It's crazy right now

she-29-nurse, I just share here what I love, which is allot and most times 🌶️. Follow me you get a follow back. I'm all bout making friends online, but I will not follow a blog that offends me in any way

[graywrenhart]

“say you want me, im yours”

STEEEEVVEEEEEE

one of the boys

pairing: steve harrington x college!female!basketball!reader

summary: Maybe it's time to remind Steve that even though you're the best shooter on his pick-up team, you are most certainly not one of the boys.

a/n: thanks for joining my 3k follower special! hey, so, do you care if I make this fluff instead of smut, add in a smidge of angst, and take complete liberties with the original quote because I got inspired? no? okay thankssss!!! 2k words

Okay, that’s it. 

You know, you’re no stranger to locker room talk. It’s a normal part of playing pick-up basketball with college boys. But after ten minutes of Steve Harrington gushing about his latest conquest’s perfect tits, you’re starting to get fed up. 

Steve’s under the basket, chest hair on full display since the boys insisted on going without shirts because of the heat. 

You wish you had that luxury.

Beads of sweat roll down your back, dampening your T-shirt. You’ve got the sleeves rolled up, at least. But between the sun beating down on the outdoor court on campus and the glistening pecs and abs surrounding you, you’re definitely getting... overheated. 

You grab the rebound and crouch low, guarding the ball as Blake runs up to set a pick for you.

“…and oh my God,” Steve groans, still running his mouth. “You should’ve seen the way she—”

“Shut up, Harrington,” you snap. “Nobody wants to hear about that.”

Carson dodges Blake, and taking advantage of your distraction, steals the ball. Adrenaline knifes through you and you tear after him, slapping it out of his hands right before he goes in for a layup. 

The ball flies out of bounds, bouncing away across the court.

“Speak for yourself,” Carson calls to you as he jogs over to get it. “I liked where that was going.”

Steve moves up to guard you and plants his hands on his hips while he waits for the basketball. “You just don’t like it because you’re a girl.”

In the blink of an eye, Blake steals the ball from Carson and chucks it to you. You easily sidestep Steve and send it flying through the air. It sinks through the net with a swish. 

“You should try being more like one,” you tell Steve with a cocky tilt of your head. “Maybe then, you’d actually score.”

His eyes flick over you, slow and assessing, before a smirk tugs on his mouth. He catches the ball without looking when Carson tosses it his way.

Steve jab-steps, but you’re too fast. You know him, learned him from all the time you’ve spent playing together. The second the rubber meets your fingers you take off down the court, landing a smooth layup before he can catch you. 

Carson sighs and rakes a hand over his cropped blonde hair. “Hey, Harrington, maybe stop pissing her off?”

“No, no, by all means, keep going!” Blake says with a grin. He high-fives you as you both jog backward to guard your side of the court. “We’re almost tied, now.”

Steve shakes his head and dribbles down the court lazily. 

“Hustle,” you say with a clap. "Let's go."

He huffs a laugh. “Damn, Shooter. What’s gotten into you today?”

“Yeah, why aren’t you like this when you’re on my team?” Carson says. “I like you angry.”

Steve sends his teammate an impressively aggressive bounce pass. 

Carson scoffs as the ball nearly uppercuts his jaw. “What? She—”

“I’m fine,” you bite out, stepping up to guard Steve. “Let’s just play.”

Steve mirrors your position, feet wide, chest low, until his eyes are level with yours. You don’t know what he’s looking for, but whatever it is, he seems to find it. 

“Okay,” he says suddenly. “You and me. One-on-one. Let’s go.”

Carson groans in protest. “But—”

Blake claps his hands together, all too eager to let you steal the win for the both of you. “Yes! Okay! First to get a basket wins the game.”

A competitive thrill shoots down your spine at the idea, and you wrestle the ball from Carson’s arms before he can take it off the court with him. 

Blake slumps down onto the hot bleachers and immediately regrets it, hissing and dropping onto the ground instead. Carson follows suit, shaking his head and reaching for his buddy's water bottle. 

“We’ve gotta settle this,” Steve says. “Whatever—” he waves an arm in your direction, “—this is.”

“Don’t patronize me,” you snap. 

“I’m not! I just—did I piss you off, Shooter? I did, didn’t I?” He smirks, eyes following yours as you look away. “What’d I do?”

Suddenly, you start to feel a little stupid. 

What are you doing? This could change the entire dynamic. They could stop inviting you to play if things changed. 

You don’t want to go back to playing on the girls’ pick-up league. It’s fine, but you don’t know any of them. Not really. And with the guys…it’s just easier for you. You like the intense smack talk, and the way they challenge you with taller, stronger builds to go up against. 

You cannot screw this up. 

“You got this, Shooter!” Carson calls from the sidelines. You turn to give him a thumbs-up, but Steve slaps the ball in your arms, jarring your gaze back to his. 

“Don’t look at him,” he scolds. “Look at me.”

You glare at him and start to dribble.  

“Alright, now we’re talkin’.” Steve hikes his shorts up higher as he squats, revealing his toned thighs and crooks two fingers at you. “Give it to me.”

Sweat rolls down between your breasts under your shirt and you shiver, suddenly aware of how close your faces are. 

But you don’t have time to dwell on this, because he knocks the ball out from your hand and snatches it up before it even has a chance to bounce. You trade places with him at the top of the key, eyes locked. 

“What do you want, huh?” Steve tucks the ball out of your reach and guards it with his body. “You want to be team captain instead of Carson? That can be arranged.”

Carson throws his hands out in a why-the-fuck-am-i-being-demoted gesture. 

You scoff. “What? No, I just want—”

He shifts towards you an inch, and when you see an opening, you take it. Lunging forward, you knock his shoulder back and up, and then you’re back in possession. 

You dribble over to the free throw line and the two of you square off again. 

“Want…what?” Steve asks, continuing your sentence for you. “Want me to stop talking about girls on the court?”

That would be the reasonable answer. You should say yes and move on. But the ball continues to bounce on the concrete under your palm, and your eyes stay downcast, watching its shadow grow larger and smaller. 

You throw out your forearm as he takes a step closer. There’s a gap. You could cut straight to the corner of the key if he shifts his weight just a little—there. 

You move, and your bare shoulder bumps his just as he murmurs into your hair, “Tell me, baby.”

Baby. 

You trip on nothing and throw an arm out to catch yourself. The concrete burns your palm as the ball rolls away and out of bounds, but not as badly as your cheeks burn from this humiliation ritual. 

Steve chuckles. “That easy, huh?”

You leap to your feet, ignoring Steve’s outstretched hand. “Shut up.”

“A little pet name and you’re hitting the pavement?” His grin grows, and a sweaty lock of hair falls over his eyes. “Why didn’t you just say so? I could’ve been doing that this entire time.”

Your stomach drops. 

He means…to beat you. Not that he’s wanted to call you baby this entire time. Get your head in the game. 

While Blake runs after the ball, Steve turns to you. His gaze locks with yours, and it’s a fight to not let your eyes drift down to his solid, panting chest. 

“C’mon,” he says. “I need to hear you say it.”

You blink at him. “Say what?”

“You’re jealous, right? That’s what this whole thing is about?”

And there it is. Right in the open. Your hands fist at your sides, suddenly feeling vulnerable without a ball between you.

“I’m not—”

Suddenly, with a swift glance to check your teammates are still talking between themselves, Steve grabs your arm and pulls you into him. You gasp. He’s so close you can smell the sweat on his skin, and it makes your eyelids threaten to slip shut. 

“Go ahead,” he whispers. “Tell me.”

But instead of mocking, his tone is sincere now. If not a little hopeful. 

Your heart thrashes against your ribs as you glare up at him. You almost chicken out. You really do. But the truth is, you’re tired. Exhausted, actually. 

“I want it.”

Steve just nods, like he knew the answer the whole time. “You want what?”

You swallow hard. How do you tell him that you want him to look at you? That you’ve been silently begging him to see you, here, right in front of him, for months. 

 “You.”

The word is nothing but a breathy whisper, but Steve smiles like you shouted it from the rooftops. 

“Good.” He gives your ass a friendly pat. “Then, I’m yours.”

Before you know what’s happening, he steps back and claps, signaling for Carson to throw him the ball. You stand there, frozen, for a few seconds before you finally find your voice. 

“What are you—what do you mean?”

Steve catches it easily and turns to you again. “What? You didn’t see I was trying to make you jealous? That’s really cute, Shooter.”

“You were—wait—so you—feel that way about me?”

He sighs. “You need a demonstration? Fine.”

His hand flies out and fists into your T-shirt, pulling you flush against him again. His chest hair rasps against the fabric with every breath, and you catch that lingering scent of his hairspray...right before his lips meet yours. 

“Hey, guys? What’s—oh shit.” Blake says somewhere behind you, but you don’t look at him.

You can’t.

Steve’s mouth parts against yours instantly, and his hand tightens in your shirt, holding you to him. It’s a messy, competitive kiss. And still, somehow…sweet as sugar. Your eyes screw shut and a whimper escapes you before you can stop it, smothered by the gentle glide of his tongue.

Carson clears his throat. You spring back from Steve and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, cheeks burning.

Steve just smirks, smug as ever.

“Soooo, does this mean you'll stop playing with us?” Carson asks. “Orrrr—”

You snort. “You wish.”

Knocking the basketball loose from under Steve’s arm is easy work, given his current state, and you dribble once before hitting a three from the top of the key. 

Right over Harrington’s head. 

“That’s game,” you say, smiling. “Let’s run it back.”

a/n: ughhhh I want to write a sports romance so bad if you can't tell. also, dare I say this was giving king Steve??? in the best way.

steve masterlist

[graywrenhart]

Omg so excited for the event !!! for the dialogue prompt would you do Keys mckey with 4. ?

#4 - "No panties?" Uhhhhh yeahhhh I will. Requested for my 3k follower special event.

easy access

“What—are you serious?” Keys sputters around his drink, pulling back in shock. “We’re at a work event!”

Party. A work party. And just because the bar is filled with people who all work at Soonami Studios doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun. 

You shrug. “So?”

“So?” Keys looks over at you, flabbergasted. “You can’t just—” His voice drops, eyes flicking around the bar. “You can’t just walk around with no panties on.”

 You just bite your lip and smirk in response. 

He sighs, dragging a large hand over his face, knocking his glasses askew. “God, I can’t believe you told me that.”

The AC kicks on with a hum and air rushes in under your legs from where you’re standing at the far edge of the bar. You tug your dress down a little lower, but it doesn’t help much. You did choose the shortest one you own, after all. 

“Keys, everyone hooks up at this event,” you say, perusing your options currently walking into the party in work attire. Standard khakis and rolled-up sleeves, broad shoulders and styled hair. “It’s like…a thing.”

“Yeah, you know, I didn’t exactly get CC’d on that email."

The music hums through your bones, making your heart beat faster, and the sound of ice clinking pulls your eyes to the bartender. He’s shaking up a martini, exchanging small talk with one of your secretaries. She’s smiling up at him from her seat, playing with her earring. See? She’s doing the same thing you are. Everyone is. 

Keys gestures vaguely with his glass, the condensation catching the neon light. “And what, exactly, is the strategy there? I mean—” 

“Are you still talking about my underwear?” You huff, turning to look at him. 

His eyes widen. “Uh, yeah. Especially, the lack thereof!”

“Easier access, Keys. What are you not getting?”

“Easier—” his lips part in shock. “Oh my god, what is wrong with you?”

“Hey!” You smack his chest with the back of your hand. It’s warm, and solid through his T-shirt. “It’s been awhile since I’ve gotten laid, okay? I’m getting desperate.”

He scoffs, snarky as ever. “I’ll say—”

You jaw drops and you shove his arm. “Shut up! And why do you care, anyway? We’ve had this event three years in a row and you’ve never showed!”

His head whips towards you in surprise, but you’re not looking at him anymore. He opens his mouth to say something in response to that, but—

“I’m going in,” you state, eying a handsome-enough guy in a suit, sitting alone at the bar. You’ve seen him around a couple times, at the water fountain and such. Is his name…Beau? B—something. You’ll figure it out. 

You take a steadying breath and turn towards Keys. “Okay, how do I look?”

The dim lights cascade over your curves as you spin in place. His eyes flick over you, practiced and efficient, but as they climb back up, they snag on your thighs, the plunge in your dress, that damn lipstick shade he sees every day on the rim of your coffee cup.

The song changes, fading into something slower. Headier. 

He swallows hard. “You look…” 

The moment stretches out between you, his words left hanging mid-air. 

“Wow, that good, huh?” you tease, but there’s a breathless edge to your voice. 

He blushes and looks away, raising his glass to his lips again. “Whatever.”

You nod, then hesitate for a second, though you’re not really sure why. 

 “Alright, well.” You chuckle nervously. “Wish me luck.”

“Yeah.” His voice has this flat, quiet edge to it that pulls at something in your stomach. “Good luck.”

The cold glass bites into his palm as he watches you walk away, hips swaying to the beat of the music, and approach Benjamin nursing a whiskey sour. 

Ben looks way too fucking happy to see you. His posture shifts, shoulders dropping, his knees widening on the barstool—

Keys sighs heavily, and then he’s moving. He shoves his way through the patrons, ignoring their familiar pleasantries, until he’s standing right in front of you. 

You look up, blinking in surprise. 

His glass slams down on the bartop, right in front of Ben, along with a couple of bills from his wallet, and before you know what’s happening, Keys grabs your arm and guides you toward the door. 

You can barely squeak in protest before the warm night air brushes your cheeks, leaving the smells of liquor and perfume behind. 

“What the—?” you mutter, stumbling after him as he pulls you right up to the side of his parked car. 

He yanks open the passenger door and steps aside. “Get in.”

You stare at him. “You’re not serious.”

“Oh. I can assure you,” he says, brown eyes locked on yours behind his glasses. “I am.”

Suddenly, his hand finds your waist, and the gentle pressure short-circuits your brain. You slump unceremoniously into the leather seat, still staring up at him, but when his touch slides away, you suddenly remember your outrage. 

“Keys!” you protest “What are you—”

The door slams shut, cutting you off. You huff and cross your arms as he disappears around the back of his car. A second later, he slips into the driver’s seat without looking at you.

“Where the fuck are we going?” you hiss. 

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leans in towards you. Your breath catches as his chest brushes yours. A car passes you on the street, headlights swinging over him, outlining a lock of hair as it falls across his forehead. His hand fumbles with something on your right, but you’re just thinking about how close his mouth is to yours. How easy it would be to—

“We’re going home,” he says, finally grabbing the seatbelt and pulling it across your lap, clicking it into place before retreating back into his seat and doing the same to his. 

Anger rises up in you, swift and hot. 

You actually got dressed up tonight. Like, you put makeup on, shaved your legs, wore your expensive perfume…everything. You needed to fucked tonight, and now your nerdy—and totally hot—co-worker is ruining it.

You glare over at him. “I can’t believe you! You’re taking me back home? I just—”

“My home,” Keys corrects. 

The car engine roars to life beneath you as he twists the key in the ignition. Why would he be—?

Oh. 

After a silent moment, Keys finally looks over at you. The glow of the streetlight reflects in his glasses, and his bottom lip catches between his teeth. 

“I mean…” he starts, “if you…want.”

You almost snort.' If you want.' The only words bouncing around in your head sound a lot like…fucking finally. 

You nod, then smile. “Just—please. Drive fast.”

Keys shakes his head. “You went without panties for easy access. You really thought I was going to make you wait twenty whole minutes?” He grips the steering wheel with one hand, eyes fixed on the street as he turns on his blinker. Then, his other lands heavy in your lap, fingers splaying over your warm skin. 

“Spread your legs.”

mini drabble? i hardly know her… go request something if you want! my 3k follower special event is live!

[graywrenhart]

i’m officially claiming this one as a fic instead of a drabble lol bc i want to and i said so.

you can now find it on my keys masterlist ✌🏼

keys taglist: @emotionallyaslut, @subtlesposts, @oliviaharrington, @mysticfluffyness

[graywrenhart]

TALK NERDY TO ME

pairing: Walter "Keys" McKey x Female!Co-worker!Reader

summary: When Keys learns you're into dirty talk, he can't help but indulge his curiosity late one night at work. Thanks to an accidental headphone swap, you get to help him with his…research.

tags: MDNI [smut] [co-workers to lovers] [listening to a spicy audio together] [dirty talk] [nervous] [SWITCHY] [blowjob] [flustered to confident msub] [praise] [use your words] [semi-public sex] [fingering] [thigh riding] [kinda sweet, really slutty] 9k words.

God, Keys really needs to stop eavesdropping. 

It’s already a bad habit of his—listening in on other people’s conversations at coffee shops, or when he’s sitting on the bus.

He just can't help it, okay? It's not his fault he's a curious guy by nature. And it's not like anybody ever sprints over to his corner office to tell him the new gossip, so he’s literally the last to know anything. 

Like now, for example, standing at the shared coffee bar at work. He really should walk away and give you and your co-worker, Briana, some privacy for your conversation.

But he can’t. 

Because he’s pretty sure he just heard the word sex.

His vision vignettes as he pours another sugar into his styrofoam cup of coffee. He only likes two, but now he’s lost count, opening packet after packet just to give himself an excuse to stay here.

Morning light pours in through the open windows on the east side of the office building, bathing you in gold. You’re so bright and beautiful, Keys can hardly even look at you. 

Briana’s voice filters through his thoughts, tuning him back into the conversation. “I like him and everything, but the sex is just—I don’t know—”

“Bland?” you offer. 

Briana pauses, giving you a weighted look before correcting. “Silent.”

You make a sympathetic sound, oblivious to your eavesdropper, whose cheeks are turning a charming shade of pink. 

“There’s nothing worse than a silent man in bed,” you say, stirring your coffee. “I mean, we want to hear what we’re doing to them, you know? Like, moaning a little won’t kill them. And add in a little dirty talk? God, that shit never fails to get me off.”

Another sugar packet rips in his fingers and he pours without really thinking. Good lord, this coffee is going to be undrinkable.

But the cup of joe is the literal least of his worries, since he’s shoving his hips up against the edge of the table just to keep from getting a hard at hearing you talk like that. You’re his co-worker. You sit across from him every day.

He can’t be getting hard at work. And especially, not right next to you. 

“Exactly!” Briana groans, enthusiastically. “So, I don’t know what to do about it.”

Keys’ head turns towards the open office floor, but his feet feel like they’ve grown roots, planting him right there in the dingy carpet, forcing him to listen. 

You hum, a familiar sound that means you’re thinking. “Well, if he’s into it, maybe listen to some spicy audios together? There are some really talented creators out there that can give you both some inspiration.”

He glances up just in time to watch Briana’s dark eyes cut over to you mischievously as she takes a sip. 

“Good idea,” she says, “I’m going to…” 

Somehow, Keys finally uproots himself and slips away with his cup of sugary bean water. 

He barely registers the rows of cubicles and windows swirling around him in colors of gray, blue, white, and black, too busy replaying your words over and over in his head.

…nothing worse than a silent man in bed.

…add in a little dirty talk?

…never fails to get me off.

His office chair squeaks under his weight and his glasses land on his desk with a clatter. Planting his elbows on his armrests, he breathes a deep sigh and scrubs his hands over his face. 

Focus, Keys. 

He replaces his glasses, and shifts forward in his chair, forcing his eyes back to his waiting code. The predictability of numbers—those never changing zeros and ones—usually settles him. But, not today. 

He tries hard to force all thoughts of you from his head but—oh, it’s useless. 

There you are, spread out on his navy sheets, writhing underneath him. His mouth trails soft kisses down your throat, over your shoulder, and lower…

You let out a needy whine, hands twisting up in his hair, legs parting for him on instinct. And in his imagination, he opens his mouth to say something hot—anything—but no words come. He wouldn’t know what to say. 

He has a few trademark moves in bed. I mean, who doesn’t? And the girls he’s been with always leave happy. 

But…is he silent? He doesn’t really know, actually. Never recorded himself…or anything…maybe he should—

“You good?” 

The world whips back into focus, and Keys jumps in his chair. Suddenly, the overhead light’s too bright, and the AC feels like an icy blast, and you’re there, standing over your desk, staring at him with concern. 

“What?” he squeaks, then clears his throat. “Y-yeah. Yeah, of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

You shrug, and take your seat across from him. “I don’t know, you just look…tired, I guess.”

He just grunts and returns his gaze to his computer screen. “Just…work stuff.”

You hum in agreement and turn back to your screen as well. 

As much as he bitches about being shoved up in the corner of the floor, the only space with a huge window immediately to his left, the spot really does have its perks. 

It’s annoying because it’s so bright he has to squint to see his screen most of the time. But the way the sun shines through the blinds, painting you in thin lines of shadow, lighting up your eyes and lashes?

He wouldn’t trade this spot for anything. 

Shit. Now he’s staring. 

Irritated, he forces his gaze away and pushes his glasses up higher on his nose. 

His hand finds his mouse and he navigates to his work, but for one fleeting second, his curser hovers over the new tab button. 

Now, Keys is a complete and total nerd, so, of course he’s no stranger to the internet. Especially the deep, dark parts of it. He’s fallen victim to those late night deep dives on reddit pages more times than he can count. And somewhere, in the back of his mind, he remembers coming across those ‘spicy audios’ you gushed about earlier. 

What did you call them? Talented creators? Which ones were you talking about? What things did they say? What did you like about it?

All it would take is a few clicks on his keyboard, and he’d get all those answers to his questions. But he quickly shakes his head to clear it and pulls up his code with a guilty look over his shoulder.

The white wall stares at him, disapproving. 

What the fuck has gotten into him? He cannot be looking this shit up at work! 

He really has it bad.

When he’s back home, in the comfort of his own gaming desk, only then will he let himself investigate this newfound scrap of information on you. 

Later, he promises himself. Later. 

Well, it’s later. 

And Keys hasn’t got a single fucking line of code done yet. 

Which is why he’s stuck at work late, miserably trying to catch up on his project after everyone else has left for the day.

Everyone, that is, except for you.

Apparently, you also got behind, and you can’t afford to. Not with the new launch coming up.

Vinny came by to collect the trash a while back, and he didn’t see you in the back corner, so he turned off the lights, plunging you both into darkness. Neither of you have gotten up to turn them back on, choosing instead to work by the dim lights of your computer monitors. And even though the two of you keep saying you’re going to leave “any minute,” those minutes turn to hours, and you’re both still here. 

Alone.

The printer hums in the corner, and that blinking blue light on the side is driving Keys crazy. It keeps catching in the edge of his glasses, and the clicking of your mouse fills his ears. 

It’s constant. Unlike his. Which means you’re actually getting work done. Unlike him. 

Finally, your voice breaks the silence. 

“The street’s kinda loud tonight, isn’t it?”

Keys makes a noncommittal sound in this throat and doesn’t look up. 

Honestly, he hasn’t noticed the traffic humming far below the window, and he’s trying so hard not to look at you, not to think about you, that he doesn’t notice when you reach across over and grab his headphones by accident. 

It’s easy to get them confused. They look exactly the same, tangled up together at the edge of where your desks meet. Black. Standard issue. Company logo on the side. 

When Keys glances up and sees you with the headphones on, he sighs quietly in relief. 

It’s ridiculous, but up until this moment, he was hyper-aware of everything he was doing. Was he breathing too loudly? Could you hear his heartbeat? Was he readjusting himself too much when every thought of you in his bed gave him a hard-on? 

He tries to focus, he really does, but the numbers blur together on his screen. 

Music. 

That’s what he needs. 

He grabs the other pair of headphones, and when he settles them over his head, all he can hear is his own heartbeat slamming in his ears, reminding him of what a fucking loser he is. 

He should just ask you out. Like a normal person. But no. 

The foam cuffs press into the ear piece of his glasses, reminding him why he usually prefers the wired earbuds. But he’s lost them somewhere, and he can’t afford to go looking at the moment. 

The click of his mouse is silenced as he maneuvers it to pull up his music library. But, his cursor gets distracted on the way, hovering over that damn new tab icon in the corner.

He risks another peek at you. 

Your brows furrow and you readjust your headphones, eyes still on your screen.

Resisting the urge to scrub a hand over his face in frustration, he turns his gaze back to his computer. If he’s honest with himself, he won’t be able to get any substantial work done until he satisfies his curiosity.

It’s risky, doing this at work. But there’s no way you can hear anything, and Keys is getting desperate. 

After a few hasty searches, he’s navigating the depths of…erotic audios. 

His eyes widen as he scrolls past the sprawling inventory of tropes and storylines. There are so many different kinds of fantasies, how would he know what you’re into? He leans in closer, scrolling carefully down the list until he hesitates on one in particular. 

Talk Nerdy To Me. 

The small blurb underneath catches his eye. 

Your tutor tries a new tactic to get you to study for your big test. Just how sexual can his acronyms get before you decide to study anatomy a different way?

His cursor hovers over the LISTEN NOW button. 

This is harmless enough, right? There’s even a little story. Like an audio book. Just way shorter. And way more explicit. And…yeah, this is so wrong, on so many levels. 

Beneath his conscience, however, sits a burning curiosity. Keys is analytic at heart. If there’s a question, he wants to find the answer. And, if listening to this will help him figure out what to say in bed…

Fuck it. 

The silenced click of his mouse through his headphones is as loud as a gunshot.

He waits, breath caught in his chest, heel tapping restlessly on the carpet as the little blue progress bar starts to move. 

But he doesn’t hear anything. 

He frowns and readjusts his headphones. 

Nothing. 

On impulse, he skips to the middle. Just in case there was a silent lull there at the beginning. 

Still nothing. 

He leans towards the screen nervously, and as he shifts, he glimpses you from behind your computer screen—and freezes. 

You’re staring at him, cheeks flush in the dim lighting, chest fluttering with every breath. And small smirk begins at the corner of your mouth. It’s rueful and sinful, and… 

His stomach drops. 

Oh no. It’s in your headphones, isn’t it?

Oh, no, no, no, no—

His heart leaps in his chest as his hand flies to his mouse, scrambling to turn it off. 

Oh, God, where’s the stop button? 

There. That’s pause. Oh—he accidentally presses it twice. Now it’s playing again. 

HOW DO YOU CLOSE THIS FUCKING THING?

You chuckle breathlessly, watching your genius coworker—who can code literally anything, by the way— flail around like a fish out of water when all he has to do is simply push the little red X on the top right of his screen. 

The mouse starts to slip around in his sweaty palm and Keys gives up, slamming the power button on his computer, and enveloping the both of you in silence. 

You stare at each other over your desks for a long second. 

Then, Keys rips his headphones off and rakes a hand through his hair. 

See? This is what he gets for being fucking curious. It gets him in trouble. He just needs to stick with what he knows—

He opens his mouth to apologize, to explain, to—beg for his dignity back? But you just slip the headphones down to hang around your throat and level his gaze with a soft smile. 

“Was that Bennett Brooks?” 

“W-what?” Keys croaks, shoving his glasses further onto his burning face. 

“I recognize the voice actor. Haven't heard his stuff in forever, though. He’s good—voice is a little raspy for my taste,” you shrug prettily. “But good.”

He swallows. “Oh.” 

The silent office presses in around you, so quiet he can almost hear your lashes click together when you blink at him. Suddenly, you whip his headphones off your neck and thrust them onto his desk. 

They land with a clatter. 

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to take yours. By all means, don’t stop on my account.”

Keys lets out a choked sound, caught somewhere between a laugh and a cough. This is definitely making it into the top three most embarrassing moments of his life. 

“I’m n-not...” he stammers, “Not into that. Like…that.”

You shoot him a knowing look. “No?”

“No! Listen, I just—” he scrambles for an explanation as you just fucking sit there watching him. Smiling at him. “It was just research. Okay? Not a big deal—” 

The words barely escape his lips before he realizes his mistake. 

“Research?“ Your eyes light up and you lean forward in your seat. His eyes drop to the white V-neck button down you’re wearing—that third button you leave unfastened haunts him every single day. “Research is my specialty, Keys.”

Yes, he knows that. You’re a data analyst for the company. One of the best in the region, actually, wasting your time at the desk next to his. He should apologize again, or confess he overheard your conversation at the coffee bar. 

But the embarrassment burns hot, so instead, he clears his throat and hooks a finger in his shirt collar that’s currently suffocating him.

“It’s stupid, really,” Keys says at long last, and he hates how it comes out crackly. He clears his throat again, like that will help dislodge the panic in his chest. 

It doesn’t. 

You shrug, tilting your head in that cute way you do. “Didn’t sound stupid to me.”

You’re being so nice about it. Why are you always so nice?  “You know, I could help.” Your eyes linger on him and the air seems to grow ten degrees hotter. Then softer, you add, “…if you want.”

And just like that, all thoughts of project and deadlines glitch and vanish from his mind like a crashed browser. 

He’s nodding before he’s even really given it much thought.  

You smile and sit up in your chair. God, you’re radiant. “Okay. Let’s start with what exactly you want to research. Is it audios, specifically? Or—”

“No, no, it’s just…I think I…” Keys’ bottom lip catches between his teeth before he heaves out a heavy breath. “I want to get better. I guess.”

“Better at what? Sex?”

This time, Keys doesn’t hesitate. “Dirty talk.”

“Oh.” Your eyes flick to his lips for a split second before meeting his again. “Well, you’ve come to the right place.”

Keys adjusts in his chair, his dick is already twitching in his pants. “Yeah? So, you like this sort of thing? Guys’ voices dirty talking you and stuff. That…” He swallows hard. “Gets you off?”

You shrug again casually, like you’re talking about the weather. “It’s one way, yeah.”

Keys nods again. Too fast. Way too fucking fast. 

“So, do you have anyone in mind?” You ask. 

His pulse leaps. “What?”

“Well, you’ve got to be researching this for a reason, right? I mean, curiosity is a valid enough, don’t get me wrong. But is there someone…?” you trail off, unsure of how to finish. 

A silent moment stretches out between you as Keys decides how to answer. The digital clock on the wall, the rise and fade of the passing lights, all seem to look between you—waiting for something. 

Finally, Keys sighs. “Well, there is this girl.”

“Aha!” You lean your elbows on your desk, eyes brightening with interest. “Tell me.”

“It’s new. Like—” he chuckles, averting his gaze. “Really new. So.”

“It’s okay, Keys. We’re friends! We can talk about this kind of stuff.”

“I know!” he says defensively, although he’s not really sure why. “She’s just…into this sort of thing. Dirty talk. I think.”

“You think.”

“Yeah.”

You nod slowly, encouraging, if not a little teasing. “Okay…so, give me the rundown here. When’s your next date?”

“Uh. First one, actually. And…it’s…Thursday,” Keys stammers. 

“Thursday? Okay.” You look out the window. A passing car’s headlights shine across your face for a second before the computer light consumes you again. “Lucky girl. Where are you taking her? I mean—before the inevitable trip back to your place.”

 You swallow hard and busy yourself with re-organizing your pen cup as he scrambles for an answer. 

Chinese. 

You love that. 

He knows because the one time he picked you up for work when your car was in the shop, he caught a glimpse of your apartment through your front door. Your coffee table was littered with little takeout boxes, and he filed that away like a crow picking up a shiny screw and calling it a treasure. 

Yeah, he has it bad. 

“Uh. I was thinking that Chinese joint on the corner of Cross and Elm."

Your jaw drops. “I love that place!”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, raking a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I know.”

When you look up at him again, there’s a hint of a smile on your lips.

“Okay, so, we have three days to prepare you. What questions do you have?”

Leave it to you to make this sound like a standardized research paper. Well, now’s a good a chance as ever. He might never get this chance again.

Keys straightens in his chair, heel tapping the carpet so fast his leg is bouncing. 

“What do you—do girls,” he quickly corrects himself, “—want guys to say?” 

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Heat rushes to his face. “I mean, like, do they tell you how to…touch yourself? I don’t—I can’t even—”

“You’re overthinking it. There’s no magical combination of words to use." You gesture to his computer. "Here, let’s listen to the audio, it’ll help me explain—”

“Oh, no! We don’t have to do that!” Keys squeaks. 

You shoot him a look. “You said this is for research, right?”

“Yeah! Obviously. Totally.”

“Then you can’t half-ass it. If you really want to learn how to dirty talk for this girl, you gotta commit.”

He hesitates. 

“C’mon, Keys.” Your teeth close over the end of your pen and you gesture to his computer with your eyes, smirking as you settle into your chair. “Press play.”

Fuck. 

Your coworker, Keys, has been acting weird as fuck all day, and now you finally know why. 

He totally overheard your conversation with Briana at the coffee bar, earlier. 

Maybe it had something to do with the way you raised your voice on purpose, hoping to get through that head of hair and those brown eyes that seem to see everything except all the signals you’ve been dropping his way since you first started here. 

From behind your desk, you watch him eye the power switch on his computer like it’s some gigantic red button that says ‘don’t touch’ or else it will somehow World War III. 

Come to think of it, you might start World War III if it means getting your oblivious-as-he-is-cute-coworker to finally make a real move. 

Still, though, there’s a part of you that feels for the guy. He’s so nice, and good, and sweet, and fuck if you don’t want him to corrupt him a little.

Only in the ways he wants to be corrupted, of course. Which, apparently, involves digging into ancient audio porn on reddit after work hours. 

Oh, you are so into it. 

“Why are you so embarrassed, Keys?” you say gently. “Look, this is normal, okay? Being curious. And you want to make this girl feel good, right?”

The girl has to be you.

After all those coffees he’s brought you from that fancy place that he insists only adds three minutes to his commute, but in reality, probably adds, like, twenty? And the way his hand accidentally finds ways to brush yours, and then he acts as if he’s not jumping out of his skin at the contact?

If this girl is not you, then this crush you have on your nerdy, hot co-worker is about to be devastating. 

Keys blows out a breath. “Okay, fine.” 

His computer powers up with a familiar hum, and blue light cascades over his features again. 

God, he looks nervous. Why is that such a turn-on?

He looks so alone over there behind his desk as one lock of brown hair falls over his eyes, brushing the rim of his glasses, and suddenly, you get an idea. 

“Wait, actually, no—” you mutter, standing up from your chair. 

Keys jumps like you’ve shot him. “Yeah,” he says, scrambling to turn distract himself with something else on his computer. “Yeah! No, we don’t—this is—”

“—I’m coming over there.”

“What?” Keys’ gaze snaps to yours. Then, he gestures to the space beside him in his workspace. “Here?” 

But you’re already rolling your chair over the carpet and behind his desk. It’s a tight fit, with these ergonomic chairs. Their wide armrests knock together as you slide in beside him. 

Keys’ cubicle is different. 

Technically, it’s the exact same as yours. The dimensions are the same, as well as your surroundings, but it smells like his cologne, and there’s that stack of board games he keeps hidden under his desk. 

“Okay,” you sigh, settling back in your chair. “If we’re going to do this, we do it right. Which means, starting from the top. Clearly, you know nothing of the subject—”

“I—” he starts, but you shoot him a look that has his jaw snapping shut. 

“Now, dirty talk is a broad subject, so, what kinds of things are you into?”

Keys shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess, it depends on what she’s into. I mean…” He threads his fingers behind his head and leans back in his computer chair in an obvious attempt at casualness. “What are you into?”

Smooth. Real smooth. 

You decide to go along with it. 

“I like a little of everything. Praise, instruction, degradation, fantasizing…but not every girl is the same—”

“Okay, let’s just do that, then,” he cuts you off, nodding once like it’s been decided. 

You have to bite your lip to keep from smiling. “Okay, I’ll press play.” 

You shift lean forward and your palm closes over his mouse. It’s slightly damp, like Keys’ fingers were clammy when he last touched it. 

“Wait!” His hand shoots out and grabs your wrist. “Like…out loud?”

You gesture to the darkness beyond. “Keys, no one is here.”

“No, I know, but…” his eyes sweep the empty floor, shoulder hunched to his ears. “Okay fine, just do it.”

You nod and turn back to the monitor. “We’ll just pick up where you left off, okay?”

“Oh. I didn’t—”

Bennet Brook’s voice cuts him off, filtering through Keys’ computer speakers with that deep, raspy voice of his. 

“—was pretty good. Okay, now let’s do the carpal bones. I have a mnemonic for this, actually, you want to hear it? Okay. Some Lovers Try Positions That They Can’t Handle. Yeah, it’s a little…suggestive? It just—it helps people remember okay? Yes! The sluttier the better. Look, it goes from thumb to pinky proximally, then pinky to thumb distally. Here, I’ll show you…”

You risk a glance over at Keys. He sits perfectly still, breath bated as Bennett leads the listener through the scene. 

