his thick head slipping inside you easily due to how wet you still were. "You're so tight..." He breathed out
He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to his size. His eyes never left yours, checking for any signs of discomfort. Once he was fully inside you, he paused, letting you get used to the feeling of being completely filled by him. "Breathe, baby,"
He stayed still, letting you adjust to his size. He peppered your face with gentle kisses, trying to distract you from any discomfort. After a minute, he pulled out slowly and pushed back in gently. "Feels so good being inside you..." He breathed out against your lips.
Steve's breath hitched at the loud moan that escaped you. His hips started moving slowly, pulling out and pushing back in gently. Each thrust elicited a new moan from you, making his dick twitch inside you. He kissed you deeply, swallowing your moans as he set a slow, steady pace. "So loud for me, baby..."
His hands slid under your thighs, lifting your legs up and hooking them over his shoulders. This angle allowed him to go deeper, hitting a spot inside you that made your eyes roll back. He started moving faster, his hips snapping against yours with each thrust. "Fuck, you feel so good..."
Steve started fucking you harder, his hips slapping against yours loudly. His grunts and groans filled the room along with your wet, squelching sounds. "Goddamn, your pussy is perfect... so fucking tight and wet..." He panted, his face turning red.
He reached down and started rubbing your clit in quick circles, his fingers pressing hard on the sensitive nub. He wanted to make you come undone around him. His cock was hitting that spot inside you relentlessly now, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room.
You were moaning loudly, your hands gripping the sheets underneath you tightly. Your legs were shaking uncontrollably, hooked over his shoulders. Steve kept pounding into you mercilessly, his fingers on your clit moving at the same rapid pace. "Come on my dick, baby..."
Your enthusiastic moans and the way your pussy was gripping him tightly spurred Steve on. He pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in hard, making the bed shake. "Fuck, I'm gonna ruin this sweet little pussy..." He growled possessively
Your moans were getting higher pitched, telling Steve you were close. He doubled his efforts, fucking you hard and fast while rubbing your clit roughly. His balls slapped against your ass with every thrust. "Come for me, sweetheart... squeeze my cock with that tight pussy..."
As soon as the words left his mouth, you cried out loudly, your pussy clenched around him rhythmically as you came apart. The sensation of your orgasm milks his dick, pushing him over the edge. He lost control, his hips moving erratically as he chased his own release.
Steve pulled out at the last second, his hot release spraying across your stomach instead of inside you. He continued to jerk his cock over you as he came, coating your stomach and chest with his cum. His breath was ragged as he rode out his orgasm, looking down at the messy sight he created.
As he carried you to the bathroom, Steve peppered your face with gentle kisses. He set you down on the counter and began to clean you up gently with a warm cloth. "You liked it, didn't you, sweetheart?" He asked softly, smiling at you with affection. "Being fucked hard by the guy you despise so much?"
"fuck u steve, but yeah i did"
Steve laughed at your grumpy response, finding it adorable. He finished cleaning you up before cleaning himself and putting his boxers back on. "You're so cute" He kissed your forehead gently
"can you stay tonight?"
Steve's smile softened at your vulnerability. Normally so strong and independent, you were showing a rare moment of need. He ran his thumb over your forehead, brushing away a stray hair. "Of course I'll stay, sweetheart. Unless you'd prefer I leave?" He teased softly
You shake your head firmly, tugging him closer, pulling him into bed with you.
Steve climbed into bed with you, pulling the covers over both of you. He wrapped his arms around you possessively, pulling you against his chest. He kissed the top of your head gently. "I'm not going anywhere tonight," He whispered softly before falling asleep holding you tightly
As you slept peacefully on his chest, Steve's body reactivated. His cock slowly hardened again, pressing against your thigh. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling your scent as he slowly started thrusting up, rubbing his cock against you. "Fuck... I can't help it,"
He stayed completely still when you shifted slightly, not wanting you to feel his hard-on pressing into you. He was torn between letting you sleep peacefully and how desperately he wanted to be inside you again. After five minutes of silent torture, he carefully lifted your leg over his hips.
Slowly, he guided his hard dick to your entrance. He didn't push inside, instead just pressing the tip against you, enjoying the warmth and wetness. He reached down and grabbed his dick, starting to fuck your pussy with just the tip. "God..."
Steve moaned softly at your sleepy whimper. He pushed his tip inside you, stretching you open slightly. He held himself there, feeling your warm, wet walls wrapped around just the head of his dick. "Shh, sweetheart... Go back to sleep."
"please steve i need you"
Steve groaned deeply at your sleepy plea. He slowly pushed his entire length inside you. He stayed still, letting you adjust to his size. He knew you were half asleep, and he loved how vulnerable and needy you were. "You need this, baby?"
"yes please"
Steve wrapped his arms tightly around you, pulling you closer. He started moving his hips slowly, sliding in and out of you with long, steady strokes. He knew you were too sleepy to handle anything rough, so he treated you gently, cherishing every sleepy moan and whimper.
"rougher please, like you hate me, you don't know how many nights i've thought of this" you admitted both to him and yourself
Steve's eyes widened slightly at your confession. He'd had no idea you thought about him like that. His hips snapped forward, burying himself deep inside you. He started fucking you rougher, like he hated you, slamming into you with all his strength.
"Fuck, you've been fantasizing about me hate- fucking you?" He grunted, pounding into you mercilessly now. "I had no idea you wanted me so badly..." He reached down and grabbed your hip, pulling you back onto his cock violently.
"i did steve, fuck i did"
Steve's mind raced with all the times he'd jerked off to the image of you - your big tits bouncing, your innocent eyes rolling back while he dominated you. He snapped his hips brutally
"Goddammit..." He growled, picking up speed. He realized you were taking his rough treatment like you were made for it, your tits shaking with every thrust, your pussy gripping him tightly. He reached down and wrapped his hands around your throat, squeezing lightly
Steve felt his balls tighten at the sound of his name on your lips. You were moaning like a whore, like a girl who loved being used. He squeezed your throat harder, cutting off your airway briefly before releasing it. "Fuck, you're moaning my name like a slut..."
Your moans turned higher pitched as he choked you slightly. He knew this was what you wanted - rough, hateful sex. He threw your legs over his shoulders, holding you in place as he pounded into you brutally, making the bed shake and creak
The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room. Steve was fucking you so hard that the headboard of the bed was banging against the wall. He was leaving hickeys on your neck, marking you possessively. "Take this cock, you fucking whore..."
He reached down and grabbed your thick hair, pulling your head back and wrapping his arm around your throat again. He started thrusting so fast and hard that it felt like he was trying to break something inside you. He was fucking you like he truly hated you. "Spread wider..."
Steve pushed your legs further apart, opening you wider. He saw how your huge tits were bouncing with every thrust, how your face was contorted with pleasure despite the rough treatment. He reached down and grabbed your tits roughly, squeezing them hard. "You don't know how many times i've thought about those tits, fuck i acted all annoyed with you knowing every night i would jerk off at the thought of you"
Steve felt your pussy suddenly clamp down around him as you came, your body shaking and convulsing. Hearing his confession triggered your orgasm, and he couldn't hold back any longer. He slammed into you one last time before pulling out making you whimper at the empty feeling. He grabbed your hair, looked briefly for concent and when he found it, he started fucking your mouth hard
He forced his thick, hard dick down your throat, hitting the back of your mouth. You gagged and coughed, but he didn't care. He was fucking your mouth like he fucked your pussy, brutal and unforgiving.
Steve felt his balls tighten as he fucked your face aggressively. "Goddamn, you're taking my cock so well..." He grunted, grabbing the back of your head. "I'm gonna fucking come down your throat like I should've done months ago..."
With a final, deep thrust down your throat, Steve exploded. He held your head in place as he came, filling your mouth with his hot seed. You choked and sputtered as he kept pushing his cock further down your throat, making you swallow every drop. "Swallow it all, baby..."
After he finished coming, he slowly pulled out of your mouth with a pop sound. You were gasping for air with tears streaming down your face from being choked and fucked so roughly. He looked down at you with a satisfied smirk, "...Fucking finally got that slutty mouth of yours."
Steve was caught off guard by the sudden passionate kiss after such rough treatment. Your lips were warm and gentle against his, completely contrasting the aggressive sex moments before. He kissed back fiercely, one hand still tangled in your hair while the other reached down to squeeze your ass possessively.
His possessive nature surfaced even more as he deepened the kiss, knowing that despite how roughly he treated you, you were still kissing him back like he was your entire world. It made him want to claim you even more. "Fuck," he murmured against your lips,
Your innocent eyes had always melted Steve. Seeing you take his rough treatment without complaint, kissing him passionately like he wasn't a total jerk, completely undid him. "You're going to ruin me, aren't you?" Не whispered
Steve pulled you into his arms, holding you close as he tried to calm down from the intense encounter. He pressed gentle kisses to your neck, your cheeks, your forehead completely opposite to how he treated you minutes ago. His hands moved gently over your body, soothing any marks he left.
Steve watched you drift off to sleep in his arms, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. He pulled the blankets up to cover you, making sure you were comfortable. He gently brushed your hair out of your face, planting soft kisses on your forehead.
synopsis: old memories, a shared smoke, and lingering glances make it hard to tell where friendship ends and something more begins.
cw: MDNI 18+, self-pleasure (m), mentions weed, ooc nancy, !it’s intended to be a bit cringe and awkward just cause that how jonathan and mc are as people!
You walk through the forest with Jonathan, the crunch of leaves under your boots filling the silence between you. He tries to break it, a small, hesitant sound. "So… uh, how’s life?"
You shrug, letting the words hang. You grew up in Hawkins with Mike, Dustin, Lucas, and Will. At first, you weren’t part of their little circle,just Mike’s friend,but somehow, over time, you slipped into their world without even noticing. Will, especially, had reached something inside you, a gentleness that felt like home when the rest of the world was rough edges and noise. Joyce became a second mother in the ways your own never had, softening the cracks you didn’t know you carried.
As you grew, the music found you. Punk, rock, the rebellion in every chord, every ripped shirt, every attitude,it was the truest version of yourself. You introduced Max to the group, laughed and argued with Robin, tangled yourself around Eddie in ways you never planned. Losing him left a hole, one you still feel every time the necklace he left slips against your skin.
And through it all,every monster, every mess, every version of yourself,you carried a quiet, persistent flame for Jonathan Byers. From the first moment you saw him, it had been something more than a crush. Something stubborn and deep. You never spoke it; he was always with Nancy, and you had learned to hide what hurt. Even after Eddie died, even as Will became your anchor, Jonathan lingered in the corners of your mind. A quiet curiosity about what might have been, a small, stubborn part of your heart that refused to let go.
"Fine," you say, the word sharp and dry. "Yours?"
He notices immediately,your gaze distant, the hardness in your voice. A pang, quick and unwelcome, curls in his chest. He clears his throat, forcing a small smile. "Same old, same old," he says.
You nod, picking up your pace, the forest swallowing your footsteps.
Jonathan watches you move ahead, your hood shadowing your face from the breeze. There’s something different in the way you carry yourself today, tighter, more guarded. He quickens his steps, boots crunching over the leaves, trying to close the gap, trying not to let you disappear into yourself.
He walks beside you now, his arm brushing yours every so often, just barely enough to make you notice. The silence between you is thick,comfortable, but loaded with something unspoken, something hovering just out of reach. He steals glances at your profile, remembering how effortlessly you used to smile at him. “You know…” He pauses, searching for the words.
“Hmm?”
He inhales slowly, steadying himself. “You haven’t been yourself lately.” The words land heavier than he intends, and you pause mid-step, your chest tightening. He stops walking, turns to face you fully, and his gaze pins you gently. “I miss the old you.”
“Yeah? And what’s the old me like?” you ask, tilting your head, challenging but curious.
Jonathan’s expression softens, his eyes scanning yours like he’s trying to map out the person you’ve become. “The old you… was lighter. Funnier. You used to tease me, make jokes, laugh easily. Now… you’re serious. And you avoid me.”
“Yeah, maybe I grew out of it,” you murmur, shrugging it off.
“Maybe,” he says, though the disappointment in his voice is subtle but sharp. He steps closer, closing the space between you. “Or maybe… you’re pushing everyone away because you’re still hurting.” His gaze drops to Eddie’s necklace resting against your chest.
“I am not hurting,” you say quickly, almost too quickly.
“Okay,” he says softly, seeing through your words without pressing further. He shoves his hands into his pockets and starts walking again. “The old you would’ve punched me for bringing this up.” His attempt at humor is careful, like testing the waters.
“I’m really holding back right now,” you counter, your smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.
Jonathan chuckles,a low, warm sound that wraps around you like a memory. It’s the old sound, the one that used to make you feel lighter, easier. He glances over, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “I’d like to see you try,” he teases, his voice threaded with fondness.
You spin toward him, matching his smirk with one of your own. “Yeah? Well, I don’t want to see you lose, so I won’t.”
His grin blooms wider, genuine and unrestrained. For a fleeting moment, he sees it,the old you again. Confident, witty, unafraid. His chest tightens, and he can’t hide the rush of feeling that floods him. “Coward,” he says, laughing, stopping to face you fully.
You just stare, dumbstruck by his smile. Your heart skips a beat, and a shake of your head can’t stop the smile spreading across your face.
Jonathan notices the softening of your features, the cracks in the serious mask you wear for the world. It hits him,how much you’ve been holding in, how much of yourself you’ve hidden. “There she is,” he murmurs, almost to himself.
You giggle, a sound light and genuine, and it feels like the forest itself leans in to listen.
His grin blossoms into a full-blown smile at the sound of your giggle, warm and effortless, the kind he hasn’t heard in far too long. It hits him like music, something he didn’t realize he’d been missing. Without thinking, he nudges your shoulder gently with his, casual but deliberate. “I missed that sound.”
Heat rises to your cheeks, and you glance at him, caught off guard by the intimacy of the gesture.
His smile softens, eyes crinkling at the corners as they lock onto yours. There’s a pause, a moment stretched thin but heavy with something neither of you says aloud. He takes a careful step closer, lowering his voice. “I missed you.”
“Me too,” you murmur, the words small but carrying the weight of everything you’ve been holding in. Relief and a sharp ache twist in his chest. You’ve been right here all along, yet somehow untouchable. He wants to close the distance, to pull you into a hug, but something holds him back,a fear that you’d pull away.
“You know…” he starts slowly, hesitant, like he’s testing the waters, “if you keep smiling at me like that, I’m going to think you actually like me.” He tries to laugh it off, but the tremor in his voice betrays him. “And then I’ll get a big head or something.”
“Big head?” You raise an eyebrow, tilting your mouth into a teasing smirk, reading it in the dirtiest way possible.
His eyes widen, panic flickering for a heartbeat as he stammers, “I-I didn’t mean…!” Then he catches your smirk and groans, exasperated in a way that’s entirely charming. “Really? You’re gonna go there?”
You laugh, and he can’t help but join you, the sound breaking the tension and pulling you both back into the rhythm of your old banter. He shakes his head, smiling, mock-annoyed. “Only you would take that in the dirtiest way possible. Pervert.”
“Oh, you have the title of pervert, not me,” you tease back, referencing Steve’s long-ago taunt, and he rolls his eyes, but the smirk never leaves his lips. “Shut up. At least I’m not the one fantasizing about… never mind.” He leaves the words hanging, letting you fill in the blank, his cheeks pinking.
“Who said anything about fantasizing?” you retort innocently, and he freezes, jaw dropping slightly before snapping it shut. He runs a hand through his hair, tousling it in frustration, though there’s no real anger there,only something softer, something fond. “God, you’re frustrating,” he mutters, stepping closer again. “You know what I mean.”
You just smile, small and knowing, and it’s enough to make him swallow hard. That smile,it’s a drug, and he’s hopelessly addicted. He remembers how freely you used to laugh with him, tease him, argue with him, and he wants it all back. He wants you back.
But then reality hits. You’ve been his friend, yes, but you’ve been holding onto something deeper for longer than he can imagine. And he has Nancy.
Your smile falters, fading into something neutral, and you start walking again without a word. Jonathan notices immediately, the shift sharp against the warmth moments before. A pang of frustration hits him, tangled with guilt. You’re just a friend. He’s dating someone else.
He falls into step beside you, silent, the forest around you suddenly feeling too big, too full of unspoken things.