“Now you’re getting distracted,” Bennet laughs breathlessly. “What positions do I—I’m trying to help you study. Oh my god, you’re so annoying. Look. If I answer, will you study? Yeah? Okay, fine. My favorite is—”

You reach forward and press pause. The silence in the office rushes in to fill the empty space, and your stomach swoops as you turn to Keys. 

“What’s your favorite sex position?” you ask abruptly. 

He looks at you, eyes wide. You don’t miss the way his knuckles whiten around his arm rest, clearly doing that thing where he resists the urge to push his glasses up again out of habit.

“What does this have to do with—”

You sigh. “Just trust me, and answer the question.”

“Uh…missionary?”

“God, okay.” You roll your eyes and reach over to hit resume again. “That’s such a lie, but whatever.”

Keys stops you with that hand on your wrist again. “Wha—lie?”

“Yes. Lie.”

He finally turns to face you, incredulous. “Oh, and you’re suddenly an expert on what I like in bed?”

Heat shoots down your spine at his words, but you just scoff. “You play as a fucking stripper cop in Free City. Now, tell me the real answer.”

After a moment Keys groans, then looks away. “I don’t know the word for it. Like, the name, or whatever.”

“Oh! That’s not a problem.” 

You reach for his keyboard, and before he knows what’s happening, you’re opening a new tab, and then, right in front of him, is a list of sex positions. 

With pictures. 

“Jesus!” He hisses, looking over his shoulder as if the wall behind you is somehow going to open up and reveal your boss or something. “I’m going to have to scrub my search history clean after this.”

“Relax,” you say, settling back in your chair. “Now, point.”

Keys lets out a heavy, resigned sigh and sits forward, squinting at the screen. Ten seconds later, he shakes his head. 

“It’s not there.”

When he looks over at you, he immediately rolls his eyes, because the look on your face is the clearest I-told-you-so look he’s ever received. 

“God, with how freaky you are, Keys, it’s a wonder you’re silent in bed—”

“Hey!” He interjects, glaring over at you. “I never said—woah, okay, why are you standing up? What are you doing?”

You plant hands on your hips, looking down at him. “Look, just maneuver me into whatever position it is, and I’ll find the name of it for you.”

“This is ridiculous.”

You huff. “This is a part of the research. If you don’t want my help, that’s fine, we—”

Without looking, he reaches out and grabs your waist. The warmth of his skin bleeds through your thin work shirt and a surprised squeak escapes you as he tugs you down.

You land in his lap with an undignified plop, facing him. Your stomach plummets as his knee presses against your core, but he makes a disgruntled sound, and grabs your thigh, pulling one leg up and over until you’re straddling him. 

Your pulse hammers in your ears as you steady yourself with your hands on his shoulders and peer down at him. 

The dim blue glow of the computer reflects in his glasses and as his gaze meets yours, his expression makes your chest ache. There’s something so sweet there. Soft. Like flower petals against your skin. Fragile, too. 

“This is it?” you whisper.

A small smirk crosses his lips. 

“Okay, so, this is just straddling…” you say, but your voice trails off as his hands spread over your waist. They’re so big. How have you never noticed how big his hands were before?

You swallow hard. “Or, I think, it’s technically called seated cowgirl.”

“Really?” he asks, squinting up at you with a hint of cockiness you could get drunk on.

In your next breath, Keys’s fingers dig into your hips, and he spins you around on his lap. His chest is warm against your back, and his computer desk digs into your belly. You wiggle your hips back slightly to get away from the sharp edge, but still when his hard length presses into your clothed core. 

“What’s this one called?” His voice is deeper now, threaded with heat, and it makes your hands clench against the cool metal of his desk. 

“Reverse seated cowgirl,” you say, fighting to keep your tone even. “So, this is your favorite? Tell me why.”

His breath stalls in his chest, you can feel the way he hesitates against your spine.

The printer hums in the far corner of the office, and a car horn blares distantly from the street below. 

After a long moment, he exhales, and his breath ghosts over your ear, making your lashes flutter. 

“I like the view,” he admits softly. “Painted in blue-light, all needy—” Then, he lets out a quiet, “Fuck.”

Heat pools deep in your belly. He sounds…wrecked. Already. And you’re just sitting in his lap fully clothed. 

God, you could make this man beg. 

You tilt forward and look over your shoulder. His eyes lift to yours, then drag down to your mouth, your hips, and his bottom lip disappears between his teeth.

“What else?” you whisper.  

He doesn’t hesitate this time. “I like the control of it, you know? Like—” he huffs out a quiet laugh, like he can’t believe he’s saying these things. “Like maybe I’m just playing a video game, and making you keep my cock warm. And you just… just have to sit there and take it.”

His words—so filthy and shy—stir hot embers of arousal between your hips. 

“Shit, Keys,” you say with a breathless laugh. “That was so good!”

His eyes meet yours again. “Really?”

“Yeah! Okay, I’m pushing play again. I’ll skip forward a little, too, just so we get to the good stuff.”

He clears his throat. “You’re going to stay right here?” He taps your leg and his fingers linger on your skin. 

You pretend to jolt in his hold. “Oh! Sorry, I can move if you—”

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “It’s fine.” 

‘It’s fine’, he says, as if he’s not raging hard underneath you, holding onto your leg like he might die if you slid off him right now. 

He’s too easy. 

You press play. 

Immediately, sounds of kissing and rustling fill the room. Keys inhales sharply, his erection growing against your ass, and you barely resist the urge to grind down on him. 

“That’s it,” Bennet croons. “You take it so good for me, baby. Fuck, you’re incredible.”

The wet sound of hips meeting has Keys’ mouth dropping open. His eyes dart off the screen, like watching the loading bar is somehow equivalent to seeing these imaginary people fuck. 

“That’s praise,” you whisper over your shoulder. “Obviously.”

Keys looks at you, then. Really looks at you. You can feel the way he takes in the slight shift of your hips as you try to find some friction to release the building ache. 

He’s reading you. Analyzing the data. Recalculating.

Classic Keys. 

The sight pulls at something in your chest. Truthfully, that’s the reason you like him so damn much, the reason you’re pulled to him like a ship to a lighthouse. 

Because with Keys, you would be fully, and utterly known. 

“…always so needy?” Bennet groans. “Just wanna be bent over a desk and fucked, huh, baby? This what you need? So dirty, I swear to God.”

“Degradation,” you murmur, turning back to the computer. 

Bennett keeps going. “Oh yeah, just like that? C’mon, baby. Tell me what you want. Use your words.”

 “Instruction,” Keys says, beating you to the punch. 

You’re grateful your back is to him so he can’t see your self-indulgent smile. 

“…thought about this a lot,” Bennet groans, the sound effects growing faster and louder. “Like in the library on campus? When we’re trying to study but you’re sitting across from me, and I can’t focus…”

Your breath catches at the exact same second Keys goes still beneath you. 

“…I see it, you know. The way your hand brushes mine when you hand me a pencil. You think I don’t notice? Fuck—of course I’ve thought about you. Are you kidding? Every time I jerk my cock I think about you. How you’d sound when I’m fucking up into you like this. Oh, you like that, huh? Get you so cock drunk— oh, baby, that’s it—”

You swallow hard, mouth suddenly gone dry. 

That’s fantasizing.

But for some reason, you can’t even bring yourself to repeat it. To solidify it. To make it any realer than it already is. 

Can Keys tell how much you relate to Bennett's words? That every time you’re in bed at night, thoughts of him keep you up late, you’re rubbing your aching cunt, whining his name into the empty ceiling?

You’re soaking through your underwear now, but mostly from listening to Keys’ uneven breathing behind you. His fingers flex over and over against your work skirt, like he can’t quite get up the courage to slip them under the hem that’s riding up your bare thighs. 

In an effort to relieve his aching erection, Keys shifts in his chair. It’s a small enough movement, but it’s just enough to send his elbow into a cup on his desk. It falls with a dull thud, the water inside instantly soaking into the carpet.

You smack the space bar on his keyboard, cutting Bennet off mid-moan, and leap to your feet. 

Keys cringes and moves to stand, but you disappear behind your desk before he can blink, and reappear a second later with a roll of paper towels. 

“Here,” you say gently as you kneel in front of him. “Let me.”

Keys reaches down at the same time you raise up on your knees, and when you lift your chin, you find your faces only an inch apart. 

He doesn’t jerk back like you expect. Instead, he just finds the paper towel on the ground and gently pries your fingers off it, resuming the blotting himself. 

Your hands find purchase on his knees for balance, and they spread wider under your touch, almost subconsciously. 

Almost. 

You swallow. “Keys?” 

His shoulder muscles flex under his T-shirt as he works. “Yeah?”

“Do you want to keep listening to the audio…or…do you want to practice?”

“Practice?” He doesn’t look up, but his voice cracks. 

“Only if you want.”

Keys sits back into his chair, tossing the wet paper towel into the nearby waste basket. Then his eyes settle on you for what feels like the first time all night. 

Through his work khakis’, his erection presses an angry imprint. God, it looks so hard it probably hurts, confined like that. The air between you shimmers with that unsaid tension, the kind that releases butterflies in your stomach and in the chambers of your heart. 

But while exciting, it’s equally terrifying, putting yourself on display like this. You feel strangely vulnerable, even though you were just teasing him a few seconds earlier. 

“What are you thinking about right now?” you ask, voice soft. 

Keys looks away, jaw clenching. 

Suddenly, you wonder if you’ve misread this. Have you made him uncomfortable? What if there actually is a girl, and it’s not you, and you’ve just—

“Your mouth,” Keys says, cutting off your thoughts. 

Hope renewed, your gaze snaps to his. 

“Where?” 

He rakes a hand through his hair, and his glasses slant adorably on his nose with the motion. His chest rises and falls once, twice, and then he whispers, “My cock.”

God, just hearing him say that makes your panties slick. 

“Good,” you breathe. “Now, put it together.”

He huffs, a surprised laugh slipping from him before the heat returns to his gaze.  “I’m thinking about your mouth on my cock.”

The damp carpet fibers dig into your knees as you watch his Adam’s apple bob on a swallow.

“Do you want me to do that?” you ask carefully. 

There’s a certain irreversible tension sitting between you right now. It feels a little like waiting behind an ancient door, not sure if it will creak open and invite you in or vanish into a cloud of dust. 

After a long moment, Keys nods.

A triumphant thrill zips through you, but you keep yourself together and hold his gaze. “You have to say it—”

“Fuck, I want it.” The words rush out of him in a gasp, like they’ve been sitting behind his teeth, waiting their turn the whole night. “I want my cock in your mouth. Please.”

He’s barely got the words out before your fingers fly to his zipper. 

“Forgot about begging,” you mutter more to yourself, but he hears you anyway. 

How could you have forgotten that very important category of dirty talk? It’s one of your favorites, and it flew from his lips unprompted. 

He’s perfect. 

“W-what about the—cameras,” he protests weakly, even as his hips lift from the chair to help you slide his pants down his thighs. 

“The cameras don’t reach back here,” you assure him.

Hooking a finger in the band his underwear, you pull them down and reveal his cock. It sits hard and heavy against the happy trail on his lower stomach.

He sputters. “W-what? Wait—really? How do you know that?”

It’s only natural, digging into dark spots in the security systems at a new job. Especially when you have a coworker as hot as Walter McKeys.

Instead of answering, though, you shuffle forward and take him in your hands. His head tips back on a ragged groan and you relish the hot, velvety feel of him. It’s long and hard, and somehow, you always knew Keys would have a big dick. 

It’s always the nerds. 

Your pussy throbs, fluttering around nothing as you imagine him easing his length inside your slick core, whispering in your ear, telling you how well you’re doing, how much he’s wanted this. 

Keys sits ramrod straight, breathing sharply through his nose as you let your hands explore him. You stroke him from base to tip, fondle his balls, then reach down and palm his thighs. His stomach flexes beneath his shirt, and on impulse, you reach up and lift it until the fabric bunches just below his ribs. 

Soft tummy with muscles flexing underneath. A dark happy trail leading down. A glimpse of thicker hair littered across his chest. 

God, he’s delicious. 

What you wouldn’t give to have this man naked in your bed right now. Saliva builds in your mouth at the thought.

Can you die by horniness? Better research that later. 

You stroke him firmly a few times, and when you lean down, he groans softly.  

Glancing up, you search for any sign to stop, but his eyes aren’t on yours anymore.  They’re glued to your chest. 

You tilt your chin down to see what he’s looking at. 

The three unfastened buttons of your work shirt give him a clear view of your cleavage, and the glow of the computer monitor illuminates the dips and valleys prettily.

A relieved gasp escapes him as your hands start undoing the rest of the buttons. He nods as if you read his mind when your shirt falls open, revealing your black bra. 

Thank God it’s your cute one. Not lingerie by any means, but your nipples harden under his gaze, poking against the fabric. 

You keep your shirt hanging loosely over your shoulders, just in case someone were to walk in. Although very unlikely, the thought of getting caught with Keys still shoots a wicked jolt of pleasure through you. 

Wordlessly, you run your hands up his legs again until your fingers find his cock and resume your attention. 

Keys says something—more like whines it—but it’s too quiet for you to hear. The carpet presses into your knees as you lean in. His thick thighs bracket your shoulders, and when your breath ghosts across the head of his cock, they go hard as rocks. He makes a muffled sound in the back of his throat, then clears it roughly. 

You lean back to catch his eye. 

“Whatever your voice, or breath, wants to do…just let it happen,” you say. “Don’t worry about being loud, there’s no one here.”

He nods, drunk on the sight of you, desperate for your mouth. 

Those big hands reach down and gather your hair, and you scoot even closer, close enough to tap his dick against your lips with a soft smack. When you blink up at him, Keys curses under his breath, then stops himself. 

“Stop swallowing it down,” you chide. “Let me hear.”

Before he can say—or do—anything, you lick a broad, wet stripe up his length. His hips jerk in your hold, a ragged moan tumbling from his lips, unabashed. Your eyes shine with pride when you look up at him. And fuck, he’ll do anything to see that look again. 

You stroke him lazily. Like you have all the the time in the world here in the office after hours. Like you’ve been thinking about it for a long, long, time. 

Drool pools in your mouth as you coat him with your tongue. Then, your lips wrap around him and you slowly work your way down, inch by inch, listening to his whimpers, feeling the way his body vibrates underneath you. 

He’s still holding himself back, so you draw back up and suck gently on his tip before popping off him.

“Sorry,” he gasps. “Fu-forgot I was supposed to talk.”

You nod. “That’s okay. How do you like it?”

He starts to respond, but you envelop him in your warm, wet mouth again, and all words die on his lips. 

“Feels so good, I can’t—can’t—mmmph,” he groans as you relax your jaw and take him deeper, then whimpers pitifully when you come off him again. “My brain’s fried. Like, actually short circuited. I can’t think—”

You press your tits together and tilt your head. “It feels good, right?”

He chuckles, a ragged soft sound. “Fuck—yeah.”

“Just talk to me, then,” you murmur, fluttering your tongue along the ridge of his cock as it twitches in your hold. 

Something seems to click in his mind at those words, and his eyes harden as he stares down at you.

“You want to know why I’m always so tired?” he says, chest heaving. “I stay up all night, trying to get the work done I should be doing when I’m sitting at my desk. But I can’t. Because I’m—fucking hard—all the time. Because of you!”

You decide to reward him for that little speech—a great example of fantasizing and degradation—and relax your jaw again, sliding him deep into your throat. Deeper than before. Keys throws his head back on a groan. The stretch brings tears to your eyes, but you blink them back so you can look at him properly. 

His hair looks so pretty illuminated in soft streaks of blue from the computer, and gold from the street far below. Like a painting. 

Arousal floods your core, coating your underwear, and you can feel your clit pulsing in time with your heartbeat. 

You slide up and off of him to let your lungs expand and he inhales with you, like that took his breath away as much as it did yours. 

“Can’t stop thinking about what you’d feel like under me,” Keys pants. He watches you with heated eyes as you suck on his tip, stroking the rest of him steadily with both hands. “Or—or on top of me. What you’d t-taste like.”

Without thinking, you shove two fingers past your waistband, and straight through your soaked folds. The contact has you moaning around his cock, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure down his spine. 

Then, you slowly withdraw them. They glisten in the glow of the monitor as you raise them up to his face, and Keys wastes no time leaning forward and capturing them in his mouth. His tongue strokes up to your knuckles eagerly, and as the first taste of you floods his mouth, it seems to unlock something in him. Some rusty, spider-web filled, creaking lock shoves open. 

“Aghhh yeah,” he moans when you withdraw your fingers and suck him deep again. “That’s how I like it. However you do it, that’s how I like it, baby. Holy fuck.” 

Your eyes actually roll back at that, and your hand flies down to circle your clit without thinking. 

His eyes track the movement and he chuckles darkly. “Oh, you like that? You like hearing how well you’re doing?”

You whimper. Fuck, yeah, you do.

He bucks underneath you, like your mouth is just the best thing he’s ever felt in his life. “Just—fucking—on your knees for me? Shit."

Your eyes slide shut, lost in the salty taste of him as his precum mixes with your spit. His hand leaves your head and reaches down to tap your chin. 

“Eyes on me, baby,” he rasps. Your eyes flutter open in surprise.

You swallow around him in response and his jaw drops. He grips your hair again on instinct and you moan in encouragement as he starts to push you gently up and down his shaft. 

“Is t-this okay?” he asks, breath ragged. 

You nod, lashes fluttering as he hits that soft spot at the back of your throat. 

Truth is, you love this. 

Taking your rigid, calculating co-worker and turning him into something needy and honest. He’s wild, but with an edge of control. And somehow, you just know Keys could take you to the brink and keep you there like no other. 

You hollow your cheeks as he grinds in and out of your wet mouth, pulsing against your tongue and spitting out the filthiest words you’ve ever heard him say in your months of working across from him. 

You rub your throbbing clit faster, and he blinks down, watching you touch yourself to the feel of him in your mouth for all of three seconds before he’s yanking up on your hair. 

Your scalp tingles as you disobey his silent order, determined to have him come in your mouth. His base is slick against your puffy lips, and he damn near chokes on his tongue when your nose hits his stomach. 

“Holy—I’m gonna come,” he grunts, hips bucking. “Shit—baby, you’ve gotta—do you—”

He breaks off with a ragged moan as you grip his thighs and swallow around him—and then he’s spilling down your throat. 

His abs tense and release over and over in your view, and the view is so intoxicating, you’re only a few seconds away from your own release when he finally slips from your drooling mouth.

You don’t know what you expected him to do when he finished. Maybe probably crawl back into that shy, nice-guy, missionary shell of his. Instead, when his chin falls to his chest, his soft brown eyes have gone molten. He reaches down and pulls his pants back up, tucking himself back into his briefs, but he doesn’t bother with the zipper. 

“C’mere,” he demands, grabbing you by the wrist and yanking you up. Your legs wobble, but he catches you easily and pulls you down into his lap. “Ride my thigh.”

Your mouth drops open. “Ride your—”

“You heard me.”

In one smooth motion, he plunges a hand under your skirt and yanks your panties down your legs. His knuckles brush your wet folds and you gasp against him, grinding down instinctively against his knee. 

“Look at you,” he whispers. “Taking instructions. Soaking through my pants like that? Fuck yeah.”

Your breasts heave as you try to catch your breath, but now, you start to wonder if maybe you’ll just be in an oxygen debt forever at this point. Because with the way he’s looking up at you right now, there’s no way you can breathe. 

Your hips roll smooth and fast, and when he shifts his leg up slightly, meeting your movements, sparks shoot up your spine. Your head drops back, eyes slipping shut, but Keys is quick to pull your gaze back to his with a hand around the nape of your neck. 

He clicks his tongue. “No, I want to watch you. Wanna see you fall apart for me.”

“God, Keys,” you pant, “you’re a quick learner, I’ll give you that—”

He cuts you off by pinching your nipple through your bra, and when he grabs a handful of your bare ass under your skirt, your lungs officially forget how to expand. 

“Please,” you beg. “Keys—”

His hands fly to your hips, helping you rock back and forth on him. “What is it? What do you need? Need me to touch you?”

You whimper. “Yes.”

“Tell me where.”

You grab his hand and guide it under your skirt, but he pulls back at the last second. 

“That’s not telling me.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you laugh, breathless and irritated. 

He smiles, then. And it’s positively radiant, white teeth winking in the dim light. 

“C’mon, use your words, or else I’ll have to stop,” he warns. 

But you’re not listening, because at that moment, he dips his head and captures your aching breast in his mouth, pulling a deep moan from your throat and putting an arch in your back. 

Your thighs burn, hips slowing to devastatingly desperate swivel in order to keep his mouth on you. The threads of his pants are warm and completely soaked through underneath you, and he’s licking and sucking your breasts through your bra like he’s trying to find a way to imprint his smell, his taste, onto your body.

The duel stimulation feeds that sprawling drive for more. Tremors start to run through your hands, making them claw restlessly at his shoulders and dive into his hair as your orgasm grows closer. 

Suddenly, Keys pulls back. He ignores your whine of protest and blinks up at you from behind his glasses. Your tongue darts over your bottom lip as your eyes drop to his mouth. 

His perfect…perfect fucking mouth. Soft lips, parted just slightly as he breathes heavily beneath you. The timber of his voice reverberates against your stomach as he talks. God, it’d be so easy just to lean in and press your mouth against his, feel that gentle glide of his tongue against yours…

Wait, is he saying something? You can’t fucking think—

“…not going to tell me, I have to stop.”

It’s only when his hands leave your body that the world slows to a stop. 

Cold air rushes in where his hands just were. Now you’re just needy and wet, grinding down on his pants leg in the middle of a dark office. 

“W-what?” you ask dumbly.

He shrugs. “I told you what would happen if you didn’t use your words.”

Your brain feels foggy, like your thoughts are traveling through a cloud, all the blooding your body pooled in your clit instead. 

“But I...” you whimper, “But, what—”

He rolls his eyes. 

“But I—but Keys—I just—” he mocks you, voice going higher on his register, and your mouth drops open in shock. 

He smirks at the look on your face and tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “What? you thought I wasn’t serious? You made me do all this—and don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it. I watched you getting off on the power trip of it all, and now it’s my turn. So, go ahead. Tell me what you want me to do to you."

Where the fuck did your nerdy, shy coworker go? And who have you turned him into? Your breasts heave in his face as you blink down at him, but he doesn’t so much as glance at them. 

“I’m right here,” he urges. “Go ahead. Ask for it. Anything you want, I’ll give it to you.”

After a moment, you finally find your voice. 

“I-I want you to touch me.”

His hands instantly resume their place on your hips and your breath shutters in relief. 

Then he leans in, lips ghosting over your jaw. “That wasn’t so hard, huh? Where do you want to come? On my fingers?”

“Yes!” The word leaves your mouth broken and desperate. 

He hums. “Put it together.”

You exhale sharply, panting towards the ceiling in frustration. “Walter, I want you to finger fuck me until I come.”

He smiles against your throat. “Good girl.”

His hand finds your clit immediately and he rubs tight, hot circles that have your back arching.  

“Oh, God, don’t stop!” you beg. 

Your shirt slips from your shoulder and then his mouth is there, kissing the soft skin like he’s trying to memorize the shape of it. 

The muscles deep in your core flex with your impending pleasure and you writhe against him desperately. Through it all, his hands stay steady, never wavering. Constant, and grounding. 

You raise up on shaky legs as his two middle fingers circle your entrance and your pelvis tilts, eagerly seeking that internal friction. 

He presses in, just a little, and your body welcomes him greedily. The sound of his fingers disappearing inside you making him groan out a slurred curse. 

“Shit, baby—both at once? So wet for me, oh my God.” 

When his fingertips brush that spongey spot that makes you see stars, your chest vibrates with your moan. The pressure on your clit is too much, and not enough, and everything all at once—it’s overwhelming. It's perfect. 

Your hips snap into his palm, driving his fingers deeper and he lets out a choked sound as you whine, needy and breathless. 

“There you go. That’s it,” he murmurs into your neck. His glasses knock into your throat as you tip your head back to give him better access. “Take what you need.”

That white-hot band of pleasure finally snaps as you clench around his fingers, and your orgasm rushes through you in a torrential wave of bliss. Keys slowly withdraws his fingers and helps bring you back to each with soft kisses to your chest, thumbs tracing circles into your thighs as you collapse on top of him. 

“Holy shit,” you gasp, running a hand through your hair, gazing down at him through heavy lids. “That was…”

“Good?” he asks eagerly. 

You smile. “Perfect.”

And you mean it. You really do. 

His fingers brush over your bare shoulder and your breath catches again as your eyes connect with his. The stoplight on the street below turns green, reflecting in his glasses, and because you can’t help it, you smirk down at him. 

“So, about this girl...” he murmurs. 

Your stomach flips. “Yeah?”

“This date—”

“Yeah?” you say again, eagerly, cutting him off. 

As you stare at each other, chests heaving, faces flush, a laugh builds behind your ribs. 

He clears his throat. “I was kinda hoping…you’re free Thursday? I was thinking about that place on Elm and Cross—”

“Fuckin’ knew it,” you murmur, and the rest of his words die against your mouth as you lean down and kiss him. 

a/n: Oh, hi. So, the way I feel about this fictional man, is actually pretty close to the actual definition of feral. Also, I just want to say, there are many more kinds of dirty talk out there, but these categories just fit the plot lol

Also everyone blame Jules (@tellcherhesgone) for putting this idea in my head, because she posted one thing about Keys definitely knowing what GoneWildAudio is, and that shit stuck with me lol

keys taglist: @emotionallyaslut , @subtlesposts, @oliviaharrington, @drifting-daydream, @dracomalfoypilled , @mysticfluffyness

divider by @cursed-carmine | keys masterlist | drop by my desk

[graywrenhart]

the real deal | steve harrington x f!reader

Chapter Nine - Kissing Clause {best friends to lovers, fake dating over Christmas} or: You forgot about the The Kissing Clause on Christmas Day... 5.3k words ✻ go to landing page CW: just some tooth rotting fluff, kissing, Steve holds a baby for the first time...are you sitting down?

─── ✻ ───

If someone were to ask you what the best thing to wake up to is, you’d have a list for them.

A cup of coffee with cinnamon on top.

Sun streaming through the window at the Cottage.

The smell of Dad’s burnt bacon wafting up the stairs.

And a recent addition: Steve sleeping beside you, his brown hair mussed, snoring lightly on the pillow next to yours.

Nowhere on that list, however, is a flurry of red lipstick and blonde hair barreling into your room at the inn while you’re tangled up half naked with your boyfriend.

You jolt awake, gasping as light from the hallway pours in, spilling across the bed.

“What the—” you squint at the silhouette standing in the doorway, the familiar shape hovering like an assassin come to slit your throat on Christmas morning. “Mom?”

“Mornin’” Kristy says cheerily, then flips on the overhead light.

Steve lurches up in bed next to you, hair sticking up in every direction. His brown eyes flick between you, then Mom, then you again, before dropping to the blankets barely covering his lower half.

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetie,” Mom says, sending him a wink over her shoulder as she stoops to pick up your clothes from the fucking floor. God, you could strangle this woman. “You got nothin’ I ain’t seen before. Now hurry and get dressed! We don’t have all day!”

Steve yanks up the blankets to cover his chest, squinting over at you.

The message is clear: do something. Well, he’ll find out soon enough it’s impossible to get rid of Kristy when she has her mind set on a plan.

You sigh, rubbing your bleary eyes. “What do you want, Mom?”

“Jenna had her baby last night. Everyone’s waiting, so, let’s go—”

“Wait, really?” you ask, surprised.

Guess those contractions she was having last night were real after all.

“I know! Can you believe it?” she squeals in girlish delight. “Best Christmas present ever!”

She then tries to jump up into a classic cheerleading pose, but stumbles, earning a chuckle from Steve that he smothers with the back of his hand.

You sigh heavily. “Mom, first of all, never do that again—”

“You like that?” she interrupts, “It’s from my cheer days.”

“Yeah, no. Secondly, what do you mean everyone is here?”

“Yeah, I thought there was a giant snowstorm last night,” Steve says, voice rough from sleep, and you have the wildest, most intense urge to kiss him stupid.

Mom rolls her eyes. “You think a little snow is going to keep us from meeting the newest member of this family? Cole has a snowplow, so we’re goin’ around collecting everybody, so, scoot your tushes—”

“Okay, we’ll get up, but you have to get out!” you say, tossing a pillow at her for good measure, which she dodges easily.

“Alright! Alright!” She backs toward the door, grinning. “I’ll be right outside.”

The door shuts, and you fall back onto the bed with a groan. You open your eyes to find Steve smiling down at you, his head haloed by the shine of the chandelier on the ceiling.

“Hi,” he murmurs.

You snort softly. “Hi.”

His fingers brush your cheek, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his chest through the blankets.

Then his eyes drop to your lips.

You reach up and thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him down to you. He leans in, chin tilting until his lips brush yours —

“Blow each other later!” Mom calls through the door.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” You shout, shoving yourself out from under your boyfriend with a miserable groan. You look back at Steve, lying there warm and completely indecent under soft linen sheets, wanting nothing more than to crawl back to him.

“Can we do presents in the car?” you ask.

“Sure, Ace.” His eyes drag over your rumpled sleep set like he’d rather be unwrapping you instead. “But I’m just saying, whatever you got me is gonna have a hard time beating this.”

You huff, amused. “This?”

“Waking up to you in my bed?” His eyes soften as you smile back at him. “Best Christmas morning I’ve ever had.”

─── ✻ ───

“Okay, now hold on—” Steve whines. He lifts a finger off the steering wheel and points it in your direction. “You are making this sound so much worse than it is.”

“Steve,” you gasp, still laughing. “How could you not realize—watch out!”

The caravan makes a sudden right turn, and Tiff’s tires kick up a blinding cloud of snow that nearly whites out your windshield in the chaotic rush toward the hospital. Uncle Cole’s snowplow leads the way, while several cars filled to the brim with your family drive behind yours.

Steve recovers the car quickly, then rakes a hand through his hair, white-knuckling the steering wheel with the other. “Just—hear me out, Ace.”

You sit up in your seat, mimicking his ramrod posture and pretending very hard to be serious while you hold up his Christmas present for you.

A little H dangles on a gold chain, catching the first rays of sun as it peeks over the horizon.

“The H doesn’t have to stand for that,” he argues. “It could be for…happiness! Right? Or, fuck, I don’t know. Hamburgers! You love those!”

A grin tugs at your mouth, and you shoot him a knowing look. “Steve, you picked this out for me long before we got together.”

He lifts his hands in surrender, and you actually have to lurch across his lap and physically grab the wheel before you go careening out of line and into a snow pile. 

“Look,” he says, hands resuming their place at ten and two. “I just wanted you to have something that reminded you of me, okay? Y’know, since school is almost over.”

“Right. I mean, nothing says friendship like monogramming your best friend with your surname.”

“Listen! I swear, I'm not trying to..." He trails off as you reach over and run a hand through his messy chestnut hair. His eyes soften as he glances over at you, still laughing. 

“I love it,” you say.

His shoulders slump in relief. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. And don’t worry.” You smile, patting the cool metal H against your chest. “I’ll tell everyone you were only planning on proposing strictly as a friend.”

“Oh my God—”

─── ✻ ───

The crisp morning air nips at your skin as you step out into the snowy parking lot. You arrived at the hospital before Steve could open your gift.

But he’s soon distracted from his disappointment when an avalanche of your family members pours from their cars and welcome him back with a flurry of hugs, kisses, (Aunt Tiff goes for the lips, the bitch), slaps on the back, and a fuck ton of I-told-you-so’s.

But the person most excited to see Steve…is Sam. 

“I knew you weren’t leaving forever!” your brother says, then fist-bumps him so hard Steve actually winces.

The hospital doors hiss open automatically, but your family acts like they couldn’t open fast enough. They burst into the lobby in a flurry of pink and blue balloons, loud Christmas greetings for strangers, and stacks of presents for the little one.

The security guard—a tall, well-built specimen of a man—catches Brielle’s bicep as she prances past, holding three bottles of wine. 

“Can’t bring that in here, miss,” he says, voice gruff. 

Brielle scoffs, jerking back when the guard tries to confiscate her alcohol. “Listen, my Aunt hasn’t had a drink in nine months!” Brielle argues, “It’s Christmas! The woman just gave birth for twelve hours, trust me—she’s going to need this.”

You share an amused look with Steve, and the conversation trails off in the distance as he gestures over to the elevator. 

Somehow, in the buzz of excitement, the balloons have found their way into PawPaw Ben’s hands. He looks quite the picture, grumpy scowl twitching under his mustache, waiting impatiently for the elevator to arrive while holding a mountain of floating latex.

You approach him in a fit of giggles, which quickly earns you a gruff, ‘shut up’ from your grandpa, but his eyes sparkle with laughter. 

The elevator ride up to the maternity ward is a sight to behold. 

“This is definitely past the weight limit,” Steve mutters, smushed between a bouquet of roses and a stack of presents. 

“Definitely,” you whisper back, sending him a small smile as everyone loudly places final bets about whether the baby is a boy or a girl.  

The doors open with a chime. Only when your shoes squeak against the hospital floor, do you feel like you can breathe again.

Violet and Sam trip over each other in their race down the hall, slowing the stampede for all of three seconds before everyone barrels into room twenty-five.  You sort of feel bad for any new mothers trying to catch a little shut-eye in this joint, thanks to the uproarious laughter and general chaos spilling from Jenna’s room. 

You hang back, letting the horde go first. Steve stays beside you, warm and solid in that red sweater, a crooked smirk tugging at his mouth as he looks over at you. 

“God, this coffee tastes like shit,” a familiar voice mutters behind you. 

You turn to see Dallas and Banks striding towards you under the florescent lights, Dallas grimacing as he takes another sip from the styrofoam cup in his hand.

“You’re just saying that because you take your coffee with an inhumane amount of creamer,” Banks says, “Not exactly living up to the sterotype, there, cowboy.”

The two of them look downright miserable. 

“Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen either of you up this early,” you tease.

Dallas shoots you a withering look. “As if I had a choice. Your mother practically ripped the sheets off me this morning.”

“Yeah, sorry, she does that.”

Banks looks smugly at Steve, then at you. 

“Can’t say I’m surprised…” he whispers over your shoulder before he and Dallas disappear inside the room. 

You roll your eyes and follow after him, threading your fingers through Steve’s. The second you step through the doorway, you catch sight of Jenna. 

She’s sitting up in the hospital bed, looking tired but beautiful in the early morning light as she cradles a tiny pink bundle in her arms.

A baby girl. 

You smile and pull your gaze up to meet hers, preparing to congratulate her, but her expression catches you off guard. 

She looks downright evil, smirking over at you and Steve.

“Kissing Clause,” she says cheekily.

Sam’s head whips towards you. “Kissing Clause!” he shouts. Then he turns to Kristy. “Mom! Kissing Clause!”

Mom stops cooing at the baby and looks over her shoulder, blonde ponytail swaying. Silence falls throughout the room as all eyes turn toward you two. 

And then, as if on cue, everyone bursts into laughter. 

Oh no.

“Steve,” you say, nonchalantly.

He hums. “Ace?”

“Is there mistletoe above us?”

His head tips back in your peripheral vision, and he huffs. “Yep. And I’m guessing that’s…bad?”

You shoot Jenna an exasperated look. “You just had a child and you’re already hanging mistletoe over your door, trying to catch us?”

She shrugs, eyes sparkling. “Priorities.”

Cole whoops from the couch next to the window. “We got them, boys!“

“Oh—” You scoff ruefully, gesturing towards Rick and Sam. “Stop high-fiving!”

Steve’s hand leaves yours to caress the curve of your waist. “Alright, somebody better start explaining, because I’m about two seconds away from kissing her in front of all of you.”

“No!” everyone shouts at once. 

Then, they all dissolve into laughing fits again. 

You narrow your eyes at the lot of them. 

Amy takes pity on your boyfriend. “On Christmas Day, if you get caught under the mistletoe without kissing, you’re forbidden to kiss your partner until the clock strikes twelve.”

Steve looks positively distraught. “You’re kidding, right? You’re saying I can’t kiss her for an entire day? Christmas Day?”