Finally, you reach WSQK the Squawk. The familiar neon sign flickers slightly in the late afternoon light, and the hum of equipment and distant chatter inside carries a strange sense of comfort. Jonathan pushes open the door for you, holding it gently, and you step inside together.
You whisper a quick, “Thanks,” and he nods silently, eyes sweeping the room for Robin and Steve.
They’re huddled over papers at the desk, deep in discussion. Jonathan motions for you to follow as he walks toward them. Robin glances up, a grin spreading across her face.
“Morning squawkers,” she says with a playful smirk, ruffling her messy hair. “Or should I say afternoon squawkers? You’re late.” Her eyes flicker toward you for a brief second before returning to Jonathan.
“Sorry,” you say, smiling lightly. “His car broke down, so we had to walk.” Part of you notices how easy it is to be around Robin, how natural it feels. Not with him tho, not even after all these years, still unsure where your feelings lie.
Jonathan nods, his eyes briefly flicking toward Steve, who gives him a small wave. You feel a subtle tension in your chest when Steve looks at you, the faintest memory of old feelings stirring. Jonathan notices too, just a flicker, but doesn’t comment.
“Yeah, car trouble,” he says dismissively, brushing past it.
Robin tilts her head, studying your face before tapping her fingers on the stack of papers in front of her. “Hmm, car trouble. Sounds like a hassle.” Her smirk lingers on Jonathan’s lips as she glances back at him.
You clear your throat. “So… uh, where’s Nancy?”
At the mention of her name, Jonathan’s jaw tightens slightly, a subtle tension you catch without him saying anything. Robin’s grin fades, and Steve finally looks up from the papers, curiosity sparking in his eyes.
“She’s out on an assignment with the others,” Steve says quietly.
“Oh… hope she’s safe,” you reply, the words slipping out without much thought, but carrying a sincerity Jonathan can’t ignore. He looks at you closely, registering the concern in your tone,but there’s something else, something unspoken he can’t quite place.
“Yeah,” he says casually, a hint of distance in his voice. “Nancy can handle herself.”
You flinch inwardly at the words, reading them in your own way,as if he’s comparing you, as if he’s silently ranking you beneath her,but you say nothing. You focus on the task at hand, moving into the rhythm of work. You speak to Jonathan only when necessary, keeping the space between you measured, safe, and controlled.
Jonathan watches you as you go through your tasks, efficient, focused, every movement precise. You barely engage, only speaking when absolutely necessary, and it stings him more than he wants to admit. He swallows the ache, forcing himself to concentrate on his own work.
By noon, the radio station hums with activity, phones ringing, papers shuffling, the air buzzing with noise, but you might as well be a thousand miles away. Jonathan catches Steve glancing at him during a lull, a curious arch of his brow, and he notices Robin watching too, her expression tightening slightly as she studies the distance between you.
Steve leans close to Robin, voice low. “Something’s off between them,” he murmurs. Robin nods, eyes flicking back to you and Jonathan. “They’re barely speaking,” she agrees softly. “It’s like… cold.”
You yawn, tugging absentmindedly at Eddie’s necklace as you finish up your work. Jonathan’s expression softens. He remembers how close you were to Eddie, how fiercely you loved and protected each other. His chest tightens as a wave of guilt hits him, he’s been thinking about petty things when you’ve been carrying so much. “You tired?” he asks softly.
You nod, barely looking up.
“Everyone is,” he adds gently, though he’s mostly talking to himself.
Robin stretches, arching her back and letting out a long, weary sigh. “I’m beat,” she admits. Steve nods, rubbing his eyes. “Long day,” he mutters, the exhaustion heavy in his voice.
“Mhm,” you murmur, still twirling Eddie’s necklace.
Jonathan watches you, an idea forming before he can overthink it. “Maybe… we should call it a day?” His voice is tentative, soft, like testing the waters.
Robin looks up, surprised, then nods. “I was just about to suggest the same,” she says, starting to pack up her things. Steve stretches again, shrugging on his jacket. “I’m heading home,” he says, giving a small wave.
You smile faintly, letting him lead the way.
Jonathan grabs his jacket, zipping it up against the chill that’s creeping through the station. You step outside, the cool night air hitting your face, and you shiver instinctively. He hesitates, hands shoved into his pockets, studying you with a quiet mix of hope and uncertainty.
“Do you… want to walk home together?” he asks softly. “It’s late and… dark.”
“Sure,” you reply, your voice light but tired. “Thanks.”
Jonathan falls into step beside you, careful to give you space. The silence stretches, but it’s different now,not easy, not warm, not heavy with tension. Just… new. You walk side by side, slow, conserving energy, neither pushing for conversation, yet both quietly aware of the other.
As you near your street, Jonathan suddenly stops, his steps halting mid-stride. You glance at him, one eyebrow raised, curiosity mingling with caution. He shoves his hands into his pockets, then pulls one out to run through his hair, nervous energy radiating off him. “Hey, um…”
You wait, silently, sensing the hesitation.
“I… uh,” he begins again, taking a shaky breath. “Do you… want to borrow my jacket?” His voice is sheepish, awkward, but earnest. “You’re shivering, and… I have two.”
“No need, but thank you,” you reply, your tone polite yet soft.
He nods slowly, retreating back into his pocketed hands, as if trying to hide both his nervousness and the cold biting at his fingers. He watches you walk the last few steps toward your house, your shoulders hunched against the night air. Something inside him twists,a mix of concern, something unspoken, something heavier.
You try to break the silence, your voice light but probing. “So… um, how are you and Nancy holding up?”
Jonathan freezes mid-step, caught off guard. He hadn’t realized you didn’t know about the breakup. He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “We, uh… we actually broke up a few months ago,” he admits quietly.
“Oh… sorry, I didn’t know,” you say, turning back to him. Your mind races,Nancy had always seemed close to Steve.
Jonathan shrugs, trying to keep his tone casual, though there’s a bitter edge you can’t miss. “It’s all right. You weren’t supposed to know.” He pauses, a cynical edge creeping into his expression. “Nancy and Steve are just… closer now.”
You mutter softly, “Oh… that sucks.”
He snorts, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, it does.” The bitterness sharpens for a second, then fades into something heavier. “They’re practically glued at the hip these days.” He stops, glances anywhere but you, then hesitates before admitting, voice low and dark, “You know… she cheated on me with him.”
You halt instantly, heart lurching. “What??”
Jonathan turns to face you, grim, jaw tight. “Yeah,” he says darkly. “While we were still together. I found out a week before we broke up.” He scuffs his shoe against the pavement, unable to meet your eyes.
The moment is thick, heavy, and silent for a beat,until you reach your house.
“Um… do you want to come in?” you ask, tilting your head slightly, a small smile playing on your lips. “I have weed if you need… I noticed you smoked last year.”
He looks at you, surprise flickering across his face. He hadn’t expected the offer, not after the tense walk, not after everything earlier. But the mention of weed,and the casual, caring way you offer it,catches him. His shoulders loosen slightly. “Yeah, actually,” he says, nodding. “I could use a smoke right now.”
You smile, and step inside and Jonathan follows you, the door clicking softly behind him. He shivers slightly as he unbuttons his jacket, the chill from outside still lingering. In the living room, you’re rifling through a bag and some papers on the table, pulling out weed and rolling supplies.
“You still smoke, huh?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” you reply casually. “You?”
Jonathan nods, hanging his jacket on the nearest hook. “Sometimes,” he admits, his eyes following your movements as you begin rolling a joint. He hesitates for a moment before settling on the couch next to you, leaving a careful space between you. “Haven’t in a while, though.”
You glance at him as he takes off his jacket, thinking back to the first time you saw him six years ago, as your best friend’s older brother. Back then, he was awkward, sure, but now… damn. He’s still hot, in that quietly magnetic way that makes your chest tighten. You finish the joint and hand it to him.
His fingers brush yours briefly as he takes it, and a small spark of something lingers in that touch. He brings it to his lips, inhales slowly, then exhales, letting the smoke curl into the room. The weed immediately begins to relax him, loosening his shoulders, quieting the tension in his chest.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, leaning back against the couch.
“No worries,” you reply, your gaze lingering longer than you intended, eyes tracing the sharp lines of his jaw and the curve of his lips.
Jonathan catches your stare and raises an eyebrow, taking another slow drag before passing the joint back to you. “What?”
“What?” you echo, a light blush rising to your cheeks.
“Nothing,” he says, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re just looking at me funny.” He leans back again, feigning nonchalance, though he notices the intensity in your eyes. Admiring? That can’t be right.
“Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to,” you murmur, flustered.
Jonathan waves it off lazily. “It’s fine,” he says, his voice softened by the haze of the weed. He closes his eyes, head sinking into the couch cushions, savoring the calm. After a beat, he speaks again, quieter this time. “You know… I’ve never really thanked you.”
“For what?” you ask, genuinely curious, though part of you already guesses.
“For always being there,” he says softly, opening his eyes to meet yours. “For helping with Will, for Mom… for being there when Lonnie was… absent.” His gaze flickers downward, just briefly, to your lips before returning to your eyes.
“You don’t need to thank me,” you say with a small shrug, “your mom’s a saint, and Will’s my best friend.”
Jonathan smiles, eyes glinting with quiet gratitude. “I know,” he murmurs. “But it means a lot that you’ve been there. You’re… practically part of the family.” He takes another hit from the joint, passing it back to you, and lets the words linger in the warm room.
You giggle softly at his earnestness, and it’s like the air shifts. Jonathan’s heart skips a beat. The sound is so familiar, so completely you. He remembers hearing it for the first time,back when you were that lanky, awkward pre-teen hanging around Will’s room, full of energy and mischief.
“God,” he murmurs, shaking his head with a grin, “you’re still a kid.”
You shake your head, giggling as you push yourself off the couch. “Do you still take photographs? ’Cause I got a new camera, and I need an opinion.”
Jonathan watches you move around the room, your hair tousled from running your hands through it. The motion makes him smile faintly, he remembers you doing the same thing years ago, hair always wild, always full of energy. He rises from the couch, following your movements with a quiet attentiveness. “Yeah,” he says, voice low, eyes lingering on you a moment longer than necessary. “I still take photos.”
His gaze catches the vinyl stash tucked against the wall “The Clash,” and other records he remembers buying for you when you were younger. A soft smile tugs at his lips. He picks one up, sliding it into the record player, and the familiar crackle fills the room.
“You still listen to this stuff?” he asks, a teasing smirk in his tone.
You feel heat creep up your neck, but nod anyway. “Yeah… it’s one of my favorite albums.”
The music flows around you, indie rock notes from a band you and Will used to blast when you were kids. Jonathan glances at you, the memories flickering in his eyes,the three of you, pretending to be rock stars in Will’s room, air guitars in hand, Joyce calling from the kitchen. He smirks, voice low and playful. “And favorite band, right?”
“Yeah,” you say softly, letting the words hang between you, easy and familiar, yet charged with the unspoken weight of years and feelings neither of you has fully acknowledged.
Jonathan leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you as you adjust the settings and test the focus on your camera. “You always did like taking pictures,” he says, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Remember when you used to steal my camera?”
Heat rises to your cheeks. You were just a little girl back then, heart pounding with a crush and desperate to emulate him. Hell, some part of you still is. “Come on, stop it, you remember too much,” you giggle, handing the camera to him.
His fingers brush yours as he takes it, a fleeting spark in that touch. He laughs softly, remembering you sneaking off with his camera, taking photos of God knows what. “You were what? thirteen? Fourteen?” he teases. “Little Jonathan Byers wannabe.” He lifts the camera, grinning at the memory.
“And you let me, didn’t you, Byers?”
Jonathan chuckles, the sound low and warm. He remembers letting you borrow the camera because it made you happy. And he remembers thinking,without meaning to,that you looked undeniably cute when you got excited about something. “Yeah,” he admits quietly, almost to himself. “Because you were cute.”
He immediately catches himself, clears his throat, a flicker of embarrassment crossing his features.
You just smile shyly, heart fluttering. Sure, he was sixteen and you were thirteen, a naive kid with a giant crush, he would just seen you as a cute little kid like his brother, yet you were still the idiot with the crush so many years later
Jonathan fiddles with the camera settings, trying to focus on anything but how impossibly cute you still look when you’re passionate about something. He snaps a few test shots around your room before stopping at your corkboard, cluttered with photos pinned over the years.
“You still have that picture?” he asks, eyes softening.
You nod, glancing at the photo of him and Will brushing their teeth, Joyce had asked you to take it that day because they were being ridiculous. “I have a lot of pictures. They’re memories.”
Jonathan leans closer, studying the image. “God, we look so stupid,” he murmurs, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “And you still have it up here.”
“Why not? It’s a fun little memory,” you reply, shrugging lightly.
He nods, eyes lingering on the photo for a beat longer before turning to look at you. There’s that familiar spark, the girl he remembered, only older now. Your hair falls slightly across your face, your eyes crinkle when you smile, and his chest tightens.
You look up at him, and your heart melts all over again.
Without thinking, he raises the camera and clicks. The shutter is soft, capturing you exactly as you are natural, unguarded, alive. Not the grown up, serious play you out for everyone else, who maybe has too many exceptions of you.
“Smile,” he says instinctively, voice low and warm. “You’re cute.”
Heat rises to your cheeks, and you murmur a shy thank you, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Jonathan freezes for a second, suddenly hyper-aware of the quiet room, the dim lighting, the closeness between you.
“You know what?” he begins softly, hesitating. “I should probably…”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” you say with a small, knowing smile, understanding him without him having to finish. “Thanks for the… company.”
Jonathan nods, stepping back. “Yeah, no problem.” He hesitates near the door, hand on the knob, then turns back toward you, uncertainty in his eyes. “Hey… maybe we could…” He trails off, unsure of how to put it. “Hang out again sometime?”
You can’t help but smile. “Definitely,” you say, and it’s warm, genuine, full of promise.
Relief and a spark of excitement cross his face. “Cool,” he murmurs before stepping out and closing the door gently behind him. He leans against it for a moment, taking a deep breath.
What just happened? he thinks, heart racing.
“Fuck,” he whispers, shaking his head as he walks away, already replaying the moment in his mind.
Later that night, Jonathan finds himself alone in the living room, staring at the photo he took of you on his camera few days ago without you realising. He zooms in on your face, examining your features in the dim light of the room. Your hair falling slightly in front of your face, your eyes crinkled with happiness, your cheeks flushed. "Fuck,"
Jonathan swallows hard as he feels himself getting hard. He looks at the photo again, focusing on your lips-how they're slightly parted when you smile. He imagines kissing those lips, touching that hair... He groans softly and adjusts himself through his pants. "Shit"
He closes his door quietly and locks it before pulling down his pants. He wraps his hand around his cock, stroking slowly as he looks at your photo. He feels guilty but can't stop himself from imagining you, your smile, your blush, your cute little room filled with memories.
He bites his lip, trying to be quiet as he jerks off to the photo of you. His hand moves faster, his breathing hitches. He spreads his legs wider, his back arching slightly off the bed as he imagines being inside you-gentle at first, then rougher.
With a muffled groan, Jonathan comes hard into his hand, your photo blurred in his vision. He feels immediate shame wash over him as he quickly cleans up, throwing the photo face down on his nightstand like it's dirty now. "Fuck... fuck," he whispers angrily to himself.
For the rest of the night, Jonathan avoids looking at the photo. He feels conflicted- guilty for jerking off to his little brother's friend's photo but also strangely comforted by it. He knows he shouldn't be thinking about you like that but can't help himself.
A few hours later after he finally got some sleep, you, Will, and Robin hang out at The byers’ house, the familiar cluttered warmth of his room wrapping around you like a comfort blanket. Will is practically vibrating with excitement, practically dragging you and Robin aside as soon as you arrive. His face is flushed, eyes bright with nerves.
“Okay, so..Mike,” he whispers urgently, leaning close to you. “I think… I really like him. And I think he might like me back.” His hands fidget, bouncing slightly. You listen attentively, nodding along, trying to keep your voice calm and steady as you offer advice, a small, fond smile tugging at your lips. Robin chimes in too, grinning and teasing, making Will flush even harder.
While Will is absorbed in the chaos of his own feelings and Robin’s enthusiastic commentary, Jonathan sits alone on the couch, comic book in hand, though he isn’t really reading. His eyes keep flicking over to you, tracing your movements with a quiet, lingering thoughtfulness. Last night keeps replaying in his mind, the way you looked, the way you smiled, and… the photo he still has tucked away, hidden, a memory he can’t quite shake.