“It’s just until midnight!” Tiff says from the foot of Jenna’s bed. 

“Oh, sure, Tiff, just until midnight.” Steve sasses. “What happens if I do it anyway?”

“Then we throw you both out into the snow!” Sam cheers.

That just throws the room into another rowdy betting pool, pertaining whether or not you’ll make it until midnight. Amid this outrage, you feel a tug on your sleeve. 

“Sorry, got held up there for a second,” Brielle says, slipping past you and into the room, but not before you catch the mischief in her warm brown eyes.

You hum, unconvinced. “What, did the security guard have handcuffs or something?”

“No!” she says, then lowers her voice. “He took my booze! I’m pissed at him.”

“You got his number, right?”

“Of course I got his number, who do you think I am?”

You laugh, shoving her arm playfully, and she shoots you a wink before striding over and dropping a kiss on her aunt’s head.

“Steve?” Jenna says suddenly over the noise of the crowd, “Would you like to hold her?”

Steve’s head snaps towards her in surprise, and he hesitates, gaze dropping to the sleeping bundle in her arms once before shaking his head.

“Oh, no. I couldn’t—” he starts. 

You can’t resist twisting a hand in his sweater, watching the way his jaw clenches under the harsh hospital lighting.

“Have you ever held a baby before?” you ask softly.

He swallows, eyes still on the blanket. “It’s not that I haven’t wanted to. It’s just…I mean, people usually hand babies to the girls, y’know?”

 His eyes drop to yours as if looking for encouragement, or permission, and something in your heart twists. 

The room shifts around you, the groups talking amongst themselves as you tug Steve forward by the sleeve.

“What if I drop her?” he whispers.

Brielle steps aside when you both reach the bed and smiles at him. “You won’t. ”

“Her name is Joy,” Jenna says, sitting up as best she can and holding the baby out for you to take. Her tiny weight settles in your hands, that distinct baby smell turning your insides all gooey.

“It’s perfect for her,” you whisper, taking in Joy’s soft, dark hair and sleepy eyes. 

You turn to Steve, whose looking at you like you’re currently hanging the moon in the sky, and gesture for him to move closer. 

He bends down uncertainly, arms outstretched, and the warm bundle shifts from your hands into his until she’s safely settled in the crook of his arm. 

“Here, support her head,” you instruct. “Yeah, just like that. You got it!”

His eyes, which had been flicking between you and Jenna to make sure he was doing it right, are now glued to the baby in his arms like nothing could ever tear them away. 

“So tiny,” he whispers, “Look at you…little nugget.”

Your thumb catches on the cool H against your chest as you watch him. Joy blinks up at him, eyes wide and unfocused, and her fingers wriggle in the air. 

Steve grows more confident after a minute, and shifts her gently to free up one of his hands.

“Here. You wanna hold onto something?” he murmurs, raising his index finger over her face. Her tiny hand waves around, and when they make contact, her fingers wrap around his on instinct. 

“You’re a natural!” Cole says, his eyes tired from being up all night with his wife, but so full of love and excitement.

You’re so enamored with your boyfriend holding a baby for the first time, you barely notice Uncle Rick stepping up beside you, a steaming yeti in his hand. 

“Good Lord,” he chuckles. “We’re gonna have to mop you up from the floor.”

You roll your eyes and bump his arm with yours.

“Excited to have him next season. He’ll be good with the kids,” he says, gesturing with his coffee towards Steve. 

You frown. “Wait, what?”

Rick shrugs casually, but then he catches the look on your face and instantly starts tugging on his flannel collar, lips twitching downward beneath his mustache that looks just like his dad’s.

“Rick?” You press.

He clears his throat and looks away. “Shit. Uh—”

“Tell me, Rick.”

“Well, you know we’ve been looking for a replacement baseball coach at the elementary school in town. It’s good timing for me, I’ve been there long enough, and the middle school has a position opening I’ve been thinking about.”

You stare at him, eyes wide. “You offered Steve a coaching job?”

“It’s only a starter position,” he says placatingly, “but if he does well, he could move on to the bigger schools in the area. He hasn’t officially accepted it or anything. Said he needed to talk to you first.”

You think back to Steve pitching to Sam. Was that just yesterday? It feels like an eternity ago. You’ve always planned on moving back here after college. And the thought of Steve living in your hometown with you sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“You gotta admit,” Rick says, “'Coach Steve' has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

And you know what…

It really does.

─── ✻ ───

Steve has a stocking.

It’s red velvet with white trim, lined up with the rest above the fireplace in Pawpaw Ben and Nan’s living room, hanging right next to yours. 

He sees it the second you enter the room with Banks, Sam, and Dallas all in tow, (They’d all insisted you needed constant supervision since the Kissing Clause.)

Steve’s eyes go wide, and while everyone sprints to bury their hands in their own stocking, he only hesitates for a second before joining in.

The house smells like every good holiday memory you’ve ever had. Pine, cedar, and cinnamon—Mom no doubt already in the kitchen baking her cinnamon rolls. 

A new Christmas tree sits in the corner against the tall windows, glittering with lights and ornaments, and a pile of presents so big underneath you could probably get lost in it. 

Watching Steve rummage through a stocking that belongs to him, alongside all your cousins, makes you so happy that the back of your nose starts to burn. 

But the tears quickly dry when Steve withdraws his hand, holding...a book. 

The cover boasts a crude depiction of a cowboy pinning a girl up against a stable wall, one tan hand clamped over both her wrists.

Steve holds it up to you, and it only takes you a second to read the title. 

The One Rule Ranch. 

“Uh, Kristy?” Steve calls.

There’s a bang from the kitchen, then Mom swings around the corner, wearing an apron covered in flour. She catches sight of the book in his hand and sends him a wicked wink.  

“Merry Christmas!” she says, “There’s some great BDSM in that one. Might open your eyes to some things.”

Your jaw drops. “Mom!”

“What?” She turns to you and juts out her hip. “You’re the one who said he was vanilla.”

Steve’s head whips towards you. “You said that?”

“No, Steve, that was all her assumptions, I never—”

Steve’s not listening. 

The glow of the fireplace frames his broad shoulders as he advances towards you. You take a step back and then another, until your head hits the wall behind you, and then he’s towering over you, eyes dark and heated.

“Don’t kiss her!” someone warns from behind him.

That lock of hair falls over his brow and his chest rises and falls against yours, warm even through his sweater.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Steve says, eyes locked on yours. “I won’t.”

Damn.

Your breath catches, eyes dropping to his lips. Maybe it’s worth getting tossed into a snow bank just to feel his mouth on yours.

Steve leans in, breath brushing your ear, and your heart slams against your ribs.

“You wanna get freaky, Ace?” he whispers, “All you have to do is ask.”

You roll your eyes, even as butterflies erupt in your stomach.

He takes a step back, letting you squirm out from under his arm.

“We’re gonna talk about this later,” he warns, and he spanks your ass with the book as you walk past.

Mom giggles as you and Steve pass her in the doorway, then reaches for the book. “I’m just kiddin’. I lost that one a long time ago, didn’t know where it went. Here, I’ll take it—”

Steve snatches it back incredulously. “Uh-uh. It was in my stocking. And how else am I going to find out what this one rule is on the ranch?”

God, you need a drink.

Suddenly, a cold glass presses into your sweater, and you look down to see a freshly shaken dirty martini sitting in Banks’ ringed hand.

"Extra dirty," he says. 

“You actually have a superpower, you know that?” you mutter, taking the drink without looking at him.

“So I’ve been told,” Banks replies, before disappearing again, off to serve his role as alcohol fairy. 

Sam runs up and catches Steve’s hand.

“Harry, come play!” he pleads, pulling him further into the kitchen. You steal a gingerbread cookie from the counter on the way, earning a playful slap on the wrist from Gran. 

Christmas lights frame the window on the far side of the room, and the table is set with taper candles that cast a soft glow over Violet, Mason, and Jane as they sit in the chairs, cards in hand.

Steve looks over the table, hands on his hips. “Okay, what’re we playing here? Go fish? Uno?”

“Poker,” Jane says as if that’s the obvious answer.

Steve shakes his head. “Gambling already? Of course you are.”

“Just for M&M’s!” Sam insists.

“Oh, there’s candy involved?” Steve catches your hip and the wooden chair creaks as he pulls you down onto his lap. “Alright, deal me in.”

A few minutes later, half the chocolate candies on the table are gone, and Steve hasn’t had any. He tries to steal a bite of your cookie but you finish it off before he can, chuckling at his puppy dog eyes. 

Loud laughter, clinking silverware, and the banging of pots and pans echo from the kitchen.The smell of roasted meat and gingerbread fill your nose, making your stomach rumble. 

A few people have wandered in to escape the chaos and ended up staying to watch Steve lose to a group of kids. So many, in fact, you start to take pity on him.

“You know, if you—” you start, squinting down at his cards. 

“I’m not taking advice from you, Ace,” Steve interrupts, squeezing your thigh. “Don’t corrupt me with your cheating ways. I’m going to win fair and square. How’s that sound, Sam?”

“Sounds fine, Harry,” Sam says with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “But good luck winning with your hand.”

A round of “oooh’s” go through the room.

Steve gasps, pressing his cards to his chest. “Okay, but I don’t need luck, because unlike you all…I have an Ace.”

The two of you exchange a soft, secret sort of smile. 

“That reminds me,” you say casually, then reach down to fish a small box from your purse beside you. “Merry Christmas.”

You place Steve’s present in front of him on the table. 

His eyes lock with yours for a weighted second before he snatches up the gift.

“Um—presents after dinner!” Jane reminds, but the table falls quiet anyway as Steve peels back the ribbon and pulls a single playing card out of the box. 

An Ace of hearts. 

The edges are a little worn, the red ink faded slightly, but he recognizes it instantly. 

“I kept it that night,” you say. “After we met at that poker game at freshman orientation. I don’t know why, but I just…”

“Knew,” Steve finishes your sentence for you. 

His hand finds your leg under the table, and you lean into his touch. 

Suddenly, a sigh sounds from across the room. All eyes turn to find Dallas in the corner, sulking. 

“If one more person says something as cheesy as that tonight, I’m catching the next bus back to Texas, I swear—”

His phone starts ringing, cutting him off. He frowns and fishes it out of his pocket, but when he reads the name on the screen, his eyes light up. 

Your heart swells as he nearly throws himself out of the kitchen and out the front door to answer it. 

“Anya, hi. Y-yeah, Merry Christmas to you, too. Yeah, I—”

The door slams shut behind him, his muffled voice swallowed by the crowd. 

Steve looks back down at the card, then up at you. 

“Hold on. You gave me all that crap about the necklace, but you were still gonna give me this? Even if we didn’t end up together?”

You shrug, a smile pulling at your lips. “You can never have enough Aces, can you?”

“You’re right," he says, "I’ll keep it in my wallet for dire times. Such as…now!”

He slams the card on the table, along with his whole hand, revealing a flush. 

“That’s cheating!” Jane accuses, now on her feet. 

Mason rolls his eyes. “Oh, C’mon, you’re not—he’s not playing that!”

“Why not? She does it all the time,” Steve says, motioning towards you and then leaning back in the chair with a charming grin. “Now, give me some of that candy.”

─── ✻ ───

If someone were to ask you what the best Christmas gift you’ve ever received is, you’d tell them it was this: watching Steve Harrington sit in your favorite room, smushed on the couch between your family members, with a pile of presents at his feet.

All of them with his name on them.

His cheeks are red from the wine, and the firelight, and from getting the attention and doting he’s always deserved but never had before.

“For you, honey,” Mom says, passing Dad a present from under the tree before looking at the crowd. “Did anyone get him what he really needs?”

“A haircut?” Gran pipes up from the corner. 

Dad shoots her a withering look.

Mom laughs. “No, something to inspire his next bestseller.”

Dad shakes his head. “I already got that.”

“You did?”

His gaze swings to where you’re standing beside the windows, then he tips his chin toward Steve on the couch. 

“You inspired me, kids,” he says.

A smile steals across your lips, and you hold your glass out to cheers him from afar. 

Steve’s eyes narrow, darting between you and Ed. “Okay, but if you’re going to write me, I need to proofread this thing. I mean, what if you don’t describe my hair right?”

Laughter fills the room. It’s soft, and warm, and it feels like home.

Later, after the sun’s gone down, and the pile of wrapping paper is officially taller than the Christmas tree, Steve’s eyes catch yours from across the room. He approaches you by the windows, and when he notices your empty drink, his brows furrow. 

“Here,” he says, reaching for your glass. “Let me get you another.”

“Oh, it’s fine, I can—” you start, but he’s not listening.

“Anybody else want anything?” he calls, already moving away from you. 

A few people pipe up with their orders, and he nods, then disappears into the kitchen.

A few minutes go by with no sign of him, so you pad over to the kitchen to investigate. The sound of cold beers clinking against each other greets you first, then the slam of drawers. You turn the corner to see Steve rummaging around, searching the cabinets for something.

You lean your head against the doorframe. “C’mon, Steve. You held up at first base, or what?”

“I’m trying to find the bottle openers—” Steve freezes, then whips towards you. His lips part in amusement. “Was that baseball terminology?”

“Oh—sorry. Coach,” you amend, smirking. “Forgot that part.”

He leans back against the counter and faces you, but when you catch his eyes, they hold a seriousness you weren’t expecting.

“Listen, I was gonna talk to you about the job,” he says. “I just figured maybe you wanted a couple days before we started deciding things like that—”

“Take it.”

He swallows hard, looking at you intently. “Really?”

“Yes, Steve.” You step over to him, and his hands find your waist immediately. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Ace, and that’s why I don’t want you to feel…rushed? Fuck, I don’t know, we just—”

“I don’t feel rushed,” you insist, cutting him off. “I think it’s fantastic. I mean, if it’s what you want to do. You know, you don’t have to move here for me if you don’t want to.” You thread your fingers through his. “Whatever you want, we’ll make it work. Together.”

Gone is the tightness in your chest at those words. Thanks to everything you went through this Christmas, you really believe them now.

Steve smiles softly down at you.

“I think I’d like it. Coaching, I mean. I knew I wanted to do something with sports, and then teaching Sammy the other night…” He brings your hands up to his chest, his warm fingers closing over yours. “I don’t know. It felt right.”

You exhale, relieved. “I would love for you to be here. Fuck, Steve. I’d really, really love it.”

His eyes dart between yours, then drop to your lips.

“For real?” he breathes.

You smile. “For real.”

His shoulders drop with relief and happiness, and then, without hesitation, he dips his chin and his lips meet yours.

Your stomach flips and you kiss him back. Lovingly. Adoringly. 

Distantly, you hear someone say, “Wait…is anyone else in the kitchen with them?”

But you’re not really listening, lost in Steve’s soft exhales, the gentle glide of his tongue, the way his hands grip your hips like you’re the only thing that matters in his world—

“Oh my God, they’re kissing!”

You and Steve spring apart in unison and whirl around. 

A stunned Brielle stands in the doorway, dark curls lit with the kitchen light. Then, she grins devilishly. 

“Guys! Get them!” she shouts.

Oh, shit.

“Run!” you say to Steve. 

But neither of you even make it out of the kitchen before they’re on you.

“You know the rules!” Aunt Tiff shouts as you squeal, twisting away from the hands grabbing at your sweater. 

“No!” Steve laughs as Dallas and Rick advance on him at once. He’s trapped in the corner of the kitchen, nowhere to run. “No! Listen—you know how long I waited for this girl? Just—wait a second, oh my God—” 

Dallas and Rick each grab him under one arm, dragging him toward the door as he keeps trying to plead his case. 

You’re laughing so hard you can’t catch your breath as the front door opens, spilling cold air into the entryway.

Ed swings around on your other side, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and hauling you forward.

“Not you, too!” you gasp. “Seriously? Where’s your sense of romance, Dad? I—”

“Heave ho!” Gran calls from the doorway, as hands drag you down the steps.

Then, in unison, they release you.

Straight into a snow pile.

Steve catches you a second before you hit the snow, breaking your fall and rolling you underneath him. The cold snow soaks into your clothes, but Steve smiles down at you, hair framed by the porch light, eyes full of laughter and love, and God, it’s the single most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen.

“C’mere, Harrington,” you whisper, curling your icy fingers into his sweater, and pulling his mouth to yours once more. 

And as you kiss Steve in the snow, under the stars and the cheers of your family, a deep nostalgia settles in your heart.

Not for your past.

But for your future.

And it starts now.

─── ✻ ───

a/n: I can't believe we're here....the last chapter of The Real Deal. Thank you so much for everyone who has read, shared, and commented. Especially those who sent me such lovely words about how this story has touched them. It makes me so incredibly happy, you literally have no idea.

This story bloomed a lot from where it began, and I could go on about it forever, but Ace and Steve will continue to live in my heart for a lot of reasons.

Thank you a million times over, I love you all so much.

(By the way, there will also be an epilogue eventually hehe)

✻ steve masterlist ✻ landing page ✻

taglist: @tennisgirlsrooms, @eleshka-still, @idontread4, @treebabe , @flourishing-sapphic ,

@eller41, @djolover4ever , @parabathigh , @stoneyggirl2 , @remorsefuul,

@munsonloverrs-blog,

[graywrenhart]

the real deal | steve harrington x f!reader

Chapter Eight - Good Thing {best friends to lovers, fake dating over Christmas} or: After a smoking confession, Steve can't keep his hands off you. 6.8k words ✻ go to landing page CW: just a fuck ton of smut. MDNI [premature ejaculation (bc it's Steve)] [it's hot though (bc it's Steve)] [no refractory period] [p in v sex] [multiple orgasms] [dirty talk] [msub to mdom and I mean that] [ big dick]

─── ✻ ───

The Beamer is a sight for sore eyes. 

The snow’s really coming down as you pull into the inn’s parking lot beside Steve’s car, the maroon and silver illuminated in your headlights. 

Looks like the Ivory Inn got a fresh coat of paint since the last time you were here. Probably Anya’s doing now that she’s managing the place. 

The windows glow a warm amber from inside, matching the icicle lights strung up along the roofline. A small light-up deer stands by the front door, frozen mid-step, shimmering faintly through the falling flakes. 

It’s so cold outside that the top layer of snow has crusted over, and it groans under your weight after you step onto it, so you round the car carefully, one hand braced against the cold metal. You only slip once, but you catch yourself on the back of Steve’s trunk, then proceed to claw your way to his window. 

You find him slumped over in the driver’s seat. 

His face flashes orange, then fades as he flicks a lighter open and closed, staring into the flame absently, like he’s somewhere far away. 

You clear your throat loudly. 

His head snaps toward you. The lighter slips from his hand. You bite your lip as he fumbles around for it, then rolls his window down. You look down at him—heart on his sleeve in the driver’s seat with a half-burned cigarette between his fingers. 

“What are you doing out here?” You ask, hugging your jacket tighter as the wind picks up.

He shrugs. “Just waitin’ on you, Ace.”

In more ways than one. 

He rolls the window up, unfolds himself from the car, and suddenly he’s so close you can feel the heat radiating from him, see his breaths cloud up into the night. His red jacket smells like smoke, and for some reason, that pulls at something sharp beneath your ribs. 

You shuffle your weight, angling yourself towards the inn. “You wanna go inside?”

You expect him to jerk his head towards the door and fall in step behind you like he always does. But he doesn’t. 

Instead, he just leans back against the car door, arms crossed, ankles loosely hooked. 

“Okay,” Steve says, sniffing once, then crooking two fingers. “Give it to me.”

“What?”

He lifts the cigarette, eyebrows raised. “My lecture.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “What are you talking about? I don’t—”

“Oh, my mistake,” he says, “Must’ve gotten you confused for some other girl who always gets onto me for smoking.” 

The inn’s light catches on his lashes as he looks down and nudges at the snow with his shoe. It’s falling hard now, dusting his shoulders, catching in his chair. 

“Well, this girl, ” you start, swallowing thickly. “I’m sure she only lectures you because…well…” the world stills around you, even the snow seems to fall quieter as you whisper, “…because she loves you.”

His eyes snap to yours. You watch the rise and fall of his chest, your own heartbeat picking up to match. 

“Oh yeah?” he says, taking a step towards you. Then another, snow crunching under his shoes. “She tell you that?”

You shrug, blinking back the snowflakes hitting your lashes as his hand finds your waist.

Steve looks down at you, hair hallowed by the Christmas lights. It reminds you of the way he looks under that flickering orange lamppost back on campus. 

“‘Cause she hasn’t said it to me,” he says softly. 

Your breath catches, heart fluttering in your throat. You know what he means. What he’s asking for. 

He needs you to say it first. 

He doesn’t move an inch. Doesn’t close the gap. Instead, he waits for you. He’s good at that. 

He always has been. 

And all of a sudden, there’s nothing holding you back. 

“I love you, Steve.” 

The confession slips from your tongue, barely louder than the silent night surrounding you. 

He smiles. “I know.”

 The world narrows to the space between your lips, the frost creeping into your toes—alive in your own personal snow globe. 

“So,” Steve murmurs after a long moment, “we plannin’ to freeze to death out here, or are you gonna kiss me, Ace?”

You shrug, a soft smirk tugging at your mouth. “Sorry. I don’t kiss smokers.”

“Well,” he sighs, then without breaking eye contact, flicks the cigarette onto the ground. The ember flares, then dies with a soft hiss in the grey snow. “Good thing some girl convinced me to quit—”

You cut him off with your lips on his. 

It’s a gentle kiss. Sweet. Soft. 

But Steve doesn’t keep it that way. 

His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you in, deepening it instantly. Hungrily. 

A nostalgic ache settles deep in your ribs. 

Your body remembers this feeling — Steve’s mouth against yours. 

Granted, however brief, and tasting of marshmallows and beer that kiss was, it’s still exactly how he kisses today. 

God, you must be a masochist. How have you been depriving yourself of this? Of him? For years?

You open your mouth to say as much, but the second your lips part, his tongue slips past like he was waiting for it. A soft sound escapes you, eyes squeezing shut as your fingers fist in his jacket. He tastes like smoke, and those peppermints he always keeps in his car, and maybe, if you try hard enough, you could find a way to bottle this feeling up and keep it forever and ever. 

Keep him. 

You move to press even closer, but as you shift your weight, your foot slips. You squeak, mouth falling from his, but his arms are already around you, hauling you upright before you can hardly react. You barely catch your balance before he’s kissing you again. 

“Inside,” he mutters against your mouth, voice rough. 

You shiver, but this time, it’s not from the cold as he grabs your sleeve and tugs you toward the inn. 

A bell above the door jingles as you stumble through together— a tangle of mouths, hands, and no muscle memory between you whatsoever. 

The entryway is narrow, lined with wreaths and candle sconces. A staircase curves up along the right wall, banister worn smooth by decades of hands. Past it, a small dining room sits quiet end empty, waiting for the breakfast rush come morning.

To the left, a tall mirror stretches nearly to the ceiling, and when you catch your reflections—him pulling you forward, your hand in his—it almost doesn’t feel real. 

Amazingly so. 

“Hey, stranger,” the girl behind the counter says, voice like honey. You recognize her instantly. 

Dark curls spill past her shoulders with a natural volume you’d definitely kill for, and her warm brown skin seems to glow under the soft lighting.

God, you almost forgot how stunning she is. No wonder Dallas can’t get over her. 

“Anya!” You say, nearly tripping as Steve keeps you tucked against his side. “Merry Christmas! Sorry, we just—God, it’s been, what, three years?” 

“Something like that,” she says softly, twisting her full lips to hide a smile as Steve pulls you in for another kiss. 

And another. And another. 

Laughter bubbles up in your chest and you smile against his mouth. You’re equally unable to let him go now that you finally have him. 

Anya clears her throat. 

Right. 

“Oh! Steve, wait—” you rush to get the words out. “Wait. Hold on a second—Anya she—” was almost a part of the family. “—knows our family, and—”

“Introductions later,” he says against your jaw. “If she knows your family, then she’s not surprised by this.”

Anya shakes her head. “Yeah, I’m really not.”

“See?” Steve gestures vaguely toward her without looking, then grabs your belt loops and drags you back against him. 

“Besides, Kristy called,” Anya adds, amused. “Said you might show up like…this.”

“Room.” Steve says, distracted, and still kissing you. “Key. Now. Please. Thanks.”

“Sorry, Anya, he’s—” 

Steve shuts you up again, tongue tangling with yours. You’re vaguely aware of a ledge pressing into your ass, but you’re too busy making out with him to really care. 

“—eager,” Anya finishes for you, one brow raised at the display currently happening over her counter. “Good lord. Alright, well, listen, go crazy. But I just need a card, a receipt signature, and then you can…”

“Shit—too long,” Steve mutters. Before you can even reach for your wallet, he’s slamming down two crumpled hundreds from his back pocket.

The same ones your dad gave him for fixing the sink. 

Your mouth drops open in protest, but his hand tightens on your hip, a quiet don’t start. And honestly, you’re too breathless to fight him at the moment. 

Anya smirks, pocketing the cash. Then she grabs a key from the board behind her and sits it down on the counter. 

“Third door on the left,” she says. “And try not to ruin the sheets.” 

You scoff and reach for the key but Steve’s hand blindly beats you to it. 

Anya eyes him, unimpressed. “Or make a baby.”

Steve’s mouth drops open against your neck, a choking sound escaping him and his hand slips. The key skitters across the floor with a sharp clink clink clink. 

He drops you immediately to go after it, cheeks flushed. 

You bite back a laugh and turn to Anya, who leans over the counter, tugging her lavender sweater sleeves over her fingers. 

“Hey, uh, this might be weird of me to ask, but…” she says, soft and meek, tucking a curl behind her ear. The light catches on the piercings lining the shell of her ear, each boasting a small glittering jewel.

Steve returns to your side, hand wandering back to interlock with yours and bring it up to his lips, like he couldn’t stand to be away for two seconds. 

“Anya,” you say, “I promise you—nothing you say right now is going to be weird. My boyfriend is currently making out with my hand.”

Steve groans against your fingers the second the word boyfriend leaves your mouth. No ‘fake’ in front of it this time.

“Right,” she says, smiling a little. “Um, sorry, but I just heard that Dallas was back in town? And well, I guess…I was just wondering. If that was true, I mean.”

“Yeah,” you say softly. “He is.”

She nods, tracing a finger along the counter and squinting down at it like she’s suddenly found something very interesting in the wood grain. “Okay. Thanks.”

“You should call him.”

You don’t know what just possessed you to say that. Some unseen cupid’s arrow has shot through you, making you lovesick all of a sudden. 

Her dark eyes meet yours, something unreadable swimming in them. 

“Maybe,” she says.

Then her eyes shift to Steve, who’s already pulling you toward the stairs, one arm tight around your waist.

“I swear, if I get noise complaints…” 

“You won’t!” You say quickly. 

Steve huffs a quiet laugh, glancing down at you like he doesn’t believe you for a second. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Ace.”

Anya groans, covering her ears. “Oh my God. Get a room. Literally get in your room. Before I start hearing it from here.”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, “And you should call Dallas! Seriously. I think he’d love to hear from you. I mean, I don’t know, but—”

“Ace,” Steve groans. “Please.”

You don’t resist as he pulls you up the stairs. And if you’re honest with yourself, you’ve never really been able to resist anything when it comes to your heart and Steve Harrington.

─── ✻ ───

The second the bedroom door thuds shuts, he’s on you. 

Hands up your sweater, tongue tangling with yours. Your head swims with the realization that…you’re really doing this. Kissing your best friend. About to have sex with your best friend. 

“Steve—” you gasp as his mouth finds your collarbone, heat curling low in your belly. “Maybe we should talk about—”

“‘nough talking,” he mumbles against your skin.

“Okay, but I just—mmmph.”

He captures your mouth again and you melt into his kiss. Is second-hand nicotine a thing? Can it be transferred this way? Surely that’s why you’re lightheaded and absolutely addicted to him already? That must be it. 

Your hands find purchase in his hair, dragging him closer, and he gasps.

“P-please,” he stammers, pulling back just enough to let the words spill between your mouths. “Keep doing that. God, I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

“What?” You tug on his hair gently. “This?”

His head tips back with a whimper. You’ll tease him mercilessly for that later. But for now, you just press further into him, standing on your tip toes to plant hot kisses down the column of his throat.

His hands tug on your sweater and your arms lift automatically. Cold air rushes over your lace bralette and something in your chest tightens. 

Steve doesn’t know why you’ve changed your mind so suddenly like this. If you were him, you’d want to know the reason for this total shift in behavior. 

“Hey,” you whisper, catching his biceps and holding him back. 

A lock of hair falls over his brow as he stares down at you. “What? What is it, Ace?”

“I’m sorry, I just—” Your forehead tips onto his shoulder. “I just need to explain.”

“No you don’t,” he says. “Not for me.”

“Why?”

“Because I know you.”

You shake your head. “But—”

He sighs. “Here. Let me guess. Can I guess?”

You nod. Mostly because you can’t imagine stringing two words together right now.

“You talked with your parents. Or, your Mom. Yeah?”

His head dips, eyes trying to find yours, but you burrow into him further. A soft chuckle ghosts over your ear as he tucks you into his chest. 

“I knew you’d come around eventually,” he whispers. “I mean, c’mon…who could say no to all this?”

He leans back to gesture at his body and you laugh despite yourself, eyes welling with tears. He tilts your face up and the tender, understanding look in his eyes unlocks something deep inside your chest. 

“I…I don’t want to ruin this,” you whisper. 

The confession feels like ripping an arrow from your chest. Your deepest fear served to him on a silver platter. 

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just leans in again. 

“Ruin me,” he whispers against your mouth, punctuating his words with a soft kiss. “I don’t care.” Another. “I’m all yours.”

No, it doesn’t erase your fear. Not entirely. But maybe, just maybe, you can let yourself believe him. That whatever you have to face, you can do it together.

Steve feels the moment you give in, the soft sigh into his mouth. 

Because the next thing you know, your wrists are pinned against the door above your head with one of his hands, the other flying to undo your pants. You cant your hips into him with equal fervor as he practically rips the jeans off your body, leaving you in just your bra and panties. 

Soft creamy linens and lamplight spin in your vision as picks you up, strides across the small room, and tosses you onto the bed. Your back barely hits the downy comforter before he’s following you down. 

There’s an emotion lingering in the air, hovering like an expensive perfume. That lamp beside you almost feels too bright. Just being able to see the ivy wallpaper feels like the vines are reaching out and chocking you.

Chill bumps race over your exposed skin and Steve chases them with his tongue, pulling you close like you’re something to be treasured.  

“Steve,” you breathe, not even sure why you’re calling out to him. But you just need to know he’s…

“I’m here,” he whispers. 

His voice unties that knot in your throat. The ivy stops crawling towards you.

He’s dragging the lace from your body, but even so, he’s busy kissing the strangest parts of you.

The inside of your wrist, the tip of your ear, the curve of your knee. 

Sex isn’t like this. 

In your experience, sex is haphazardly peeling off clothes in the dark and banging your toe on your way to the bed. It’s always filled with those awkward moments where you’re trying to decide who should be on top and then your hair gets stuck under his elbow anyway. 

But with Steve, it’s different. 

With every inch of skin he reveals, he looks at you with a reverence, an intimacy that’s so deep you almost want to hide your face from it. 

But you don’t.

You’re done hiding from what you feel for him. 

When you’re finally naked beneath him, Steve exhales shakily and leans over you, warm hands drifting over your breasts, your waist, your hips. Like he can hardly believe it. 

“God, you’re so perfect,” he murmurs. “C’mere…”

Your eyes slip shut as he kisses you deeply, and you reach for him blindly, expecting to feel the planes of his back, but instead, you feel cloth. He still has his shirt on. 

Well, that won’t do. 

Gripping the fabric, you tug hard to pull it over his head. He helps halfway, but gets distracted when his nose brushes one of your perky nipples and he just has to go in for a taste. 

You moan at the feel of his mouth on your breast, arching into him, craving skin against skin. But your core brushes against rough denim. 

Okay, that’s it. 

You shove him back with a strength you didn’t know you possessed. He lifts off you, surprised, then huffs a laugh when you push his back against the headboard and straddle his hips. 

In a flurry of hands, you finally manage to yank his shirt over his head. His chest hair tickles your stomach as you grind your hips against him. He’s breathing hard beneath you, and when you unzip his jeans and tug them down, his cock strains against his black boxers, begging for your touch. 

Mouth watering, you reach for him.

But Steve catches your wrist. “I promised you two orgasms, remember? Let me go down on you first.” 

The desperation in his voice makes your knees weak. How could you deny him?

When he kisses you again, you melt into him. He’s so strong, and warm, and he tastes so good. A smoky sweetness that lights up some primal and urgent circuit in your brain. 

“I love you so much,” he whispers, mouth trailing lower as his hands cup your breasts. “God, I—ever since you looked at me over that poker table…I was fuckin’ gone.”

Your breath hitches. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Since then?”

“Since then.”

You shake your head, an unbelieving smile tugging at your lips. “Wait, but—so, that night at the campfire…you had…feelings for me?”

Steve makes an irritated sound deep in his throat. He grips your hips and rolls you sideways, flipping you onto your back, arms braced on either side of your pillow. The lamplight frames his broad shoulders, cutting through his messy hair. 

“You’re such an idiot sometimes, Ace. You know that?” 

That stray lock falls into his eyes. You reach up and brush it back. 

“Hmm. Little tip? Maybe don’t insult a girl when she’s naked underneath you, Harrington. She could just throw on her clothes and walk out that door.”

A dangerous glint flashes in his eyes. 

“She could.” He moves down until his mouth hovers between your legs. “But she won’t.”

Oh, shit. 

The confidence in his tone and the way he licks his lips as he leans in sends hot pulses through your core. The first drag of hot tongue along your soft folds feels like heaven. You keen into it immediately, but his hand clamps down on your lower stomach, holding you in place beneath him. 

“Poor girl,” he sighs mockingly. “And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

His tongue strokes through you once. Twice. Then, he murmurs, “Just wanna make you feel good. No pressure, okay? I’d do this all night.” 

You don’t have time to reply before he settles between your thighs wrapping his hands around your knees and sealing his mouth to your cunt. 

It’s very sweet of him to reassure you in that way, especially given your history. But as it turns out, he didn’t really need to.

He’s only been sucking on your clit for a minute before that familiar rush burns through your core. Your breathing picks up, walls clenching around nothing. 

Sparks ignite under your skin, rushing down, down, pulling tight at that hot band between your hips—and when the first wave of deep, mindless pleasure hits, Steve’s eyes snap up to yours. 

“Oh, fuck, already?” He mumbles. 

You whimper, threading both hands through his hair and yanking him closer, riding it out on his tongue. 

Through the rush of the orgasm, you forgot about his…hair thing. 

Steve’s eyes roll back as he eats you out with renewed fervor, fingernails digging crescent moons into your thighs. He buries his face in you so deeply you wonder if he can even breathe like that. Then he groans—long and low—a crease forming between his brows. 

Your mouth drops open, stomach clenching as you watch him. When the stimulation gets to be too much, you push him away by his hair and he lets you. Lips puffy and pink, he gazes up at you, lashes damp. 

You’re gorgeous, you want to tell him, but he’s not looking at you anymore. 

He’s looking down.

Frowning, you try to look over the edge of the bed, but he tugs your ankles, making you lose your balance and fall on your back against the mattress. “What the—Steve?”

“It’s fine,” he slurs. “I just…uh…”

“Steve—quit—” You shove his hands off your ankles, grab his wrists, and pull him up onto the bed. He moves stiffly until he’s sitting against the headboard. When his eyes find yours again, he looks almost…guilty. 

You sit up, unsure of what’s gotten into him. But when your gaze drops to his underwear—and the wet spot at the front—you understand. 

God, but you can’t deny how good he looks stretched out like this, cock still hard and straining beneath the fabric. 

You lick your lips. 

Suddenly, the need to know what he tastes like grips your spine. Good lord, he’s gone down on you twice now and you still haven’t—How could you not have—?

“Listen,” Steve says, hands up in an appeasing gesture as he watches you crawl towards him on the bed. “I just want you to know that this is…not typical. Normally I lost longer, okay? Aghh—shit. What are you doing? Oh, shit.”

When your mouth meets the fabric, your tongue slips out immediately, gliding along his length. He’s still so hard, even though he just came, so he must be really fucking turned on. 