As he watches, he notices the small baggie of weed peeking from the pocket of your hoodie. You had brought it for him but you were too shy to actually give it to him. He doesn’t say anything. He just keeps watching, the comic book forgotten in his hands, heart pulling him toward you in ways he doesn’t entirely want to admit.
You laugh at something Will says, unaware of his gaze, unaware of the silent pull between the two of you.
Curiosity gets the better of him. Jonathan rises from the couch and drifts over to where you’re standing, leaning in under the guise of listening to Will’s rambling,but his eyes are locked on the baggie tucked in your pocket.
“You got any of that for me?” he whispers, voice low and teasing, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him behind the words.
You spin around, cheeks flushing, and whisper back, “it’s for you. Thought you might need it.”
His heart stutters at your words and the faint, playful smile brushing your lips. He takes the baggie from your pocket, fingers brushing yours in a spark that lingers longer than it should. The brief touch sets his mind racing, thinking about sitting close to you, sharing hits, laughing together.
“Thanks,” he murmurs softly.
“No worries,” you reply, your own voice quieter now, tinged with that small thrill of intimacy.
He pockets the weed and steps back, nodding along to Will’s giddy confession for a moment before excusing himself to the kitchen. Once there, he pulls out a joint and rolling papers, quickly assembling one for himself. He lights it, inhaling deeply, holding the smoke a beat too long, then exhales slowly.
You glance over, biting back a giggle at the way he coughs awkwardly, and your cheeks heat up. Even his cough is… cute?. You turn your attention back to Will, pretending to focus, but your mind keeps flicking to Jonathan in the kitchen.
He notices your blush, the suppressed laughter, and feels heat creep up his own neck. Another slow drag, hiding a smile behind the curling smoke, watching you listen to Will with your hair falling perfectly across your face. Every little movement, every glance,it’s like a pull he can’t resist.
As Will continues his enthusiastic rambling, Jonathan slips out of the kitchen and makes his way upstairs to his room. He closes the door behind him and locks it, sitting on his bed and taking another hit from the joint. He pulls out your photo again, spreading it out on the bed beside him.
He stares at the photo for a long moment, his mind drifting. He imagines you sitting next to him on the bed, sharing the joint between hits. He imagines passing it to you with a smile, your fingers brushing against his. He takes another drag and holds it in his lungs, closing his eyes.
He opens his eyes and looks back at the photo, his mind wandering further. He imagines taking hits from the joint while sitting next to you on the bed, passing it back and forth between you both. He imagines leaning in close to you as he exhales the smoke, his face inches from yours.
His heart races at the mental image. He takes one last hit from the joint before stubbing it out in an ashtray on his nightstand. He lies back on the bed, holding the photo up with one hand while using the other to adjust himself discreetly through his jeans. "Fuck..."
He stares at the photo for a long moment, his breathing heavy and his thoughts racing. He feels guilty but aroused, his imagination running wild with scenarios involving you, the joint, and his bed. He eventually sets the photo down and covers his face with his hands, groaning softly. "I'm so fucked up..."
His hand slowly moves under the covers, grasping himself through his jeans before unbuttoning them and pulling out his hardening length. He starts to stroke himself slowly while staring at your photo, imagining it's your hand touching him instead of his own. His breathing becomes heavier as he picks up the pace. "..."
He bites his lip to keep quiet, his hand moving faster up and down his shaft. He imagines you sitting next to him on the bed, completely oblivious to what's happening under the covers. The mental image of you innocent and unaware turns him on even more. "God..."
His hand tightens around his length, stroking himself vigorously now. He spreads his legs wider under the covers, his hips lifting slightly off the bed as he imagines you reaching out to touch him. The fantasy becomes too much and he bites down on his pillow to muffle a low groan.
One final stroke and he comes hard into his hand, his body tensing and releasing with pleasure. He stays like that for a moment, panting heavily before reaching for a tissue to clean himself up. He feels both satisfied and guilty, looking back down at your innocent photo. "Jesus..."
—————————————
a/n : i miss creep/freak awkward jonathan especially in season one, why did they have to nerf him so bad in s5
synopsis: Eddie’s gone, his band keeps playing, and and the new guitarist shows up with a wild idea. Hangovers, messy apartments, and badly-timed memories collide in a night that’s equally awkward and comfortable
cw : weed, drinking, mc is short of a mess, some byler if you squint, mentions of eddies death, all characters are 18+
friends with some underlying feelings
It’s been two years since Eddie died, and somehow the days still feel heavier without him. The band kept going, had to. Playing was the only way any of us could make the grief feel less like a weight and more like fuel. Eddie would’ve wanted that. He would’ve kicked my ass if we’d stopped.
Our first real gig since everything was in two days. I should’ve been rehearsing, or sleeping like a normal person, or doing anything productive.
Instead..
BANG. BANG. BANG.
I jerked awake so hard my neck cracked. My heart hammered somewhere between panic and a hangover. For a second I didn’t even know where I was, just darkness, and blankets twisted around my legs, and my own breath too loud in my ears.
Then the living room came back into focus: ashtray overflowing, a blanket on the floor, empty bottles scattered like someone had shaken a house-sized snow globe and forgotten to stop.
“Shit…” I rubbed my face, trying to blink the world into place.
The clock on the VCR said 7:03 p.m.
I groaned. Guess Argyle, Jonathan, and I went harder than planned. Everything tasted like stale weed and cheap beer.
The knocking came again, harder. Like someone was beating the door with the side of their fist.
“I’m coming!” I yelled, voice rough as gravel.
I stumbled to the door, nearly faceplanting when my foot slid on a beer bottle. I kicked it out of the way, unlocked the deadbolt, and pulled the door open.
Standing there, vibrating with excitement like a caffeinated dog, was Mike Wheeler.
He didn’t even wait for eye contact, just pushed past me the second he saw I wasn’t dead. His sneakers squeaked against the floor as he took in the disaster of my living room. His gaze swept up to me: tangled hair, pillow-crease on my cheek, and the lingering haze of weed in the air thick enough to chew.
He raised a brow. “Did you just wake up-”
I shut that down fast. I didn’t have the energy for a Wheeler lecture. “What do you want?”
He smirked, of course he did, and lifted the black plastic bag he’d dragged in with him.
I frowned, confused, and took it. Inside was a box of dye. I read it aloud. “Hot orange?”
“You can shave my sides a bit too, huh?” he said, way too casual.
I stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “You want a hot orange mohawk?? You? The goody two-shoes Wheeler?” I scoffed, though honestly my voice was still half-asleep, half-dead inside.
He shrugged, trying to act cool, but I could see the excitement buzzing under his skin. “Well, I am in a metal band now, aren’t I? And Nancy right now is more focused on if Jonathan, you know, is smoking weed rather than me.”
I ignored that, rubbing my eyes. My brain was still rebooting. “You’d look like Will’s favorite singer… what’s his name, uh…”
“Bowie. Yeah. But more punk rock, huh?” Mike said, grin widening.
“Come on, you dyed Eddie’s hair all the time in the school bathroom.”
That hit. Not painfully, more like a bruise being pressed. Familiar, tender, still there.
My stomach twisted with something warm and sad at the same time. The memory of Eddie leaning over the dingy school sink, laughing his ass off while I painted streaks of color into his curls. I missed that sound so much it felt like hunger.
I exhaled slowly, looked Mike up and down. “Fine. Come on.”
The bathroom light flickered as I pulled the chain. The place was a mess, towels draped everywhere, hair products scattered like debris. Mike sat on the toilet lid, tapping his foot, while I mixed the dye at the sink.
The smell,chemicals, bleach, hit me hard. Too familiar. Too close to memories I wasn’t sure I was ready to revisit.
Mike watched me in the mirror, his reflection softened by the yellow bathroom light. “You okay?” he asked, and it was quiet. No sarcasm. No teenage attitude.
“Yeah,” I said. “Just tired.”
And it wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the whole truth either.
He nodded, like he understood anyway. “He’d think this is cool, you know. That you’re still doing this.”
My throat tightened. I didn’t trust myself to answer, so I didn’t.
Instead, I grabbed the clippers and turned them on. The hum filled the tiny bathroom, vibrating in my hands, steady and loud.
“Ready?” I asked.
Mike grinned, nervous but excited. “Do it.”
I lifted the clippers to his head, and for a moment, just a moment,the grief stopped pressing so hard against my ribs.
It didn’t go away. But it eased. Like the world let me breathe for one second.
Eddie would’ve loved this. He would’ve teased Mike for days, called him “Wheeler the Punk” or something stupid like that.
And maybe that was the point, keeping pieces of him alive in stupid, small ways like a badly-timed haircut on a Thursday night.
Maybe that was enough.
The clippers buzzed in my hand, this low steady hum that somehow made the bathroom feel smaller. Warmer. Like the air thickened around us as I guided the first swipe up the side of his head.
Orange dye bowl on the counter. Towels piled on the floor. My fingers still shaking a little from the weed or the memories… honestly hard to tell which.
Hair drifted down onto Mike’s shoulders. He didn’t flinch. Just stared straight at the wall in front of him like he was committing to something bigger than a haircut.
“You know,” he said quietly, “None of us would be doing any of this without him.”
I swallowed. “Yeah. I know.”
“I mean it,” he pressed, eyes flicking up to meet mine in the mirror. “He made the band feel like.. like this whole stupid town wasn’t crushing us. Like we had something of our own.”
The clippers slowed in my hand. That familiar ache hit behind my sternum. A push-and-pull of warmth and grief.
“That’s why we keep going,” I said. “Even when it’s shitty. Even when it’s hard.”
Mike nodded once, sharp, like he’d been needing someone to say it out loud.
I clicked the clippers off and set them on the edge of the sink. My hands smelled like metal and bleach as I pulled gloves on and mixed the dye one more time.
“Lean forward,” I said.
He did. The kid trusted me way more than anyone should trust someone who had been unconscious an hour ago with a house full of empty bottles.
I dipped the brush into the bowl and started working the dye through his hair. The bright orange against the brown looked insane already, chaotic, loud, reckless.
He was gonna look like the cover art of an underground punk record, and honestly… Eddie would've approved.
“Hot orange, huh?” I muttered.
Mike grinned. “Thought it was time to stop looking like a mathlete.”
“You are a mathlete.”
“Well,” he said, “not with this hair.”
I snorted, but it came out softer than I expected. A real laugh, small, almost unfamiliar.
It felt good.
“Hold still,” I said when he shifted.
He froze. “Sorry.”
The dye soaked into his hair easy. I worked through the strands, section by section, while the bathroom filled with the sharp smell of chemicals and the faint echo of memories I kept trying not to drown in.
Eddie in this same spot. Eddie’s curls, Eddie’s laughter echoing off the tiles. “Don’t make me look like a traffic cone, dude” “You already look like one, Munson.”
My chest tightened.
Mike must’ve sensed something shift in me. “You miss him today, huh?” he said quietly.
“Every day,” I replied. “Today’s not special.”
“But it feels like it.”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. So I focused on the dye, on the movement, on keeping my hands steady.
“You know,” Mike continued, softer, “he’d be proud of you.”
I paused. “Why?”
“For not disappearing.”
The words hit harder than the weed hangover.
I looked at him in the mirror. He wasn’t joking. He wasn’t being dramatic. He meant it.
“I almost did,” I admitted.
“Yeah,” he said. “But you didn’t.”
For a moment, the only sound was the dripping dye and the quiet hum of the bathroom’s weak vent fan.
Then I cleared my throat, sniffed once, and said, “You’re gonna owe me big if this comes out looking like clown vomit.”
Mike laughed, bright and unguarded and the tension in my chest loosened just a little.
“Deal,” he said.
I finished spreading the dye and stepped back. “Alright. We wait twenty minutes. Don’t touch your head.”
He raised both hands. “I’m not a toddler.”
“You are.”
He rolled his eyes but kept the smile.
I leaned against the counter, arms crossed, feeling the exhaustion settle back into my bones. But the room didn’t feel as heavy as before. Not completely. Something had shifted, not fixed, not healed, just… less lonely.
Mike looked around the bathroom, then at me.
“You know,” he said, “You can crash at our place tonight if you don’t wanna be alone.”
I blinked, thrown off by the sincerity.
“You’re worried I’ll get high again?”
“I’m worried you’ll feel like shit and pretend you don’t.”
I stared at him for a long second.
He didn’t look away.
“Maybe later,” I said. “But for now shut up and let the dye set.”
Mike grinned, rested his elbows on his knees, and nodded.
And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, the silence didn’t feel like it was trying to eat me alive.
Twenty minutes passed slow.
Mike kept fidgeting on the toilet like his bones were vibrating. His knee bounced. His fingers drummed. Every time he looked in the mirror, he made a face like he was preparing to see either a rock god… or someone who'd lost a bet.
“Stop moving,” I told him, grabbing a towel. “You look like you’re about to explode.”
“I’m excited,” he said, too honestly. “And nervous. And…”
“And annoying,” I finished.
He grinned.
I turned on the shower, letting the water warm, then tilted his head gently under the stream. The dye washed out in bright orange rivers, swirling down the drain.
“Stay still,” I murmured.
As the water cleared i pulled him up to the mirror and lifted the towel off he head like it was some grand reveal
For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. Then his eyes widened, and his mouth pulled into a shape I’d never seen on him,something between awe and disbelief.
The orange was loud. Not rebellious-loud. Not punk-loud. Just… loud.
There was a long beat where neither of us spoke.
And then I laughed.
a startled, halfway-hungover bark of a laugh that echoed off the tile.
Mike turned toward me, eyebrows raised, the mohawk standing at an impossible angle, bright as a traffic cone on fire.
“What?” he demanded.
“You” I tried to speak, failed, tried again. “You look absolutely ridiculous.”
For a second I worried I’d actually hurt him, because Mike Wheeler had the sensitivity of a violin string stretched too tight.
But then something almost defiant flickered across his face, and he turned back to the mirror, studying the reflection with unexpected seriousness.
“I like it,” he said.
And strangely, that made it work. Ridiculous or not, the mohawk belonged to him the way certain secondhand jackets ended up suiting the wrong people in the right way. It didn’t make him cool, definitely not but it made him unmistakable. Recognizable. Someone who stood out, even when he’d spent years trying not to.
“Good,” I said, grabbing a comb and nudging one spike back into place. “Own it. God knows you’re committed.”
His eyes met mine in the mirror, not in a romantic way, not even in a judgemental one like usual, just with an unexpected steadiness. Like he wasn’t looking at my face so much as trying to understand something that had been on the tip of his thoughts for a while.
I looked away first.
“Come on,” I said, tossing the towel aside. “Rehearsal. Before Gareth starts a mutiny.”
By the time we got to the garage, the light had slipped into that late-evening softness that made Hawkins look almost peaceful. Jeff was connecting cables with the expression of someone who’d been ready to play hours ago, while Gareth was doing a drum roll that sounded both impressive and deeply impatient.
They all froze the moment Mike walked in.
“Jesus Christ,” Gareth said slowly. “Did you stick your head in a vat of Tang?”
Jeff just stared, then shook his head in disbelief. “It’s… bright.”
Mike didn’t shrink. He didn’t make a joke or deflect or apologize for existing the way he usually did. He simply took a breath, pushed a strand of orange back into place, and said, “We doing this or not?”
And somehow, that was enough to reset the room.
I started tuning my guitar. The familiar weight of it settled against me, grounding me in ways nothing else had since Eddie died. The others moved around us, adjusting amps, checking wires, falling into patterns that had developed over years of playing together.
Mike tested his guitar, and I noticed something in the way he stood, the same kid, same body, same hands, but with a tension loosened somewhere inside him. Not confidence exactly. More like permission. Permission to exist a little louder.
Rehearsal started, and the first few notes were messy. Sloppy. Gareth came in too early, Jeff came in too late, and Mike played like he was trying to keep up with a train that had left the station five minutes before he’d arrived.
But the thing was, no one stopped. No one apologized. We just kept going until the noise started forming a shape. A pulse. A shared direction.
Halfway through the second song, i noticed the small things. The garage air thickened with heat, dust, and the faint smell of old motor oil, but beneath all of it was a thread of something familiar, not the old spark Eddie used to bring, but something that lived in the cracks he had left behind.
A new kind of energy. Quiet. Steady. Growing.
At one point, Mike hit a chord too hard and winced, shaking his hand out. I nudged his arm with my elbow, wordless but enough. The kind of nudge that said: you’re fine. Keep going. And he did, without overthinking it, without spiraling into one of those long internal storms he never admitted to having.