A dark thrill runs through you at the fact that you did this to him.

You. His overthinking best friend with the insane family and the bad habit of cheating at poker.

You can hardly believe it.

But there’s no mistaking the way his pupils blow wide as you part your lips around the flushed tip barely peeking out from his waistband. You suck gently, not letting a drop go to waste, and you look up at him, just to see how he’s affected by it. 

His hips jerk up uncontrollably when your eyes meet his, and then he moans so loudly you almost clap a hand over his mouth. 

“Shut up,” you whisper, a giggle building in your chest. “You’re acting like you’re trying to get a noise complaint or something.”

“Okay, what the fuck do you want from me?” He pants. “My best friend is licking up my cum. Oh, my God.”

You swirl your tongue under the head, teasing the pulsing ridge with your lips.

Your view is incredible. 

Chest heaving under that smattering of dark chest hair, toned stomach muscles flexing as he holds himself back from owning your throat. 

You kind of wish he wouldn’t. 

“God you just…you just unravel me, Ace.” He whimpers and grabs the curve of your ass in an attempt to pull himself together. “I have a condom in my wallet…I’ll grab it.”

He surges forward, fumbling for his jeans beside the bed but you stop him with a hand on his arm. 

“Okay, but—“ You trail off, suddenly unsure of how to say this. 

Steve looks at you steadily. “But, what?”

“Well, I’m on birth control.”

Steve just stares, barely breathing. 

“And I’m…safe.” You tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, suddenly shy. “You know I actually do those physicals the school offers.”

“Me too.”

You blink, surprised. “You do? But you always made fun of me for that!”

“Of course I did.” He shrugs, settling back against the headboard. “But I figured if you did them, I could too.”

You smirk down at him. “Wow. I had no idea I’ve been so influential in keeping you healthy and safe, Steve. This is such an honor—”

“Oh my God, Ace. Just ride my dick.”

You raise onto your knees to line him up, but the feel of his hard length caressing your clit, slick with arousal, nearly buckles them again.

“I got you,” Steve reassures, steadying you with a hand on your hip. “It’s okay.”

When he notches at your entrance, you sink down hesitantly. The stretch is more than you expected, even with how turned on you are. But, incredible.

You exhale shakily and try again, sliding down a little deeper this time. 

Steve’s panting, eyes fixed on where you’re connected. His shoulders tense and he bites back a moan as you take him another inch. Pleasure digs into your core like teeth. Like claws. Gripping you hard and filling you up. 

When you do a little experimental swirl of your hips, his palm comes down with a muted thwump on the pillow beside him. You, however, realize you’ve only taken about half of him. 

“God, Steve,” you groan. “Don’t let this go to your head…but you’re fucking b-big. Damn.”

“Yeah, well,” he huffs a laugh. “You saw it the other night, so…”

Your head tips back as the firm pressure drags along your inner walls. “Do you hear me complaining?”

“Well, I just—mmm—don’t want you to f-feel bad.”

You freeze, gaze snapping to his. “What do you mean?”

His eyes widen. “Forget it. Move your hips again like that, that felt really good.”

You sit up straighter. “Why would I feel bad that you have a big cock, Steve?”

“I just meant—” He blows out a breath. “Well, most girls can’t take it all the way, and yeah, I know I sound like a total asshole, so I’m gonna be shutting up now.”

You can hardly believe your ears. “Most girls, huh?”

“I already said! I’m a douchebag, alright? Please—I didn’t mean—”

You sink down on him in one decisive motion, determined to prove a point. What can you say? You’re a competitive bitch. 

Steve gasps, eyes glassy and wide. But the shock melts quickly into something molten. 

“Fuck,” he pants, fingers digging into your hips. “Baby. Fuck.”

“Shit, Steve,” you gasp. “Feel like I can feel you in my fucking throat.”

“Oh my God, does it hurt?”

The dull ache only adds to the pleasure, spiraling you from turned-the-fuck-on to downright feral. Sweat beads on your lower back as your hands drag down his chest, nails biting into his skin until he hisses. 

“No, you’re just r-right up against my cervix,” you say. 

His eyes darken and a shiver runs down your spine. His grip on your waist tightens, and instead of just holding you, he’s guiding instead. Pulling you up, then back down. Slowly at first, then harder when he sees your thighs start to shake. 

“Oh, baby, baby,” you moan, eyes rolling back. “Yeah. Just like that.”

He buries his face in your shoulder. “Love when you call me that.”

You thread your fingers through his hair, holding him close as he sits up, arms wrapping around you to thrust deeper.

“Oh my God yeah—you’re gonna make me come again, I swear,” Steve says against your mouth. “Good thing I already...fuck, I wouldn’t last like this otherwise.”

“Mmm. Thought you said that wasn’t a normal thing for you.”

“It wasn’t!” he stammers, hips driving into you while he whines, eager and needy. “It isn’t! Usually. Just with you, Ace.”

The energy between you is electric. The sparks have turned into a fire, roaring between you, turning the sheets hot. Gone are the soft, teasing kisses. This is something else. Something inevitable and passionate, an accumulation of the tension that’s built for years between you, finally breaking. 

Your bodies move together perfectly. Effortlessly. Fitting together and meeting each stroke in sync, like you were made for each other. 

Steve groans against your chest like he’s in agony. 

You rake your hand though this hair and graze your lips over his temple, a silent question hidden in your touch. 

“Want this to be good for you, Ace,” he rasps. “Wanna treat you right. But I—I…”

You understand what he means. “Yes.”

“Yeah?” He sounds fucking wrecked. 

You nod against his hair. “I want it. I want you.”

That’s all it takes. 

The next second, your face is pressed into the pillow, another fitted under your hips. Steve is behind you, hands on your thighs, spreading open your pussy with his fingers. 

You groan into the fabric, back bowing as he touches you perfectly. 

Yes, this is what you want: Steve unhinged. It’s what you’ve wanted from the beginning. 

Eyes squeezed shut, you steady yourself for him to slot right back where he was, but instead, something hot and wet slides over you. 

“Jesus, Steve.” You gasp, muffling your words with your hand as you push back against his tongue. “Thought you were gonna fuck me.”

His grip on your legs tightens, keeping you right where he wants you. Unable to push back, unable to pull away. Just trapped against his warm, willing mouth. Boneless with desire. 

“Just don’t wanna hurt you,” he says softly.

“You know, Harrington, a little humility every once in awhile wouldn’t hurt you. I think I’ve proven I can take it.”

You turn to scowl over your shoulder but his tongue circles your clit and you fall back against the pillow.

“Yeah? Well we’ll just see how mouthy you are with nine inches stuffed in here.”

He punctuates his words by thrusting two fingers deep inside you. When they curl and hit that spot deep inside, you don’t even realize you’re crying out until his other hand smothers you. 

He huffs a laugh, pushing in deeper with his fingers and circling your clit with his thumb — skilled in a way you’ve never experienced before. 

“Look at you, dripping’ down my hand.” His fingers pull out of you and you whine at the loss. But then you hear the slick sound of them disappearing into his mouth. “Tastes so damn good.”

“Steve—” you laugh, breathless, and he pulls his hand away. “When did you get this mouth on you? I never knew you were…”

You look over your shoulder at him. He’s got that teasing smirk on his lips. 

“What?” He tilts his head. “Want me to shut up?”

“What? Fuck no.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

The soft hair on his thighs tickles the backs of yours as he lines himself up with your entrance. He slides in deep and fast this time, eased by your arousal and his precum, and a choked sound tears from your throat.

“Shit—you good?” he rasps. 

You reach back blindly, finding his thigh and pulling him closer, urging him on. 

“Hey,” Steve says, “Hey. Look back at me.”

His voice holds a dominant edge that has you obeying instantly, peeking over your shoulder at him again.

He looks fucking wrecked. 

Lips parted and glossy, cheeks pink, hair mussed. That little crease between his brows nearly sends you over the edge—fuck, you have it bad.

“Just n-needed to see you. Shit, cock drunk already, Ace?” He bites his lip, thrusting into you and your teeth sink into your bottom lip, wishing it was his. “L-let me touch that swollen little clit. You’re so good for me. Knew you would be.”

Okay, now he’s just showing off that mouth. But you clench involuntarily around him in response. That sends him scrambling for a better hold on your hips, tits, anything he can fucking grab onto to help prevent himself from spilling his load too early. Again. 

The room fills with the clapping sound of your bodies meeting over and over. His stroke game is good, and he’s hitting places in you that have never—never—been reached before. 

You can already feel that rising ache growing in your core, legs shaking against the mattress.

“Oh my God.” You moan into the pillow, the sound spilling from somewhere primal.

“You know, if you don’t pipe down right now, you’re not gonna have a voice tomorrow,” Steve mutters between harsh breaths. But his words don’t hold any bite because he just drives in harder, making you see fucking stars. “And then we’re going to have to explain to your whole family why you can’t fucking talk all the sudden. Not that they won’t figure it out anyway, those dirty minded—”

“Tomorrow?” you gasp. “S-so you’re not…leaving?”

He scoffs, annoyed, but there's endearment there too. “Ace. You’re so dense sometimes, I swear. Does this—” he snaps his hips forward, driving deep deep enough to make your mouth to fall open. “—feel like I’m still leaving you?”

“No,” you whine.

“Good girl.”

Oh, God. 

“I’m never leaving,” he says, softer now, leaning over to drop a kiss on your shoulder. “Never. Okay?”

You nod, tears welling up in your eyes. Something about his words, and the way he says them, sends you barreling towards that second release and you’re powerless to stop it. 

“God. You’re clenching around me so tight, baby. Tell me you’re mine.”

You’re breathing hard, heart fluttering, core aching. But you still have enough mental clarity to give him what he wants. 

“I’m yours,” you gasp. 

And it’s true. You’ve really been his for a long, long time. 

Where your first orgasm was rough and mindless, this one is slower and even more brilliant. It cascades through you like warm wine, pulling you into it’s depths, sending tight pulses down into your core, and driving Steve into a state. 

Steve loses his rhythm, his thrusts quickly turning sloppy. Rough sounds escape him as he barrels towards his release, but he’s too far behind you for you to cover his mouth with your hand. 

He comes inside you before you’re done pulsing, folding himself over you and pressing his face into your neck to halfway muffle the sound. He stays there as your bodies settle down, pressing sweet kisses down your spine. 

And then, against your skin, he whispers. 

“Finally.”

─── ✻ ───

“I’m just saying, pretty sure life-threatening injury wins over your ‘but, I’m the girl’ argument when it comes to little spoon.”

“You pulled your shoulder in high-school,” you say, climbing into bed beside Steve. “That’s hardly life threatening.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “I could’ve been! For the batter! You ever been up to bat facing a pitcher with a torn rotator cuff?”

You hum in false sympathy and flip the switch on the bedside lamp, plunging you both into darkness. 

Steve’s bare back is warm against your chest, the heat of him seeping into your bones as you mold yourself to him. The edges of his hair—still wet from the shower you took together— tickle the bridge of your nose as you tuck into the nape of his neck. 

His hand finds your thigh, fingers slipping under the edge of your sleep shorts automatically, like he can’t get enough of you. And eventually, you give in, draping an arm over him and pressing your legs up to his. 

The heat kicks on, the quiet hum filling the companionable silence between you. 

“I didn’t even get to give you your present,” you whisper into the dark. “I had this whole plan to get you back, and then, well…” Your hand trails down his stomach suggestively, his chest hair brushing your palm. 

His back rises and falls under your cheek as he laughs softly. Then he shifts and turns to face you. You can’t see him in the dark, but you know he’s looking at you. 

“Good thing Christmas is tomorrow, Ace,” Steve says.

His breath fans over your forehead as he leans in to kiss you. You tip your face up, but he misses your mouth, his lips landing on your hairline instead. You both laugh. You expect him to pull away, but he doesn’t. He just trails his lips down your face, kissing your eye, your cheek, then finally, your lips, lingering there for a sweet moment before whispering, “Because I have one for you, too.”

“Oh good,” you sigh. “The Grinch took that gift earlier, you know. Stole it right from under the tree in front of me! Can you believe that?”

Steve shrugs under your hands. “Sounds like you shouldn’t have been so naughty this close to Christmas if you ask me.”

“Oh, really?” You lean in close to purr suggestively in his ear. “Thought I was a good girl.”

He makes a low sound in his chest and the next thing you know, your knuckles knock into the headboard as he pins your wrists to the pillow, his chest pressing you into the mattress. 

“Careful,” he warns, a smile in his voice. “You think you know everything about me, but you no nothing when it comes to my stamina.”

“Says the man who came in his underwe--aha, okay, okay!

His fingers slip free from your shirt, releasing his hold on your nipple. You giggle, wiggling under him, brain fuzzy and body sated. 

He only lets you go after a warm, sloppy kiss that’s all tongue and has you both writhing into each other, still unable to get enough. 

When he finally lies back down, you lace your fingers with his and press your lips to his shoulder blade, perfectly content to be his big spoon for the rest of eternity—as long as he lets you sleep beside him just like this every night. 

You’re eyelids are just drifting shut when he whispers into the dark. 

“Hey.”

You squeeze his fingers. “Hi.”

“I love you.”

Your breath hitches, heart skipping a beat. You’ll never get tired of hearing that. Your throat tightens, but the words forge ahead anyway, flowing from somewhere else inside you. 

“I love you too.”

“I know,” he says. 

“Okay.”

“I just wanted to hear it.”

You smile against his skin. “I know.”

─── ✻ ───

a/n: I can't believe we only have one chapter left after this!!! Okay, and I'm so in love with Anya, btw.

browse my steve masterlist ✻ go to landing page or read next chapter

taglist: @tennisgirlsrooms, @eleshka-still, @idontread4, (if you want to be added, drop a comment on the real deal landing page)

[graywrenhart]

Lessons in Losing | Draco Malfoy x f!Reader

Chapter Nineteen - Sweet Revenge An academic rivals to lovers story or: {Revenge is about to taste so fucking sweet} 4k words ✧ go to landing page CW: angst, sexual themes.

The Great Hall is sparkling.

Literally.

You didn’t even know there was a spell for glitter that didn’t transfer to skin or robes, but it’s woven into the very fabric of the pink tablecloths, and drifting through the air.

The hall’s full of students chattering excitedly. Dresses swish against the stone floor, glasses clink together, and laughter fills the space. Above the floating candles, the ceiling has been enchanted to show the night sky.

The constellations are wrong for this time of year, but you'll let it slide. 

“It’s gorgeous,” you murmur, staring in amazement at the large fountain in the corner.

“Yes,” Cassian agrees from his place beside you. “It is.”

But when you glance over at him, he isn’t looking at the ball unfolding around him.

He’s looking at you.

When you walked down the stairs in the dress you wore to Malfoy Manor, Cassian had been waiting at the bottom, gazing up at you like you were a goddess in green.

It made you feel a little better about reusing the dress Daphne let you borrow. After setting aside your tiny savings for the ticket to the afterparty tonight, you didn’t have the money to buy a different one. And certainly not something as nice as this.

Cassian is in a navy suit, with gemstone cufflinks that wink in the light. It complements his red hair, and his freckles seem to sparkle under the stars as he lifts a hand towards a group of Slytherins in the corner.

Yes, he looks good.

But your eyes can’t help but wander the room, searching for a pair of silver ones.

Apparently, Malfoy’s back at school now.

You know this only because you overheard two Slytherins talking last night in the hall. You tried to tune them out when you heard Draco’s name, but then they whispered the word ceremony, and your stomach dropped.

What else could they possibly be talking about other than a wedding ceremony?

The thought left a bitter taste in your mouth, and despite your anger, you ended up crying into your pillow before falling into a fitful sleep.

What a fantastic beginning to your birthday.

The ball is a nice distraction, though. So is thinking about the afterparty later.

Last night, you and Cassian took the secret passage to Hogsmeade and had a drink at The Three Broomsticks. There, you told him about your proposition.

For some reason, when you explained your plan to Flint over two steaming mugs of butterbeer, it didn’t feel nearly as embarrassing this time.

And instead of his eyes lighting up in that crude, boyish way whenever a girl’s virginity was mentioned, Cassian just sat back in the booth and took a slow sip of his drink. 

“So, it’s about creating a sexual experience to further your confidence in yourself,” he said, cocking his head. “Creating boundaries and an environment that makes you feel safe and comfortable.”

“Yes,” you breathed, relieved he understood. “Is that stupid?”

He just looked at you, and his lips tilted into a smile.

“I think it’s brave.”

So, within a matter of minutes, it was settled.

You would go to the ball together, then the afterparty, where you would get a room together.

You were pleased. Partially because you weren’t going to let Malfoy foil your promise to yourself, but also, because you trusted Cassian. If he seemed confused about where you and Draco were at, he didn’t show it, and he didn’t pry with any more questions either.

For which you were grateful. Because it's not as if you even really know the answers to those questions, anyway...

Cassian’s voice yanks you back to the present.

“Sorry, what did you say?” You ask, voice carrying over the string quartet. 

His hand is extended towards you, and he tips his head towards his waiting palm. “Dance?”

You summon a teasing smile and place your fingers in his. “With the best Keeper in history? How could I say no?”

He grins, pulling you into the crowd. “Now, that’s what I like to hear.”

───── ✧ ─────

Dancing with Cassian is fun.

He’s a gentleman about you stepping on his feet twice, and when he dips you, smiling with that red hair falling over his brow, you can't help but smile back and bite your lip, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. Then he lifts you easily, and you’re back to swinging around the room.

You’re not even thinking about Draco at all when you see him.

And that feels like some sort of punishment from the wizards of old.

Because just as Cassian whisks you towards the fountain for a sip of something cold—the two of you laughing and slightly dizzy— your eyes lock with his.

He's standing beside the fountain, flanked by Astoria, Russ, Alaric, and a few other Slytherins, decked in an all-black suit, right down to the tie. It makes the platinum of his hair stand out, pale and striking in the dim light. 

“There’s our Keeper!” Russ calls, raising his glass toward both of you. “And with the Snitch! Who would’ve thought.”

Your eye is drawn to the glint of a blade dancing across Alaric’s fingers. It’s a tic he has in class, too, twirling that knife like he’s always ready for a fight. As if a knife could do much damange in a wand duel. 

Draco's knuckles whiten around his drink as you approach, and you try not to watch as he leans down to whisper something in Astoria’s ear.

You don’t even have time to wonder what he’s saying before your gaze lands on her dress and your heart stops.

You only realize your feet have stopped too, when Cassian nearly bumps into you. But he steadies himself easily with a hand around your waist.

“Pretty dull party, yeah?” Russ continues, oblivious to the suffocating tension. 

“I don’t know,” Cassian shrugs, “I’m having a good time.”

You feel him look down at you, but you don’t reply, because you can’t pry your eyes away from Astoria’s dress.

It’s the one from the shop in Hogsmeade.

The one that you fell in love with during the snow-day-date-non-date with Malfoy.

It’s just as beautiful as it was in the shop window. More so, even, with the way the enchanted night sky catches on the sparkling fabric. The deep velvet color looks almost black until she shifts—turning a gorgeous purple for a second before settling back into a shade that matches Malfoy’s suit.

Cassian drifts from your side, grabs a drink, and raises it toward Malfoy with a wicked smirk.

“Hello again,” Astoria greets you gently as the boys fall into conversation of their own. 

It almost aches how beautiful she is, with her long brown hair cascading over her shoulders and down her back. Looking at her feels like being punched in the gut.

“It seems you have something of mine,” she says. 

“Funny,” you mutter, voice cold as ice. “I was about to say the same about you.”

Astoria extends a soft hand and brushes a speck of dust from your sleeve. “You’re wearing my dress.”

Again, you could say the same to her, but—

You level her gaze. “I wasn’t talking about the dress.”

Draco’s head snaps towards you, but you don’t give him the satisfaction of meeting his gaze.

He doesn’t deserve it.

“I’ve heard congratulations are in order,” you say, squaring your shoulders. 

Astoria chuckles softly. It’s a light, tinkling sound, like the bell flowers on a Nightbell Stalk. Her gaze drifts over you for a second before she answers.

“You could say that.”

Beside her, Draco’s jaw goes tight. He pretends to be engrossed in whatever riveting story Russ is telling the group, but you know better.

So, that pretty much confirms it, then. 

“I thought this was Daphne’s dress,” you mutter stupidly.

Astoria shakes her head. “You can borrow it, I don’t mind.”

Then she looks at Draco and takes a step back, slipping her arm through his. “Besides,” she says, smiling. “I’ve always thought it suited me best, anyways.”

And suddenly, you’re not talking about a stupid fucking dress.

Malfoy has some nerve. 

Who does he think he is? To show up with her like this? To purposely flaunt something he knew you wanted right in front of you like that?

After everything…

You only feel the embarrassment for a split second before anger replaces it, spearing hot through your chest.

Merlin, he makes you angry.

In fact, the whole situation makes you angry enough to do something positively reckless.

“Can I see that?” you ask Alaric, two seconds before snatching the knife from his hand.

His bored expression falters and he steps forward, freezing when you press the blade into the slit of the dress at your thigh.

A ripping sound slices through the string quartet’s music, and even Russ goes quiet as every Slytherin eye lands on you. You drag the knife through the silk with ease. It only takes a second for the lower half of the dress to fall to the floor in one smooth sheet.

Cassian makes a choking sound beside Draco, watching with rapt attention as you cut Astoria’s long, formal gown into a mini dress that only just covers the curve of your ass.

It’s a hell of a dress code violation. But lately, you can’t find it in yourself to care about such things.

“There,” you say, lifting your chin. “Now it suits me.”

Astoria doesn’t react outwardly. Her eyes just survey you in a slow, almost bored appraisal.

“Interesting,” she muses, but you’re not listening anymore.

You brush past her, heading straight towards Cassian, who’s staring wide-eyed at you from between Alaric and Draco.

You feel his exhale brush your cheek as you step in close, pressing your breasts against his chest. You lock eyes with Malfoy from beneath heavy lashes as you murmur in Cassian’s ear, “Time to go.”

Cassian doesn’t hesitate.

A few hoots, whistles, and atta boy’s are cast Flint’s way as he pulls you eagerly toward the double doors, barely dodging a professor who would certainly write you up for indecent exposure. 

You feel the weight of Malfoy’s gaze on you, like a physical, tangible touch as you leave. 

Making sure to sway your hips, you risk a glance back over your shoulder just as you slip out the door, expecting to catch him.

But his eyes aren’t on your ass.

They’re on yours.

───── ✧ ─────

All it takes is a little Floo powder in the library fireplace, and suddenly, you’re standing inside a warm inn in Hogsmeade.

Candles burn in shallow pools of wax across the counter, their glow catching on a pair of windows to your right. Night has long since fallen, and the moon is not out tonight, so the street beyond lies empty and dark.

A house-elf sits at the worn desk and looks up when you and Cassian step forward.

The Keep is all honeyed wood and warm rugs. But beneath the whimsical appearance, the air hums with a darker sort of magic. Blackened sconces sit on either side of a red door across the room, their flames flickering and spitting.

“Wands, please,” the elf says.

Frowning, you turn to your date. “You can’t bring your wand in?”

Cassian just smiles and hands his over, so you follow suit. It clicks hollowly against the wood grain.

“You’ve never been here, have you?”

You look around hesitantly. “But, it’s just an inn…right?”

A slow smirk spreads across Cassian’s face. He doesn’t say anything else.

The elf hands you a brass key. It’s heavy and cold in your hand.

“Door Thirteen.”

Cassian nods his thanks, then crosses over to the red door and holds it open for you.

Inside is not a room, like you expected, but rather a staircase leading down. Torches line the stone walls, and the air smells earthy but, surprisingly, dry.

You take one step inside and turn to look back at Cassian, but he just gives you a reassuring nod and pulls the door closed behind you both.

“Where is the room?” You ask. “Door Thirteen?”

“You’ll see,” he says. “The rooms here don’t work like normal ones. They aren’t made until your key enters the lock. The magic builds it.”

“Like the room of requirement?”

He winks at you. “Exactly like that.”

As you descend the staircase, a thudding starts to reverberate through the air.

At first, you think it’s just your own heartbeat in your ears. But as you travel farther down, you realize...it’s music.

It's the kind that thrums seductively, winding itself into your hips. It makes your steps heavier, more deliberate, lifting your chin and setting a new confidence into your spine, and by the time you reach the bottom of the staircase, something in you has shifted.

Despite Draco Malfoy’s tricks and lies, you still made it here. You have a trustworthy date willing to show you a good time tonight, and it’s your birthday, for Merlin’s sake.

At the end of the stairs, the room that opens up before you isn’t even a room at all, but rather, a vast, hollow cave. Overhead, stalactites hang from the ceiling in a jagged, glittering pattern, like a glowing chandelier.

The rough stone walls seem to glow and shift, as if there are living gemstones inside, and suspended at the center of it all is a circular structure made of dark stone and metal.

It looks like a giant, floating gazebo, hovering over a chasm of darkness. Its sides are completely open, offering nothing to break the dizzying view into the void below. Through the archways, you can see the shadows of people dancing inside.

Cassian takes one look at your face and leans in, voice raised over the bass.

“They used to mine Runes here, back before it was easier to harvest than to enchant them.”

You nod, eyes wide, utterly entranced by the drop yawning around the dance floor.

From where you’re standing, you can just barely see the thin threads of safety enchantments that trace the permiter. Even so, the platform stretches over the drop with no real barrier beyond that flicker of magic.

Like the High Watch.

Narrow ledges branch off from the main path, lined with doorways that each one glow softly from within. Door Thirteen is across the way, and when you catch sight of it, you smile ruefully.

Cassian guides you across the bridge, and you pause halfway to peer over the stone edge.

Far below, a slow river of lava cuts through the rock. The air moves upward, smelling earthy, with a hint of smoke. The warm breeze lifts loose strands from your updo, and pulls your mini dress tight against your curves.

You walk into the dance floor with your head held high, hips swaying, like the devil himself is perched on your shoulder.

“Go easy on the drink,” Cassian says loudly into your ear. “Fairy wine here. It’s strong.”

He gestures to the inner perimeter, where a bar curves with the shape of the dance floor. Glasses glow in the Rune's light coming from the stone walls, and the bottles gleam with a sinful sort of invitation.

“Got it," you respond.

And because it feels important, you place a hand on his arm.

“Thank you.”

He nods, and you catch the way his throat bobs on a swallow as his eyes snag on your bare thighs.

This time, you’re the one who catches his hand and pulls him onto the dance floor.

Revenge is about to taste so fucking sweet.

───── ✧ ─────

“You can touch me, you know,” Cassian murmurs in your ear, his voice laced with amusement.

His chest is warm against your back as you move together on the dance floor, your bodies finding the same rhythm. The gazebo is crowded with sweaty limbs that brush you every now and then, but even with no fairy wine in your system, you still feel as if you’re buzzing. 

“I won’t bite.” His hands drift down your sides, long fingers gliding across the silk on your stomach as his lips find your ear. “Unless you ask me to.”

You arch into his touch and let your hands wander his arms as he holds you against him. He's lost his suit jacket at some point, and he's rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and you're enjoying the strong, corded feel of his forearms. 

Cassian carries his confidence in his chest. In the easy set of his shoulders, the crooked tilt of his smile. It helps him seem steady, gives him the ability to smile while being sure of himself.

Draco doesn’t have that luxury.

His confidence lives in his eyes.

Flint is taller than Malfoy. Maybe slightly stronger, too. And he feels good. His body is hard in all the right places, and you especially like the soft sigh that escapes him when your fingers reach up and brush his jaw. 

You almost lose yourself to the sway, the beat, the low sound Cassian makes in his throat as your hips roll against him. But just as your lashes threaten to flutter shut, you make the mistake of glancing toward the bar.

A profile you know too well catches the light as Draco turns to look at you over his shoulder. His suit jacket is gone now, too, and his forearms rest on the bartop, a drink clutched in his hand like a lifeline. 

For a second, it looks like he’s on fire.

Then the Runes shift, and he’s plunged back into shadow.

Into darkness.

Where he belongs.

All at once, your heart starts to race. Heat rushes to your cheeks suddenly, as if you haven’t just spent the last half hour dancing with Flint.

How long has he been here? Why is he here? And he’s alone.

Why would he come alone—?

“Gods, this dress,” Cassian curses softly against your jaw. “It’s gonna look so fuckin’ pretty on the floor.”

Warmth pools low in your belly at his words, at the rasp in his voice.

But mostly from the fact that Draco’s looking at you again.

Your hand reaches blindly and tangles in Flint’s tie, pulling him down over your shoulder. And all you can think about is that you hope Malfoy is looking as you turn your head and press your mouth to Flint’s.

His lips are slightly chapped against yours. It’s not unpleasant, it’s just…

Wrong.

You ignore that voice and press back against him harder, chasing his mouth with something akin to eagerness, but is really more like desperation. Cassian responds well, slipping his tongue past your lips.

He tastes good, like wine and salt.

But, a thread of anxiety starts to unravel inside you.

What if no one ever tastes as good as Malfoy? What if you’re doomed to never feel that rush, that sharp little flip in your stomach when—

Stop thinking about him.

You squeeze your eyes closed tighter and let the music move you as your lips dance with Flint’s.

But you can’t shake the feeling of how stale it is.

There’s no magic to it.

Desperate, you reach up and thread your fingers through his hair, trying to feel something.

Anything.

But it just feels like…hair. Course and fine, not silky like Malfoy’s. It doesn’t send a possessive thrill down your spine, and it doesn’t earn you a deep groan in response either.

You break the kiss.

Cassian doesn’t seem to mind, though. His mouth trails down your neck instead, his hand still splayed across your stomach, holding you against him.

You hum approvingly, but this time, you hold Malfoy’s gaze, tipping your head back for Cassian as you move to the music.

Merlin, you want him to just…break.

To give you something—anything—to show that he still cares.

He’d only be here if he cared.

You let your lips part, lashes falling heavily as Flint’s tongue explores the dips along your collarbone and shoulder.

Go ahead, Malfoy.

Break.

However, instead of throwing his glass and storming through the crowd to rip Flint’s hands off you, he simply turns away.

But not before you catch the glint of something in his eyes.

And it’s…not what you expected.

Gone is that cold, calculated jealousy that burned hot at the Slytherin party.

Now, he doesn’t look angry at all.

He looks sad.

The realization sinks its fangs in you. The venom leaks into your bloodstream, forcing you to watch as he takes another gulp of liquor like it’ll heal him, and rakes a hand through his hair.

The coils continue to wrap around you, squeezing your chest until you feel like you can’t breathe in Flint’s arms.

Suddenly, Cassian pulls away.

“Fuck, I—” he half-laughs, looking towards the bar. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this. I thought—” He huffs and takes a step back. “It doesn’t matter."

"What?" You gasp.

Cassian gestures across the dance floor. "You’re in love with him.”

You hate that you both already know who he’s talking about.

A scoff forces its way up your throat. “Merlin, Cassian, he’s engaged! Probably married, by now—”

“No.” Cassian catches your gaze. “He’s not.”

The world slows to a crawl around you. The music fades, leaving just your heartbeat whooshing in your ears.

“What are you saying?” You breathe.

His lips set in a firm line and he glances over at the bar once before eventually deciding to answer you.

“Do you know what a blood bond is?”

Frowning, you shake your head. The crowd parts around you, oblivious and lost to the beat.

He glances around before continuing. “There’s an old arrangement between certain pure-blood families. The Malfoys tied themselves to the Greengrasses as lifelong allies, and vice versa. It’s more than an arranged marriage. It’s a truce. And to avoid mutual destruction, the firstborns of each line are bound together in matrimony.”

He swallows hard. “There’s only one way to break it.”

You’re beginning to get a bad feeling about this. Something twists deep in your gut. 

“How?”

He hesitates.

“How, Flint?” You snap, stomach knotting. 

You know Malfoy. He did something.

What did he do?

“To break a blood bond,” Cassian says, “you have to surrender the blood that made it.”

Your palms start to sweat. 

“You give up your name. Your claim to your line, and… your birthright.”

For a second, you almost wonder if you’ve been cursed.

You can’t move.

Can’t breathe.

The room circles around you, but your eyes stay locked on Flint.

Then he leans in, voice low, his face drawn with an emotion you can’t quite name.

“For the first time in history, the Malfoy line is without an heir.”

a/n: yeahhhh. Also, Flint, my boy. I had to give him a redemption arc. He's too hot not to get one. God, now I just want to give him a happy ending too ughhhh

go to landing page ✧ masterlist ✧ read on ao3

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[graywrenhart]

FATAL ATTRACTION

| Draco Malfoy x f!Reader

summary: On the verge of failing Potions thanks to your idiotic lab partner and Quidditch rival Draco Malfoy, the two of you are forced to sneak into the greenhouse at night for a final ingredient, only to stumble into some strange plants along the way.

tags: 18+ MDNI, [sex pollen] [enemies to lovers] [quidditch rivals] [eighth-year at hogwarts] [mutual masturbation] [dubcon but only because it's sex pollen lol ] [oral sex] [malfoy whimpers] [hate sex] [switchy] [penetrative sex] [multiple orgasms]

author's note: It felt weird not writing Draco & Snitch from Lessons in Losing, but i hope you like Nineteen :) Title is inspired by the song Fatal Attraction by Reed Wonder. 9k words

“This is a terrible idea,” you hiss, rounding the corner toward the side exit of the castle.

Draco scoffs. “Like you have a better one.”

While he draws his wand from his robes, you cast another wary glance over your shoulder. The hallway is empty behind you, lit with dim floating candles. The castle sleeps, blissfully unaware of the plans you and your Quidditch rival have in store tonight.

Sadly, you don't. Have a better plan, that is. So that's why you're out after curfew, dodging prefects and paintings like it's your full-time job.

"There's just got to be another way," you sigh, checking behind you again.

"There's not. Unless you count failing an option. You want to fail tomorrow, Nineteen?”

Draco Malfoy has never called you by your real name—only your Quidditch number. Because that’s all you are to him. Not a person. Just an obstacle on the pitch. But you know the truth: you’re the only Seeker in the entire school who gives him a run for his money.

“No—but I think it’s important for you to remember how it’s your fault we’re in this predicament in the first place!”

“I beg to differ,” Draco says, opening the door with a flick of his wand and stepping out into the night. “I’m quite good at potions.”

You rush to slip after him before the door swings shut behind you with a heavy thud.

Prick.

You’re not sure why Draco really even gives a shit about this assignment. All he cares about is winning Quidditch matches and getting the hell out of this school.

And why should he care?

It’s not like anything bad will happen to him if he gets one bad grade. You, on the other hand, have a bit more to lose. As a trainee healer, you need to score well on the NEWTs this year to secure your spot in the coveted apprentice slots. Needless to say, failing your Potions final just simply isn’t an option.

The air outside is muggy and warm—an unusually humid night for early April. The sky is clear, though, boasting a bright full moon. A perfect night for harvesting a nocturnal plant. An owl hoots somewhere in the Forbidden Forest beyond, and the tall grass tickles your ankles as you make your way to the cluster of greenhouses on the grounds.

You yank on Draco's sleeve as he walks straight past the entrance to Greenhouse Three.

He shrugs off your hand and gestures impatiently to the latticed door. “Hurry up and open it.”

“One of us should stay on the lookout,” you huff. Your fingers brush your wand in your pocket. “I’ll go and grab the sample, and you signal me if there’s any—”

“Wait.” He stops you. “Why do you get to go inside?”

You stare at him, jaw slack. “Because I’m the healer?”

“Not yet, you’re not.”

Sometimes, you take comfort in your fantasies about Draco Malfoy.

You’re up to ten different ways you might be able to knock him off his broom. Make him suffer in a way he never saw coming. And thanks to that comment, you’re now trying to come up with the eleventh.

“Why don’t you be the lookout, and I retrieve the sample?” He asks pointedly.

You sigh, irritated. “Because, Malfoy, I don’t trust you to get an accurate sample, okay? You couldn’t even keep our original sprig alive long enough for us to use it tomorrow!”

“You know, that’s a good point.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Perhaps I don’t trust you, either. You know, we never did specify which of us was supposed to give the plant the appropriate amount of moonlight…”

You squint up at him. “Oh? We didn’t? That’s right. Maybe that’s because when we got assigned this potion, I stole the Snitch from under your nose at finals, and you didn’t speak to me for a week!”

Normally, you wouldn't complain about that. Being Quidditch rivals was one thing. Mouthing off to each other on the Pitch? That was a given. Outside of that, you didn't talk. It was a hard line.

That week just happened to be the one week you actually needed him to speak to you.

Because while he was busy trying to salvage his pride and keep his ego somewhat intact, you were actually doing all the heavy lifting for the assignment in Potions. The one Snape assigned to the both of you.

He huffs, irritated. He’s obviously annoyed you keep bringing that loss of his up, but you won’t stop anytime soon.

“We both go in, or I’m out," he says, his jaw set in determination.

You weigh your options. You could probably get the sample on your own, but you’re not willing to risk getting caught by yourself. If you get caught with him, you can do the obvious.

Blame him.

Turns out, it’s not much of a decision after all.

“Fine,” you mutter through grit teeth. “Let’s just get this over with.”

You unlock the door with a few precise spins of your wand and whisper the password low enough that Malfoy can’t hear it. The door unlatches with a hiss, and a warm, earthy smell hits you in the face. It’s familiar to you, and soothing in a way.

Malfoy shifts on his feet, eager to enter, but right before he pushes the door open, you bar his chest with your arm, wand at the ready.

You level his gaze. “Whatever you do—don’t touch anything.”

He scoffs, slipping past you and through the door with a flick of his robes. “Scared of a few plants, Nineteen?” He looks over his shoulder. “Bit concerning for a future healer and all. You might not make the cut.”

He shrugs with false sympathy before disappearing into the darkness beyond.

Nevermind. Gone are the thoughts of making his death a swift and easy one. Now, you’re envisioning something longer, slower, your hands around his neck—

You wonder if he begs half as prettily as he flies.

You’ve never really understood it.

The strange utopia that is Greenhouse Three. It’s always felt more like a portal to another dimension, rather than a plant nursery. But seeing it under the night sky is an otherworldly experience.

The tall domed ceiling stretches high above you, and dimmer disks fly from their assigned pots to line the narrow walkway upon your arrival.

There’s a silence about the place, but beneath it all, something living without breathing. As you walk among the taller plants lining the path, it feels like walking through a graveyard. But instead of the bones turning to dust under the earth—they’re watching.

The Nightbell Stalk lives all the way at the back of the greenhouse, in a secret locker called the Lumen Garden. You’ve never seen this garden, given the fact that it magically appears only when the moon is at its peak, and disappears again before the sun rises. Even despite the blatant breaking of curfew, you’ve been warned never to enter, given the dangerous nature of the plants one might encounter.

But, as they say, dangerous times call for desperate measures. Or, desperate times call for dangerous measures. Something like that.

All you know is it’s as desperate as it is dangerous, or you would never be so reckless.

Soon enough, the Lumen Garden door looms over you. It’s tall and black, and it sparkles in the light of the skimmer dimmers, like it’s made of crushed black diamond.

You turn to Malfoy. “Do you have it?”

He pulls an aged piece of parchment from his pocket. You reach for it but he snatches it back just in time.

“I didn’t risk my life in the Restricted Section, so you could show off your poor Mermish,” he says.

“‘Risking your life,’” you roll your eyes, unimpressed. “As if you don’t practically live there. Get on with it, then.”

He clears his throat. You try not to watch the way his fingers carefully unfold the paper, holding it like it’s something valuable. He’s always been like that when it comes to ancient scripts.

“Vaelith mora selune,” he whispers.

By moonlight reveal.

Your pulse leaps as the scrape of stone on stone reverberates throughout the silent room, bouncing off the glass panes above you.

As the stone door rolls back, it reveals a room so beautiful it nearly takes your breath away.

Opal stones guide you forward, leading to a circular pool in the center. The water lies perfectly still, glassy and undisturbed, yet the plants rooted beneath its surface sway gently in some unseen current.

Overhead, moonlight spills through the curved glass dome, and the panes are cloudy on purpose, filtering and diffusing the moonlight into something stronger and more even. 

You tiptoe onto the landing, barely noting the black mossy walls surrounding you before the stone rolls shut behind you. Malfoy’s polished shoes click decisively down the opal stones, not the least bit fased.

You swallow and follow after him. Mist rises up from the pond, and when you lean closer, curiosity pulling you in, you catch sight of movement. Thin, glowing threads streak by under the glassy surface. Jilly bugs. They help the plants thrive in the lowlight conditions.

“Keep up, will you?” Draco hisses, drawing your attention to him.

He’s standing over a garden bed beyond the pond, half swallowed by the shadowed wall behind him.

These nocturnal plants only bloom at night, and they die without it. Because of this, these plants have different colors than normal ones. Most of them are varying shades of black, purple, or blue, evolved to camouflage with the night or their natural habitats.

As you step closer, the vines come into view. There are tons of them, growing along a nearly imperceptible trellis that spans the full length of the back wall, their long stems twirling and looping, spilling out across the floor and crawling up the dome above.

You’re just reaching his side when something moves out of the corner of your eye. Your head whips towards the wall, eyes narrowing through the gray haze.

But there’s nothing. Just vines, their leaves sitting so still they could almost pass as wax.

“Where’s the bloody vial…?” Draco mutters to himself, patting down the pockets of his robes.

His features catch the light as he looks down. Your eyes drift over the edge of his nose, the slope of his brow, that strong jaw. You look away when his chin tips up.

Reaching into your pocket, you retrieve the small glass bottle, holding it out for him to see.

Draco frowns. “Thief.”

You shrug, glancing down at the Nightbell Stalk in front of you.

It’s a deep violet, with small, downward-facing flowers. Inside each one, the stems glow a faint gold. You can smell the nectar from where you stand--sweet, like honey, but heavier. Thicker.

When Malfoy reaches for the vial, you snap it back in the last second.

“I’m doing it,” you say.

“Like hell you are.” He scoffs. “Just because you’re a healer doesn’t give you the right to fuck this up. It’s my project too, you know.”

Anger sparks in your gut and you turn on him. “You haven’t given a shit about this potion the entire semester, and I’m supposed to believe you actually care now? Besides, you don’t have the experience required—”

“Oh, I have the experience. Stand aside.” He reaches for the sample vial. “I can handle something as simple as—”

You snatch it back again. “Oh, so you know that the bells ring when disturbed, so you only touch the stem. Did you know that Malfoy?”

“I—yes! I know more than—”

“So, obviously, you’d be cautious around the petals, since they’re so sticky they can leave a residue on your hands for a week.” Your lips set in a taunting line and narrow your eyes at him. “But you knew that, huh?”

Draco glares down at you. “I’m well aware of the difficulties with this plant. And by the way, I suggested this plan. So, I’ll do it.”

Your argument continues, words overlapping, while your voices ring eerily loud in the silence of the greenhouse.

Push, pull, counter, strike.

You fight the same way you fly on the pitch, chasing the same goal. Competitive to a fault.

The exact fault being that while the two of you are too busy arguing over who gets to hold the stem—and where the vial goes exactly—you don’t realize one vine unfurling from the wall behind you, growing curious in the moonlight.

“My hands are steadier,” Draco says from his place over your shoulder.

You bite your lip, ignoring the way his breath ghosts across your ear, focusing your energy on getting the ingredient.

You accidentally graze the edge of the downward-turned petal with the rim of the glass and the flowers on the Nightbell Stalk ring softly.

“Shit,” you mutter.

“You know it’s true,” he continues, voice low. “How many times have you lost the Snitch because of your poor grip, hmm? I haven’t. Not once.”

With one sharp movement of your fingers, you scoop up the drop of nectar from the stems inside. It slides down the glass, glowing a deep orange. Satisfaction curls warm under your ribs like your feline familiar back in your dorm room.

You grin. “Got it.”

Reveling in your win, you turn, ready to shove your success in his face, but the movement only presses your back further into his chest.

“Move, would you?” You bite, trying to slide around him, but the tight space doesn’t allow for much wiggle room.

He shifts to let you through, but the narrow corridor between the wall and the garden bed seems to get tighter with his body pressed against yours. Somewhere, your feet get tangled and he stumbles, sprawling back against the garden bed, which pushes you flat against the ivy wall, glaring up at him.

His head blocks the moonlight, his silhouette falling over you like a living shadow. His lips part like he might say something, and you find yourself leaning forward, waiting breathlessly, when something brushes your ankle.

You leap forward. Draco’s arm wraps around you out of instinct. The two of you stare at each other before he seems to remember who you are and drop his arm like you’ve burned him.

“Throwing yourself at me, are you?” He drawls, breaking the silent tension.

“No!” You look down at the ground, but there’s nothing there. Just mossy stone under your feet, the shadow of the vine wall at your heels. “Something just…grabbed me.”

Draco shakes his head and shoves past you. “It’s always drama with you, isn’t it?”

“I’m serious!” you snap. “It almost tripped me!”

“Ah, yes. Do me a favor and twist that pretty little ankle would you? Just secure me a win next match, thanks.”

His words make you pause, forgetting all about the mysterious touch. A smile steals across your face before you can stop it. “So, you admit I need to be taken out for you to have a shot at the Cup, then?”

He spins on the spot, a shadow etched between his brows as he scowls at you under the moonlight. “You’re twisting my words.”

“I am not! Merlin, Malfoy, do you ever just shut up—” Something brushes your shoulder. You freeze. “What was that?”

To your surprise, Draco actually shuts his mouth to listen. There’s nothing. No frogs, no crickets, no owl, no water dripping, no jilly bugs splashing in the pond.

It’s…silent.

Suddenly, something moves above you. Both your gazes jerk up at the same time. A leafy vine—so green it’s almost black—drops down from the wall and brushes Draco’s hair.

He flinches, and as the light catches on the small, glass-like beads growing between the leaves, your stomach drops.

You know exactly what that is.

The Veleroux Vine. Some call it Sirenlace. But it’s best known for another name.

Sex pollen.

You recognize it from your studies. The pollen pods contain a powerful aphrodisiac, said to heighten biological desire to mate in extreme ways. The more you resist, the worse the fever gets, making you wild with lust.

“Draco—don’t touch—” You throw a hand out to stop him.

But it’s too late.

Malfoy rears back and slaps the invading greenery away like he’s swatting a fly.

Shit.

“Dammit, Malfoy, what did I say about not touching anything?” You shriek, surging forward and shoving at his chest. “Get away from th—”

The first bead snaps open in a plume of dust. Fear rushes through your limbs and you try to jerk the both of you away, but you’re not quick enough.

One after another, the pollen pods pop in sequence, traveling down the vine, dusting your hair, your robes, and filling the air.

You jerk back, furiously rubbing at your skin, but it’s no use. It settles on you like a thin glitter, small enough to even to slip into your pores.

“Oh, shit. Fucking—fuck. Fuck!” you holler, but you shouldn’t have opened your mouth. Now the back of your throat feels like when you stuck your head in the sugar jar as a kid.

Draco sends you a withering look, brushing down his robes. “Calm down, will you? Bloody hell—just a little plant dust.”

“Just a plant—” You scoff, throwing your hands up in the air. “Merlin help me, you can’t just fucking listen for one second. I know what I’m talking about! Hurry! We have to get out of here before it—”

The vine slips around your shoulder at the very same moment Draco glances down to find another one winding around his ankle.

“—grabs us,” you finish weakly.

You try to scramble away, but the leaves thread around your arm in a silky vice.

Draco curses loudly at the thing, hopping on one foot, losing his robes in the process of trying to extricate himself.

“You have the wrong…pair,” you tell the inky leaves while you fumble for your wand. “We aren’t—we can’t…do what you want.”

“It wants something?” Draco casts a disbelieving look at the vine now wrapped around his dark slacks, settling around his knee. “Merlin—what?”

“It wants us to have sex,” you say, matter-of-factly.

He looks at you like you’ve grown two heads. Then his gaze darkens, snagging on the way your hard nipples strain against your shirt.

Already? This shit works fast. You finally free your wand and cross your arms over your chest.

“Sex?” he sneers.

“Yes. It’s an aphrodisiac plant, native to rare jungles. Its job is to encourage mating between compatible species.”

“Compatible.” He scoffs. “You and me? Farthest thing from it.”

“It doesn’t know that..." You gasp as your wand is whisked out of your hands by a particularly strong leaf.

“Talk to it again. Tell it!” Draco shouts. He looks down and shakes his leg violently. The vine doesn’t budge. “Shit—just get it off me!”

Whispers of leaves dragging against stone make you turn to face the corner of the room behind you. A cluster of vines has begun to twist together, the husky hush of plants twining and looping filling the air. Vines slide across the floor, retracting into the dark corner, while more gather from the ceiling, shifting the beams of moonlight through the dusty air.

You inhale sharply. “Oh no.”

Draco curses somewhere behind you. “What now?”

“It’s building its nest,” you reply, eyes on the plant.

“It’s…what?”

You turn to see Draco fighting tooth and nail. He’s got his wand out now. Streaks of light bounce across the room, flames erupt in the air but they bounce off the leaves like they’re nothing but a few stray sparks. Across the room, past the pool, some of the other plants wither and shrink away from the light.

Adrenaline surges through you as your mind scrambles for a solution. You’re already beginning to feel it, a tugging deep in your core.

That familiar tight ache that blooms in the dark, alone, in your bed. But unlike then, right now, you can’t give into it. You try not think about how the longer you resist, the worse it will get. From your brief research, sex pollen isn’t fatal, but it certainly isn’t pleasant.

Unless you give in.

Then, of course, it’s rumored to be the best sex of your entire life.

You don’t have the luxury of finding that out.

There is an antidote, of course, but it is completely and totally, one-hundred percent, without a doubt—out of the question.

Sex with Malfoy? Not happening.

There’s only one answer. You have to escape.

Your gaze swings to the stone door, framed in elegant iron bars that allow climbers to reach moonlight.

Maybe if you could get out of the vine’s reach, it wouldn’t be able to chase you.

It only takes a second to form a plan.

Tipping back, you let your weight fall backwards into the vine, hoping to catch it off guard and force it to loosen its hold. Instead, you trip over a stray pot and go tumbling to the ground.

But before you hit the stone, the Veleroux is there.

Your breath catches, heart pounding, suspended in the air. Then the vine pushes gently into your lower back, guiding you forward util your feet find solid ground again. You stare, openmouthed, as the leaves brush along your leg, almost as if checking for injury, before nudging you toward the corner of the room.

“Oh, Merlin. Yes, I see your nest,” you say weakly, watching as the vine curls in on itself to form a sort of ball—more of a fist, really—and uses it to push softly against the heels of your shoes, urging you forward. It uncurls when you take a step, leaves fluttering as if pleased. Then it spins in the air, gesturing as if to say, look, I made this for you. A cozy, safe place to mate. “Very nice. Lovely, really. But you see, we can’t—”

“Blimey! Get back!” Draco’s voice interrupts your one-sided conversation.

You look over your shoulder, wobbling a bit as the plant continues to nudge you towards the silky hammock in the corner. He’s covered in vines, now. His wand has fallen somewhere off to the side, out of both your reach. He’s still flailing, hair mussed, trying and—failing— to break free.

You look down. The vine’s not even holding onto you anymore. Is it because you’re not fighting as hard?

You take a step towards the door. Nothing happens. You take another, and the vine edges closer. On the third, it finds your ankle again. But it doesn’t squeeze you or cinch tight enough to sting. It just curls softly around your leg, firm enough to stop you from running, but gentle enough that you start to suspect it doesn’t want you damaged.

Malfoy, on the other hand, looks almost black and blue.

“Stop!” You call. “The harder you fight, the tighter it tries to hold you. Just—watch. Walk towards me.”

“You’re insane. You know that?” he spits. But his eyes catch on your vineless body anyway.

“Trust me, Malfoy.”

That’s a phrase you never imagined yourself saying to him.

“It doesn’t want to hurt us,” you whisper. “I don’t think.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not good enough for me.”

Despite his words, Draco takes one step towards you. The vine’s hold loosens. Another step and it slips from his chest entirely.

“See?” you say, encouraged. “It’s biological nature is to keep its prey alive and well. It can’t force us to mate. It just…heavily suggests it.”

“Of course it doesn’t force it,” Draco sneers. “A plant can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do.” But even as the words leave his lips, his eyes drop to the edge of your skirt. The hem suddenly feels six inches shorter, though you know it hasn’t shrunk.

Draco moves closer and the vines start to retreat, but he keeps a wary eye on them until they disappear into the Nest.

He glares at it, then at you. “What is that?”

“It’s a hammock,” you answer, eyes darting around for another escape route. “The vine thinks it will make us more comfortable. Since it’s not all over us anymore, I say we try to appease it. Just a little.”

“Appease it?” He gasps. “You want to—I can’t believe this. That—” he gestures towards the jumble of vines. “Could be a swan down comforter with silk sheets. I don’t care, I’m not going near it.”

You roll your eyes. “Merlin, you don’t listen. I’m not saying we go in the Nest. I’m saying we just…pretend. Then we can make a run for it.”

He doesn’t look convinced, so you turn to face him. “This plant spreads pollen to encourage mating, right? But how does it know when it’s worked? It’s not aware like we are.”

His eyes narrow. “Your point?”

“My point is…it’s pheromones, right? With our heightened hormones right now, we might be able to trick it into thinking we're on board, and it will let it's guard down.” Your stomach swoops with the words about to leave your tongue. “So maybe if you—if we—”

Draco’s eyes snap to yours. “If we what?”

His tongue swipes over his lower lip, leaving it glistening in the moonlight.

Stupid fucking pollen.

You swallow hard. “I think we should kiss.”

A beat of silence passes, the only sound your heartbeat kicking up, drumming in your ears.

“Fine,” he agrees.

That surprises you. You thought he’d gag at the very idea.

It must be the pollen, overriding his blatant hate for you and digging into his more urgent needs.

A shiver rolls down your spine at what those needs of his might be. You’re feeling it too, of course. The effect of being so close to him.

It’s only biological. To be drawn to a specimen of the opposite sex.

And why not Draco? He’s tall, healthy, miles of lean muscle. He smells good, and he’s not bad to look at. Especially when his eyes do that—flashing over at you thing, while his mouth quirks into a crooked smirk…

No other reason. Right?

You don’t have time to debate this, however, because Draco’s moving.

You’re vaguely aware of the vine brushing your ankle, keeping you steady as he crowds your space, and then—

Your lips meet his.

Your breath catches at the warmth you weren’t expecting. And that warmth…blooms. Your lashes fall shut as your whole body seems to sigh at the touch, like he’s the cure to the dull ache in your limbs, the antidote to the burning in your core. Just a gentle caress turns the sharp heat into a molten lava that invades your bloodstream.

He groans softly into your mouth, and the sound alone makes you gasp. Next thing you know, you’re pressed against his chest. Whether by his arms around you, or your own feet carrying you, or the stupid fucking vine playing matchmaker, all you know is he smells like green apples and teakwood. Cold luxury, but with a hint of…home.

At the first taste of his tongue, your stomach swoops dangerously. As he slants his mouth further, exploring, kissing you deeper, your heart feels like it’s beating as fast as a Snitch’s wings.

Your hands find his hair. It’s soft as silk between your fingers. A whimper escapes him and he breaks the kiss, head dropping back instinctively.

You watch through half-lidded eyes, taking in the way his wet lips gleam in the moonlight, blond lashes fluttering.

Merlin, he’s gorgeous.

His throat bobs on a swallow, and before you know it, your mouth is on his neck. He lets out a choked sound, something between a gasp and a groan, before jerking suddenly in your hold.

You stumble away, already missing the heat of his hands, lips buzzing like you’ve just downed a shot of fire-whiskey.

It’s him, you realize. He’s your drug. And when he lurches backward, breathing hard, you feel as if he’s just taken your last fix.

His eyes stay pinned on you as he retreats. The vine stops him with a gentle pressure at his back, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. He lets it guide him toward the nest, stopping just beside it, his back hitting the wall.

You scramble back until your heels knock into the stone wall opposite him. The Nest sits between you, off to the right, tucked in the dark corner of the room.

“Brilliant plan,” he grits out. “Bloody brilliant.”

And you’re back to square one.

“Ah!” Draco shouts, pointing at his wand lying on the ground between you. “You crossed the boundary.”

“I did not!” you snap at him, eyes flashing. “I was just adjusting. My foot kicked it accidentally—shit—would you just shut up? Your voice makes it worse.”

Over the last several minutes, you and Draco have tried everything under the sun to escape. The farthest you ever made it was all of ten feet. You did manage to retrieve Draco’s wand, though. Which then started the slew of fire spells, sharp object summoning charms, and so on. An earthquake hex was threatened, but that could’ve brought the whole school down, so you couldn’t risk that.

Although it was considered for one brief—and selfish—moment.

But none of it did a thing.

Turns out, this plant has some sort of magical resistance. It’s so bad that he couldn’t even make a force field or proper line divider between you, so he placed his wand there instead.

You’ve slowly slid down into a heap on the floor, attempting to make yourself smaller, as if that might ease the ache building deep in your core. It’s relentless, hot and gnawing, and you know it’s only going to get worse if you don’t come up with another plan soon.

Draco’s sitting now too, half draped in shadow. His arms crossed over his crisp white button-down, and he’s still glaring at you as if this is all your fault. The one knee strategically placed in front of his groan is the only sign you’ve gotten that the pollen is effecting him at all.

Bastard.

His tie is loose though, and his hair is tousled. Like it always is after a match. There’s no wind in here though, just the whisper of leaves and the steady drip of water.

No. Your hands are the only thing to blame for that.

Shit.

Now all you can think about is how soft his hair felt, how easily your fingers sank into it, and all the ways you could drag him closer by it, yanking his hot, wet mouth to your—

“What did I tell you about thinking those things?” Draco says. You peek up to see his head hit the wall, eyes sliding shut.

“I’m not thinking anything—”

“Stop lying, Nineteen.” His nostrils flare, and his eyes snap open. Somehow, his pupils have grown even larger. “You're so wet I can practically taste it from here.”

Merlin. Your thighs press together instinctively.

“I’m not thinking anything that has to do with you,” you snap. “Except how much I hate you. How much I despise your face, how much I want to steal that Snitch from you every damn day, and how if I had to be here, I would rather it be anyone else other than you!”

Your chest heaves as you catch your breath. But the way he looks at you makes your pulse spike all over again.

“Is that right?”

His cheeks are flushed, the same way they are when he’s hot on the Snitch’s trail. Your slick walls flutter at the sight. You’ve always thought he looked good like that. All sweaty and warm, hair stuck to his forehead, eyes bright with a fire that matches yours.

Not that you would ever tell him, of course.

“Who would you want instead?” he rasps. “Montague? Flint? I see the way you look at them on the pitch.” He looks away for a second and drags his knuckles across his lips before his gaze snaps back to yours.  “Lucky for you, you’re trapped here with someone who can show a little restraint.”

You bark out a laugh. “You think you’re the only one here with restraint? Take one step toward me, Malfoy, and I swear I’ll hex you.”

He grunts. “You don’t have a wand.”

Your head tips back with a quiet groan, your clit aching to be touched. You make another weak attempt to get away, but the vine catches you.

It doesn’t snap, claw, or hold you against your will. Rather it settles around your shoulders, brushing a waxy leaf along your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear before retreating again, as if to say, Stop fighting. Just look at him. Don’t you want to?

And somehow, that’s worse.

Because you do.

Badly.

You find yourself looking at his hands. Your gaze drifts over the curve of his palms, the long lines of his fingers, the tension there, the veins, the control he’s barely holding onto and—you’re salivating.

Snap out of it.

“It’s so hot in here, f-fuck,” you whine, pawing at the collar of your shirt.

Draco eyes lock on you fingers. “Take that off and I swear—don’t.”

But your tie feels like it’s choking you, and your pulse booms in your ears. Your fingers keep loosening it. Draco curses.

You whimper. “That’s not fair, you took yours off!”

“Stop talking. Merlin, just—” he cuts himself off with a rough breath, his large palm grinding down into his erection beneath his slacks. “Shut up.”

You try to stay quiet. You really do.

But every shift of your body sends heat spiraling lower, making it harder to think. Every brush of your thighs squeezes your swollen clit, and has you gasping into the wall behind you.

Draco’s breathing is uneven now, too, echoing faintly off the stone. He hasn’t been able to keep his hand off his dick, still hidden under his clothes.

Not that you’ve been watching.

“I think—‘ you swallow. “I think I have a plan.”

Draco moans. “Fine. Enlighten me.”

“Remember what I said about the pheromones?” You manage. “It’s clear kissing wa—shit—wasn’t enough. Maybe…” Your eyes drop to his erection.

“No.”

“Draco, we’re going to have to touch ourselves. It’s the only way.”

You expect him to be glaring at you, but when you look up, his eyes are on your legs—that bare skin between your shoe and your skirt.

“Fine.” His throat bobs on a swallow. “You first.”

You barely have time to debate the ramifications of your actions. Your body burns, thick pressure building low and sharp.

You slip your hand under your skirt, straight under your panties. You inhale shakily, trying to steady yourself, but when your fingers meet a slickness like nothing you’ve ever felt before, the breath leaves your lungs.

The sound of of your wetness fills the silence between you and Draco makes a low, strained sound.

You glance over at him and immediately wish you hadn’t.

He’s taken his cock out, and he’s stroking it from base to tip. It’s long. Thick enough to fill up his palm, and veiny. The tip is darker than the rest, and you just know, if you were to take him in your mouth and suck—you’d feel his heartbeat against your tongue.

His jaw is tight, eyes half-lidded, like he tried to close them but his body won’t let him. When he sighs and bucks his hips into his own fist your mouth runs dry.

Whatever cavern of distance used to exist between you is crumbling now. It’s being burned away. There’s no space for it in this heat, this constant pull towards each other. Your skirt rides higher up on your thighs, and the cool air brushes your wet inner thighs.

After a minute, the relief starts to fade. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus. But your body won’t cooperate. Your hips jerk back from your own touch, your clit bordering on overstimulation. You frown, plunging two fingers inside yourself to rub the ache away. But they feel like cold pencils in your pulsing channel.

The heat drags through your veins like hot cotton, begging for a deep release. But every brush of your arms against the cold stone behind you makes your elbows start to itch, and your very skin start to feel like a husk.

You need water. No—not water.

You need him.

It’s almost as if your body is punishing you for doing it to yourself.

“It’s not w-working,” you whimper, helpless.

Draco groans, his frustration evident in the bulging vein in his neck. His cock looks so angry in the dim light. He bites his lip in determination, and you watch his fist grip tighter. He only gets to three more strokes before he’s hissing with discomfort.

“There’s got to be another way,” he rasps, his hand dropping away.

You huff, so needy you’re almost on the verge of tears. “I’m thinking!”

“Well, think harder.”

You glare at him, dimly aware of how on display you are right now. Legs open and spread towards him, skirt barely concealing the way your fingers move against yourself. “Maybe I could if you could just shut your mouth for one damn second!”

His voice is not helping. All low and deep, with a hint of a rasp curling around his accent, making your belly tighten.

In fact, none of this is helping. Silence fills the space between you, only broken by uneven breathing and the quiet rustle of the Nest.

When his eyes drop to your dripping cunt and you don’t even have the decency to close your legs, it’s like the pollen has overridden your higher thinking. Your knees widen instinctively, begging for him to look. To touch…

Your composure slips further. And when he licks his lips, your lips actually part in preparation to ask for him.

Merlin, if this keeps up much longer, you’re not above begging if that what it takes. And begging Draco Malfoy for anything is beyond the lowest you’d ever thought you’d go.

You work yourself harder, but your fingertips feel like sandpaper against your soft folds, even as your arousal continues to leak steadily from you, your pussy desperate to be filled.

But that feels impossible.

A tear slips from the corner of your eye, and you’re helpless to stop it. You squeeze your eyes shut and turn your face away from him, still chasing any kind of relief, begging for it to feel like something worth grabbing onto.

Somewhere, distantly, you think Draco might be saying something, but you’re not sure what. Your body’s honed in on the vibrations of his voice, the way he smells—

“Nineteen.”

Hearing your nickname snaps you back to reality.

You open your mouth to answer him, but no words come out. Little gasps punch out of your parted lips, hips twisting  and writhing, searching for friction. For heat. For him.

“Tell me,” he says firmly.

You turn your head. You can barely see him, your eyes refusing to open more than a sliver. He’s leaning forward now, one knee planted on the ground.

“W-what?” you rasp.

“Your plan—the pheromones—shit.” Then, quieter, he adds. “Tell me how to make it stop hurting you.”

Your eyes snap to his. He’s watching you with that sharp focus you’ve always admired about him. The look that says nothing is getting in the way of what he wants.

You’re not sure exactly what makes him give in.

Maybe it’s the way your breaths come in soft pants that make the rise and fall of your breasts visible beneath your loosened tie. Maybe it’s the way your eyes drop to his lips, his neck, your tongue running over your teeth like you’re imagining how he tastes. It might be the ways your hips slant forward, knees falling open, your body begging even if you don’t have the words to.

But he must see it.

Because, he just says, “Fuck.”

His shoulders catch the moonlight as he shrugs out of his shirt in one smooth motion. Lines of lean muscle come into view, and you feel as if you’ve been presented with a feast after almost starving to death.

Malfoy’s always had a very determined walk. A powerful stride, one that commands attention. You’ve seen in in the halls, backed by his loyal little following. You’ve watched him stride towards the Quidditch cup, shoulders back, chest high.

But right now—he’s not walking.

He’s crawling.

Towards you.

“Close your eyes. If it helps,” he says before his hand meets your ankle and he’s bowing in front of you.

Something deep in your mind catches on those words, but he’s yanking your panties the rest of the way down your legs, and the heat of his mouth against your core whisks your thoughts away.

The second his tongue finds your clit you can’t help but cry out. Your head tips back against the stone, the relief so immediate it’s almost staggering. Draco attacks you with warm, lascivious licks that aren’t meant to soothe, despite his words. They’re meant to claim.

Your hands dig into the mossy floor beneath you, arching your hips up for him. His strong, hot tongue parts your folds like it’s his life’s work. The view of his back muscles shifting and stretching in the moonlight as he makes out with your pussy is so seductive to you it’s nearly frightening.

In fact, it is.

Frightening.

“I hate you,” you grit out, not even entirely sure where it came from. Just a need to set things back in order, even as he’s unraveling you.

He groans against your clit, the vibration licking up your spine.

“Say it again.”

You gasp, caught between resisting and wanting more, even as your pelvis shoves forward and you grind into him like you’re in heat. His tongue dives lower and when his nose nudges your clit, you nearly scream. Your orgasm rises like something sharp. It’s so powerful of a burn, of an ache, you find yourself scrambling backwards in an attempt to get away from the promise of such delirious pleasure.

Merlin, you need it. More than you’ve ever needed anything in your entire fucking life—

It scares you how much.

But Draco just hums against the pulls on his hair and follows you anyway, scuffling forward on the stone ground, gripping your hips and spearing his tongue deep inside you.

“Malfoy, I’m gonna—oh, fuckkk—”

“That’s it,” he says, and the sound of him quietly speaking against your slick folds nearly does you in.  “Scream my name, Nineteen. N-need—fuck—wanna hear you say it like that.”

The soft rasp of his voice, and the two long fingers being pushed inside you send you straight over the edge.

The release pulls you under in waves. Dark, pulsing tidal waves that drive deep through your pelvis, erasing through your body until the pleasure nearly blinds you. You feel yourself going rigid in his hands, thighs trembling against his soft hair, but he just hauls you through it, like a lighthouse in a storm. Strong, steady, and never stopping until you’re jolting and gasping, crying out in relief.

But the second your orgasm fades, the heat rushes in again. The fever. It’s back, and with vengeance this time.

Sweat beads your forehead and your vision swims, but you look up just in time to see Malfoy scramble backwards like you burned him.

You frown. “Dra—what?”

He throws a hand out, pressing himself against the opposite wall.  “Don’t come closer.”

A whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it. The heat is different now. Instead of feeling like a thread about to snap, your body has narrowed down to one singular need.

Breed.

Your fingers fly to your shirt without you telling them to, unbuttoning your shirt with ease. You feel the way your breasts move with your harsh breaths, but your gaze is locked on him. And when you drop down to all fours and slink forward, Draco looks like he’s going to have a heart attack.

“Merlin—I can’t.” he chokes out. “I can’t even think about it.”

Your gut feels like it’s been punched. Is he so disgusted by the thought that he can’t even look at you?

Does he truly not want you? Was that some sort of…pity—

You can’t even finish that thought.

You slink backwards until you’re half in shadow. He must see the look on your face because his head falls back against the wall on a groan. You can smell his sweat in the air and it’s making you downright feral even though you can barely look at him from embarrasement.

“I can’t think about it, because if I do, then I’ll do it,” he says. “And if I do it…I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”

Control. That’s always been Malfoy’s vice, hasn’t it?

This situation is probably his worst nightmare.

Not for the first time, something plucks on your heart strings deep under your ribs. He’s scared of losing it? You can give it back to him.

Slowly, and with deliberate care, you cross the boundary. The wand clatters somewhere to the side. Draco watches as you crawl to him, his eyes raking over you, a mixture of pain and hunger in his eyes.

You can only imagine what you look like.

Hair mussed, left in just a lace bra and soaked panties, your skirt hanging loose on your hips.

“Then don’t,” you murmur.

Your voice is so quiet in the stillness, but it spears through him all the same. Your gazes click together like magnets.

He shakes his head, chest heaving. “You don’t mean that. It’s just the fucking plant dust—”

He stops short when your hands settle on his knees, gently forcing them apart to make room for yourself. Your breath catches when you drop your gaze to see his cock sitting heavy and hard against his lower stomach. It twitches under your watchful gaze and your mouth waters.

Carefully, you settle into his lap.

He exhales sharply, and his hands find your soft skin, undoing your bra before you can even blink. Testament to a lot of practice, you’re sure. 

You don’t have the strength to be self-conscious. You just need him. Now. Even so, somewhere through the lust-filled haze, you remember his words.

“The plant just lowers—” your breath hitches as his teeth find the soft skin of your neck. “—your inhibitions. It can’t make you fuck someone you don’t…w-want.”

“How do you know so much about this?” he groans into your hair. “Why are you so—”

“What? So smart?”

“You wish.”

The words barely brush your ear before you lean back to get a better look at him. You’ve barely straightened by the time his mouth is on your tits.

You cry out as he swirls his hot, greedy tongue around your nipples, sucking on the hard buds until you’re panting. Your clit swells and you bite your lip, threading your fingers through his hair. The first rock of your hips has you both groaning. 

You grind down on him again and you nearly black out at the feeling of his bare length sliding through your slick folds. You reach between you to tug his slacks down further. His balls are heavy in your hand, and he grunts, shoving himself up into you.

“Merlin—I can’t—” he chokes out, mouth leaving your tits as his palms fly up and dig into his eye sockets.

Without thinking, you lean forward and kiss his fingers one by one. His bare chest stutters against yours at the softness of it, and when you slip his thumb into your mouth and swirl your tongue around it eagerly, he drops his hands.

You look down to find him staring up at you with a familiar expression. You make that face. When you're seconds away from catching the Snitch.

You swear you can feel every vein in his dick, so hot and hard against you as you grind your slick cunt against him. It’s instinct to drop your head and search for his mouth with yours, but you pull back at the last second. That last thread of lucidity coming back to haunt you.

This is your rival.

For a second you just breathe each other in, mouths parted, groaning and writhing into the other, but when the blunt head of his cock catches on your entrance, your hips react on their own—circling, pelvis arching, body begging in a primal, secret language you don’t fully understand.

And he moves with you—meeting you there with the deep urges of his own.

His hips don’t snap into you, brutal and deep. Instead, they slide. Back and forth. His hands clamp onto your hips, holding you still in his lap as he eases the tip in and out, letting your slick coat him until you’re ready to take the whole thing. 

The way his body moves speaks to something primal and powerful in you. How his sweaty muscles bunch and tense, and his hands dig into your skin at your hips, your thighs, your waist— it’s better than anything you could’ve imagined.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” he growls into your ear.

You nod frantically, clenching around him.

In one long thrust, Draco fills you up. The stretch is breathtaking. Literally. He’s so long that his tip kisses your cervix with every thrust, sending you mewing and clawing at his hair, his shoulders, just to stay afloat through the pleasure.

He’s not fairing much better.

He’s growling and moaning, his cock jerking desperately in your slick walls as he pulls back just far enough to yank your hips back down to meet his.