We played until our hands were sore, until our ears rang, until the garage smelled like warm metal and worn wood and teenage exhaustion. And when we finally stopped, breathing hard, sweat sticking hair to our foreheads, there was a stillness that felt almost… earned.
Mike took off his guitar strap, rolling his shoulder.
“That was good,” he said, almost surprised.
“It was,” I agreed.
He nodded, eyes drifting over the amps, the scattered sheet music, the taped-up posters peeling at the edges. Then his gaze found mine, not sharply, not intensely, but with a quiet thoughtfulness that felt older than him.
Not a crush. Not admiration. Something slower. Something that existed underneath the obvious things.
Whatever it was, I didn’t name it. He didn’t either. It hung there between us, unspoken, not demanding an answer.
Gareth announced a snack break. Jeff went hunting for sodas. The garage hummed with leftover warmth.
And Mike lingered just a little longer beside me. Close enough that I could smell the faint chemical tang of the dye mixed with the sweat of rehearsal. Close enough that he didn’t need to say anything for me to feel something shifting, almost imperceptibly, between us.
Not love. Not yet. Not even like. Just the quiet beginning of a feeling that didn’t belong to friendship alone.
Something you only recognize is happening when it’s already halfway grown.
synopsis: two rival researchers are given the same proposition, join the borderlands, keep your promise learn the truth. But the games are known to change the players
cw: plot before prn, reader is playing the role of rei in zombie hut, completely skipped the train scenes (oops), gun, implied death, smut, 18+, piv, oral (both receiving), f!ngering
word count: 5k
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the air heavy with the sharp scent of antiseptic and the faint bitterness of old coffee. Across the lab, Ryuji sat in his wheelchair, stacks of papers and half-drunk coffee surrounding him. His fingers tapped against the desk with a rhythm that seemed almost alive, as if the tapping alone could unlock the secrets he obsessed over.
He didn’t look up as you entered but you could feel the weight of his eyes on you, sharp and assessing. “You still think life is a cycle?” His voice was casual, careless, but it carried a razor-edge that made your chest tighten.
“I do,” you said evenly, leaning against the wall, forcing calm into your posture. “There’s evidence if you know where to look. Unlike some people, I don’t bend facts to fit my theories.”
Finally, his gaze lifted to meet yours. His eyes narrowed, sharp and calculating. “Facts are meaningless if you don’t interpret them. That’s where most people fail.”
You smirked despite the tightness in your chest. “And yet here you are, failing to interpret mine.”
He didn’t answer immediately. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, almost teasing. Silence settled in the lab, thick and heavy, the kind that pressed against your skin and made it impossible to ignore the unspoken tension between irritation and admiration.
Weeks later, you watched him take the stage at a near-death studies conference. Every movement, every word, was deliberate, precise, measured. He spoke of the liminal spaces between life and death, of moments when consciousness hovers and questions the nature of existence itself.
You couldn’t stop the bitter thought from forming. Of course he would phrase it like that. Clinical. Precise. Arrogant.
Later, at your own conference, someone whispered from the audience. “Your theory contradicts his work… are you aware?” You glanced at them, lips curling slightly. “I’m aware,” you said softly. “But the truth isn’t decided by one mind.”
A shiver ran down your spine imagining him hearing that, calculating, disapproving, infuriatingly brilliant.
…
Banda’s words slid over Ryuji like a dangerous current, smooth, deliberate, almost hypnotic. “Help me maintain the game,” he said, voice low, almost teasing, “and you can finally see what lies beyond life. All your research… validated.”
Ryuji’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching lightly on the arms of the wheelchair. “And if I refuse?”
“You risk nothing,” Banda said, tilting his head as if weighing Ryuji like a fragile object, “except discovering the truth too late.” His smile was faint, calm, but there was an edge there that made it impossible to look away.
Later, Banda approached you, moving silently, deliberately, as if he had studied your reactions before even speaking. “I can show you the ultimate truth,” he murmured, letting his eyes linger just a moment too long, “help me keep Arisu alive, and you’ll know everything you’ve been searching for.”
You swallowed hard, chest tight, defiance sparking in your gaze. “I don’t negotiate with people who toy with lives.”
Banda tilted his head, unfazed, almost amused. “Lives are instruments,” he said quietly, his tone teasing and dangerous all at once, “play them well, and you’ll learn what you must.”
You turned away, but your heart hammered in your chest, pulse sharp. Knowledge. Danger. Temptation. The air around him felt heavier, electric, pulling at something inside you that you weren’t ready to name. You didn’t know yet that Ryuji was being pulled down the same path, that his focus, his control, his very presence would inevitably collide with yours in ways you weren’t prepared for.
…
Your first game was called Zombie Hunt. At first, nobody spoke. Twenty players, each clutching decks of cards that could decide who lived and who died. Seven cards each. You already knew the rules, had been watching, analyzing since the start.
You stepped forward, voice calm, deliberate, carrying a strange authority that made a few heads turn. You said what everyone was thinking but too afraid to admit. “If we all panic, we’re dead. Work together, trust each other, share your Vaccine cards, tell the truth if you get infected. Call it a trust barricade.”
Some nodded hesitantly. Others glared, suspicion painting their faces. Distrust spread faster than the virus ever could. Still, for the first few rounds, it worked. You kept people organized, tracking every card played, every action taken. For a moment, it felt like control, like maybe this game wouldn’t destroy you after all.
Then someone panicked. A Shotgun card discharged with a deafening blast, smoke and metal filling the air. Screams erupted, accusations flying. The guy who fired swore he saw someone turn. You tried to calm them, tried to explain that killing each other wouldn’t help, but no one was listening. Fear had already taken root.
Ikeno, the one who had never liked you, directed his anger toward you. His eyes burned with accusation. “You’re lying. Your plan was to make us easy targets for infection.” His hand shook as he raised his card. You urged him to think, to stop, but he didn’t. He fired.
The shot rang out, but you were still alive. Uninfected. The look on his face told you everything. He had wasted his last chance.
Then came Arisu. You faced him during the next round. Calm. Too calm. Focused. Something felt off before he even spoke. When he revealed he had been a zombie all along, building an army in secret, your chest constricted. Everything you had controlled, every plan, every attempt to save everyone, had been a step in his design.
The game unraveled. Infection spread like wildfire. Humans screamed, fought, exhausted their cards. You stopped trying to manage it. There was nothing left to save. You just watched. And when the dust settled, only the zombies remained.
You were one of them now.
…
The city stretched beneath you, quiet for the first time since the train. Your legs ached, your stomach growled, but you were alive and that was enough. You sank down onto the concrete with a groan you didn’t even realize you’d made. Your arms trembled from the last sprint between the gas-filled cars. Every part of you ached, but for the first time in hours, you weren’t running.
Arisu didn’t sit right away. He scanned the edges of the rooftop, eyes darting from shadow to shadow like a soldier still expecting an ambush. Only when he seemed satisfied did he drop down beside you and tear open a foil packet. Without a word, he held it out. You took the food, fingers brushing his, and chewed in silence. The taste was dry and metallic, but it was something solid. Alive enough to taste.
A soft noise made you glance up. Usagi had stumbled through the rooftop doorway, her team behind her. She was pale, eyes glassy, but when she saw Arisu her entire body seemed to collapse inward. She crossed the space between them in three steps and flung herself into his arms. He caught her hard against his chest, the two of them clutching at each other like they’d been drowning.
You turned away, throat tightening at the sight. Relief. Love. Hope. Things you weren’t sure you believed in anymore. Watching them made you ache anyway.
And then you saw him.
Ryuji.
He stood a few feet back from the others, leaning against a low wall. Without his chair, he looked slightly off-balance but not weak. Even like this, he carried himself with that maddening composure, like he was the only one not ruled by adrenaline. His eyes moved over the group, over you. You hated how quickly you recognized him, how easily your body responded to his presence. You’d sworn you were done with this man the moment you’d last seen him across a conference table. And yet.
You caught sight of a dented wheelchair shoved behind an air-conditioning unit. The sight made your stomach twist. He wasn’t asking for help. He never would. But he needed it.
Before you could talk yourself out of it, you got up and dragged the chair across the roof. The metal squealed against the concrete. He lifted his eyes to you, one brow arching.
“You really don’t make things easy,” you muttered, crouching to lock the brakes on the chair.
For a second, something in his expression eased barely, but enough for you to catch it.
“Still trying to take charge,” he said quietly, a hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. His voice had lost its edge, softer now, almost teasing.
You slid the chair toward him, helped him shift his weight. His hand brushed yours, barely a touch, but it sent a current through your chest like you’d swallowed a spark. You straightened quickly, masking the heat in your face by fussing with the brake lever.
Behind you, Arisu and Usagi sat close, her head against his shoulder, their words too soft to hear. For a moment the rooftop was quiet. A rare, fragile quiet.
When you risked a glance back at Ryuji, he was still watching you. Not like a rival, not like a threat. Like he was trying to figure you out. Like he already had.
You looked away first.
Arisu’s gaze snapped to Ryuji. Recognition hit him like a punch before he even moved.
“You” Arisu’s voice was low, dangerous, and his fist shot out before his brain could catch up. The impact landed squarely on Ryuji’s shoulder, and the sharp sound of metal against concrete echoed across the rooftop.
Ryuji stumbled, just enough to let you see the flicker of surprise on his face, the faint curve of that smirk fighting to stay in place.
“Arisu, wait!” Usagi’s voice rang out, urgent and panicked. She shoved against his chest, trying to hold him back. “We all split up to get food and supplies! This isn’t the time”
Ryuji straightened, rubbing his shoulder where Arisu’s fist had landed. His eyes, sharp and assessing, flicked to you, and suddenly his smirk had a different edge, one that made your stomach knot.
“I’m going with her,” he said, voice flat but commanding. “She’s on my team now.”
Your heart skipped a beat. Not because you doubted your own skills, but because of the way he said it, like he had decided something for both of you, like he had already claimed it before you could.
Usagi’s hands pressed lightly against his chest, still trying to hold him back. “Ryuji, don’t make this harder than it already is. Let’s just….”
“I decide,” he interrupted quietly, almost casually, but with an unmistakable weight behind it. His gaze locked with yours across the space of the rooftop. That smirk, now sharper, almost teasing, made the air between you feel too tight, too alive.
You swallowed. Your pulse was pounding, your brain screaming caution, but your chest, impossibly, warmed at the thought that now you’d be forced to spend time with him. Somehow, survival had just gotten a lot more complicated.
You moved quickly, scanning empty storefronts, abandoned crates, anything that could keep your group alive a little longer. Beside you, Ryuji’s wheelchair rolled silently. He didn’t need to speak to make his presence impossible to ignore.
“Try not to fall behind,” you muttered without looking at him.
“I’m fine,” he said, voice flat but edged in that way that made your chest tighten. Calm, controlled, aware. You hated how much that both irritated and intrigued you.
For a while, there was only the rhythm of wheels against cracked pavement and your own shallow breaths. Then the conversation started, quiet at first. Small observations about the game, notes about what could go wrong in the next round. Slowly, it drifted. You found yourself laughing at something absurd, almost human in the middle of all this. He smirked, and it hit you like a spark. He was dangerous, alive, untouchable.
By the time you returned to the hotel where your groups were staying, the sun had dipped low, throwing everything in bruised shadows. Arisu and Usagi were elsewhere, leaving you and Ryuji in the stillness of an empty room.
You leaned against the wall, exhaustion catching up, but his gaze didn’t leave you. “You’re… not what I thought you’d be,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
He looked at you, one brow lifting, the corner of his mouth curving slightly. “Yeah? What did you think I’d be?”
You hesitated. “Cold. Calculated. The kind of person who never lets anything slip.” You paused, meeting his eyes. “But you’re not. Not completely.” Your voice caught for a moment, and you hated the warmth creeping up your neck.
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, gaze sharp and calculating, yet unreadable. “I care,” he said quietly. “Just not in ways people expect.”
The silence that followed was heavy, almost dangerous. Every movement he made—adjusting in the chair, shifting his weight, letting his fingers brush against yours—felt charged, deliberate. You noticed it all. You couldn’t not notice.
Your conversation deepened, moving from survival tactics into personal territory. Each question a subtle probe, each answer a small reveal. He studied you in return, measuring, teasing, testing limits. Every glance was weighted, every pause thick with something unspoken.
Night had swallowed the city, and the tension between you felt almost physical. His presence, the way he occupied space, the quiet intensity in his gaze, drew you in and kept you on edge. The air between you wasn’t soft, wasn’t safe. It was dangerous. And you wanted it anyway.
You swallowed, trying to steady your pulse. He smirked faintly, as if he already knew exactly what you were thinking.
The quiet between you was dense, almost unbearable, each second stretching too long.
He leaned forward in his wheelchair, gaze locking onto yours. The smirk had softened, but only slightly; it was dangerous and teasing at the same time, the kind that made your pulse spike. “You’re… too careful,” he said quietly, almost a statement, almost a challenge.
“I could say the same about you,” you shot back, sharper than you intended, the words carrying more heat than reason.
His eyes flicked down to your lips for just a heartbeat, then back to your eyes.
You wanted to look away, but couldn’t. And he knew it. He moved slightly closer, the chair making the faintest scrape against the floor, and the brush of his sleeve against your arm sent a shiver up your spine. It was deliberate, testing boundaries, and you hated how much it made your chest tighten.
“You’re thinking too much,” he said softly. “Stop thinking.”
“I can’t,” you admitted, voice low, raw. You tried to pull your hand back, but it lingered, almost drawn toward him despite yourself.
He leaned closer, enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. The tension between you was a living thing, heavy and deliberate, impossible to ignore.
He paused, the corner of his mouth curling upward ever so slightly. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, holding you captive, his thumb brushing over your pulse point.
“Then let’s make you not think,”
he said, his voice barely a whisper, but the implication clear.
Before you could react or pull away, he closed the distance between you. His lips pressed against yours firmly, demanding and sudden. One hand remained wrapped around your wrist while the other slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he kissed you deeply.
His lips were hungry, demanding, and you could feel the raw intensity of his desire. He pulled you onto his lap, one hand gripping your hip while the other tangled in your hair. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent and passionate with each passing second.
As you melted into the kiss, you felt the unmistakable hardness pressing against you through his pants. He groaned quietly against your mouth, his hips shifting slightly to create friction. His hand on your hip tightened, pulling you closer as the kiss became even more heated and desperate.
He bit your bottom lip gently, then soothed it with his tongue before kissing you deeply again. His erection was obvious now, throbbing against your core through the fabric of your clothes. One of his hands slid down to grip your ass possessively. “Fuck...”
He pulled you tighter against him, the hard length of his cock pressing firmly against your clit. He began to grind against you slowly, his hips moving in a deliberate rhythm.
He pulled you tighter against him, the hard length of his cock pressing firmly against your clit. He began to grind against you slowly, his hips moving in a deliberate rhythm.
His breathing grew heavier as he kissed you desperately, his hands roaming your body with clear desperation. He was rock hard and clearly turned on, but instead of trying to undress you or push further, he just kept kissing you deeply while grinding slowly.
His tongue invaded your mouth aggressively while his hands gripped you roughly, almost painful.
In the heat of the moment, his aggressive kisses became too much to handle standing up. Without warning, he suddenly grabbed your thighs and lifted you effortlessly, throwing you onto the bed with a rough grunt. His body followed immediately, pinning you beneath him as his kisses turned even more dominant and demanding.
His hands were rough, almost bruising as he held your wrists above your head with one hand while the other trailed down your body possessively. His tongue was aggressive and dominating in your mouth, mimicking what he wanted to do with his cock.
He broke the kiss to look down at you, his eyes dark with desire and a hint of something else - obsession, maybe. His hand still held your wrists above your head, while the other began unbuttoning his shirt slowly. “You're so fucking beautiful like this... Underneath me, helpless... It's driving me crazy...”
His muscles flexed with each movement as he removed his shirt, revealing a sculpted chest and abs. He didn't bother with the rest of his clothes, instead shifting his attention back to you. His hands slid up your legs possessively, pushing your skirt up to your waist.
He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in another fierce kiss. His hand moved to your inner thigh, squeezing gently before sliding up to rub against your panties. He could feel how wet you were through the thin fabric, and it made him groan deeply into your mouth.