Sounds spill out of you. They might be words, you’re not sure. But the next thing you know, cold stone meets your back, and Draco’s warm body is spread out over you. His thrusts grow heavier and deeper. You can feel the way your body tries to hold onto him, clenching and fluttering desperately, even as your arousal makes it easy for him to slide so deep.

You’ve never been this wet in your life. And now, you’re wondering, if it’s from the pollen, or if it’s just from him. Because you’ve never had sex this good, and that’s saying something.

Your bodies just…move together. Like they’re one of a kind puzzle pieces meant to fix. The give and take is so instinctual it’s almost unbearable how good it is.

“Fuck, you take me so well,” Draco pants, a lock of hair falling over his sweaty brow. “Knew you would.”

You throw your head back, your ankle finding solace in his lower back, sealing him to you and begging for more. Your body gives into the heat, the pleasure cresting and pulling you into something dangerously strong. So strong you’re worried your body might not survive it.

“So pretty on the pitch,” he groans, seemingly unable to stop from talking. “Merlin, I just—I lose the bloody Snitch every time you look at me.”

That does it.

Your orgasm rushes through your body like lightning. Your spine snaps straight, muscles clenching down with a pulse you feel everywhere. A moan leaves your chest, so loud you’ve probably woken the whole damn castle, but you’re too gone to care.

Draco makes a rough sound against the skin of your neck. “Holy—fuck, I’m gonna—where should I—”

“Inside,” you gasp. “Please. Please, Draco. I need it. P-please—”

“Ah, fuck—” His mouth seals against your throat, nose brushing the pulse point below your ear. “Need you.”

He jerks hard, once, twice, and then he’s spilling inside you. Your body seems to understand, back arching, pulling him deeper with your ankle as he stills and lets out a groan that curls low in your belly, and will certainly live on in every wet dream you have from here on out.

The fever fades like a receding tide. You blink, slowly coming back to yourself. Your clit is throbbing, and your pulse is still hammering, but strangely you feel...lighter somehow.

Like maybe the last few years of tension between you and your rival finally needed to snap.

You turn to him. He’s on his knees, breathing hard, buttoning up his pants. He looks up at you, and something in his eyes softens.

“What did you mean?” You find yourself asking. “When you told me to close my eyes earlier?”

He shrugs, reaching for his shirt.

“Well, you said you’d rather be here with anyone else. I just—” he looks away, suddenly seeming very interested in the way the Nest is unraveling like it did its job, and the stray vine that’s currently retrieving his wand for him.

You don’t let him finish.

You lurch forward and grab his face, pulling his lips to yours.

This time, he doesn’t hesitate a second before meeting your mouth. He kisses you back, long and hard, digging his fingers through your hair to pull you closer. You exhale into it, something long unsaid passing between you.  But it’s not enough. You still need to say the words.

So, you break the kiss first. He blinks down at you, eyes dark, hair mussed.

“I only think about you, Malfoy,” you whisper in the shared air between you. “On or off the pitch, it’s only you.”

He leans down and brushes his lips across yours. “I still hate you, Nineteen.”

You reward him by deepening the kiss. He answers it, slower this time, but no less intense. When he finally pulls back, you’re already smiling.

“Say it again.”

dividers by @/bbyg4rlhelps | draco masterlist

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[graywrenhart]

ANY PORT IN A STORM

| steve harrington x f!reader, childhood best friends » enemies » lovers

CHAPTER TWO - After You On a luxury cruise, you find yourself tangled up in a scheme to marry Steve Harrington. Only problem is: you hate him. or: It's way too easy to fall right back into old games with Steve Harrington. Especially when you're stranded together. 3.6k words 𓇼 ˚｡⋆ read chapter one | go to landing page

𓆝 a/n: I did my fucking research for this chapter, let me tell you.

The salty air whips your hair across your face. 

Again. 

You rake it back for the hundredth time, but it’s no use. The second your fingers leave, the wind tosses it right back over your eyes. 

With an annoyed huff, you glance over at Steve. 

He’s seated in the captain’s chair at the back of the sailboat, looking out over the impossibly blue water. His hair is shoved under a backwards hat, little sprigs escaping through the opening. He’s all cool and collected, one wrist draped lazily over the rudder, a pair of black sunglasses settled on his face.

When the small charter arrived at port to take you out on the excursion, Steve paid the fucking captain off so he could sail the thing instead.

Steve’s no stranger to boats, and you both grew up on the water every summer. It’s a beautiful, clear day, and if the boat were to run into any issues, you’re both strong swimmers. 

However, right now, it’s pissing you off. 

You were betting on having another person between you and Steve for the day. And now, it’s just you and him on the open ocean.

Alone. 

 Upbeat, tropical music plays over a portable speaker the captain left behind, and Steve’s foot taps along to the beat. You don’t realize how hard you’re glaring at him until his sunglasses turn towards you and he cocks his head. 

“You know,” he says, voice carrying over the waves, “pretty sure you’re the only person alive who could be annoyed with this view.”

You roll your eyes. “What? Girls at Indiana University never get tired of your face?”

He smirks. “I was talking about the ocean.”

You turn back around before he can see the blush climbing your cheeks. When the wind flicks your hair over your eyes again and this time, you don’t even bother to move it.

“And as far as the girls…” he says from behind you, “Well, it’s not like you’d care anyway.”

Actually, you kind of do. 

You can’t deny your curiosity at the thought of Steve’s dating life. He rarely posts to social media, and you haven’t spoken to him— other than a happy birthday text each year that you always scour, like maybe it includes some hidden message you missed the first three times you read it.

“Poor Stevie. What? Not getting laid lately?”

His mouth pops open and he turns to you, incredulous. Steve is a little shy when it comes to talking about sex. 

He is not shy, however, when it comes to doing it. 

“For your information, I’m doing just fine.”

You hum noncommittally. “Glad to hear it.”

“Seriously. I am.”

You toss your hands in the air. “Good!” 

You can’t see his eyes narrow at you behind his sunglasses, but you feel it. A small perk of knowing the guy since childhood. 

“Anyone special?” you ask. The words catch in your throat funny but he doesn’t seem to notice. 

You watch as the private lagoon the captain pointed out on the map draws closer, heart lodged in your throat.

“Nah."

You don’t look back at him, but your stomach flips anyway. The snap of the sails and the crash of the waves against the stern fill the silence between you. 

After a minute, he stands and walks to the other side of the boat. You watch from the corner of your eye as he grabs the sail line and wraps it around the winch, cranking it tighter. You try not to let your gaze linger on his biceps as they flex with the motion, or the way his strong fingers wrap around the handle. 

But you fail miserably.

He looks between the sail and the horizon as the ship pulls forward underneath you, picking up speed in the wind. 

“What about you, huh?” He calls over the creak of the ropes. “You found anybody down in gator land?”

“Not really. Not after—” The words spill out before you can stop them. “I mean—” You stop yourself short, cheeks flaming. “No.”

You grimace internally. You should’ve just lied. Because now he’s going to make it a thing. The wind ripples through his white T-shirt as he turns towards you, still holding tension in the rope.

“After…what?”

After you. But you don’t say any of that.

What’s the point? He said it didn’t mean anything. 

He drops his hat on the deck and rakes a hand through his hair, turning back to the winch. “I don’t believe that. C’mon, princess. When was the last time you—I mean, you had to have—you’ve probably…”

“Had sex?” You finish for him. “Been fucked? Got a good dick—”

“Jesus,” Steve interrupts, clearly embarrassed. “Never mind!”

You laugh. “You started it!” 

At least his discomfort saves you from having to actually answer the question. 

Truth is, you’ve only had sex once since being with him. Freshman year—you were so angry at him. So hurt. You just wanted to stop thinking about him. 

So you went to a sticky, way-too-loud party with your roommate. There was a Brad at the bar. He chatted you up, said all the right things, took you upstairs. 

And you felt…nothing. 

It wasn’t horrible. It was fine. But it was nothing like it was with Steve. 

And honestly, between your school, research, volunteer work, and unfolding career, you haven’t had the urge to try again since. 

So yeah, you cannot answer that question. Because he’d mock you for the rest of your life if he knew the one night you shared together was the best sex you’d ever had. 

Maybe that’s why you’re noticing the veins in his forearms as he works the ropes. The flex of his thighs as he steps down from the rigging. 

Just three years of self-inflicted celibacy going straight to your head like an espresso martini on an empty stomach. 

As you approach shallower waters, Steve eases the sheet, letting the line slip through his palm. The boat slows beneath you, and the wind dies down, giving your hair a welcome reprieve.

“Steer us in, will you?” he says, eyes on the sail, but by the time he’s finished his sentence you’re at the stern, your hand already on the tiller.

The lagoon is gorgeous. Large rocks tower over you, surrounding a giant pool of crystal clear water. Forget that stuffy, cold, way-too-large room on the ship…now this…this is a real Haven. 

Coral begins to peek through the surface—colorful patches blooming under the turquoise waves. You peer over the edge, watching with wide eyes as fish scatter among them. 

“Wow,” you say quietly. “That’s a healthy reef.” 

When you glance up, Steve is already looking at you. The corner of his mouth lifts, but you turn away before he can say something about how much of an ocean nerd you are. 

The boat eventually slows to a crawl, rocking gently in the waves. Steve tosses the anchor overboard, and the two of you move about the boat in unspoken sync. You reach to unlatch a white chest onboard. The salty, fishy smell eases something in your chest as you pull out the snorkels, fins, and goggles all piled inside. 

It's familiar. Easy. Maybe today won't be so bad.

Behind you, Steve shifts and the boat creaks. Curious, you look back just in time to see him strip his shirt off, leaving him in a pair of red swim trunks. The sun gleams off his shoulders, kissing the smattering of hair down his chest and stomach.  

You turn around quickly before he catches you watching, and tug your cover-up off, revealing your pink bikini.

You don’t turn to see if he’s looking.

You know he is. 

You’ve just finished zipping up your wetsuit when something splashes in the water behind you. It could be a barracuda! Or maybe a ray...

You flop across the deck in your flippers and peer into the water. The surface is clear, but the gentle disturbance suggests something large underneath—

Suddenly, a hand shoots up and clamps around your wrist. 

You barely have time to curse before Steve yanks you into the water with him. 

The water is warm and shockingly clear. It bubbles up around you, kissing your skin as you adjust your mask and dive. For a moment, you almost forget how to breathe through the snorkel, like you haven’t done this a thousand times in your studies in Florida. 

The reef is alive. 

Sunlight filters in long beams, rippling across the shifting sand below. Blue tangs dart between some of the thickest elk horn coral you’ve ever seen. Sure enough, a shy barracuda lurks in the depths, half-hidden behind a pair of gorgeous sea fans that sway with the current. Your pulse leaps as a school of silversides flashes past, too quick for you to count them all. 

When you lift your head, Steve’s treading water nearby. His sunglasses are gone, replaced with googles now pushed up on his forehead as he slicks his hair back, eyes locking with yours. 

“See that parrotfish?” You say, pointing beneath him. 

Steve squints, dunks under, then pops back up a second later. “That’s the …green one, right?”

“Yes!” You grin, a little sheepish. You’re aware of how nerdy you sound right now, but you're so excited you don't really care. “This coral has practically no algae because of him. Some of the cleanest I’ve seen!”

“What is it with you and fish that all have jobs?”

You splash him playfully. “Shut up.”

He’s right, though. 

Every species has a role in ocean life. Including humans. It’s why you went into this field in the first place—to prove that everything, everyone, has a purpose in keeping the planet healthy and thriving. 

It’s been too long since you’ve done any field work. All those research papers kept you stuck inside most of your last school year. But here, surrounded by the color and sunshine, it’s easy to remember why you love it so damn much. 

You swim farther into the lagoon, marveling at the various types of critically endangered coral you’re finding alive and well. 

You’re busy inspecting a cluster of oysters tucked under a rock when Steve swims up beside you. The water lifts your hair as you turn toward him, and he presses something into your hand. 

He points toward the surface, then kicks upward before you can even look. 

When you break the surface, you pull the snorkel from your mouth and take a breath. Water drips from Steve’s hair and he drags a large hand over his face to wipe it away.

“Tag,” he says. Sunlight catches in his lashes as his eyes drop to your hand.

Slowly, you uncurl your fingers. Settled in your palm is a small conch. It’s smooth, spiral shell glints in the sun as you turn it over. 

It’s the color of your eyes. 

Without warning, a laugh bubbles out of you—deep and throaty and…real. 

“Missed that,” Steve murmurs. 

You swipe a hand over your face, whisking the water away, all too aware of the way you’re grinning at him. “What?”

He looks at you for a long moment, arms moving easily through the waves as he treads water. Then, he smiles. 

“Your laugh.”

STEVE

She’s just as beautiful as ever. 

Maybe even more so. If that’s even possible. 

She’s been so angry with me. Her eyebrows were knit together all through breakfast, and she’s been scowling at me ever since last night. We haven’t talked about our fight in the Haven. She didn't ask where I slept, but maybe she didn’t even notice me never coming to bed. 

I slept on the deck under the stars. After three Marlboros. 

But right now, she’s smiling, holding that shell like I just gave her a diamond, and the whole world seems brighter. 

My parents would just love that, wouldn’t they?

“God, that game. Feels like forever, since…” she murmurs, something far away in her voice. She’s still looking at the conch, and my head spins a little when her tongue sweeps her bottom lip, collecting the salt there. “We were kids the last time we played this.”

My chest tightens. “It wasn’t that long ago.”

She shoots me a look. “Try seventh grade.”

Back then, all those summers ago, we invented a game called Seashell Tag. Not sure who started it. But the premise is simple: you have to find a shell the color of the other’s eyes. If you don’t pay up by the end of the day, you owe them a Coke. 

“Seventh grade our not, same rules still apply, Princess. You’re it.”

She shakes her head, but a smile tugs at her lips. She seems…lighter. More like her old self. I’d bring her a million seashells if it kept her like this. 

I missed her.

All of a sudden, her words echo through my head, like a stabbing pain behind my eyes. You always just do what they tell you to, Steve. You were just following orders.

My stomach sinks, my eyes dropping to the waves.

That's what’s kept me from calling her late at night, when random girls’ lips on my neck just started to feel like cold skin and too much strawberry lip balm I have to scrub off later. 

How could she think that? How could she say that to me? Like I didn't have a choice in the matter. Like I wasn't right there with her, kissing her back, holding her, whispering all those things...

It doesn't matter anymore.

Because Princess had plans. Big ones. She was—is—building something important. Unlike me—barely scraping through high school with mediocre grades, not enough for a baseball scholarship, watching my parents scramble to secure me a spot in a decent college. Decent by their standards, anyway.

If I’d told her how badly I was in love with her back then, she wouldn’t have gone to college in Florida. And it had the best marine biology degree in the country.

She would’ve hitched her car to mine, and spent those years at Indiana instead. 

She’s always wanted this.

I couldn’t be the one to take it from her. 

Even if that meant pushing her away. 

Every time she surfaces, I go with her and listen to her ramble about the specifics of fish functions. I’m helpless to tear my gaze away from her lips as she talks, or from watching the way the saltwater clings to her hair, separating it into silky strips. How her eyes get all wide and excited when something colorful swims under her flippers. 

By the end of the hour, we climb back into the boat, dripping and exhausted. But she seems lighter somehow, breathing in the coastal air, beaming in the hot sun. She’s sitting closer to me, too. Water drips from her hair onto my arms as she peels off her wetsuit, leaving that bikini on full display. 

It’s like she’s doing it on purpose. 

She’s not though. 

Right?

I turn away, distracting myself with hauling up the anchor. 

The rope fibers dig into my hands, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in my chest of seeing her here like this—knowing what it feels to have her beneath me—and pretending like I don’t remember. Like the memory of her lips on mine doesn’t find its way into my dreams every night. 

Because nothing, and no one has ever compared to her. 

The wind is good, and we make it back to the dock just before noon. Princess steps off the boat gracefully, lifting a hand to shield her eyes as she checks the sun. 

She never carries a watch. Never has. Much to her parent’s dismay. They’ve bought her at least ten of them. 

“Uh, Steve?” she calls. “Where’s the ship?”

I hand off the ropes to a waiting deckhand before stepping up beside her. I glance toward the harbor, expecting to see our cruise ship waiting offshore. 

It isn’t. 

There’s nothing but open ocean and a handful of smaller boats rocking in the sun.

I squint against the brightness, sliding my sunglasses back down. “Where the hell—”

“It’s cruisin’ around the island, today,” the deckhand calls, barely looking up as he ties off the lines. “There’s no island pickup 'till four.”

Princess and I turn slowly towards each other. 

“Oh my god,” she exhales sharply. “I can’t believe them. They lied to us about pickup time? Seriously? Do our parents know no bounds?"

Great. Now I definitely won’t get to watch the Cubs game today. 

Behind us, the island stretches out as far as the eye can see. Lush palm trees sway, casting dancing shadows across a path that leads deeper into the small coastal town. Even from here, I can see shops lining the path; their pastel paint faded by the sun. 

I check my watch and sigh. 

“When is the game?” Princess asks. 

I look over at her, thrown. “What?”

“The Cubs. What time does it start?”

She remembered?

A red outline from her googles marks her face. I think about teasing her about it, but…it’s even cuter if she doesn’t know it’s there.

 “First pitch is in twenty minutes. But we’re not going to make it back in time—”

The words die in my mouth when she grabs my hand. Her touch is firm, and warm, and—holy shit—I’ve missed it. 

 “Come on,” she says, pulling me toward the path. 

“Where are we going?”

She looks back over her shoulder, hips swaying, eyes bright with mischief. “You’ll see.”

Fuck. 

It takes a little womanly charm—and a couple of crisp twenties—but Steve’s team is now front and center on the screen of a local dive bar. 

You found the spot halfway down a side street, tucked between a shop selling overpriced shells, and another with spray-painted T-shirts. Inside, ceiling fans spin lazily overhead, circulating the smells of lime, fried food, and salt. 

There’s about a dozen people scattered around warped wooden tables, hands wrapped around plastic cups half-full of tequila. But none of them pay you any mind as you push Steve’s six-foot-two frame down onto a cramped barstool in front of the TV and take the one beside him. 

Steve leans forward, elbows on the bar, completely locked in while the crack of the bat cuts through the hum of the locals’ chatter. 

“Whatever you got on tap,” you tell the bartender, eyes still fixed on Steve, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Two of ‘em.”

He’s always been like this about the sport. It’s strange seeing him like this again. But the strangest part is how easily you fall back into rhythm together, like nothing ever truly broke between you.

Take that up with your heart. 

Two sweaty beers land on the bartop. You reach for yours, eager to dull the thoughts racing through your head—and the realization settling deep in your stomach of just how much you missed Steve Harrington. 

Halfway through the second inning, you notice a small group has gathered at the bar behind you. A particularity spectacular catch has Steve jumping from his seat with a whoop, clapping the old man beside him on the back like they’ve known each other for years. 

“Fuckin’ Kelly!” Steve shouts, raising his beer to the screen. “Guy’s got a glove made of steel.”

By the bottom of the fourth, a small crowd has gathered. A bad call has the whole room booing. Someone behind you yells obscenities at the ref, and you’re pretty sure you see actual money trade hands in the corner after that play. Cubs are down by three runs, and Steve’s busy defending his team, batting off arguments and taking heat from the bartender for being a Cub’s fan in this 'day and age.' 

“Hey, they might be losers. But they’re lovable ones!” He fires back. 

You smile to yourself, shamelessly enjoying the humiliation ritual.

You’re kicked back in your stool, feet crossed over the edge of the bar—much to the bartender’s dismay—but he still plops down a tray of nachos anyway. 

When you and Steve reach for the nachos at the same time, your hands bump. Your gazes click together like magnets. Before you can think of something witty to say, Steve’s knowing grin steals the breath from your lungs. 

The noise of the bar seems to fade into the background. Your heart kicks against your ribs as something flickers in his expression, but it’s gone in an instant, replaced by that same smug confidence in his brown eyes. The look that’s never failed to get you into trouble your whole life.

“By all means, Princess.” He tilts his head, smirking.  “After you.”

a/n: okay, I love them. thanks for being patient for this chapter. these two are so much fun to write!! thanks for reading!!! please come tell me your thoughts in my asks or leave a comment okay love u.

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[graywrenhart]

Lessons in Losing | Draco Malfoy x f!Reader

Chapter Eighteen - Chasing Fire An academic rivals to lovers story or: {You want a chase? You got it.} 1k words ✧ go to landing page

DRACO 

“Where is she?” I roar, storming into the dorm.

Lightning cracks across the window, painting the room in a pale grey as I slam the door behind me. 

Theo looks up from his desk, a floating candle casting shadows across his face as he scribbles in a notebook. 

I’ve been all over the grounds. The Astronomy Tower is empty. The library felt like a tomb without her in it. All her usual haunts are deserted. Even the godforsaken dragons are alone out there under the night sky. 

I searched until I was soaked to the bone. Until my hair lay plastered to my neck and forehead, and the warming charms were barely holding the cold at bay.

I need to speak to her. 

There’s so much she doesn’t know. If she’d stop running from me then I could just explain—

“Welcome back,” Theo says breezily, ignoring my question as his gaze flicks over my drenched suit. “How was the ceremony?” 

I rip the soaked tie off my neck and drag a hand through my hair. He gets nothing but a grunt in response. I have no interest in reliving any part of today. Or, frankly, any moment since she walked out of the manor last week. 

“So,” he presses, “it’s done then?” 

I sigh heavily. “It’s done.”

Theo nods once, then returns to this scribbling. I’m grateful he doesn’t pry further.

I cross to the drink cart, free a glass, and retrieve my hidden bottle of Firewhiskey. The alcohol hits the crystal in a heavy pour that pulls Theo’s eyes up again. 

“You having all that, straight? It’s better with a lemon twist. There’s some in the—”

“I didn’t ask you to fucking bartend,” I interrupt sharply. “I asked you a question.”

He sighs. “She’s with Cassian.”

The glass stills halfway to my lips. 

Theo must see the look in my eyes because he, wisely, continues unprompted.

“She asked him to the dance tomorrow.”

For a second, it feels like I’m being branded all over again. 

“She did what?” I seethe. 

Fucking Flint. 

The glass bites my palm, and I flinch, loosening my hold on it.

Theo raises his hands in defense. “Look, I tried to stop it, but she ran into a past version of me. I didn’t know where you were at with her.”

“Past version—” I scoff, knocking back the drink in one swallow. It burns my throat, but does nothing to ease the tension in my chest. I told him to quit the time magic shit. 

Apparently, he didn’t listen. But, really, I shouldn’t be surprised. You can’t tell Theodore Nott anything—especially when it comes to girls.

“Anyway,” Theo continues, “after I told her I was sorry I never responded to her note, Cassian showed up and—”

“Wait.” I cut him off. “You told her—”

I swear under my breath and slam the glass down onto the cart. 

Theo scoffs. “Yes, she thought I’d already answered her. How many things are you hiding from this girl?” He shuts his notebook and stands, reaching for his satchel. “Why didn’t you just…talk to her? She seems like—”

“You don’t know her,” I say quietly, jaw pulsing. 

I’m the only one who understands her. The way she thinks. 

She’d never forgive me. 

I rub at my chest absently, trying to ease that aching emptiness behind my ribs. 

Theo moves about the room, collecting his things, and preparing for his shift at the bar.

I’m jealous that he’s seen her today. Spoken with her today. And the fact that I can’t find her anywhere means only one thing. 

She doesn’t want to see me. 

That burns worse than anything in this bottle.  

Part of me wants to whirl on Theo and demand answers to all my questions.

What exactly did she say? How did she sound? Was her hair up or down? Because that depends on her mood. Was she in class? Who am I kidding, of course she was in class. 

I lean over the drink cart and brace myself on the edges, cringing at my own thoughts. Water drips from my hanging hair into my empty glass. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

I drag a hand down my face and shrug off my shirt, eager to feel something other than…cold. 

 “I mean, it’s not like I was never really going to accept her offer,” Theo adds from across the room, “Given the fact that all you talk about besides Quidditch, and your parents giving you shit,…is the Snitch.”

“Don’t call her that.”

Theo laughs, standing by the door. “She said the same thing.”

My head snaps up. “What?”

He levels my gaze. “She told Cassian not to call her that, too.”

Something sparks deep in my chest, and I turn my back on him so he doesn't see it in my eyes.  

She still feels something. 

If I know her—and I do—she’s determined to continue with her plan, with or without me. And the fact that it’s Flint—well, that’s just icing on the cake to her. 

But even if all she feels is anger…

It’s something.

The door opens and shuts behind Theo, but I don’t bother with a goodbye. Because a plan is already beginning to form in my mind. 

I know her anger. That fire in her eyes? It matches mine, flame for flame. And I’ll chase that fire every day if I have to. Just to keep indifference from slipping across her features. To stop her from ever looking up at me like she did right before she got in that car. 

I stride to my closet and wrench the doors open. Rain pelts the window as I search for the long black box that was delivered to my room last week. 

When I lift the lid, sparkling silk pours out. Lightning flashes, illuminating the subtle shifts in color. Purple and blues blink back at me, their hues so rich they almost appear black in the dim light. It reminds me of a glittering night sky. 

It reminds me of her. 

The box clicks shut and I set out to enact my plan. 

She wants me to be angry? She wants to be mad at me?

She wants to go back to that familiar territory or rivalry between us?

Fine. I'll play her game. 

Because when it comes to games with the Snitch... I always win. 

go to landing page ✧ masterlist ✧ read on ao3

a/n: hi! short update again because I have to set the sceneeeee lol. By the way, if you're feeling confused at this point, GOOD. I decided to write this story in a way that the reader (you) and the reader (character) lol both experience things and learn things at the same time. I think it just makes for a more immersive experience, although it takes a bit more work and vagueness on my part, I think this story is really taking shape, and I can't wait to show you what happens next!!!! :)

thanks for reading, love u.

tag list: @noellebrooks437, @whismicalperc30, @little-slyvixen, @beautifullytortured, @i-love-gvf, @wife0fdracomalfoy, @annonymoose, @psycren, @lyrasdrawer, @lilyyyyy08, @aliragrayson, @m00cow2000, @sylsparkles, @hexabeez, @fangirl0409, @cerahmaggie, @smgespn, @fangirl0409, @sylsparkles, @macchioxoxo, @getjinx3d00, @lovesickwifey, @virocci, @kkjagi, @itssweetjuice, @xdaughterofpersephonex, @ihaveissues420, @familyshow-orisit, @piayaluvsya,

[graywrenhart]

Lessons in Losing | Draco Malfoy x f!Reader

Chapter Seventeen - The Twists of Fate An academic rivals to lovers story or: {Ya'll remember Cassian?} 2k words ✧ go to landing page

Light is so strange, isn’t it? 

The way it spills through the greenhouse glass ceiling above you, fractured by iron beams and vines. How it pools across the long wooden table in patches like a honeycomb, and slips through leaves like a golden ribbon. It makes everything look softer, and warmer than it is. 

Even the silver ring on your finger. 

It’s been over a week since that day you walked out of Malfoy Manor, and you haven’t seen Draco since. You didn’t realize you still wore his signet ring until you got back to your dorm room. 

Many things have gone through your head over the last several days on what to do with it. 

Throw it in the Black Lake. 

Hex it and give it back to him. 

Toss it into a revenge potion.

All fantastic ideas…had you had the courage to even take it off. 

You hate yourself for the fact that it’s still on your finger. 

Professor Sprout is talking to the table full of students, but her voice nothing but warbled noise in your ears. 

You really should be paying attention.

Instead, you twirl the ring around your finger again. 

The ring flashes as you turn it, the engraved M catching in the light.

Flashes of the fireplace in the library sear through your skull, forcing you to remember the way his lashes brushed his cheeks as he studied, the way his hands spread apart the pages. It’s warm like the embers at the back of the Drake’s throat right before Malfoy instinctively stepped in front of you, the orange glow of his rune shield sending warmth up your leg. 

It's almost too warm. Like it somehow still holds the heat of his hands in its very essence, proving that at one time, Malfoy, wasn’t always cold. 

It’s strange how light, in its gentlest form, almost makes you forget how dangerous it can be. 

How blinding. 

You almost forget how it burns, and sears, and bakes everything in its path. How it can pull the water from plants until they wither and crack. 

Inevitably, the shadow of your finger swallows the engraving whole and the brightness disappears, leaving until dull edges behind. Sharp and final, like cliffs cleaving the earth in two. 

As it slips beneath your knuckle, you can almost feel the metal grow colder, almost sense the ache in your chest as it returns to it’s natural state — 

Your thumb presses hard against the metal, flattening your hand against the wooden table as if that might pin the memories there. 

It was only a matter of time. 

It always is. 

You can’t let it spin back again. 

Because if you do, the light will catch it again. And you’re not sure you can stand seeing it look so beautiful one more time. 

Suddenly, a sharp rap on the table snaps you from your daze. 

You look up to see Professor Sprout leaning over you. 

Gray curls spill from beneath her bonnet, bleached pale where the sunlight catches them. 

“Eyes up,” she says, firmly. “Unless that ring of yours is about to sprout roots, I’d suggest you rejoin the lesson.”

You stare up at her, wide-eyed and slack jawed. You’ve never been in trouble before. Always the perfect student. Always first to class. 

What has become of you?

You cringe and mumble an apology, cheeks flaming. 

She gives you a brief one-over, then thankfully, moves along down the row. 

Beale, a mousy brown haired Hufflepuff leans in, blue eyes sparkling. “It’s okay, I’ve been there lately, too.”

You blink. “Sorry. What?”

“Oh, just the daydreaming. You know, with the Affinity ball tomorrow? There’s this guy I’ve had a crush on for forever and I think he finally might like me back.” She smiles dreamily. “Do you have a date?”

She looks so innocent and earnest, you almost feel bad. Of course, you’re not going to the ball now. There’s no reason to. You don’t have a date, and you’re definitely not going by yourself. Plus, the only reason you were going to the stupid thing in the first place, was because of your promise to yourself — to lose your virginity before your next birthday. Which is tomorrow.

And even if you technically still have time, it’s too late now. Malfoy stole that chance from you. 

But before you get a chance to respond, a potted plant is set down in front of you with a decisive thump. 

Professor Sprout brushes soil from her hands onto her apron, sending you a warning look as she passes out another to Beale, and then continues down the line. 

“The Twists of Fate,” she announces, gesturing towards the plants. “Now then, can anyone tell me what makes this particular flora so peculiar?”

Several hands shoot up. Yours would usually be among them. But today, you are stumped. 

Two sprouts stick up from the dirt, like green tusks, or a pair of horns.

Professor Sprout calls on a curly-headed Ravenclaw girl. 

“Their growth pattern is an unusual, given that it is driven by barometric pressure,” the Ravenclaw says, “They must wind around each other to survive, but each horn is drawn to different weather.”

“Exactly right,” Sprout says with a pleased nod. “Ten points to Ravenclaw. Nice to see someone’s been reading the material.”

The girl beams at the praise before taking her seat again. Jealousy pinches your gut like a fire ant.

That should be you.

“Your task,” Professor Sprout continues, pacing slowly along the table, “is to determine which horn favors which condition. You may keep them in your dormitories, or here at the greenhouse, but the Twists must be placed by a window, and require turning with every shift in weather to ensure they wind together appropriately. Miss a weather change, and you’ll end up with a tangle instead of a proper twist.”

At that moment, something catches the corner of your eye. A dark robe. A flash of platinum hair. Your stomach dips. 

It’s not him. 

It can’t be him. 

Please be him. 

Even in the midst of your ‘heartbreak’ as Ginny calls it, your worry for him has nearly eaten you alive. You hate your heart for still caring. But he’s not been in class, or around school, and you haven’t seen him with any of his friends. And you left him in such a tumultuous state back at home…

But no. 

It’s just a blond Gryffindor sneaking into class late. 

You don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. 

Professor Sprout sends a shriveling look at the latecomer before continuing, “If grown correctly, the Twist will bloom in the spring. The flower produces…does anyone know?”

To your surprise, Theodore Nott raises his hand. 

“The Bead,” he says confidently. 

“Very good.” She nods. “And its purpose?”

Theo shifts in his seat. “When time warping magic is used, there can be multiple timelines. The Bead is the only known thing that lets a wizard solidify one reality.”

“Excellent. Ten points to Slytherin. Nasty business, Time Magic,” Sprout shakes her hands like she’s ridding herself of the thought. “Messy, unpredictable, and far more trouble than it’s worth. Of course, if you do manage a successful Bead, it is to be turned in at the end of term. No student, under any circumstances, is allowed to keep theirs. Is that understood?”

The table nods in unison.

Usually, an assignment like this would fascinate you. You’d be the first in the library after class, nose in every book on this plant you could find. But unfortunately, you’ve come to face the hideous—but true—fact that you are not motivated without your rival. 

And that might be the thing you hate yourself for the most. 

Because out of everything he’s taken from you…this was a part of your identity. 

And now? 

You heave a shuddering breath, hand curling tight around the ring. The silver bites into your palm, the raised edges of the crest pressing hard enough to leave their mark on your skin.  

You wince and release it. An M lingers in your skin, faint and unmistakable. 

Something in your chest unlocks at the sight of it, and a sudden calm settles over you.

You don’t belong to Draco Malfoy. 

He belongs to you. 

And you need a plan that’s going to make him pay. 

───── ✧ ─────

When you step out of the greenhouse, something’s…different. 

For one, the light’s gone. 

A breeze whips through your hair, carrying the bitter scent of rain. A quick glance up reveals storm clouds gathering high above, bruising the sky. 

It’s a warm day for February. Not warm enough to forgo a coat, of course, but just the right conditions for one of those icy downpours. The kind that soak through your bones, and leave you so cold your teeth click together. 

You’re just reaching the clock tower bridge when the sky decides to drops out. 

The open arches on each side of the wooden walkway don’t do much to keep the wind out, and as you hurry past the slivers of gray light, something in your hands shifts. 

You look down to see one of the Twists barely stretching out towards the rain. You scramble to mark it and reach in your satchel for a quill. 

Eyes on your plant, it’s not long before you accidentally bump into someone. 

“Oh! Sorry—” you start, glancing up just in time to meet a familiar pair of brown eyes. 

Theo.

His dark curls are plastered to his forehead with the rain, his tie slightly askew. He’s hurrying the opposite way from where you just came from, which is odd. How did he get over there so quickly?

You open your mouth to ask, but a head of red hair rises over his shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. 

“Cassian!” You blurt, taking a step back. You don’t really know why. Just…his—their— proximity is so…

They just remind you too much of him. 

Theo, misreading your distress, takes a step back as well. Cassian however, doesn’t move. His eyes linger on your flushed cheeks, something unreadable flickering in his gaze.

“Oh, hey. Listen, I’m sorry I never got back to you,” Theo says, filling the awkward silence. 

You just blink up at him, confused.

“I swear, I meant to.” He rakes his hair back from his face. “There’ve just been some things recently…anyway. I hope you found a date.”

“What are you talking about?” you ask sharply. “Are you—but you already sent me an owl…” 

Even as the words leave your lips, everything clicks. 

Thunder crashes overhead as the world tunnels down to a point around you. 

For a fleeting moment, you thought maybe you’d be alright. That this new assignment would be a good distraction. Even now, one of the sprouts is reaching towards the rain, but all you can think about is going to visit the dragons—just to connect with living creature who wants to set things aflame. 

Not only did Draco lie to you about being engaged, but he maliciously tried to foil your own personal goals. 

And to think you may have loved him. 

“What is this about a date?” Cassian asks smoothly. “I thought you were with Malfoy.”

“No,” you snap, eyes locking with his. “We were never…we aren’t together.”

“Really?” Cassian’s eyebrows raise. “Getting kissed in the Highwatch after a match doesn’t count as dating, I’d hate to think what does. What was your relationship, then? If you don’t mind me asking. Don’t tell me it was mostly of a carnal nature, you could do much better—”

“That’s none of your business.” You huff, looking out at the drop below briefly before returning your gaze to him. “And it wasn’t a relationship—Merlin, where is he, anyhow?"

Theo’s eyes narrow. “You don’t...Draco? You don’t know where he is?”

“No! I’m—what?” You glance between the boys as they exchange a look. “Is there something I’m missing?”

Cassian shakes his head. “I think I’m the one missing something. What’s got your knickers in such a twist, Snitch?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, didn’t realize that was only a Malfoy privilege.”

“Knock it off, Flint,” Theo says. “It was a one-time offer. Forget about it.” 

You glance up at him, surprised. You knew he was nice, for a Slytherin and all, but this is….

“Offer?” Cassian asks, curiosity sharp in his gaze. “This is getting more and more interesting by the second. Do tell.”

You glare at him, but he doesn’t shy away from the fire in your eyes. The wind whips through the openings on the bridge, bringing icy beads of rain with it. They catch on your lashes, and in Cassian’s hair, turning it a shade darker. Like rust growing on Malfoy’s estate gates. 

And really, what do you have to lose by telling Cassian? Besides it being a bit embarrassing. Cassian Flint is charming, a phenomenal quidditch player, and not at all bad to look at. 

His voice echoes in the back of your mind. That, “I’ll be so good for you,” whispered in your ear that night at the Slytherin party as you painted his veins gold. 

And Draco hating him? Icing on the fucking cake. 

You still have until midnight tomorrow to fulfill your promise to yourself. Who says Draco Malfoy gets to decide anything when it comes to you? If you have a goal, a plan, or a vision, by Merlin—you do it. 

Because that’s who you are. 

Theo shakes his head, muttering something under his breath about being late, and he disappears down the bridge in a hurry. 

But you’re not paying any mind, because an idea has begun to take shape in your mind. 

No, not an idea. Something better. 

A plan. 

“Cassian,” you say, squaring your shoulders. “Are you going to the Affinity Ball?”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he replies with a shrug. “But I might could be convinced. Given the proper company, of course.”

“How would I suffice?”

“Perfectly.”

You nod once. The picture of calm and collected, even as your heartbeat quickens. “And what are your thoughts on…afterparties?”

Lightning catches on his dimple as he smiles.

“Now those,” he says, “I love.”

And for the first time in a week, you smile back.

Perfect. 

a/n: Shorter update than usual, don't hate me because I promise, I'll make it up to you. And for everyone up in my comments and messages about how Theo dropped off the face of the earth in this fic, trust me, it's intentional. Don't worry, you'll get your answers lol P.S. I know there are different versions of Malfoy's signet ring. Sometimes it's a snake, sometimes it's a symbol, etc. But I really like the initial M for this story, so sorry if that's not your canon lol

Also, thank you so much for all the recent love on this story. It literally makes me so so so happy, and I'm so glad I get to share these little wild ideas with you guys, seriously, it's my favorite thing. Okay, love u

read next chapter

go to landing page ✧ masterlist ✧ read on ao3

tag list:@noellebrooks437, @whismicalperc30, @little-slyvixen, @beautifullytortured, @i-love-gvf, @wife0fdracomalfoy, @annonymoose, @psycren, @lyrasdrawer, @lilyyyyy08, @aliragrayson, @m00cow2000, @sylsparkles, @hexabeez, @fangirl0409, @cerahmaggie, @cerahmaggie, @smgespn, @fangirl0409, @sylsparkles, @macchioxoxo, @getjinx3d00, @lovesickwifey, @virocci, @kkjagi

[graywrenhart]

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: Simon “Ghost” Riley x female!reporter!Reader

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: You've landed an exclusive interview with Simon "Ghost" Riley. But due to his frankly unfair height, you have to get creative. Simon usually hates the press, but he could get used to this...

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩: [cute fluff] [language] [a steamy little makeout scene] [suggestive language] [height difference] [no depiction of reader's height. I just choose to believe (especially with his gear on) he's just really that tall] [meet-cute] 3k words

a/n: saw a video on instagram of a girl standing on a stool to interview a hockey player and this idea was born lol

“I know the mask stays, but you might want to lose the sunglasses," you say, nose stuck in your notes, barely acknowledging the six-foot-seven soldier standing in front of you. 

“Negative,” Ghost replies gruffly.

The thickness of his accent seems to echo off the high ceilings of the airplane hangar, sending a small thrill down your spine.

You suggested this location, assuming the public would appreciate an interview in front of the very same jet Task Force 141 used for the rescue mission. 

It was a good suggestion. 

Not only is the hangar itself is impressively large, with decent light pouring in from the open far wall, but it allows the cool morning breeze to rush in. You’re thankful for the way it brushes your warm cheeks, even if it does keep crumpling your notes over themselves. 

“Okay,” you sigh, folding up the paper and reaching for your pocket mirror to check your makeup, “but my director is pretty insistent about eye contact—”

A shrill whistle cuts you off. 

“Oi! Big man!” Charlotte shouts from behind the tripod, blonde ponytail swinging. “Glasses off, please!”

Ghost sighs. 

A moment later, his sunglasses come into view next to the gun holstered at his thigh, pinched between two gloved fingers. 

You smirk into your reflection. “Told you.”

Snapping the kit closed, you try to ignore the butterflies swarming in your stomach.

You should be used to this by now. The camera. The spotlight. But for some reason, your nerves are hot like a live wire. 

Granted, this is a big one for you. Really big. 

But you’ve worked hard to get here. There’s no reason to be intimidated by the armed, masked, beast-of-a-man in front of you whose voice kind of makes your knees feel like jello. 

Maybe you just need to cut down on the caffeine. Two iced coffees by eight a.m. can’t be healthy for anyone. 

That must be it. 

You’ll be fine. 

Straightening your shoulders, you turn to your crew. “Alright, how are we doin’? Charlotte? Lighting good? We should be on the air already.” 

"So...little problem," your camera man says, stepping back from his viewfinder and scrubbing a hand over his beard.

You sigh. “Okay, what is it, Jeremy?”

"Well, it's just..." he gestures toward the screen unhelpfully. "You're not in frame."

You frown. "Like...at all?"

“Not at all."

“Wha—how tall are you?” You huff at Ghost, squinting down at your footwear. 

He grumbles something unintelligible and turns towards the back of the hangar where the rest of the task force sits, watching. You follow his gaze. John McTavish and Kyle Garrick are sprawled out on the extra fuel tanks, elbows slung over their knees, while their Captain stands off to the side, arms crossed over his uniform. McTavish gives Ghost a cheeky thumbs up as he looks their way. 

“What a day to forgo the heels, hmm?” you mutter under your breath, turning your attention back to your surroundings.

Charlotte shakes her head. “I’d lend you mine, but we aren’t the same shoe size.”

"He could…sit?" A wiry, dark-haired intern suggests. “I mean, you both could sit down, obviously—”

You shake your head, eyes still scanning the room for anything you could use. "No, that's not really the energy of the piece. We’re doing a national hero story here, we’re not…fuckin’…Jimmy Fallon. What about that chair over there? Too tall?”

Ghost shifts his weight as the word ‘hero’ falls from your lips. 

He’s no hero. 

In his mind, he’s not the one who should be up here like this. One of the others. Johnny, for one, could talk an ear off a dog. Gaz is calmer under pressure. And Price…well…at least he has a face to show the camera. 

He can’t help but glance again at his team lounging in the shadows, sending them a look that feels a lot like one you’d give your partner as he passes you, strung out on the battlefield with a shot leg.

“Got somewhere else you need to be, lieutenant?” You quip. 

Ghost just grunts. 

Again, with the grunting. 

Hopefully he’s a little more talkative on the air. 

“I’ve got something!” The intern calls. You’ve got to learn his name. It’s Brian, right? Briar? 

Br—something—is holding a foot stool. 

It’s one of those extendable ones that can either be one step or five, the kind they use in the back rooms to reach high shelves.

“That’ll work,” you say as he places it on the ground next to you and slinks back behind Charlotte. “Thank you, I — ooh!”

You’re not entirely sure what happens, but one second you were firmly on the ground, and the next, you’re standing on the first step. 

You're vaguely aware of Ghost's arm around your middle, and your arms fling out for balance, hands immediately finding his broad shoulder. 

God, is he made of bricks? Damn. 

For a second, you nearly forget where you are entirely, so consumed by the heat of his hands through his gloves and your shirt. 

“Good?” He asks, voice low and muffled behind the mask. 

You nod, looking down blankly as someone places a microphone in your hand. “Sorry. Just—little afraid of heights.”

Ghost scoffs. “You’re barely off the ground.”

“Yeah, well I’m not on the ground, now, am I? And—” Irritated, your eyes snap up to meet his, but the view makes the words die on your tongue. 

His eyes are beautiful. 

You’re face to face now, perfectly level, and close enough to see the pink in the creases of his skin, stark against the black paint he uses to blend in with the mask. Somehow, it makes the color of his irises pop even more.

They’re a beautiful, rich brown that reminds you of that luxury chocolate—the kind you can only buy in Paris, wrapped in fancy gold foil, with the pieces that make a soft click sound when you sink your teeth into it. 

Suddenly, your breathing turns shallow. That breeze, once cool, now feels too warm, your blouse feels too tight, and your hand’s starting to sweat, making the mic all slippery. 

You shift your weight, momentarily forgetting you’re on a stool, and it wobbles beneath you. Charlotte gasps, Brian rushes forward, but Ghost’s hand is on your elbow before you can blink. 

“Sorry, just got dizzy for a sec,” you call out, suddenly remembering where you are. “I’m good, guys.” 

You wave off a helping hand and stand up straight, clearing your throat for good measure. 

Normally, you’re a very levelheaded reporter.

You're good at listening when you need to, asking the right questions in the right moments, and being just witty enough to win the audience without outshining the star. But something about standing eye to eye with Ghost from Task Force 141 has you flustered, and a just a little off kilter. 

“Air thinner up here?” Ghost teases. 

You laugh, despite yourself. “Yeah, how do you survive it?”

He chuckles, and the sound sends a blush climbing up your neck.

“We’re rolling in ten,” Jeremy calls out. 

People clamber into position. Heels click against the concrete. The lighting crew calls out last-minute directions. Your fingers itch to pull out your pocket mirror one last time, but you’re trapped in chocolate eyes, drowning beautifully. 

Jeremy counts down until you’re live, and it’s only at the last second, that Ghost finally remembers to remove his hand from your arm. 

You kind of wish he hadn’t. 

And as the light on the camera turns red, you think now might not be the best time to consider that you might not be as levelheaded as you thought you were. 

Simon hates the press. 

They swarm the place like bees. Pushy, loud, mics always bumping into shit, cameras flashing everywhere.

The task force has gotten some attention lately after a few rescues went global, and after recently retrieving the governor, well, the swarm has only gotten bigger. 

It’s really not fair. He runs a good, clean op, and then he gets punished for it. 

However, if his punishment looked like this every time…he might could get used to it. 

He’s trying to listen. Really, his is. But watching that pretty mouth move right in front of his is a bit of a distraction. 

Your eyes bounce from the paper in your hands and back to his. 

Always back to his. 

He’s never seen a woman his same height before. 

And for some reason, he can’t get over how different it is. He’s used to seeing the part in their hair, the way their lashes brush their cheeks, that shine on the tip of their nose. 

But with you in front of him like this, he sees everything. 

The way your lips catch the edge of your teeth, the slight blush in your ears, how your cheeks twist up like that when you smile…

“…and walk me through the moment you discovered the Governor wasn’t where you thought he’d be?”

You’re looking up at him expectantly, holding the mic out to him. 

Bloody hell, you’re all business now, aren’t you? 

Your voice gets a lower, tighter pitch to it when you’re in front of the camera, and he can see your throat bob with each word. It drags up dangerous images into his depraved mind. Dark thoughts. Like what your pulse would feel like against his tongue. Or your collarbone between his teeth. And those lips…

Shit. What was he supposed to say?

“Got complicated,” he grits out. 

A smile tugs at your lips. “Could you elaborate?”

A few chuckles echo through the room, mixed with the clicking of cameras, pages rustling with the sudden breeze blowing through the hangar. 

Simon clears his throat. “Just—barged in. Found some bodies, none of 'em what we were lookin' for. Then Gaz came over the comms, and said we missed something downstairs.”

You nod along. “We heard there was some kind of trap set on the lower level. What was it?”

“A rigged door.” He shrugs. “We had to decode it.”

“You’re saying ‘we.’ Did someone help you decipher the code?”

Simon shifts onto his back foot, tucking his thumbs into his combat vest. “No.”

“Right.” You looks pleased with herself. “So you figured out the code. And what exactly would have happened if you’d failed?”

“We wouldn’t be havin’ this conversation.”

You don’t miss a beat. Even with how difficult of a conversationalist he is (he never promised to be good at this) you ease back into the flow like it’s the most natural thing in the world. As you tilt your head to the side to take a quick glimpse at your notes, your hair slips out from behind your ear, and he has the most insane desire to brush it back. 

Christ. He’s on camera, for fuck’s sake.

Just the reminder makes his shoulders stiffen. 

“You’re pretty modest about single-handedly saving an extremely high-risk mission,” you say breezily. 

He fights the urge to look back at the boys again. 

"Didn't do it alone."

You look at him for a long moment, something like interest flashing in your eyes, before falling back into your next talking points. 

The next few questions fly by. These are easier. You ask him about the aircraft behind you, and he answers. He even runs his mouth for longer than necessary about the jet’s self-flying abilities, but you steer him back so effortlessly, the audience would hardly see the seam. 

You’re good at it. Very good. 

At one point, he even looks down to find his arms uncrossed, hands hanging loosely at his sides. 

When did that happen?

Suddenly, a light behind him goes dark. 

Simon swivels on his foot, instincts honed from years of surprise attacks, but all he finds is one of the lighting crew members. The guy freezes mid-step when the mask turns on him, as if he’s afraid to keep taking down his own equipment. 

“That’s a wrap, Ghost,” you say proudly, stepping down from the stool. “It’s all over.”

Simon blinks down at you. Wait—the interview is over? 

He steps back with a shake of his head. By the end of it, he almost forgot he was on camera. He was just having a conversation with you. 

And watching that little tilt of your lips, the slight bend in your neck as you read the next question, the way your fingers gripped the mic tighter every time you looked at the ground. 

He’s not quite ready for it all to be over. 

“I’m just gonna take ten,” you call to Jeremy. “Let me know if we need to rerun anything.”

Jeremy shakes his head. “Nah, we got it. Great job.”

Simon looks down at the sunglasses hanging lifelessly from his gloved hand, and when he looks back up…you’re gone. 

Something tugs deep in his chest. It pulls on his spine, urging his feet in a direction he doesn’t know yet. All he knows is, he’s not quite ready to let you go.

The boys still sit next to the only exit from the hangar, other than the open door, so he heads in that direction. 

Price nods approvingly at Simon as he approaches. 

“That’ll do,” he says, leaning back against the fuel tank. 

“Yeah, that’ll do, L.T.,” Soap chimes in, mimicking the Captain with a snicker. 

Simon wants to send them all a withering stare, but his eyes won’t leave the dark hallway behind them. 

“Did she—” he starts. 

“Yeah,” Gaz says, folding his arms across his army green T-shirt and stepping in front of entrance. He adjusts his camo ball cap and jerks his head back toward the dark hall. “Go on. You’ve got three minutes.”

Gaz barely finishes the sentence before Simon is already moving, shoulder bumping his as he passes him with a hurried nod of thanks.

When you turn a corner down the dark hallway and you’re bathed in the pale blue glow of an Aquafina vending machine, you may as well have found the fountain of life in the middle of a desert. 

You nearly groan in relief as you lunge for it. Being that close to Simon Riley was doing things to you. You haven’t been that tongue-tied since your first day on a morning talk show fresh out of college. 

But despite your nerves, he was surprisingly easy to talk to. 

There was a chemistry there—at least for you. And it’s something you haven’t felt in a long time. 

The water bottle cap twists off with a pop and you’re guzzling the water down when the sound of boots on concrete makes you jump. 

You turn just in time to see Ghost round the corner. 

He’s advancing fast, his skull face stark against the darkness. You step back instinctively. The empty water bottle hits the floor with a hollow crunch, and your back barely touches the vending machine before he’s there, towering over you.

Your mouth parts on an inhale as his arm lifts, bracing high above your head, gloved palm flat against the glass. Pulse hammering in your throat, you can’t help but notice the way the blue light reflects on his mask, and catches in his lashes.

He makes a low, disgruntled sound, and then he’s reaching down. His back muscles ripple under his black henley, and you barely get a chance to be distracted by the sight before his hands settle firmly at your hips, hauling you up until you’re level with him. 

A startled gasp leaves your lips and you cling to him, knees parting on instinct and he steps in between them. Your legs wrap around his waist automatically to hold yourself up, but it’s not necessary. His large palms spread over your ass are doing a great job of that on their own. 

“There,” he mutters from behind the mask. “ ’s better.”

He smells good this close. Like gun powder, leather, and a hint of a dark cologne that has your head spinning. 

“That’s—what?” you breathe, heart hammering as you catch the dark gleam in his gaze. You can’t pretend you don’t feel it, too. 

Despite yourself, an amused breath leaves your lips. Your eyes dart between his, so close and level with yours. It’s almost exactly how you were throughout your entire interview. 

“Why?” 

He shrugs. “Easier.”

“Easier?” you echo, confused, watching as his fingers grab the edge of his mask and tug it up over his chin. “Easier to do what—”

You only catch a glimpse of a sharp jaw, golden stubble, and the beginnings of what looks like a scar before he leans in…and his mouth meets yours. 

Oh.

He swallows your surprised inhale with an answering groan from his chest. That vibration alone is all it takes for you to melt into the kiss, your body going soft under his large hands as he pulls you closer, pressing you back into the vending machine. 

Your fingers clutch at his vest and you fall into an easy rhythm, mouths meeting and parting in unison. 

When his tongue tangles with yours, heat strikes the base of your spine, and a whimper rises from your throat. 

He tastes like whiskey and mint. Sharp, and clean, and…sweet. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he whispers against your lips, chasing your mouth as you tilt your head to kiss him deeper.

You haul him closer, desperate and eager—for what exactly, you don’t know—you just know you need him closer. Need more—

A voice sounds down the hall, pulling you both from the trance. 

You break apart, chests rising and falling against each other. 

He pulls his mask back down in a quick, practiced motion and sets you down gently. But his hands don’t leave you right away. They stay on your thighs, your hips, wandering like they haven’t quite caught up to his brain yet. 

“Next time,” he says, “no cameras.”

You feel like your brain short-circuits. “What?”

He leans in slightly, and the air seems to shimmer between you. Drawn tight with the tension of things still unsaid. 

“You want a proper interview, don’t you?” he mutters, voice low and rough enough to send chills down your spine. “One-on-one?” 

You’re nodding before he even finishes the sentence. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, like he already knew your answer. 

He presses something papery in your palm before abruptly turning and striding away.

“What’s this?” You call after him.

“My number.” He doesn’t look back. “Use it.”

⋆. 𐙚˚ simon riley masterlist | buy me a coffee | come say hi 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

a/n: see? this is the problem with writing cutie little one shots, because now all I can think about is a part two...

taglist: @xoxocelestial

[alexslvrs]

jealous!steve harrington fucks you during a mission !

You took this things very seriously.

For months, you had come up empty, but that didn’t give anyone in the group any sense of security. Vecna was still out there, and you could only imagine what the hell he was planning.

So it was safe to say that none of you played about the missions.

That being said, your boyfriend didn’t manage stress in the same way as you. He didn’t manage anything, actually. Whenever he was stressed, sad or angry; the solution was the same. You.

Because Steve Harrington was a sex machine, and for him everything was a chance to be with you. If apart from the absolute high he was in afterwards, he also got rid of all the negative thoughts he had in is head, was that really a problem? Not in his eyes.

He had always managed to stay perfectly professional until after he dropped the kids in their respective homes and finally got you alone in his car. But tonight was no normal situation.

Something weird was going on with Nancy and Jonathan, he could tell. Everyone could, probably, since they were barely talking to each other, and not for a lack of energy. No, that definitely wasn’t it. Because his good old friend Jonathan was having more than enough energy to talk to you.

"I’m telling you, something here is just wrong." He insisted, fumbling with some buttons in the back of the van.

"Uh… it could be the antenna, maybe." You shrugged, looking around.

"Where the hell even is Dustin?"

You hissed, glancing at Steve as he kept driving to the Squawk, before looking back at the other man.

"Oh, no. Sore topic."

Jonathan frowned in confusion, but when he looked up and saw the seriousness in your expression, he chose not to make the joke that was at the tip of his tongue.

"Noted." He nodded. "My bad."

You caught your boyfriend’s scoff from the drivers seat, but chose not to comment on it. Dustin and him had been at each other’s throats ever since Eddie died, and you knew how much that was affecting Steve, even if he made it his mission not to show it.

So instead of adding more fuel to the fire, you let him groan in reply to the kid’s name.

You leaned closer to Jonathan, trying to keep the conversation between you two. "It’s nothing, it’s just… you know. He gets snappy."

"Not ideal at the moment." He whispered back.

"Yeah." You agreed. "I’d rather keep the sarcasm at minimum when our lives are on the line."

Jon nodded, smiling in understanding. "Good call."

It was a good call, theoretically. You thought keeping this exchange private would prevent Steve from getting even more angry at the situation than he already was since Dustin didn’t show up an hour ago like he was supposed to.

But what he was seeing from the drivers seat was you whispering around with a guy that he couldn’t really stand. And that had stolen his girlfriend once already.

So, not the ideal scenario.

On top of that, his best friend was MIA and he was really fucking worried. And for some reason, now Jonathan was smiling too. What the hell was he smiling about?

He kept driving, his fists tightening around the wheel, hoping to God they wouldn’t get stopped and they could get to the Squawk as soon as possible.

Jon and you kept trying to adjust everything in the back of the van, but the signal was still suspiciously weak. You tried every trick in the book, and yet nothing seemed to work.

He did the same, adjusting all energy levels and pressing as many buttons as humanly possible in record time.

Still, nothing.

You both were so focused on the task, you didn’t even notice when the vehicle stopped.

So Steve rolled his eyes, got off the seat and walked around it, opening the back doors.

"You two lovebirds done or what?" He asked, crossing his arms. "We’re here."

You were surprised at his tone, but thought it had more to do with the situation with Dustin than with you, so you didn’t mention it.

"Uh, just a second." Jonathan replied. "Go tell Robin we’re almost done."

"Yeah." He replied, closing one of the van’s doors harder than intended. "Yeah, of fucking course."

That made you look up immediately, flinching at the loud noise and the vibrations that the action caused.

Because some venomous sarcasm was usual in Steve, but that definitely wasn’t. He was never actually rough, no matter how angry he was, specially not around you.

So, when you and Jonathan finished trying to get the antenna in order, you looked for him in the Squawk.

"Robin." You called the woman sitting on one of the tables. "Have you seen Steve?"

"Have I seen him? Dude, I thought he was the last thing I was gonna see like, ever." She replied. "What’s up with your boyfriend? He genuinely almost murdered me right now."

"Dustin was a no show." You shrugged. "You know how they’ve been lately."

Robin nodded, definitely knowing what you meant. Those two had been in an actual war for months, it was getting unbearable.

"He’s probably in the back." She gestured towards the hallway. "Hopefully getting some air and letting his killer instinct out."

You smiled, appreciating the indications as much as her humour about the whole situation. "I’m gonna go take a look."

"Please, don’t rush." She said from behind the table, going through some papers. "We’ve got shit to do, and I can’t deal with Steve being Steve right now."

She wasn’t completely wrong, and you understood her point. With everything going on, the last thing the group needed was someone being snappy about every single thing.

So you let the people there work and walked back upstairs, looking around for your stubborn boyfriend.

You were halfway down the hallway when you heard a little noise that caught your attention. And when you opened one of the doors, you saw him.

He was in one of the small rooms, throwing a little rock against the wall, waiting for it to hit it and go back to him, just to throw it again.

"How entertaining." You spoke up, looking at him from the doorway, trying to make the moment lighter.

"Very much so." He nodded, not looking at you and not stopping his movement either. "You have a very entertaining boyfriend."

You mirrored his nod, taking a step into the small room.

"I think I have an upset boyfriend."

He pressed his lips together, lightly shaking his head as if he had no idea what you were talking about.

And he kept throwing the little rock.

You didn’t like that he hadn’t even looked at you yet. "Steve."

He took the pebble in his hand, staring at it for a few seconds before finally moving his eyes up to you.

"You do have an upset boyfriend." He said, standing up from the floor. "But I don’t know about the entertaining part, I think you’re entertained enough without me."

"What are you talking about?"

"Is Jonathan as entertaining as me?"

And that was it.

That’s what he was mad about. You and Jonathan in the back of the van.

"Steve, c’mon." You closed the door behind you, fully entering the room. "We were working on the antenna, don’t make it weird."

"Oh, yeah, no worries." He nodded, his tone mocking the explanation as he tossed the rock onto a nearby desk, the small clatter echoing in the quiet room. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the wall. "My bad, genuinely. You were whispering so closely that I didn't quite catch it. Glad that's it."

"Steve..."

"No, seriously." He pushed off the wall, his smile tight and completely unconvincing as he held his hands up in surrender. "It's fine. We need the antenna fixed, right? By all means, whisper in Jonathan Byers' ear. Whatever gets the job done." He turned his head away, refusing to look at you.

"That's not fair."

"Fair?" He echoed the word back at you, turning around quickly and letting his arms fall to his sides. "You think this is unfair? I'm not the one getting cozy with someone else in the back of the van." He stepped closer, his voice rising slightly as he spoke.

You rolled your eyes at his words. "Oh my God, that wasn't it!"

"It really looked like it!" He fired back, his frustration finally boiling over. He threw his hands out, gesturing vaguely down the hallway. "Whispering, practically in his lap, fixing whatever the fuck you were trying to fix. Sure, totally innocent."

You scoffed, shaking your head as you looked at him. "I can't believe you."

"You know what? Forget it. If you want to cozy up to Jonathan, go right ahead. Maybe he's more your speed anyway" He retorted, his voice echoing off the walls of the small room.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means exactly what it sounds like!" He snapped, his voice sharp and cutting through the small space between you.

He was being an asshole and he knew it, but the image of you tucked against Jonathan's side in the dim van light wouldn't leave his head.

You shook your head, crossing your arms. "This is so stupid."

"Yeah, it is stupid." He agreed, though his tone was anything but apologetic. "It's stupid that I'm standing here looking like a jealous idiot while you act like I'm crazy for being pissed off." He ran a hand roughly through his hair, messing it up completely. "Go back to the van then, Jonathan's waiting!"

You bit back, tired of his sarcasm. "Fuck you."

The curse didn't even make him flinch. In fact, it practically snapped the last tether of his self-control. He was on you in a second, hand gripping your waist to pull you flush against him while his other hand slammed back against the door to make sure it was shut.

"Be my guest." He muttered against your mouth, crashing his lips against yours before you could get another insult out.

It wasn't gentle or sweet; it was possessive and fueled entirely by that sharp spike of jealousy. He backed you up against the wooden door, his hand gripping your hip tight enough to bruise as he swallowed your gasp, the kiss turning messy and desperate instantly. He wasn't asking for permission; he was proving a point.

Steve bit down on your bottom lip, hard enough to make you gasp, and used the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth without hesitation. His hand slid from your hip to the back of your neck, angling your head to take exactly what he wanted, the air in the small room growing thick and heavy.

His other hand moved from the door to your waist, then slowly up to your ribs, his thumb brushing against the underside of your breast.

He broke the kiss abruptly, his breath coming out in ragged gasps against your neck as he quickly unbuttoned his pants with trembling fingers.

There was no foreplay, no sweet words, just raw, desperate need. "Lift up your skirt."

As you did it, his hands gripped your legs, lifting you up to wrap them around his waist. He pulled your panties to the side without hesitation, positioning himself at your entrance.

He looked into your eyes for a brief moment before thrusting inside, hard and deep, burying himself completely. "Fuck."

Steve had to swallow your moans with his mouth, kissing you fiercely to muffle the sound as he started moving immediately. There was no rhythm, just fucking you against the door with rough, desperate thrusts, his fingers digging into your thighs hard enough to leave bruises.

"Quiet" He hissed against your lips. "You wanted to piss me off? Now take it."

You held tightly onto your boyfriend, and he lifted you higher, adjusting the angle to hit deeper, his pace brutal and punishing. His face was buried in your neck, biting and sucking as he tried to keep his groans silent. One hand slid under your skirt, fingers digging into your ass to hold you in place while he pounded into you.

He covered your mouth with his hand as you cried out, muffling the sound. His other hand moved to your breast, squeezing roughly as he continued to fuck you just as hard.

"Shhh." He warned against your palm, his hips moving like a jackhammer. "Don't make a fucking sound."

You rolled your eyes at the pleasure, sending a jolt of primal satisfaction through him. He tightened his jaw, fighting to keep silent as he felt you clenching around him, your body reacting instinctively to his rough treatment.

"Think this is a joke?" He groaned, changing the angle slightly to hit the spot that made your legs shake. "Mmm? Think I'm playing around?"

He took your silence as a challenge, his hips snapping forward even harder. The sound of flesh hitting flesh filled the small room, punctuated by his heavy breathing and the occasional muffled whimper from you. His fingers tightened around your breast painfully, twisting your nipple as he fucked you into the door.

He took your silence as a challenge, his hips snapping forward even harder. The sound of flesh hitting flesh filled the small room, punctuated by his heavy breathing and the occasional muffled whimper from you. His fingers tightened around your breast painfully, twisting your nipple as he fucked you into the door.

Steve kept his hand firmly pressed over your mouth, his thumb sliding between your lips. "Suck." He growled, the word thick with lust. When you did, he groaned, the vibration moving through him.

"Good girl." He praised darkly. His thrusts became sharper, more deliberate, hitting that perfect spot over and over. "That's it."

Your tongue swirling around his finger sent a rush of heat straight to his dick. He could feel himself getting close, his balls tightening as you clenched around him again and again. He dropped his head to your shoulder, biting down to muffle his own moans, his hips stuttering as he chased release.

He was losing control fast, thrusting erratically, his grip on your thigh slipping as he chased his release. "Fuck- fuck, baby…" He bit down on your shoulder to muffle himself, his hips stuttering.

"Fuck, you're gonna make me come" He hissed, his forehead pressing against yours. His thumb pushed deeper into your mouth, silencing you completely as he began to fuck you harder, his hips moving like a machine. The door rattled loudly with each thrust, the sound mixing with his heavy breathing.

He could feel you tightening around him, your walls fluttering as your orgasm built. He knew you were close.

"Don't you fucking dare scream." He warned breathlessly, his rhythm becoming punishingly fast. "Take it. Come on my cock, quietly. Fucking do it." He angled his hips, grinding ruthlessly against that spot to push you over the edge.

He felt you clench around him, your body shuddering and arching as your orgasm ripped through you. You bit down on his thumb, muffling your cry perfectly as you milked him with your release. That was all it took; he groaned loudly, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep and came hard, hot streams filling you up as his body trembled.

You didn't move for a long moment, both of you pressed against the door, his forehead resting on your shoulder as he tried to catch his breath. His come leaked down your thighs, his softening cock still buried inside you. The room smelled like sex and desperation.

Slowly, he pulled back, looking at you with dark, satisfied eyes.

You shook your head, still not breathing quite normally. "Are you done being an asshole now?"

He let out a sharp, breathless laugh, finally letting you slide down until your feet hit the floor. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your cheek, his hand still gripping your waist to steady you.

"I’ll think about it." He muttered, a smug smirk tugging at his lips as he reached down to pull your skirt back down.

You tilted your head with a warning expression, but his smirk only widened.

"What? Y’want me to apologize?" He tucked himself back into his jeans, unbothered. When you narrowed your eyes further, he leaned in close, mouth brushing against your ear. "You took everything I gave you pretty fucking well for being mad at me."

"I hate you."

"Sure you do, baby." He said, completely unfazed, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. He pressed one last lingering kiss to your lips, softer this time, almost mocking. "Keep telling yourself that while you're still dripping."

He stepped back, giving you a once-over that made it clear he was pleased with the mess he'd made.

And before you could retort, he turned and left the room, leaving you alone against the door, legs still shaky, your body still humming with the aftershocks of what he'd just done to you.

You knew he was an asshole. But fuck, he was a good asshole.

And you hated that you already wanted more.

a/n: I had so much fun writing about Steve! Feel free to send any requests to my inbox about him too🫶🏻

ᯓ★

[mysticfluffyness]

Angry and jealous Steve is just right up my alley and I rarely get them both in one read

[sainzzbrina]

take care of you

steve harrington x henderson!reader | 1.7k

as soon as you received the call about what had happened at the mall your cars’ tires were moving. dustin had told you he was going there to see steve, who you worked with at scoops ahoy, and apparently you can’t leave the three of them alone on your day off otherwise they’ll get into fights with the russian army.

all you thought about was you baby brother’s state, if he was all in once piece, but deep down you knew that if he was under steve’s care that was the closest he’d have to god protecting him.

you don’t even properly park your car before running out in search of his jean vest and stupid little camp cap he insisted was cool.

“jesus fucking christ, you scared me..” you sigh, grabbing the boy and hugging him tight.

“yeah, im okay” he sighed too. he was between that line of too cool to hug his sister and really needing a big sibling hug, so he just accepted it and took it as an opportunity to ground himself.

“what the hell happened here?” you pull away, finally acknowledging your surroundings. the destroyed mall, the police, ambulance and fire station’s cars and trucks.

“okay, so i was trying to contact my suzie when the signal-”

“who the fuck is suzie?” you interrupt.

“my girlfriend, we met at camp!” he explained like it was obvious.

“since when do- y’know what, whatever, keep going.”

“…so then steve and robin got kidnapped by the russians! oh and steve finally won his first fight… before he got completely beat up, like totaled, that guy is totaled.”

“what? where is he? is robin okay?” you freeze up. you’d never admit it, but dustin knew how much steve meant to you, even though you talked to him like he was a total dumbass, he loved every second of it.

dustin nods over to steve sitting on the edge of a fire truck, something clearly not big enough draped over him as medics cleaned him up, but his eyes were on the kids. all their parents hugging them in relief, checking up on them.

he was a big guy, already old enough to take care of himself and of others. but deep down he wanted someone to hug, someone to baby him. like you sensed it, you immediately walk over to him.

“steve..” you stop in front of him, looking at his purple puffy eye, dried blood dripping from different corners of his face, bruises that were already green on his arms, fists busted up. “what the fuck happened to you?”

“i can’t win chicks hearts over but the russians loved me apparently” he chuckled softly, but instantly regretted it, clucking his side.

you sit beside him, "thank you for taking care of dustin. means a lot. and i won't ever take a day off again, ever, in my life." steve chuckles, that stupid, shy but flirty grin he wore whenever talking to you.

"want me to drive you home?" you offer. the drop of adrenaline making everything hurt way more, his body exhausted.

"yeah... yeah, that'd be nice..." he nodded, stomach fluttering at your usually dismissive demeanor being so gentle.

"dustin! c'mon, let's go!" i wave him over, "do any of your friends need a ride?" dustin shakes his head.

both hendersons hold each side of steve, dragging the man to your car. you could feel him leaning more against you than dustin, hesitant on trusting the little kid with his weight. he settles on the brown leather seat with a groan that makes you feel the need of apologizing even though it wasn't your fault. you scan his eyes and you can read his reassurance.

you drop dustin off first, telling him to be patient with mom and show her he was okay.

steve chuckles as the younger henderson slams the door with a groan.

"you're a great big sister you know?" steve looks at you.

"and you're a great big brother!" you answer, steve shakes his head, laughing with a huff from his nose. "no, im serious, im a bit jealous sometimes, its always steve this, steve that... he really looks up to you..."

"yeah, he's a great kid..." he smiles to himself, looking out the window before looking back at you. "you are too, i mean, you didn't have to do this, but here you are, taking me home to play nurse."

"it's the least i could do after you protected dustin today, really." steve only snickers, waving it off. he usually wasn't this humble, but he knew to play it down for you. "and after you got rid of that creepy guy that kept asking for my number last week." you chuckle at the memory, but it makes him roll his eyes.

"fuckin' jerk wouldn't just order his damn ice cream already..." he grumbles.

"good thing king steve, my knight in shining armor, was there to save me!" you tease, flushing steve's cheeks.

you pull up to his big house, parking your car in the driveway. “are your parents home?”

“huh? oh no, no, i think they’re on a business trip..” his tone gets smaller.

“what do you mean you think? did they not say anything?”

“uh yeah, not really..” he shrugs, you know not to press on it anymore.