He tore your panties off abruptly with one rough motion, the sound of fabric ripping filling the room. His fingers immediately plunged inside you without warning or gentleness, curling upwards to hit that sweet spot inside you as his thumb circled your clit roughly. “Mmph... So fucking wet already...”
He started pumping his fingers in and out of you harshly, his palm slamming against your clit with each thrust. He broke the kiss to bite and suck on your neck marking you, his other hand keeping your wrists pinned above your head. His hips bucked against the bed, his hard cock rubbing against the mattress as he fingered you roughly.
You let out a loud moan as his fingers hit your G-spot again, your hips arching up to meet his hand. Your skirt was pushed up to your waist, your breasts almost spilling out of your top. He growled softly, watching your body move with his touch. He added another finger, stretching you roughly.
He watched your reactions closely, his fingers moving faster and harder inside you as he curled them upwards to hit that sensitive spot repeatedly. Your breasts bounced with each rough thrust of his fingers, making him lose control slightly.
Before you could protest or even react, he had his mouth between your legs, licking and sucking on your clit hungrily. He pushed your legs apart roughly, burying his face between your legs as his tongue plunged inside you, fucking you with his mouth aggressively.
He devoured your pussy like a man starved, his tongue sliding in and out of you rapidly. He moaned loudly, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through your core. His hands gripped your legs, pushing them further apart as he buried his face deeper between your legs.
He ate you out aggressively, almost angrily, like he was trying to punish your pussy with his tongue. Your moans encouraged him, making him double down on the roughness. Suddenly, he sucked your clit into his mouth hard, flicking it rapidly with his tongue.
You cried out, arching off the bed as pleasure coursed through you. Your hands gripped the sheets tightly as he continued to suck and lick your sensitive flesh. He looked up at you from between your legs, his eyes dark with desire and a hint of something more sinister.
As soon as you came, he licked up every drop of your juices before suddenly standing up and unbuttoning his trousers. He didn't bother taking them off fully, just pushing them down enough to free his huge, throbbing cock. Without warning or preparation, he thrust inside you to the hilt, kissing you messily as he did. “Fuck...”
He moaned loudly into your mouth, his hands reaching up to grab your tits through your shirt. He squeezed them roughly, then ripped the shirt open, buttons flying everywhere. He pulled down the cups of your bra, exposing your tits, and buried his face between them, sucking and biting aggressively.
He alternated between sucking hard on your nipples and biting them, making you whimper. His hips snapped forward roughly, pounding into you with each bite and suck. One hand left your breast to grip your hair tightly while the other spanked your breast hard. “Shit... so sensitive... Fuck...”
He bit down hard on your nipple as he thrust especially deep, hitting your cervix. Your breasts bounced with each rough thrust, making him even more aggressive with his mouth. He sucked bruises onto your tits, marking them as he fucked you violently. His cock stretched you perfectly.
He was animalistic, his hips slapping against your thighs as he pounded into you deeply. Your breasts bounced wildly with each thrust, making him lose his mind slightly. He lowered his mouth to capture one nipple again, his teeth sinking into it softly while his tongue flicked rapidly. He spanked your other breast hard.
He continued to fuck you hard and fast, his mouth never leaving your breasts. He sucked and bit and licked, covering your tits in marks and spit. His thrusts became even more forceful, the bed shaking with the violence of it. Suddenly, he pulled out and turned you around roughly “On your hands and knees now..”
He slapped your ass hard as you got on your knees, watching your breasts bounce with the impact. He ran his hands down your ass cheeks possessively before grabbing them and spreading them apart softly. He spit on your pussy then rubbed it in slowly.
He aligned his thick head with your entrance and slammed inside hard, making you scream. He started pounding into you mercilessly from behind, his hips slapping against your ass loudly. He grabbed your hair roughly and pulled you back against him as he fucked you. “Shut up. and make me a mess on my dick”
He pulled your hair harder as he pounded into you faster and deeper, his balls slapping against your clit with each thrust. His other hand reached around to play with your tits roughly, squeezing them and pulling on your nipples.“Fucking take it”
He slammed into you so hard that the headboard cracked, his huge dick filling you completely. His thrusts were so powerful that they lifted your knees off the bed. He fucked you like a dog in heat, his grunts and groans filling the room.
He pulled out of you suddenly, his cock glistening with your juices. He grabbed your hair and pulled you back towards him roughly. He pushed his cock into your mouth without warning, making you gag instantly. “Suck my fucking cock you stupid slut”
He grabbed your hair tighter and started fucking your mouth brutally, using you like a toy. "Good girl Such a good little bitch taking my cock so well" He pulled out and slapped your face with his cock. "Open wide, you stupid slut”
He pushed his cock back into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. He held your head in place as he fucked your face roughly, making you gag repeatedly. "Look at you... Such a fucking whore . Taking my cock so nicely."
He moaned loudly as he came in your mouth, filling it with his hot, sticky cum. He pulled out and slapped your face with his hand, smearing his cum all over your cheeks. "Fuck... Good girl"
He bent down and grabbed your face roughly, smearing his cum all over your mouth and lips. He pushed his fingers into your mouth, making you suck on them. "So fucking cute. Little slut with my cum all over her pretty face"
He kissed you messily, licking his own cum off your face before cleaning you up gently with a cloth. He dressed you in one of his shirts and held you close "So pretty" He carried you to bed and spooned behind you, wrapping his arms around you possessively.
You stayed still, and so did he. The space between you throbbed with unspoken tension, each heartbeat loud and deliberate. You could feel it the pull, sharp and dangerous, the thrill that made your chest tighten. Maybe you were enemies, but closer than you wanted to admit, closer than you could fight.
…
You moved through the maze of rooms with Ryuji at your side, the flickering projections casting strange shadows on the walls. The paths were unpredictable, the dice rolls controlling who could move, but some rooms felt different.
In one, the walls shimmered with light, and you caught glimpses of possible futures. In them, Ryuji was not a rival or a threat. He was there with you, smiling, laughing, alive, free. You reached for him in the vision, your fingers brushing against his in a warmth that did not exist in this world but felt achingly real. He caught your hand and held it, steady, certain, and for the first time in weeks, you dared to imagine trust, maybe even something more.
"Don’t get used to this," he muttered under his breath, though his gaze lingered on yours. There was that smirk, the dangerous, teasing one, softened by something almost vulnerable, something that made your chest twist with anticipation.
The visions shifted, pulled you along corridors that promised happiness and laughter, a life outside the Borderland, and you realized with a sharp pang that your heart was clinging to these fleeting possibilities like air.
Eventually, you reached the final room, where the rest of your group waited. Arisu stood at the center, face pale but resolute, the dice in his hand. He exhaled slowly, as if weighing the cost of the next choice. "Seven," he said. The dice tumbled across the floor and came to rest. Someone had to stay.
Arisu turned to you, to Usagi, and to Ryuji. "I’ll stay," he declared. Usagi’s face crumpled. She tried to stop him, reaching for his arm, her voice trembling, "No, Arisu, please..."
But he was unwavering. He shoved her through the door, and before she disappeared, he made Ryuji promise to get her back to the real world. Ryuji’s jaw tightened, but he nodded, the weight of responsibility settling across his features.
Then everything changed. The screens around Arisu lit up white. He had won. His sacrifice had been recognized. Relief flared in his chest, but it was short-lived.
On the screens, Usagi and the others were visible, huddled on the other side, and then Ryuji stepped forward. A gun gleamed in his hand, pointed directly at Usagi. You froze, understanding immediately. He hadn’t shot her before, hadn’t even raised the weapon, but now
Time seemed to stretch. You saw her crumble in devastation, her hands raised instinctively, and your heart slammed against your ribs. Arisu pounded against the screens, shouting for him to stop. He wasn’t there. Only you were.
Ryuji’s hand trembled as the weight of the moment hit him. He let the gun slip from his fingers. It clattered to the floor, metal striking concrete with a sharp, unforgiving sound. Without hesitation, you stooped and picked it up. Your hands were steady, heart hammering, as you felt the dangerous power of choice settle in your grip.
Before either of you could process it further, the world shifted violently. The structures around Shibuya Crossing groaned and cracked, and a biblical surge of water burst into the square, devouring everything in its path. The sheer force sent debris flying and thunderous waves crashing like the end of the world.
Usagi’s scream cut through the chaos as she was swept away, and almost immediately Ryuji lunged after her, gripping her arm, dragging her toward the spiraling whirlpool. You saw the others clinging to ledges, faces pale, muscles straining to resist the pull of the flood.
Arisu didn’t hesitate. With sheer determination, he ripped a segment of the grid room’s floor free from its moorings. He swung it hard, smashing it against the screen wall that separated him from the outside, finally creating a breach. His hands worked furiously in the tangle of wires and metal, forcing the door just wide enough to pull the others to relative safety. Then, without a second thought, he dove into the rushing waters after Usagi.
He had made his choice. The world of the living, the life he wanted, the girl he had to save. The water crashed over him as he fought against the torrent, time stretching in a surreal loop. Every beat of his heart, every desperate stroke, was focused on reaching her before it was too late.
And then your eyes locked onto Ryuji. He wasn’t holding back. Every muscle in his body was working to pull Usagi toward the heart of the whirlpool, toward the world of death. The desperation and danger in his actions were clear and so was the moral crossroads staring you in the face.
warnings: violence, implication of abuse, toxic relationships, i am not romanticising such relationships and please seek help if you or someone you know may be in such relationship
hurt no comfort
inspired by
The halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were filled with whispers and rumors, but there was one person who stood out among the rest. Tom Riddle, a charismatic and enigmatic young wizard, had captivated the attention of many, including her. As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, their paths intertwined, leading to a trusted friendship that would ultimately be tested.
She had always been a kind-hearted and gentle soul, often feeling overlooked and invisible. But when Tom Riddle entered her life, everything changed. He saw her, listened to her, and made her feel seen in a way she had never experienced before. It felt like a dream come true, a love story unfolding before her very eyes.
As their connection deepened, she found herself falling deeper into the illusion that Tom had created. He showered her with attention, whispered sweet promises, and made her believe that she was the center of his universe. She felt an all-consuming love, a love that was both exhilarating and terrifying.
But as the days went by, cracks started to appear in the facade of their relationship. Tom's possessiveness became more apparent, his demands more controlling. Yet, she remained blind to the red flags, convinced that this was the price she had to pay for the love she had always desired.
One fateful night, Tom's darker side emerged, shattering the fragile trust that had been built between them. In a moment of vulnerability, she had confided in him about her fears and doubts, hoping for reassurance and comfort. However, instead of solace, she received scorn and indifference.
Tom shattered her trust by revealing his true nature, the very darkness that had lurked beneath his charming exterior. He had the power to protect her, to shield her from harm, but he chose not to, he shattered it with a slap across the face. She was devastated at first, but ultimately reasoned that it was done out of affection, and that Tom's actions could be overlooked. In a way, her love blinded her from seeing any red flags, and she chose to ignore any wrong-doings from Tom. The pain of betrayal cut deep, but her perception had been clouded by her unwavering belief in his love for her.
But she couldn't bring herself to leave him. She was blinded by the fact that someone could actually love her. She ignored all the bad, cruel things he did, convincing yourself that it was just his way of showing his affection.
She was trapped in a cycle of abuse, unable to break free. Tom had complete control over her, and she couldn't resist his charm.
One day, Tom took things too far. He hurt her in a way that she could never forget. She were left broken and alone, wondering how she could have been so blind.
But even then again, she couldn't bring herself to leave him. She were addicted to the pain, the hurt, the love. She craved it, even though it was slowly destroying her
In her eyes, his actions were simply a testament to the depths of his affection. She saw his neglect as a twisted form of devotion, his indifference as a sign of his overwhelming passion. Each hurtful word and cruel action only reinforced her conviction that this was love, that she was lucky to have found someone who cared for her so deeply.
Friends and loved ones tried to intervene, to open her eyes to the toxic nature of their relationship. But she, blinded by her own yearning for love, turned a deaf ear to their concerns. She believed that they couldn't possibly understand the depths of their connection, that they were simply envious of what she had found.
synopsis : they are rivals but once they are assigned roommates for a school trip they actually forget to argue about that, surprisingly accepting they have to share a bed.
warnings: rivals w sexual tension, eventual sexual content, (wanrning : plot before p0rn), piv, bj, f!ngering, one bed trope, everyone is above 18 obviously, possessiveness
smut, enemies to lovers, and some fluff if you squint
The Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade Station, and students excitedly disembarked, ready for their annual school trip. Among the bustling crowd, Draco Malfoy and Y/N Y/L/N found themselves eyeing each other warily. For years, they had been rivals, their rivalry filled with tension and sparks flying whenever they were in close proximity. This trip was no exception.
Fate had a funny way of working sometimes, and in this instance, it meant that Draco and Y/N found themselves assigned to share a room at the quaint inn where they would be staying. The room was cozy, with a single bed taking up most of the space. When they exchanged glances, they both felt a mixture of anticipation and unease at the thought of spending the trip in such close quarters.
After settling in, Draco decided to freshen up. He disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water echoing through the room. Y/N took this opportunity to unpack their belongings, trying to focus on the task at hand and ignore the butterflies fluttering in their stomach.
Minutes later, Draco emerged from the bathroom, his wet hair tousled and a towel wrapped securely around his waist. His silver eyes met Y/N's gaze, and for a brief moment, time seemed to stand still. There was an undeniable hunger in his eyes, a longing that neither of them could deny. Y/N felt their heart racing, their body trembling with anticipation.
But just as quickly as the moment had arrived, it vanished, replaced with the familiar tension and bickering that had defined their relationship for so long.
"You're taking up all the space," Draco snapped, eyeing the scattered belongings on the bed.
"Well, maybe if you weren't hogging the bathroom for so long, I wouldn't have had to unpack here," Y/N countered, their voice laced with a mix of annoyance and amusement.
Draco rolled his eyes, his trademark smirk playing on his lips. "Always finding something to complain about, aren't you?"
Y/N raised an eyebrow, a smirk of their own forming. "Well, someone has to keep you in check, Malfoy."
As the trip continued, their bickering continued. Every interaction between them was laced with snarky comments and subtle jabs. But beneath the surface, there was an undeniable chemistry that neither of them could ignore. Every look or touch was charged with unspoken emotion, a tension between them that neither could deny. Even when they fought, there was a deep understanding of each other's feelings that kept them connected throughout the trip.
During a visit to a picturesque village, Draco and Y/N found themselves exploring together. The narrow streets were filled with the hustle and bustle of market vendors, but their focus was solely on each other. They wandered aimlessly, their banter providing a soundtrack to their journey. The tension between them seemed to grow with each passing moment, filling the air with an almost tangible electricity.
As they strolled along, they came across a small park, secluded and peaceful. Unable to resist the lure of the empty benches and serene atmosphere, they sat down, their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them.
"You know," Y/N began, their voice softer than before, "I've always wondered why we seem to clash so much, other than the fact you are a spoiled little prick."
Draco's expression softened, curiosity evident in his eyes. "And what conclusion have you come to, Y/L/N?"
A small smile played on Y/N's lips. "I think it's because we bring out the best in each other, even if we don't always realize it.
Draco's gaze softened, his walls crumbling in the presence of Y/N's vulnerability. "Perhaps you're right. We've always pushed each other to be better, even if we've gone about it in the most antagonistic way possible."
Silence settled between them for a moment, the weight of their unspoken feelings hanging in the air. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, they reverted back to their familiar bickering.
"You're still as insufferable as ever, Malfoy," Y/N teased, their voice filled with fondness.
"And you're still as infuriating, Y/L/N," Draco shot back, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
But this time, the bickering was laced with something different. It held a hint of affection, a deeper connection that both Draco and Y/N were beginning to acknowledge.
As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the village, they made their way back to the inn. The room awaited them, the single bed serving as a constant reminder of the tension that had simmered between them all day.
Y/N hesitated for a moment, their gaze flickering between Draco and the bed. They took a deep breath, their usual shyness and insecurity being replaced by a newfound confidence. "I suppose we'll have to make do with the sleeping arrangements, won't we, Malfoy?"
Draco's eyes gleamed with a mixture of surprise and desire. "I suppose we will, Y/L/N. Still despise your face though, don’t be spreading around that i allowed you to share my bed."
Y/N smirked, rolling their eyes. "Of course, Malfoy. Wouldn't have it any other way."
And so, with a mix of tension, desire, and undeniable chemistry, Draco and Y/N climbed into the single bed, their rivalry and bickering fading into the background. In that moment, they found solace in each other's presence, their hunger finally acknowledged and their connection strengthening.
When only pure silence was heard right before they fell asleep Y/N heard a whisper yell from Malfoy’s side "You think you're so much better than me? You think you're so much smarter? You're just a nosy, stuck-up, know-it-all-Bimbo!"
"At least I'm actually smart enough to understand the concept of 'personal space!' You're just a spoiled, entitled brat who's never had to work for anything in your life!” she replied firmly yet half asleep
Draco's body tensed at Y/N's comment, their bickering reaching a boiling point. His hands wrapped around Y/N's wrists, roughly manhandling them and pulling them close.
"You're so stubborn!" Draco hissed, his breath hot against Y/N's ear. "Do you seriously think I won't do anything if you refuse to listen to me?"
Y/N glared back, struggling against Draco's grip, but unable to break free.
Draco's grip tightened around Y/N's wrists, a possessive glint in his eyes. He leaned inhis lips brushing against Y/N's neck as he whispered "You're mine, Y/N you belong to me" He trailed kisses down her neck, nipping at her skin as she moaned in pleasure
Draco's eyes narrowed as he watched Y/N struggle against him a cruel smile playing at the corners of his lips. He leaned in, his lips brushing against Y/N's ear as he whispered "You know you want this. You want me to take control, to make you mine" With a sudden movement Draco spun Y/N around, pressing her against the wall. His hands roamed over her bodypinning her wrists above her head as he claimed her lips in a rough, possessive kiss.
Y/N moaned into the kiss, her body responding to Draco's touch despite her angerHe pulled awaya wicked grin on his face as he leaned in to whisper in her ear once more.
"You're mine, Y/N. And I'll do whatever it takes to make you realize it" With thatDraco claimed Y/N's lips once more, their bodies moving together in a frenzy of desire as he asserted his dominance over her once more
Y/N's struggles ceased as Draco's touch sent shivers down her spine. She arched her backpressing herself closer to him, craving more of his touch. Draco's hands roamed over her body tracing every curve and dip, igniting a fire within her.
Their bickering forgotten, they gave into their desires their bodies entwined in a passionate embrace. Draco's lips met Y/N's, his tongue exploring her mouth as she moaned in pleasure. He pushed her onto the bed, his hands roaming over her body as he stripped her of her clothes
Draco pushed Y/N against the wall, his lips crashing against hers in a fierce, possessive kiss. He gripped her hips tightly, grinding his hard cock against her thigh.
Y/N moaned into his mouth, her body responding to his touch despite her anger. Draco's hands roamed over her body, his fingers digging into her flesh as he claimed her as his own.
He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down her neck as he bit and sucked at her skin, leaving marks of his ownership all over her body. Y/N's body trembled with desire as Draco's hands roamed over her, his fingers finding their way between her legs.
He teased her, rubbing her clit with a fierce hunger before plunging his fingers deep inside her. As he fingered her, his other hand found its way to her breast, pinching and twisting her nipple until she cried out in pleasure.
He continued to finger her, his pace increasing as he took her closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy. Finally, he pulled his fingers out of her, turning her around and pushing her down onto her knees.
He unzipped his pants, pulling out his hard cock and thrusting it into her mouth. Y/N took him eagerly her mouth enveloping him as she worked him with her tongue Draco's hands tangled in her hair, pulling her head back as he fucked her mouth with a fierce hunger.
He pulled out of her mouth pushing her back against the wall and lifting her legs up to wrap around his waist. He thrust into her with a fierce hunger, his body slamming against hers with each movement
Y/N cried out in pleasure, her body writhing against his as he took her closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy. Draco's thrusts became more urgent and intense, his body trembling with desire as he neared his own peak.
As he continued to pound into her, his grip on her throat tightened leaving marks of his ownership all over her body. Y/N's nails dug into his back as he continued to thrust into her with a fierce hunger
Their bickering reached a boiling point, with Draco manhandling Y/N and claiming her as his own, he took control making her his in a rough, possessive kiss and teasing her with a fierce hunger before plunging his fingers deep inside her.
Finally, they reached their climax, their bodies writhing in ecstasy as they cried out each other's names. Draco asserted his dominance once more, reminding Y/N that she belonged to him.
Draco's grip on Y/N's body loosened as he pulled out of her, his chest heaving as he looked down at her. Y/N's eyes were closed, her body still trembling with pleasure.
Draco leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead as he whispered, "You're mine, Y/N. Always" Y/N opened her eyes, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips.
"I know," she murmured, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair. "I wouldn't want it any other way"
Draco helped Y/N to her feet, holding her close as they stood there, their bodies still intertwined. He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, his hands trailing down her body as he whispered, "You're so beautiful, Y/N. I could never get enough of you"
Y/N blushed, leaning into him as she whispered back, "I feel the same way about you Draco. I love you"
Draco's eyes softened, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I love you too, Y/N. Always and forever”
They stood there for a few moments longer, their bodies entwined as they basked in the afterglow of their passion. Finally they pulled apart, their eyes meeting as they smiled at each other
Draco took Y/N's hand, leading her towards the bed. "Come on" he said, his voice low and husky. "Let's get some rest, we have a lot more exploring to do tomorrow"
Y/N smiled, following him to the bed as they settled in for the night, their bodies entwined as they drifted off to sleep in each other's arms
synopsis: he loved her but he masked it with hatred well until he had to make his hands bloody to protect her
hurt/comfort , enemies to lovers
In the bustling halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, George Weasley, one-half of the famous mischievous duo, sat with his twin brother, Fred, at the Gryffindor table. They chatted animatedly about their latest pranks as the students filed in for the start of another year. However, George's attention was momentarily diverted when he noticed his younger brother Ron entering the Great Hall, accompanied by a close friend he had known since their first year - Y/N.
As George watched the pair, his eyes narrowed with an inexplicable dislike. There was something about Y/N, who had always been Ron's best friend, that irritated him. Maybe it was their unwavering loyalty, or the way they effortlessly fit into Ron's life, but there was something about them that just didn't fit right. For some reason, George has never been able to shake his dislike of Y/N, even from their first meeting.
Throughout their years at Hogwarts, George made it his mission to torment Y/N at every opportunity. He took pleasure in watching them squirm under his pranks and jabs, fueled by an irrational animosity he couldn't shake. Y/N, however, seemed unfazed by George's antics and always had a witty retort ready. Despite their constant clashes, Y/N's smile never faded.
As the years passed, George's disdain for Y/N grew stronger. His friends and family grew increasingly concerned and Ron couldn't understand George's behavior. He had often confronted his brother about it, but George dismissed it as harmless banter. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right. Why was he so fixated on Y/N? And why couldn't he let go of a simple grudge?
Ron watched with concern as his brother grew more consumed with his grudge against Y/N. He tried to talk sense into George, but to no avail. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't understand what was eating away at his brother.
Meanwhile, George couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something. What did he have against Y/N, really? What drove him to make it his mission to torment them at every opportunity? It couldn't be as simple as a grudge. He was certain there was more to it than that.
But what?
George tried to ignore the feeling that he was forgetting something important, but it kept nagging at him. He knew there was more to it than just a grudge. What was it that he was missing? As he struggled to recall, he couldn't shake the sensation that he was overlooking something right in front of him.
Was it something Y/N had done? Something they'd said? Or was it something he had done? Nothing seemed to fit right. The answer seemed to be just outside his reach, but he couldn't quite grasp it. It was infuriating!
George's memory of first meeting Y/N came rushing back to him in a flash, and the pieces fell into place. He had spent so long hating Y/N, masking his true feelings with resentment and animosity. But on that first day, something Y/N had said had struck a chord in him. Could it be true, that deep down he was hiding a secret crush on them?
Y/N looked up from their book with a smile, seemingly unbothered by George's constant teasing. The sight of them made George's heart flutter, and he suddenly realized he didn't want to see them hurt.
George's heart fluttered as he watched Y/N, suddenly realizing how much he cared for them. All of his teasing and jabs suddenly seemed petty and insignificant, and he would do whatever it took to protect Y/N. As George looked on, Y/N's smile never faded, and he quickly realized that they had grown accustomed to his antics.
The more George watched Y/N, the more drawn to them he felt. Their laughter rang through the halls as they chatted with their classmates, oblivious to everything around them. George couldn't tear his eyes away, mesmerized by their smile and graceful movements.
The feelings began to overwhelm George, and he felt his heart thudding in his chest as he watched Y/N. The way they laughed with their friends, the way they moved with such effortless grace, it all made George feel a certain way. He realized that what he was feeling was more than just a crush. It was love.
And then, one night, after curfew as he was aimlessly walking around the castle deep in thought, George came across a shocking sight. Y/N was lying on the ground, injured and bleeding.
George was filled with rage. Who had hurt his Y/N? George's heart was pounding as he knelt down next to Y/N, taking in their bloody face and bruised body. How could anyone hurt them like this? And why?
George turned to the group of students, filled with righteous anger. "Who did this?" he roared, his voice echoing through the hall. The students who had gathered around Y/N scattered quickly, afraid of his wrath.
George turned back to Y/N, determined to take care of them. "What happened?" he asked, his voice gentle despite his rage. "Who hurt you?"
George gently examined Y/N's wounds, searching for clues as to who had attacked them. George's mind raced as he wondered who could be behind the attack. He had to figure it out fast, before Y/N was hurt again.
George turned to Y/N, his expression dark and determined. "I swear, I will find out who did this to you," he said, his voice resolute. "And when I do, they will pay for what they have done."
Y/N coughed and opened their eyes, and for a moment they didn't seem to register who was standing over them. But as they slowly came to their senses, they saw George and felt the fury in his eyes.
"It was a Slytherin," Y/N said quietly, coughing up a bit of blood. "They-they had a knife."
George felt his heart drop as Y/N told him what happened. He felt his anger bubble up again, and he knew he would make the Slytherin who had hurt them pay.
George gently helped Y/N to their feet, supporting them as they walked to his dorm. Y/N was still weak from their injuries, and they leaned heavily on George for support.
George's heart was racing as he led Y/N into his dorm, eager to get them somewhere safe. Once inside, he helped them onto his bed and made sure they were comfortable before leaving the room to find the Slytherin who had hurt them.
George burst out of his dorm, scanning the halls for the student who had tried to kill Y/N. He was determined to make them pay.
George searched frantically for the Slytherin who had attacked Y/N. He burst into the Slytherin common room and combed through the crowd of students, looking for anyone who matched the description Y/N had given him.
After frantically searching for a while, he finally spotted the student. They were standing alone near one of the large windows, staring out at the grounds below.
George knew what he had to do, and he didn't hesitate. He stormed over to the Slytherin and grabbed them by the collar, shoving them up against the wall.
George's hands were trembling with rage as he pressed the Slytherin up against the wall. They were the person who had attacked Y/N, and now they would pay for it.
The Slytherin tried to fight back, but George was too strong. He held them up, squeezing their collar with one hand
...and punching them in the face with the other. The Slytherin's eyes widened as they felt George's fist connect with their face, and for a moment they were helpless to fight back. Then, they lashed out at George, trying to free themselves from his grasp.
But George was too angry to let go. He hit the Slytherin again and again, determined to make them feel the pain they had inflicted on Y/N. The Slytherin was bruised and bloody by the time George was done, but he didn't stop.
George's rage had consumed him and he had lost all sense of reason. He continued to pummel the Slytherin with his fists, not caring about the damage he was inflicting. Blood spattered across the ground as he landed blow after blow and the Slytherin's face was quickly turning into a bloody mess
The Slytherin tried to fight back but George was too strong. He had a fierce determination in his eyes that made him seem almost inhuman. He didn't stop until the Slytherin was lying on the ground barely conscious and covered in bruises
George stood over the Slytherin's prone form, breathing heavily. He felt a sense of satisfaction wash over him as he looked down at the broken body beneath him. He had made sure that the Slytherin would never forget the lesson he had learned today.
"You disgust me," he spat, before turning on his heel and walking away. The Slytherin lay there for a few moments before slowly getting up and stumbling away, humiliated and defeated.
As George walked away, he couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. He knew he might had gone too far but he had avenged Y/N's honor, and made sure that the Slytherin would never mess with them again.
George finally ceased his attack, leaving the Slytherin a bloody mess on the ground. He took a deep breath and tried to calm down, feeling a surge of guilt washing over him.
Then he thought of Y/N, and the guilt vanished. That Slytherin had tried to hurt the person he cared about, and they deserved every bit of the punishment they had received.
He made his way back to his dorm room, entering to find Y/N still lying on his bed, looking very pale and shaky. He rushed over to their side and knelt down next to them.
Y/N looked up at George with weary eyes, their face still covered in blood. They tried to push themselves up, but they were too weak, and George helped them back onto the bed.
Y/N's face was bruised and swollen from their attack, and their eyes were clouded with tears. George felt his heart break as they started to cry, realizing how badly he had failed to protect them.
George's guilt came flooding back as he took Y/N's hand in his own and tried to comfort them. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice trembling.
Y/N looked up through their tears, and George could see the fear in their eyes. They had been attacked, and now they felt powerless and afraid. George felt his heart break for them, realizing the pain they must be feeling.
George caressed Y/N's cheek with a tender hand and leaned down to kiss them gently on the forehead. His lips brushed against their skin, and for a moment he was lost in their warmth. Y/N closed their eyes, their breaths trembling as they savored the comfort of George's touch.
George could feel Y/N's heart beating rapidly as he continued to caress their cheek with a gentle hand. He wanted to give them everything he had. To heal the wounds inflicted on their body and their soul. And with a determination that he didn't know he had, he softly brushed his lips against their own.
Y/N's heart fluttered in their chest as they tasted George's love for the first time. A wave of heat rushed through their body and they pulled George close, finally giving in to the feelings they had been hiding for so long.
George couldn't believe it. Y/N was kissing him back, sharing the same feelings he had been carrying in his heart for so long. And as they continued to kiss, it was like a dam breaking. All the love he had kept hidden inside finally came rushing out and he poured every ounce of himself into the kiss.
As they pulled away, they both gasped for breath and stared at each other. It was as if the entire world had disappeared and there was only Y/N and George. His eyes locked on theirs and he felt the whole Universe within their gaze.
As George and Y/N stared into each other's eyes, all their repressed emotions came rushing forward and they kissed again, this time with even more passion than before. They couldn't get enough of each other, and as they kissed, the walls between them crumbled into dust.
Their hearts were beating in sync, their breath mingling in the air. George felt the weight of the world lift off his shoulders and he knew at that moment that he had found his soulmate. Y/N was the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, and he would never let anyone hurt her ever again.
synopsis: In a world where Voldemort doesn't exist, you and Harry Potter have been best friends for years. As your final year at Hogwarts approaches, a party brings forth unexpected confessions.
fluff, best friends to lovers
The Hogwarts grounds were adorned with colorful decorations as the final year students prepared for the grand end-of-year celebration. Among them, you and your best friend, Harry Potter, were buzzing with excitement. You had been inseparable since your first year, forging a bond that had only grown stronger with time.
As the evening of the party approached, you couldn't help but feel a mix of anticipation and nervousness. You had been harboring deeper feelings for Harry, but the fear of jeopardizing your friendship held you back. Tonight, however, the magical ambiance and a touch of liquid courage might just change everything.
As the sun set, the Great Hall had been transformed into a dazzling spectacle. Enchanted lights were dancing overhead, and music was filling the air. The atmosphere was electric, as everyone was celebrating the grand end-of-year feast. The food was delicious, the company was entertaining, and the alcohol flowed freely.
As the evening progressed, you found yourself immersed in the festivities. You were laughing and dancing with your friends. As the night progressed, you felt your nerves melting away.
Amidst the crowd, Harry stood out. Your eyes were drawn to him, his eyes sparkling with mischief and his laugh filling the room. You couldn't resist stealing glances at him, your heart fluttering at the sight of his infectious smile.
Tonight was the night to be bold. You wanted to take a chance, to reveal the depth of your feelings for Harry. You took a deep breath, summoning the courage to finally act on the feelings you had harbored for so long. You had to take a shot.
As the night wore on and the drinks started flowing freely, the atmosphere became more relaxed. Everyone was caught up in the joyous energy of the party, including Harry.
You had to admit, he looked like he was having a good time. His laugh, infectious and joyous, filled the room and made him stand out. Your gaze was drawn to him, unable to resist stealing glances his way.
As the night went on, the alcohol continued to flow and the atmosphere grew looser. People were less inhibited, less worried about appearances, and more willing to have fun.
As fate would have it, you and Harry somehow find yourselves sitting together on a secluded balcony, taking a momentary break from the festivities.
The cool night air brushes against your skin, refreshing and invigorating. You can't help but notice how cozy this moment is, so different from the noise and chaos of the party.
You take a deep breath, the air cool and crisp, and listen as the distant sound of laughter drifts through the doors behind you. It's peaceful, the sound of other people's joy fading into the background. In this moment, there's only you and Harry.
You turn to face Harry, your heart beating rapidly. It feels like you're living in a movie, this moment so perfect, like a fairy tale. Harry's enthusiasm is infectious, his voice full of wonder.
"This party is incredible," he says, and you smile, your heart pounding.
"I know, it feels bittersweet," you whisper, your voice shaking slightly. "But I'm grateful for all the memories we've made together. Everything we've been through to get here. It's hard to believe this is our last year at Hogwarts."
Harry's eyes met yours, a hint of curiosity shining through. "Speaking of memories, Y/N, there's something I've been wanting to tell you."
Your breath caught in your throat as you waited for him to continue. The alcohol coursing through your veins made you feel bolder, more willing to dive into the unknown.
"I've known you for so long, Y/N, and you've always been there for me. But lately, I've been feeling something more. I can't ignore the way my heart skips a beat whenever I'm around you. I don't want to risk our friendship, but I also can't deny what I'm feeling."
Your heart soared at his confession, and the words tumbled out before you could stop them. "Harry, you have no idea how long I've been wrestling with the same feelings. You've always been the one who understands me the most, who makes me feel safe. I want to take this chance, to see where this could lead."
Harry's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and joy dancing in them. "Y/N, are you saying...?"
Before Harry could finish his sentence, the door to the balcony suddenly swung open, revealing Ron and Hermione. Both of them wore mischievous grins that spoke volumes, their eyes settling on you and Harry.
Ron took a step closer, his eyes darting between you and Harry with a knowing smirk on his face. "Ah, there you are," he said, his tone teasing. "We've been looking everywhere for you. It seems like we interrupted something important."
Hermione, standing behind Ron, nodded and gave you both a small, knowing smile. "Well, we'll just leave you two alone then. Carry on."
With a smile, Hermione backed away to give Harry and you some privacy. Ron, however, seemed unwilling to leave. He didn't move, his gaze still locked on both of you. His knowing smirk remained on his face, his eyes filled with mischief.
"Yeah, we definitely interrupted something important," he said, his tone teasing.
As the door closed behind Hermione and Ron, you and Harry exchanged a look that was rich with anticipation. The air was thick with unspoken promises, the tension almost palpable.
Encouraged by both the alcohol and the shared confession, you both leaned in towards each other. Hesitant but curious, your lips met for a tender, intimate kiss. It was a culmination of all those years of friendship, and the feelings of desire and unspoken passion that had brewed within you.
As the kiss deepened, it became more passionate, an explosion of feelings as the weight of your emotions crashed around you like an undertow. Your heart raced as the connection between you and Harry grew deeper, the trust between you growing stronger with each passing second. It was a moment of vulnerability, where your desires, the unspoken passions that had brewed within you for so long, were finally released into the world. It was a beautiful dance between two hearts finally finding their way to each other, the music of your souls harmonizing in perfect sync.
When you finally pulled apart, you found yourself gasping for breath, breathless and wide-eyed. There were so many emotions swirling around inside of you, and you struggled to contain them as you looked at Harry, who was staring at you with awe and admiration.
With his hand gently cupping your cheek, Harry spoke softly, his voice filled with wonder. "Y/N, I've been waiting for this moment for so long. You mean everything to me."
You looked at him, and your heart tumbled within your chest. This was the moment you had both been waiting for.
You couldn't help but smile as you took Harry's hand, your heart swelling with joy. He meant everything to you, all those years of unspoken feelings and quiet desires finally coming together.
Hand in hand, you both returned to the party, the world around you now imbued with a newfound magic. Music and merriment filled the air, the joyful atmosphere contagious as you danced beneath the enchanting lights. The laughter and stolen glances became the soundtrack of your love story. You looked over at Harry, who smiled back, your hearts pounding at the same time. This was perfect, just perfect.
As the night progressed, the alcohol continued to flow, and the inhibitions of those around you began to evaporate like morning mist. The air was filled with a sense of camaraderie, as people gathered around, laughing and sharing their hopes, dreams, and deepest secrets. The music grew louder, the conversation growing more animated as people started to open up and get to know each other better. This was no longer just a party; this was an experience, and you were a part of it.
In the midst of the revelry, you and Harry found yourselves sitting beneath a canopy of stars, the gentle glow of the moon casting a soft light over your faces. The atmosphere was still, as if all the noise and excitement from the party had been sucked into the night sky. You and Harry looked at each other, your hearts beating wildly. It was just the two of you, alone under the stars.
"Y/N," Harry began, his voice slightly slurred, "I've never told anyone this before, but you've always been my inspiration."
You looked at him, your heart racing, wondering where this conversation was heading. You'd been by Harry's side through it all, both of you fighting for the good.
"You make me want to be a better person," Harry continued, his words becoming even more slurred as the night went on. "You've taught me the meaning of bravery and loyalty. You're the reason I want to fight for what's right."
As Harry stumbled over his words, you couldn't help but wonder what he meant. You had been by his side through every challenge, through every battle... and this whole time, he'd seen you as his inspiration? You were at a loss for words, your heart beating erratically.
Harry continued to speak, his voice becoming increasingly slurred as the evening progressed. You could tell he was having a hard time getting the words out, his eyes brimming with emotion. "You're the reason I am where I am today."
Harry slowly leaned in, his lips hovering close to yours. When his lips finally touched yours, a surge of emotion washed over you. The alcohol and the shared confession had created a passionate moment, and you couldn't help but give in to your feelings. Your bodies became one, your tongues meeting in a whirlwind of emotion. This was the night you had both been waiting for, and it was wonderful.
synopsis: it’s against the school principles but it’s just for a night right?
smut
warning: plot, teacher-student relationship, they are both two consenting adults, p in v penetration, nick names “daddy” and “baby” once or twice, spanking
The rain poured heavily outside as Y/N hurriedly made her way through the hallways of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was her last year at the prestigious school, and despite the gloomy weather, she couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement. Today was the day she would meet her new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Remus Lupin.
As Y/N entered the classroom, a warm, inviting atmosphere greeted her. The room was adorned with shelves filled with books, and the crackling fire in the fireplace emitted a comforting glow. Y/N's eyes scanned the room, finally landing on the figure standing by the blackboard.
Professor Lupin turned to face her, his eyes filled with kindness and warmth. He had a tired look about him, as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. But there was an air of wisdom and intelligence that made Y/N's heart skip a beat.
"Ah, Miss Y/L/N, I presume?" Professor Lupin greeted her with a gentle smile. "Please, come in. Take a seat."
Y/N nodded and took a seat at the front of the classroom, her heart fluttering nervously. As the other students filed in, Professor Lupin began the lesson, captivating the class with his vast knowledge and engaging teaching methods. Y/N found herself hanging onto every word, her fascination growing with each passing moment.
Days turned into weeks, and Y/N found herself growing more and more infatuated with Professor Lupin. His calm and patient demeanor, combined with his intelligence, drew her in like a moth to a flame. Yet, she couldn't help but feel a sense of guilt. It was wrong to have feelings for her teacher.
Throughout the lesson, Y/N found herself constantly stealing glances at Professor Lupin. His voice was soothing, lulling her into a sense of comfort as he explained the intricacies of the Patronus Charm. She admired the way he spoke, his words flowing effortlessly and captivating the entire class.
After class, Y/N lingered behind, pretending to gather her belongings as the other students filed out. She watched as Professor Lupin collected his papers, his brows furrowed in concentration. Summoning her courage, she approached his desk.
"Professor Lupin, I wanted to ask you something," Y/N began, her voice barely above a whisper.
He looked up, his eyes softening at the sight of her. "Of course, Y/N. What can I help you with?"
She hesitated for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. "I... I was wondering if you could recommend any additional reading on the Patronus Charm. I find it fascinating and would love to learn more about it."
A smile spread across Professor Lupin's face as he reached for a nearby bookshelf, pulling out a worn, leather-bound book. "Ah, I have just the thing for you. This is an advanced text on the Patronus Charm. It delves into the theory behind it and provides numerous tips for successful casting. I believe you'll find it quite enlightening."
Y/N's eyes widened with gratitude as she accepted the book. "Thank you, Professor Lupin. I really appreciate it."
"It's my pleasure, Y/N. I am always here for you" he replied, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary.
Over the following weeks, Y/N found herself spending more and more time with Professor Lupin. They often engaged in deep discussions about various magical subjects, and their conversations would stretch into the night. Y/N cherished these moments, treasuring the connection she felt with him.
As the months passed, Y/N's feelings for Professor Lupin grew stronger and stronger. She found herself thinking about him constantly, and longing for his company. She couldn't help but feel a sense of guilt, knowing that a teacher-student relationship was taboo, but she couldn't deny her feelings.
One day, after class, well after curfew that is Y/N snuck out of the party that was held in her common room and drunkenly decided to take a chance and admit her feelings to Professor Lupin. She gathered her courage and knocked on his office door, her heart racing.
Unfortunately, her drunken confession came at the wrong time as Professor Lupin had just finished a particularly hard day of work and was resting in his office as he enjoyed his well-earned drink. He wasn't in the mood to entertain any conversations, let alone one with a drunken student, so he ignored the knock on the door and continued sipping on his drink, assuming that whoever it was outside the door would eventually get the hint and leave him alone. But she continued knocking on the door, oblivious to Lupin's intentions and wanting nothing more than to finally tell him how she really feels.
Lupin eventually got up and answered the door, immediately realizing that it was Y/N , and annoyed that this drunken adventure wasn't ending anytime soon. Despite his annoyance, Lupin was still fond of her and knew that she had been having a rough time lately, so he softened his demeanor and asked, "miss Y/N, what are you doing knocking on my door at this time of night?" she sheepishly looked down at her feet as she answered, "I-I wanted to tell you that I have feelings for you." Lupin's expression turned to one of confusion as he asked, "Is this some kind of joke?"
Y/N realized that she had to be serious if she wanted Lupin to take her seriously. She met Lupin's gaze and said in a determined tone, "No, this is no joke. I really do have feelings for you." Lupin's face softened further as he said, " I don't know what to say. I'm flattered, but we can't be together. I'm your professor, and-" she interrupted him, saying, "I'm not asking you to be my boyfriend, I just wanted you to know that I have real feelings for you."
Lupin looked at her, trying to figure out what to say next. He didn't want to hurt her feelings but at the same time, he couldn't ignore the fact that he had always been attracted to her. Eventually, he took a deep breath and said, "Listen Y/N… I can't act on any personal urges I may have for you. It's against school policy -and-"
Y/N interrupted him again as she stepped closer to him, putting her hands on his arms and leaning in closer. "So you're saying you're attracted to me too?"
Lupin felt his face blushing as the tension mounted between them. "I can't -", he began to say but was stopped as she leaned in closer to him, bringing her face close to his. Lupin couldn't ignore the fact that she was looking at him with such desire. He took a deep breath and said, "This is not the smartest thing either of us could do, but..”
He led her inside and locked the door behind them. He pushed her against the wall, eager to fulfill their unspoken desires. Y/N couldn't believe that her night of liquid courage had paid off, but she knew that she wanted Lupin more than anything in the world at that moment.
As Lupin kissed her with all the passion he had been suppressing for so long, her heart raced with emotion. She wrapped her arms around Lupin's neck and let him take control of the situation. Lupin gently pulled her robes off as he kissed her neck and began to explore her body. Despite his initial reservations, he couldn't deny that he wanted to be with Y/N in this moment. He moved his lips down to her neck, kissing and sucking gently as he made his way down her body. She let out a soft moan of pleasure as Lupin's lips brushed against her sensitive skin.
He continued to explore her body with his mouth, devouring her sensitive skin with his kisses. As his hands groped her curves, Y/N felt her pleasure grow and she responded by running her hands through Lupin's hair, pulling him closer and pressing herself against him. Lupin was feeling more aroused than he had in years and he finally forgot about his worries and concerns. His focus was now completely on the woman in his arms and the joy she was bringing him in this moment.
Lupin and Y/N’s passion intensified as they kissed and groped each other, their bodies pressed tightly against each other. Lupin knew that what he was doing was wrong, but he was beyond the point of worrying about rules or consequences. He wanted Y/N and he was going to have her no matter what. her moans of pleasure grew louder as Lupin increased the intensity of his kisses, running his hands over her body and squeezing her curves. Y/N was lost in a state of blissful pleasure that was overwhelming and she knew that she never wanted it to end
His hands moved down to Y/N's panties, pulling them off to reveal her wetness. He slid a finger inside her causing her to moan louder. Y/N reached down and unzipped Lupin's pants, freeing his hard member. She stroked him, making him groan in pleasure. Lupin positioned himself between her legs and entered her slowly at first, but then picking up speed. They moved together in perfect harmony, their passion intensifying with every thrust.
Lupin grabbed Y/N's hair and pulled it back, exposing her neck. He bit down on it leaving a mark. Y/N moaned in pleasure, the pain only adding to the pleasure Lupin's thrusts became rougher and more aggressive, making Y/N scream with pleasure. He spanked her ass, leaving it red and raw. They were both lost in a world of rough intense pleasure with nothing else mattering but the ecstasy they were feeling
Lupin continued to spank Y/N's ass, each hit sending waves of pleasure through her body. She begged for more, wanting to feel the pain and pleasure mix together. Lupin obliged, hitting her harder and harder until she was screaming in pleasure. He pulled out and flipped her over entering her from behind.
Lupin continued to thrust into Y/N, his hands gripping her hips tightly. She moaned and cried out calling him "daddy" in a moment of intense pleasure. Lupin's desire for her grew even stronger at the sound of the nickname, and he pounded into her harder and faster until they both reached the peak of ecstasy together.
He growled in pleasure as he continued to thrust into Y/N with rough, intense strokes "You like it rough, don't you, baby?" he asked his voice filled with desire. Y/N moaned in response, her body shaking with pleasure. "Yes, daddy," she replied, her voice filled with need. Lupin's thrusts became even rougher, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room
he whispered dirty words into her ear, telling her how much he wanted her and how he was going to make her come. Y/N's moans grew louder and more intense as he continued to pleasure her with his rough, skilled hands
Lupin continued to thrust into Y/N with rough, intense strokes until he finally reached his peak. Lupin's climax was intense, his body shaking with pleasure as he came inside her with a groan. They both collapsed onto the bed exhausted and satisfied with their experience. The room was filled with the sounds of their heavy breathing.
Lupin pulled Y/N close to him and whispered in her ear, "That was amazing, baby" Y/N smiled up at him, feeling content and satisfied. "Yes, it was," she replied, her voice filled with pleasure. They both knew that what they had just experienced was something special, something that they would never forget.
synopsis: a snob like Blaise and an introvert like y/n could never be friends, yet the form a bond in which they both learn and grow
platonic
The Great Hall was bustling with students, their voices echoing off the high ceilings as they chatted animatedly over breakfast. Amongst the crowd, Blaise Zabini sat at the Slytherin table, his dark eyes scanning the room with an air of superiority. He held himself with confidence, his posture impeccable, as he engaged in conversation with his equally posh friends.
Meanwhile, tucked away at the far end of the Gryffindor table, sat Y/N, a shy and introverted student. Their eyes were downcast, focusing on their plate of food as they ate in silence. Y/N was content to blend into the background, avoiding attention and unnecessary interactions. They were used to being overlooked, and it suited them just fine.
Blaise caught a glimpse of Y/N sitting alone, their nervousness evident in the way they fidgeted with their silverware. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity about them. Their reserved nature stood in stark contrast to his own outspoken personality. Blaise found himself inexplicably drawn to the mystery that surrounded Y/N.
Determined to satisfy his curiosity, Blaise decided to approach Y/N. He smoothly made his way towards them, his presence commanding attention as he towered over their small figure. Y/N tensed up, feeling a mix of anxiety and disbelief that someone like Blaise Zabini would even acknowledge their existence.
"Hello there," Blaise said, his voice laced with a hint of arrogance. "I couldn't help but notice you sitting here all alone. Mind if I join you?"
Y/N's heart raced, their mind struggling to process the unexpected encounter. They managed to nod, barely audibly, and Blaise took a seat across from them. The silence between them was palpable, each lost in their own thoughts.
Blaise, unaccustomed to the quietude, decided to break the ice. "You know, most people would jump at the chance to have a conversation with me. Yet, here you are, seemingly disinterested in my presence."
Y/N's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. They were well aware of their introverted nature and the difficulty they faced in social situations. The last thing they wanted was to draw attention to themselves, especially from someone as confident and popular as Blaise.
"Sorry," Y/N mumbled, their voice barely audible. "I'm just not good with talking to people."
Blaise's eyes softened momentarily, a flicker of understanding crossing his face. "Well, perhaps I can help you with that. Consider it a challenge."
Y/N looked up, their eyes meeting Blaise's intense gaze. They had no idea what he meant by a challenge, but there was something intriguing about the proposition.
"Alright," Y/N whispered, their voice gaining a bit more confidence. "I'm willing to give it a try."
And so, Blaise began a journey of guiding Y/N out of their shell. He took the time to learn about their interests, coaxing them to share their thoughts and opinions. Slowly but surely, Y/N started to open up, their shyness giving way to a newfound sense of self-assurance.
As the weeks went by, Blaise and Y/N formed an unlikely bond. Blaise's snobbish exterior gradually melted away, revealing a kind and patient side that Y/N hadn't expected. Blaise, in turn, discovered the joy of genuine connections rather than superficial ones.
One day, as they sat beneath a large oak tree by the Black Lake, Y/N found the courage to express their gratitude. Looking up at Blaise, who was seated on the grass next to them, they said, "Thank you, Blaise. You've helped me grow so much. I never thought I'd be able to have conversations like this. Before we met, I was so shy and insecure that I could barely talk to anyone. But you never made me feel like I was strange or different in any way. You always accepted me for who I am, and that has made all the difference."
Blaise gave them a soft smile, his eyes crinkling kindly as he looked down at Y/N. "The pleasure is all mine," he said. "You know, Y/N, before we met, I was pretty wrapped up in my own world. Being popular, being the life of the party, always getting my way; that was the only thing that mattered to me. I never really stopped to appreciate the little things in life, what really mattered and made me happy. But being around you has taught me the value of patience and understanding. I've come to realize that there's more to life than just appearances”
As Blaise spoke, Y/N's heart swelled with happiness. They could hardly believe that they had found acceptance from someone like Blaise—one of the most popular and confident students in the whole school. Before meeting him, Y/N had always felt like an outcast, like they didn't belong. But here they were, enjoying a moment of genuine connection with someone who had come to understand them and accept them for who they were.
As the sun set on the Hogwarts grounds, casting a golden glow over the pair, Blaise and Y/N sat in comfortable silence, content in each other's presence. Their journey together had transformed them both, proving that sometimes, the most unlikely friendships could blossom from the unlikeliest of circumstances.
synopsis: Fred has always been teasing you but he finally gets what he wants
smut
warnings : p in v penetration, blowjob, edging, fred is rough
"What do you want, Fred?" you spat, looking Fred up and down. "Are you trying to pick a fight or something?"
Fred narrowed his eyes. "Why? Do you wanna start one?" he taunted back, taking a step closer.
y/n stood her ground. "I'm not scared of you," she said, not backing down.
Fred let out a cocky smile. "Oh, really?" he asked, taking another step forward. "Why don't you show me how tough you really are?"
"As if I have anything to prove to you," Y/N said, rolling her eyes and turning away. "You're not worth my time."
Fred grabbed Y/N's arm, pulling her back around to face him. "I'm not so sure about that," he said, his voice dangerous. "You've got something I want."
Y/N felt her heart race as she looked into Fred's cold eyes. "What do you want?" she asked in a shaky voice.
Fred leaned in closer, so that his face was only a few inches away from hers. "You," he whispered.
you rolled rolled eyes “leave me alone fred i have places to go”
You and him never got along, he would always tease you but it wasn’t friendly. You hated it because you were so attracted to him but you were repulsed by him at the same time. You wanted to murder him when he would insult you but every time he nudged you as he walked past it would make you blush.
You tried to move away, but Fred held on tight, his grip strong. His face was so close to yours, your noses almost touching. You felt his breath on your skin, and you could feel the tension in the air. Your heart was racing and your mind was filled with feelings of disgust and attraction.
"You can't just run away," Fred said, his voice husky. "Not this time."
You could feel his hand tighten around your arm, and you knew you were in trouble. You tried to pull away again, but his grip was too strong. What were you going to do now
"You know you like it," Fred whispered, his voice deep and seductive. You felt your body responding to his touch, despite everything you wanted to resist. You knew it was wrong, but you couldn't help wanting him.
"Please, just let go of me," you begged, your voice shaky.
Fred laughed. "Why would I do that?" he asked. "I think I'm starting to enjoy this game." He tightened his grip on your arm, and you could feel his breath on your neck. You were afraid, but also strangely excited.
As Fred's hand caressed your neck, you could feel chills running through your body. Your breath caught in your throat as your pulse quickened. You knew you should push his hand away, but there was something about the way he touched you that felt so good.
You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch, enjoying his sensual caress, knowing that it was wrong. But in that moment, you couldn't help yourself from wanting more.
Fred smiled and leaned in even closer, breathing softly on your ear. "Don't fight it," he whispered.
Fred's hand moved lower, until he was touching you in places you had never been touched before. You gasped and tried to pull away again, but his grip was firm and he wouldn't let go. You knew you should resist, but every touch of his felt like electricity running through your body. You were overwhelmed by a wave of pleasure, and you couldn't help but give in to his touch.
Fred leaned down and kissed you passionately, and you responded in kind. You couldn't believe what you were doing, but you couldn't help yourself. You were trapped in the grip of desire.
Your bodies pressed against each other, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You were so caught up in the moment that you didn't notice Fred's other hand moving up your leg. He started to slide it under your skirt and you tensed up, realizing that he'd gone too far.
But Fred didn't stop. He was too lost in his own pleasure to notice your discomfort. He kept going, inching his hand higher and higher until he was touching you in places you never thought would be touched. You knew you should stop him, but you were too overwhelmed by pleasure to do anything.
You felt your legs weaken, your body unable to resist his touch. You wanted him to stop, but you couldn't make yourself push him away. All you could do was lie there, frozen in shock and pleasure.
Fred kept going, his hand exploring every inch of your body. You were helpless under his touch, your body responding in ways you never thought possible. You couldn't believe what was happening, but you wanted it to continue.
Suddenly, Fred stopped and pulled away, leaving you gasping and panting for air. He looked at you with a cocky smile, and you felt your face flushing with embarrassment
Fred laughed "Did you enjoy that?" he asked You were too dazed to answeryour body still quivering with pleasure. Your heart was still racing and your mind was still foggy from the overwhelming feeling of desire. You wanted to push him away, but you couldn't find the strength. Fred reached out and touched your face, his fingers gently caressing your cheek "Look at you" he said, his voice soft "So beautiful and so vulnerable"
Fred leaned in and kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth You moaned softly, your body responding to his touch He pulled away from you and smiled. "I think you're going to enjoy this" he said, before leaning in to kiss you again
Fred pushed you down onto the bed and began to undress you, his hands exploring every inch of your body. You moaned softly as he kissed your neck, his fingers teasing your nipples. He slid his hand between your legs, finding you already wet with desire"You're so wet" he whispered, before sliding a finger inside you. You gasped at the sudden intrusionyour body arching off the bed Fred continued to finger you his thumb rubbing your clit. You moaned his name, your body trembling with pleasure
Fred growled as he pulled his finger out of you, flipping you onto your stomach. He yanked your hips up positioning himself at your entrance Without warning he slammed into you, making you scream in pleasure. He pounded into you hard, his hands gripping your hips tightly. You begged for more, your body craving his rough touch.
Fred flipped you over and spanked you hard, leaving red marks on your skin. You moaned in pleasure craving more. He grabbed your hair and pulled you towards him, kissing you hard "You're such a dirty little slut" he growled before slamming into you again You screamed in pleasure your body shaking with desire. Fred continued to pound into you his rough touch driving you to the edge
Fred grabbed your hips and slammed into you harder and faster his rough touch driving you to the brink of overstimulation You moaned in pleasure, your body shaking with desire. Fred continued to pound into you relentlessly, his hands gripping your flesh tightly. You felt yourself building towards a powerful orgasm, your body trembling with anticipation
Fred flipped you over and entered you from behind his rough touch driving you wild with pleasure He grabbed your hair and pulled you towards him his breath hot against your neck. You screamed in pleasure as he pounded into you harder and faster, your body quivering with desire
Fred grabbed your hair and pulled you towards him, his breath hot against your neck. He teased you bringing you to the brink of orgasm before stopping. He pushed you down onto your knees and thrust his cock into your mouth, his rough touch driving you wild with desire. You sucked him hard, your tongue swirling around his shaft. Fred groaned in pleasure, his hands gripping your hair tightly. He continued to tease you, bringing you to the brink of orgasm again and again before finally allowing you to come
As you lay on the bed, your body still shaking from the experience, Fred slowly sat down next to you. He looked at you, a grin on his face, as he ran his hand gently along your skin.
He moved closer, inching towards your face until his lips were just a breath away from yours. You felt your body responding once again, your heart racing as the familiar sensation of desire began to flood through you.
With that, Fred kissed you passionately, and you responded in kind. You lost yourself in the moment, letting go of all your worries and enjoying the feeling of being with Fred.
When it was over, you lay together in the silence, catching your breath and trying to process what had just happened. You were overwhelmed with feelings of guilt and shame, but at the same time you felt a rush of exhilaration and excitement. Even after everything you had done, you couldn't hate Fred. There was something about him that kept you coming back for more. You had lost yourself in the moment, and now you were left to pick up the pieces. You weren't sure what the future held, but one thing was certain - whatever happened next, with Fred, would be worth it.
You and Fred lay in bed together, your breathing finally returning to normal. The air was thick with the tension of what had just happened, neither of you ready to break the silence.
After a few moments of silence, Fred turned to face you. "So," he said slowly, "what now?"
You looked at him, a million thoughts running through your head. You knew you should say something, but you didn't know what. You felt confused, and ashamed, and yet you couldn't deny the attraction you felt for him.
"What do you want?" you finally said, your voice shaky.
synopsis : you are drunk at a gryffindor party and you can’t stop thinking about your years long crush on your best friend
fluff
I'm in the midst of a party at the Gryffindor common room. The room is filled with students celebrating the end of the year. I spot James across the room, and my heart flutters. We've been friends since first year at Hogwarts, but I've always had a little crush on him.
As the party rages around me, I can't help but think about James. He's smart, funny, and kind. Plus, he's always been there for me, no matter what. As I watch him talk to a group of students, I feel a lump in my throat. Could he possibly like me too?
As I sit at the party, my head spinning from too many drinks, my thoughts drift back to the first time I felt something for my best friend.
It all began one sunny afternoon in the Gryffindor common room in third year. I was sitting on one of the plush armchairs, engrossed in a book, when James sauntered over, a mischievous glint in his hazel eyes.
I looked up as James approached, immediately noticing his mischievous glint in his hazel eyes. "Hello there" I said with a small smile. I wasn't surprised to see him approach. We'd been friends for years, and it seemed like he was always up to something fun. "What's up?"
Suddenly, James snatched the book out of my hand and ran away. I let out a surprised gasp and sprang to my feet, ready to chase after him. "That was my book!" I exclaimed, laughing as I ran after him out of the common room and down the stairs. This was going to be a fun game of catch, I just knew it.
My heart was pounding as I tried to keep up with James' long stride. "Give me back my book!" I cried, laughing as I tried to close the distance between us. He had a step on me, though, and he was teasingly out of reach.
I felt a pang of frustration as James slowed his pace, just to taunt me. I redoubled my efforts and managed to close the gap, finally grabbing his arm and pulling him to a stop. I was breathless, but victorious. "I got you!" I grinned, clutching my book tightly to my chest.
James laughed, reaching out and gently tickling the underside of my chin with his fingertip, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I'll keep the book as ransom until you give me a kiss," he said, raising an eyebrow. I felt my face flush with embarrassment, but I knew that if I wanted my book back, I'd have to play along. So I leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, trying to ignore the way his breath caught in his throat.
I pulled away, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks as I waited for James to respond. He was silent for a beat, then he smiled again and handed me my book. "It was worth it," he said, leaning in to whisper in my ear. My heart skipped a beat as I felt the heat of his breath on my neck. He was so close, I could feel his heart pounding against mine. I had to breathe in slowly and clear my head before I could respond.
I nodded nervously, trying to keep my emotions in check. I couldn't deny that there was a spark between us, and this was just the latest in a long string of playful flirtations between us. I wanted to say something clever, to let him know that I felt the same way, but I couldn't seem to find the right words. So I just smiled back and tucked the book under one arm, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach.
As I sat down at the party, I couldn't help but smile at the memories that were dancing in my head. It seemed like a lifetime ago that James and I were playing games like that in the Gryffindor common room. Now, we were both adults, but I felt the spark between us was just as strong as ever. I looked across the room and spotted James, laughing and surrounded by friends. I felt a small tug at my heart as I thought about all the years that had passed since that day in third year when we played this game of chase.
My thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice calling my name. I looked up to see James approaching, a warm smile on his face. He sat down beside me and grabbed my hand, drawing me into a tight hug. "I've missed you" he said softly, leaning his head against mine. I felt the weight of the years drop away as we held each other, the memories of our past and our present colliding in that moment. This was what I had been waiting for all these years, I realized. This was my moment with James, and it was everything I had dreamed of.
As James and I sat together at the party, I couldn't help but think about how perfect the moment was. We had grown up together, shared laughs, secrets, and experiences. We knew each other inside and out, and our connection was undeniable. The years of chasing, flirting, and teasing had finally paid off. Here we were, sitting together at a party, as adults, and my heart was full. I felt happy, comfortable, and at peace, there was no one else I'd rather be spending this moment with.
As the party wound down, James and I found ourselves alone in the common room. The warmth of the night air was tinged with a slight chill, but it was nothing compared to the heat I felt in my heart. We sat together on a comfy couch in the corner of the room, our hands intertwined, just enjoying each other's company. The feeling of his presence felt so familiar, yet new at the same time. I smiled at him, our connection deeper than ever before.
I leaned forward and pressed my lips against his for a brief moment, our eyes still locked on each other. When we parted, there was a spark in James's eyes that made my heart beat faster. I couldn't keep a smile from forming on my lips as he leaned in again for another kiss, his hand still on my arm. This was a moment I would never forget, and I savored every second of our shared affection.
After another moment of tender kisses, James pulled back and rested his forehead against mine. I felt the heat of his body against mine and the smell of his cologne mixed with the scent of his hair. I was so immersed in the moment that I didn't want it to end. As I let out a contented sigh, I felt his hands slip around my waist, pulling me close as his lips met mine for another kiss. No words were necessary. We knew how we felt about each other.
I let myself get lost in the moment, enjoying every second of James's affection. I lost track of the time as we shared another passionate kiss, our hands gently running over each other's bodies. Slowly, I became aware that the common room was beginning to empty and that we might be interrupted at any moment. But that didn't matter. All that mattered was James and I, in each other's arms.
I reluctantly pulled away from James, my breathing still coming in short, irregular breaths. I could barely believe what had just happened between us. The fact that he felt the same way about me and the ease with which we shared our affection, was thrilling. I knew I couldn't keep this moment inside me any longer. "James," I whispered, my hand brushing against his face. "I hope you know how much I've wanted this for so long."
James smiled back at me, his hazel eyes shining in the dim light. "You have no idea," he said, his voice low and rumbling. "Ever since we met, I've dreamed of being with you. I thought one day you'd make your feelings known, but I couldn't wait any longer." He took my hand and pressed it to his chest. "And now, at last, I have you." My heart fluttered as he pulled me closer to him, his arms wrapping around me and his body pressing against mine. The heat between us rose again, and I felt my body responding to his touch.
I let myself relax in James's embrace, my face pressed into his neck. His scent, a mix of cologne and sweat and musk, was intoxicating. I ran my hands over his chest, feeling his warm skin under my fingertips. I wish could stay like this forever.