“well for your luck dr henderson is here to take care of you, c’mon big boy” i tease, trying to ease the situation, walking over to his side to help him into his house and up the stairs to his bedroom.

as soon as he sees his bed he’s collapsed on it, groaning, half in pain, half in relief to be home.

“i’m gonna grab you some painkillers. why don’t you get off that uniform so i can throw it out”

“throw it out? this is my work uniform!”

“steve, it’s covered in blood and ripped. plus scoops ahoy was literally destroyed by whatever that thing was, we definitely don’t have a job there anymore.”

he grumbles, nodding in realization, bringing his hands to the edge of his shirt, already taking it off.

“jeez- hold on!” you interrupted yourself when you notice the big bruise on his rib, “jesus, steve..” your breath hitches.

“yeah, i tend to have that affect on girls” he jokes cockily.

“is your rib fucking broken?” you inch closer to inspect it, gently dragging your fingers around the bruise.

“no- i- i don’t think so” his breath hitches, goosebumps rising.

“yeah, i think you’d be in a lot more pain…” i stand back up away from him, he lets out a sigh he didn’t even know he was holding. “we can go to the hospital tomorrow” you suggest.

“yeah.. tomorrow…” he nods, looking somewhere else, anywhere else that wasn’t you.

“i’ll be back in a second!” you walk off to the kitchen downstairs in search of painkillers and a glass of water.

the second you leave the room steve tenses. flashes of the russians beating him up and that stupidly creepy doctor trying to torture him play in his mind again. he wanted nothing less than to be alone right now.

he pushes himself up, trying to get up to look for you. he was scared of being alone right now.

he only makes it to the door before it flies open with you standing there.

“what’re you doing up? you have to sit down, harrington” you scold him.

“right, sorry doc.” he drags himself back down on the bed, taking the meds and water you handed him.

“i know the last thing you want right now is a shower, so at least change, it’s kind of disgusting to sleep in those clothes.” you point out, even though he was only in those navy blue shorts.

steve chuckles in response, he knew how much of a clean freak you could be at times.

you walk to his closet, adventuring around the drawers before finding his pijamas.

everybody knew steve was a preppy playboy, as much as he hated the title, the guy had money and it showed. but you never expect to find matching pijamas with his initials stitched on them.

“oh my god!” you laugh, throwing your head back. steve instantly knows what you just found.

“no, hey- i don’t wear those, kay?”

“oh my lord-” you attempt to catch your breath, “do you wear these while you have morning tea with your grandma?”

“it was just a gift from my aunt, i don’t wear them!”

“sure you don’t..” you wipe your tears, finding a pair of plaid sweatpants and an old basketball shirt. “here you go, this good?”

“yeah, ‘s great” i clears his throat, an awkward silence settling down as steve fiddles with the sewing on the shirt.

“oh- right, sorry!” you realize, walking out his room.

again steve is left in that silence, alone with his thoughts. he distracted himself by thinking of you while he changed into comfortable clothes. he thought of your worried eyes on him, and the way your touch actually kind of soothed him. and then he thought about how those jeans looked around your waist and- he interrupted himself by the knock on the door.

“you done? i made you some tea..” once you hear his confirmation you walk in, handing him the warm mug. he took a sip, one of the packets his mom loved drinking in the morning, when they still had breakfasts together.

“it’s app-”

“apple and honey, yeah, i know..” he looks down at the floor.

“uhh well.. get some rest, call me if you need anything, i should call robin to check on her too. i can come back in the morning if you want.”

no no no no no

steve’s mind went crazy at the thought of being alone. what if the russians came back? what if that scientist actually ripped off his nails this time?

“hey, no..” he practically whispered.

your hand instinctively went to his hair, brushing the usually perfect, but now messy, strands of hair off his face, lingering a second longer.

steve melts against your hand, holding you in place by your wrist.

“please stay..? i’m so scared right now..” his eyes shimmered.

you couldn’t help but immediately nod before you even realized, “yeah, yeah, okay..”

steve pulls you into bed with him, laying beside him. he can’t help but cuddle slightly against your side, his head under your chin.

he just needed to feel protected for a second, not having to worry about everyone else around him. he wanted to be able to be the victim for once.

your hand gets lost in his locs again, soothing the both of you, as you two let the exhaustion catch up and close your eyes. right there, snuggled against each other.

[keery-poynter]

Halloween party

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader Summary: You've had feelings for Steve, your best friend, for a while. And on Halloween night you found out he was jealous of Eddie when you two dated. Eddie's got a plan but it doesn't go well and Steve gets mad. And you realize you need to have the conversation with him. Warnings: year 1989, reader is at college, best friends, slow burn, a bit of curse words, mention of blood, angst, mentions of alcohol and drugs, stupid!reader, bossy!/reader one shot, making out but not real smut, no upside down, y/n only used twice, she/her pronouns used for reader, suggestive. Word count: +14.5k (I'm sorry) Author's note: Hello! After a lot of years reading fics and writing them for myself, this is the first time I post one. So I'm sorry if it's not well written, english is not my first language, or if there's a lot of descriptions, mistakes... Please, I will appreciate any tip/advice from you, so let me know what do you think. Thank you ‹3

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It was already Thursday and you didn’t have your costume for Friday's Halloween party at Steve’s. As usual, his parents weren’t at home so he had freedom to do whatever he wanted to. You, Nancy and Jonathan promised him to help with drinks and food while Robin recorded a lot of tapes with the group’s favorite songs at the radio station she worked at with Steve.

“What do you mean you have nothing yet? The party’s tomorrow,” Robin told you while she was writing names in the tapes. You were at the station to hang out after being at the library all morning studying for your midterms. And later, Nancy and Jonathan were going to come and pick you up to go to the market and buy all the stuff for the party.

“You don’t have what?” Steve asked, coming from the warehouse with a lot of music tapes and some vinyls on his hands for Robin. 

“The costume,” answered Robin for you. “You always leave everything until the last moment.”

“I know, I know. But I’ve been busy with exams, assignments and all of that…”

“That’s not an excuse!” Said Steve.

“Mmmh, yes it is,” you snapped back.

“I work here every afternoon and some nights while I teach every morning at high school and I have my costume since a month ago,” you laughed to yourself remembering that Steve is now teaching sex education to teenagers. 

“So you better come with a good costume tomorrow or I won’t let you in,” he threatened you, leaning against a counter. You tried so hard not to look at his biceps that were beautifully showing in that grey t-shirt he was wearing.

“What’s a good costume for you? A pair of sunglasses and a black leather jacket?” You asked jokingly, also leaning against the counter and approaching him, reminding the 84’s Halloween party. 

Steve looked at you, defeated. “In my defense I’ll say that there weren’t a lot of people in costumes at that party,” he responded, looking at Robin, asking for help.

“Don’t look at me, I wasn’t there!”

“Bullshit Robin! There were like 20 or 25 people in costumes. They were wearing more than a pair of glasses.” You could see how Steve turned around, stressed and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“You weren’t wearing a costume either!” He shouted, turning at you after remembering that. “She didn’t dress up, Robin!” He pointed at you, accusing.

“But I did have a really good excuse,” you crossed your arms, walking to sit besides Robin. “I had literally been living here for three days, I didn’t know anyone yet.”

You moved to Hawkins five years ago after your father divorced your mother and Joyce, your aunt, convinced her to move to Hawkins and start over. 

“Joyce forced me to go with Jonathan. I also knew Nancy from class and she wanted to introduce me to Steve and some other friends. I didn’t have any costume at home and the only ones left at the store were Doc from Back to the Future and I refused to wear that. How I was going to meet new people looking like a crazy old man?”

“Don’t talk about Doc like that! Show some respect,” Robin asked. “And sorry Steve but I’m with her. Her excuse is understandable but yours? King Steve didn’t have any excuse.” Robin defended you and you hugged her, looking at Steve with a victorious smirk.

“I bet he thought that being the popular guy, a pair of sunglasses would make people worship him, in fact, he walked to the house with that attitude,” you told Robin, gossiping as if Steve wasn’t in front of you, listening to everything.

“Go to hell! Both of you! Always two against one,” he complained as you both laughed watching him so frustrated.

“And you,” he pointed directly to your face, “you’re no longer the new girl, so you don’t have any excuse not to come with a good costume. I’m sure there are some Doc ones left at the mall.”

You flipped at him with a smirk. You were always like that, you both enjoyed bothering each other and Robin helped you a lot of times, she also loved bothering Steve.

That’s why those funny rivalries raised suspicions and gossip between your group of friends. Nancy had sometimes asked if there was something going on between you two and you categorically denied it. At first it surprised you because you’d never thought about Steve as anything more than a friend. 

Yes, he’s handsome and even attractive, but that was all. Did you ever find yourself eyeing his biceps? Maybe. His broad shoulders? Could be. That beautiful smile? Yes. His… Well, his nice ass? Obviously, you have eyes and sometimes it’s inevitable.

But it was never beyond his physical appearance.

Until it was.

Steve was so kind, good, funny, knows how to listen to people and gives good advice. He was always protecting his friends, although he liked to call you his family, and he’s surprisingly smart. Okay, he’s maybe the best person you’ve ever known, along with your mother, and it makes you happy to have him in your life, but yet you’d never thought about Steve as something more than a friend. 

Or had you?

It has happened at least four times. You dreamt about him being your boyfriend, having date nights at Enzo’s, going to the outdoor cinema or fucking in his car. But you’d always thought you had those dreams because you were feeling lonely without a boyfriend and you forced yourself to believe that.

Then came the first signs of jealousy. 

He went on one of his monthly dates with a random girl but surprisingly it went well and they had been dating for almost a month. You weren’t sure if you were jealous or you’re feeling lonely because you couldn’t make plans with your best friend, but you decided to listen to Dustin and give his friend, Eddie, a chance.

Dustin had talked to you about him a couple of times, trying to convince you to date him at least once. So one night you told him to call Eddie and you could hear a loud “fuck yeah!! through the phone when he knew he’d got his date and you felt good and confident about it.

Two days later, Eddie picked you up and you two went to the arcade and after that you went straight to his house to fuck him all night and forget what you saw at the arcade. Or what that made you feel. You saw Steve kissing his date eagerly, you could even see from afar how his tongue was having fun with hers. 

Did you have sex with Eddie out of spite? Yeah, probably. But you liked it, you really liked it. He was really good in bed. Besides, he was funny, he had a band, even if it wasn’t the kind of music you enjoy, but seeing him playing the guitar used to turn you on. So you two became official.  

You thought you’d finally realized you were attracted to Steve because you were single and didn’t have any other boy around you. Only Jonathan and he’s your cousin.

But six months later, Eddie had to leave Hawkins to work in the city. And although you always spent the night together whenever he came to visit, you made it clear that your relationship couldn’t be anything more than sex. No one knew about that, everybody thought you ended on good terms and that you’re good friends.

Steve dated Brenda, the arcade girl, for seven months, a record for him. You were the first person to know about the break-up. The reason? He didn’t want things to become more serious and that surprised you. Steve’s always been very clear about his future plans and that he wants to get married and have six little nuggets. He even talked about that when he dated Nancy and that was years ago, so it didn’t make sense to you that he didn’t want that.

“Okay, so what are you going to dress up as? With such high standards, your costume must be the best of the party,” asked Robin.

“You’ll see tomorrow, I’m not going to ruin the experience for you,” Steve answered with a mysterious tone.

The station door opened and you saw Nancy, she was there to pick you up. You said goodbye to Steve and Robin and went out to get into Jonathan’s car. The music was playing at full volume and you had to cover your ears.

“You’re going to end up deaf!!!” You screamed at him. “And Nancy too if she spends too much time travelling with you with the music being so loud!!” Jonathan lowered the volume and you could hear Nancy thanking you.

“Hello to you too,” he said ironically, watching you through the mirror.

You arrived at the supermarket in five minutes, you and Nancy went to buy food and Jonathan to buy the alcohol at the store next door.

“Nancy, do you know anything about Steve’s costume for the party? He didn’t want to tell me,” you asked curiously.

“No, he didn’t tell us. We tried to convince him to but it was useless.”

“I see…I hate him. He told me that if I don’t have a good costume he won’t let me in. So he must have a really great one.”

“And you’ll be dressed up as…?” She asked. You didn’t answer and you tried to hide it by grabbing some snacks. “Don’t tell me you don’t have your costume yet!!” REALLY??”

“I know, I’m going to get one. Will you give me a ride to the mall? Please?” You begged. She sighed, deeply.

An hour later they left you in the mall and you went directly to the Party Shop store. And as you saw it coming, they only had some serial killer masks; Freddy Krueger and Michael Myers, and of course, Doc from Back to the Future. “No. Absolutely not, " you said to yourself.

You looked at other shelves but you only saw wigs, accessories and make up. You were getting nervous, your friends were right and you would finish wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and a shirt.

But then, behind a scientist lab coat, you found a light pink dress with blood spread all over. “Carrie” you read. You loved the idea but it wasn’t your size. Then you remembered your grandma bought you a white dress a couple years ago and you never got to wear it because you don’t like dresses. But this was the perfect occasion to wear it. You bought some fake blood, a blonde wig, a tiara and a sash that said prom queen.

You went back home on the bus and once you arrived, you went straight to your closet to find the dress. “Here it is,” you grabbed it and put it on.

“Shit!”

It was bought two years ago and you could tell. It fitted you but it was a little  tight on you. Especially on the chest area, your boobs weren’t small, you inherited them from your mother. In the movie, Carrie didn’t wear a tight dress and it was bothering you, you didn’t want to look like a slutty version of Carrie. 

“Maybe the blood tries to hide that”, you mumbled looking at the mirror, your hands covering your breasts.

You put a plastic sheet and some cardboards on your room’s floor, the dress on top of that and you started painting it with fake blood. It was looking really good and promising. Once you finished you left it hanging to dry. 

Your mom arrived from the hospital just in time for dinner. You’d prepared some beans and steak you found in your fridge. “Is it good?” you asked her.

“Actually it is. The only thing I’m thankful to your father is you and his cooking skills he teached you,” you rolled your eyes.

“Mom…”

“Sorry.”

Your parents' marriage didn’t end badly. He realized he didn’t love your mother as a lifelong partner anymore. He didn’t want her to live in a fake marriage and told her it was for the best to go separate ways. She didn’t take it very well, your father was her first and true love and she thought she would die with him when they’d be like a hundred years old. She hasn’t found a person to spend her time with, she’s been on dates, had her friends with benefits, but she prefers that. Your father married another woman last year and since then, your mother hates him a lot, so you hear her speak badly of him. You understand both sides and you can’t hate them, but you’re tired of listening to her rants about your father.

“I’m wearing the dress Nana gave me two years ago for Halloween. Do you remember it?” You changed the subject.

“Yes. It was a pretty dress. It’s a pity that it wasn’t my size, I would have worn it so many times.”

“I’ve painted it with blood, I’ll be Carrie.”

“I love that movie!” She chuckled.

“But it’s a bit too tight, my boobs look like they’ll pop out any moment,” you laughed but it actually scared you. “I don’t want to be remembered as the Slutty Carrie of the party whose boobs flashed everyone.”

“Darling, it’s Halloween, no one will stare at you because your dress is a bit tighter. And no, your boobs won’t flash anyone. And if they do, people will tell the next day how good the party was.” You both laughed at her attempt to calm your thoughts.

“You’re right, mom.”

“As always,” said with confidence. She took a sip from her glass of wine and looked at you with a smile. “And I know a guy who will definitely love to see you with that dress.”

“MOM! Not again! I’ve told you a lot of times that Steve and I are just friends. Best friends!”“Your father and I were also best friends before we started dating. Just saying.”

“ARGH!” You let go, frustrated. “Why is everyone so determined that we should be dating!?” Your mother raised her hands, a gesture of peace and stopped talking about him.

You finished your dinner fast so you could go to your room. You laid down on your bed, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t like Steve.”

“I. Don’t. Like. Steve.” You repeated quietly. 

You fell asleep around 10pm and some hours later you abruptly. You were sweating, some hairs stuck in your forehead. You moved your hand down until it reached your vagina. You were really wet. You quivered and whimpered at the touch. 

“Fucking Steve!”

Yes. You dreamt about him and it pissed you off. Why did he have to appear in your dreams? And why it had to be fucking you at the party, you wearing the dress and pulled up above your hips while he repeated how he loved it?

You opened your window, you needed fresh air to cool down. Once you were more relaxed, you opened one of your drawers and took some panties. You had to change because the ones you were wearing were soaked. You put those in the laundry basket of your bathroom and went to bed again.

2 am.

You couldn’t get the image of Steve on top of you while moaning your name, giving you wet kisses on your neck and touching your body out of your mind. “Shit,” you whispered. You got out of bed quickly and went downstairs, to the kitchen. You needed a cold glass of water to help lower your body temperature. You stayed in the kitchen, eating a handful of cereal, because you didn’t want to go to bed in case Steve decided to show up in your dreams again.

It was 7am when you woke up, the next day, on your sofa, the tv was on all night. You took a shower and had some toasts for breakfast before going to class. Hours later, when you were coming home, you could already see a lot of kids going trick or treat in your neighborhood and filling their pumpkin baskets with chocolates and candies.

You went upstairs and lied down on your bed and took a quick nap before the party. At 5pm you started getting ready. You put on the dress and it looked really good with the fake blood on it. You also did your make up and hair while listening to one of the tapes Robin recorded as a gift for your last birthday.

You tried the wig but you looked horrible, so you decided not to wear it. You put more fake blood on your hair, the tiara and sash, some drops on your face, neck, arms and neckline. You finished putting on some perfume because the blood smelled a bit too much like chemicals. 

“WOW!!” Your mom screamed when you went downstairs and saw you, camera on her hands ready to take some pictures. “You look amazing, darling!”

“Thanks, mom. It isn’t too much, right?” You asked, still worried about that. She didn’t answer as she was already taking a picture of you.

“Really, mom? Is it necessary?” You complained. You didn’t enjoy being photographed or filmed, in your yearbook you only appeared twice and one was because you happened to be walking behind the drama club when they were being photographed.

“It’s tradition. In the future, you’ll show them to your kids and grandkids.”

I laughed. “I won’t show my kids how their mother dressed for this party.”

“Their father will.” And she took the polaroid camera and made you pose with a v-sign. You knew that photo was going directly to her metal box with your name in it and where she’s been saving polaroid pictures of you since you were born.

A claxon was heard from the outside and that was your sign to grab your jacket and go. You said goodbye to your mom on the porch while Jonathan and Nancy were standing in front of the car, waiting. 

“Hi, aunt Maggie!” Screamed your cousin, or as he was going to be called that night, Beetlejuice. The costume was really elaborated, his face also painted with white make up. And Nancy was dressed up as Lydia Deetz, obviously.

“Jonathan?” Your mom asked, straining her eyes from the porch. “WAIT!!” She ran into the house and you three knew she was going to pick her camera. 

“I need to take a picture of you together, you all look amazing! Say cheese!” She ordered. You said goodbye to your mom and Jonathan drove to Steve’s.

“Carrie?” Nancy asked, turning towards you from the passenger seat. You nod. “I’m surprised.”

“Why?”

“Actually… We thought” said looking at Jonathan, “that you wouldn’t wear something good.”

“None of you have much faith in me, is it?” You asked, disappointed.

“You went to buy the costume two days ago! We knew there wasn’t much left at the store,” your cousin defended his girlfriend. 

“Well, I didn’t buy the dress there. Granny gifted it to me a couple years ago and I decided to turn it into a costume,” you explained.

“Because there was nothing left,” he insisted.

“Yes! There was nothing left…Argh!” You saw Nancy’s hand on Jonathan’s arm, a sign for him to chill.

“Sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay.”

“With that dress you’re going to end the night with a lot of suitors,” he changed the subject.

“What? No!”

“I know a guy who will be the first to drop his jaw to the floor,” Nancy interrupted.

“Who?” You interrogated but you saw Jonathan shaking his head, trying to stop her from talking. “Tell me!”

“Steve,” she confessed. 

“What do you mean, Steve?” Your heart started beating faster. “I’ve told you a lot of times we are friends. F-r-i-e-n-d-s.” You remarked. 

“I know, but-”

“But??”

“We agreed not to say anything,” Jonathan muttered to her.

“I’m right here and I can hear everything. Now tell me,” you demanded.

“It started when you began dating Eddie.” Nancy started talking and you spotted Jonathan rolling his eyes. “Do you remember the party at Steve’s grandparents lake house that summer?” You nodded, curious. “You were with Eddie next to the bonfire, seated between his legs, while you kissed. Steve looked at you two and stood up to go grab a beer, but I noticed he was acting a bit strange. I went to ask him and he said he was okay. But I knew he was lying, he’s a bad liar.” You agreed. “He couldn’t stop looking at you two and he wasn’t happy at all.”

“It must have been something else, maybe the music Robin was playing,” you tried to find an excuse for the story Nancy was telling.

Nancy shook her head, denying it. “It wasn’t that. I knew it was because of you and I asked him directly. He lied again and told me some bullshit about being uncomfortable with Eddie being there because he was a suspect of Chrissy’s disappearance.”

“But that was like three years ago and Chrissy appeared a week after admitting she ran away because she had a fight with her parents and wanted to get their attention,” you remembered.

“That’s why I know he was lying! He didn’t have any issues with Eddie until he started dating you. He never believed Eddie had something to do with Chrissy. And he even went to a couple of D&D game nights.”

“But… But he never admitted it was because of me, right?” Steve was jealous of Eddie because he dated you? You never noticed anything.

“He didn’t have to, I know him very well.”

“Yeah, you do,” Jonathan interrupted.

“Hey! I thought you two were getting along!” Nancy snapped back at him.

“And we are, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about you dating him.”

“Oh, god, that was five years ago. And in case you didn’t hear me, he likes her, not me.” She said pointing at you.

“Or not.” You commented.

“If I’m right, which I am, he won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

A minute later Jonathan was parking his car on the driveway at Steve’s. You thought you would be among the first to arrive but there weren’t many spots left to park. People were excited to go to one of Steve Harrington’s legendary parties.

The door was already opened, you recognized the music playing, it was one of the tapes Robin made. You say hello to some people you knew, some from high school, others from college and to others you’ve seen hanging around Hawkins. The music was so loud you couldn’t hear any conversation people were having a few centimeters away. “The Look” was playing and you could feel your confidence growing on you. 

Jonathan took your jacket and Nancy’s and went upstairs to leave it in Steve's room. You felt someone tapping on your shoulder, so you turned around. 

“Hey, Dustin!! Guys!!” You screamed. A Batman with a big gummy smile was waving to you three. Dustin was wearing a superhero costume and he looked adorable. Next to him were Lucas and Max, dressed up as Pete and Charlotte from Top Gun. Mike and Will would arrive later because they took Holly and her friends to trick or treat and Jane was on a surprise trip to New York with Hopper. 

They went to the kitchen where the drinks and food were and you went behind them. You didn’t want to act like a mom, and it’s not like you weren’t their age when you started drinking at parties, but you also didn’t want them to get really drunk. 

Dustin hadn’t even finished his first shot when he was already refilling his glass. “Dustin Henderson!” You pointed at him with your finger. “You just arrived, control yourself!”

“Calm, Mom!” He joked. “It’s not my, well, our first time drinking.” You looked at them with nostalgia, you had a hard time accepting they’re no longer 11-year-old kids that used to spend their afternoons playing D&D and making stories about monsters at the Wheeler’s basement. Well, at least they’re still playing D&D.

“Please, when you all were our age, every Friday you said you were going to watch a movie but actually you just got together to drink and smoke,” Lucas blurted without a warning.

“And we watch them,” you said, crossing your arms.

“Did you? Or do you get so high and drunk that you can’t even make it through half the movie?” Asked Max, mimicking you crossing her arms. 

“Shut up and don’t drink too much,” you said. They agreed but you knew deep down that they’d ended up sleeping on the floor. 

“Go find Steve and leave us alone!” Dustin screamed as you left the kitchen, rolling your eyes.

You were looking for your friends while you sipped from the red cup but you couldn’t find them between all the people. You went to the next room, the living room, which was now the dance floor. Then you saw Robin, changing the music tape. 

“Robin!” You greeted her with a hug and she stood there gazing at you when you separated. 

“Excuse me??” She grabbed your hand and spun you around. “Is everybody watching her??”

“Sssht, shut up!!” You stopped, shy.

“You look incredible.”

“So you do!” She was dressed as Madonna in the Lucky Star music video.

“Yeah but you’re the only Carrie at the party. There are like three Madonnas’, 3 Batmans’, 5 Cindy Lauper and 6 Beetlejuice’, one being Jonathan.”

“But you’re the hottest Madonna!”“And you are the sexiest Carrie I’ve ever seen.” You laughed, blushing, and took a sip of your drink.

“I’m serious. Because I know you’re like boys -your loss- otherwise I’d flirt with you tonight.”

“Robin!!” Nancy laughed and cried, coming closer to you two.

“What? It’s true. I like boobies and hers are looking at me!”

“I think you’re already drunk,” you guessed.

“That doesn’t mean I’m lying!”

Someone bumped into you from behind, making your drink spill a little. “Hey, be careful!” You screamed, turning around to tell that person.

“Oh, sorry, I… I didn’t see… You.” It was Steve. Of course it had to be him. He was staring at you. No, not staring. Scanning you. From head to toe. You did the same but because you were trying to figure out what he was dressed up as. Then you saw it.

The fangs. The sides of his hair slicked back with gel and the top slightly tousled. He was wearing a black jacket with a white t-shirt, full of holes and torn, which revealed a lot of skin. Pins, chains and an earring completed the outfit.

“A vampire from The Lost Boys?” You broke the awkward silence between you too.

“What? Ah, yes.” He answered, his eyes leaving your boobs to find your eyes. “I told you my costume was perfect.”

“Well, Keith wears more makeup, white hair…”

“I bought a wig but I looked extremely ugly!!” He said, embarrassed as if he was wearing it.

“You mean uglier,” you joked, taking one last sip from your cup before leaving it on the table next to you. 

“Carrie I guess, right?” You nod. “Wow…” His mouth opened and his eyes gazed at you, stopping again on your neckline.

“Wow? Like, is it good or bad?” 

“Good, good. Really good…” You snapped your fingers right in front of his eyes so he can look at your eyes, instead of, again, your boobs. But you were enjoying it.

“Sorry, God, it’s just that you surprised me. I really thought you wouldn’t find anything good.”

“You underestimated me.”

“But you’re really good” he emphasized the really good words and you smirked at him, blushing.

“Someone threatened to not let me in. Did I earn my way in?” And without realizing, you moved a little closer to him, without taking your eyes off him.

“With honors.” You two stood there, staring at each other for a few seconds that felt like minutes. You weren’t cold anymore and yet you felt a tingling shiver all over your body. You bit your lower lip while Steve was drinking his beer, finishing it. Maybe Nancy was right, because what you were feeling wasn’t a common thing between friends.

He pointed at your red cup. “Do you want me to refill it?” You nod, and hand it to him. You could’ve sworn you felt a spark when your fingers touched. He went to the kitchen and you started to feel your hands trembling, so you turned around to ask Nancy something but she wasn’t there.

You scanned the room looking for her and you found her in a corner, with Robin, looking at the scene you and Steve gave them, gossiping and waving at you. You ran to them.

“Nancy! You left me alone!” You complained.

“You weren’t alone, you were with Steve and it didn’t bother you I wasn’t there,” she corrected you. You didn’t speak, she was absolutely right.

“Did he like the costume?” Asked Robin in a funny way.

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask,” you lied, trying to avoid the subject they wanted to talk about.

“As if that was necessary!! He couldn’t take his eyes off you, he was devouring you.”

“I saw him drooling,” your eyes widened as Robin was mimicking him as he was looking at your boobies, letting a little bit of her drink drip from her mouth. You laughed as she wiped her chin.

You were going to reply but Steve appeared with your cup, and his, refilled. “Thank you,” you said.

“Such a gentleman,” Robin chuckled.

“Me? Always.” He looked at you when he said that and you quickly looked away, feeling nervous.

“Nance, you look amazing too. I guess one of the Beetlejuice here is Jonathan?” 

“Yes, and now that you mention it, I don’t know which one is mine,” she replied, looking across the room trying to find his boyfriend. 

“We were just talking about how good the costume looks on her, don’t you think?” Robin made a gesture towards you and you mumbled to her to shut up.

“Yes, she looks amaz-”

“EDDIE!!!” Someone yelled in the same room you were. You all turned to see Dustin running to his friend, who was entering the living room with a Michael Myers mask.

After a few minutes talking with Henderson, your ex came over where you were, smiling brightly. “Guys!! Long time no see!!” He was excited and you could tell he already had a couple drinks before arriving at the party. He gave Nancy and Robin a hug and bumped hands with Steve. “How are you doing, Harrington?” But Steve didn’t answer.

“Hi, Eddie!” You opened your arms to greet him with a big hug too. And then you remembered what Nancy told you in the car, about Steve being jealous of Eddie. 

And it was true.

Steve’s facial expression changed abruptly. He couldn’t stop looking at you but his eyes were darker and his jaw was clenched. Then you looked at Nancy and Robin. “I told you” you read in Nancy’s lips.

Steve was jealous of Eddie and he was when you two were dating. But why did he encourage you to date him in the first place? He was happy when you told him you were official. Why did he lie? Or maybe he started to have feelings after… But why didn’t he tell you about his feelings? 

“I’m going to get another beer,” Steve said once your hug with Eddie finished. 

“I’ll go with you, I need alcohol in my veins to get through this music,” he joked, looking at Robin, who was giving him her middle finger. You almost laughed out loud when you saw Steve rolling his eyes when Eddie friendly patted his shoulder. If Steve were a cartoon, smoke would’ve been coming out of his ears.

“STEVE IS JEALOUS!!!” You screamed at your friends when the guys were no longer in the room.

“And now you notice it?” Robin asked in disbelief. Oh… So it was pretty obvious to everybody except you?

“I know! I told her about the lake house party and she didn’t have any idea,” Nancy answered for you.

“There was another time, too.” Robin started. “Do you remember the night we went to the outdoor cinema to watch Grease, a couple weeks after the lake house party?” You nod. “When Steve and I left earlier…”

—--------------

It was a hot night of July and you all gathered to watch Grease. Robin and you went with Steve in his car, while Nancy and Jonathan were in his. You parked in a great spot, no cars in front of you. Steve and Jonathan stayed with the cars, talking, while you and the girls went to buy popcorn and some drinks. 

You heard a car honk several times and you recognized that sound immediately. It was your boyfriend’s car. 

“Eddie?” You ran towards him and threw yourself into his arms, kissing him with passion, as you always did. “What are you doing here? You told me you had to work tonight.”

“I left early…”

“Eddie.” You insisted, you knew he was lying. Everytime he lies he looks to the left and bites the inside of his cheek. 

“I got fired.” He admitted. 

“EDDIE!! AGAIN!!??” You’d lost count of how many times he’s been fired the last couple of months. 

“This time was unfair, I swear!” He barked. “Jimmy was at the bar and he was so drunk he went behind the counter and tried to kiss Lucy.” He explained. Lucy was his coworker and Jimmy one of the nastiest men in Hawkins. 

“And what did you do to him?” Robin asked, grabbing two popcorn bags. 

“I smashed a bottle in his head.”

“You did right, he deserved it,” Nancy defended Eddie. “It was about time someone put that pig in his place.”

You knew she was right, Eddie was correct defending Lucy and giving Jimmy what he deserves, but you were worried about your boyfriend. “Eddie, your uncle will kick you off his home to work at the city if you screw it one more time. And I don’t want that.” You hugged him tightly. “Promise me you’re gonna find another job and that you won’t screw it up. Please.” He noticed how sad you were just thinking in that scenario.

“I promise you,” he calmed you, giving you a peck. 

Eddie helped you carry the drinks and you went inside his car to watch the movie. 

—-----------

“You didn’t see Steve’s face when we got into his car. And his humor changed and didn’t say anything about the movie. And you know how he loves to rant it,” Robin continued. 

“They greeted each other as usual, how I was supposed to know! I was that blind?” You sighed, finishing your second cup of beer of the night.

“And you’ve been, until now.” Nancy laughed.

“Wait. Did you really leave because I watched a movie with my boyfriend? That’s ridiculous!”

“Girl…” She pried at you with a raised eyebrow. “You were doing anything but watching the movie. Don’t you remember?”

No. You didn’t. 

Oh.

Shit.

“SHIT!! YOU SAW US???” You gasped.

“What? What did you see!?” Nancy was very curious.

—--------------

You’ve already seen Grease a million times. Robin and Nancy make you watch it every chance they get. You even know almost every dialogue. Even Holly, Nancy’s little sister, has made you watch it some nights you’ve babysitted her. 

So you were bored. And it was really hot inside the car. And Eddie was wearing a tight-fitting black t-shirt that was driving you crazy. The fabric stretched tight across his humble biceps were turning you on.

“I’m bored,” you let him know, stroking his arm. He looked at you. “Really bored.”

“And hot,” you pulled your shirt up, just enough to reveal a bit of your black bra. “It’s really hot in here, Eddie.”

“Don’t do this to me, you know I can’t control myself,” you leaned back, your back now resting against the car door. You looked at his eyes, flirty, with a smirk on your face and your tongue already wetting your lips. 

“Fuck it!” He gave up and threw himself on top of you. You felt victorious. 

Robin was singing cheerfully to “Greased Lighting” while Steve was eating his popcorn, waiting for the song to end so he could rant about the song. But Robin knew what he was going to say, that Danny Zuko’s car wasn’t that impressive, that The Beamer was better because the ladies line up to get into it.

The song finished and Robin grabbed her drink, her mouth was dried after giving her all singing. Steve turned to look at her so he could say his monologue but he froze when he saw what was happening in the car besides them.

Eddie was taking off his girlfriend’s shirt, who was looking at him lustfully. Steve swallowed hard and he wasn’t realizing it but his fingers were sinking into his seat from squeezing it so hard. 

Robin saw him so her eyes went to the opposite side of the driver's window.

“OH!” That was all she could say. Eddie wasn’t wearing his t-shirt either and from what they could see, Eddie was pulling his girl’s jeans down and threw them to the back seat. Eddie’s head disappeared and by the way she opened her mouth and closed her eyes, they both knew what Eddie was doing right now. He was giving her a really good time full of pleasure.

“Should we warn them? If we can see them, anybody could.” Robin asked, still looking at the hot scene her friends were giving. 

Her question didn’t get an answer. She turned to ask Steve again but then she saw him. His gaze fixed on the screen, both hands gripping the steering wheel tightly and his jaw clenched. 

“Steve?”

Without a word, Steve started the car as fast as he could. The popcorn bag that was resting in Robin’s legs fell. “HEY! STEVE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” She screamed, quickly fastening her seatbelt. 

Five minutes after driving at over 120km/h, Steve slammed the breaks and Robin breathed again. She could no longer fear for her life. 

“ARE YOU CRAZY!??? YOU COULD HAVE GET US KILLED!!!” Robin smacked Steve’s arm. Steve didn’t say anything, he lowered his head and took a deep breath, hands still on the steering wheel.

“Steve… What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Nothing.

“Steve, you are worrying me.” She insisted.

“I- I don’t know. I don’t know w-what happened.”

“Are you hurt?” He didn’t say or do anything. “We were okay and then you… You snapped.”

“I’m not. I don’t know what happened, really.”

“Are you sure, Steve? Your eyes, they were scary. You looked so angry. I’ve never seen you like that.” She approached him cautiously, petting his arm trying to calm him down.

“Robin… I think I’m in love.”

“In love? Steve, we talked about this years ago… I like girls.” Robin knew he wasn’t talking about her but she had to try to make him smile and relieve some stress. And she did it, she always does. 

“Sometimes I think about how easy things would be if you were straight. We’re such good friends, we have a lot in common and we can’t live without each other.”

“I know. But the thing we two like the most is the same; boobies.” She wanted to ask him about the girl he loved but she was also trying not to insist. She knew who he was talking about, but a confirmation was needed.

But she couldn’t take it anymore.

“It’s y/n, right?”

“W-what? H-how do you k-know?” He asked, eyes wide open in surprise. How could she know?

“I’m not dumb, nor blind. I’ve noticed things; the way you gaze at her with your eyes full of love, how you smile every time she opens the station door and comes in, how you flinch when she sits beside you and your shoulders touch.”

“Oh. Have you noticed all that?”

“You’re an open book, for me at least. I don’t know if the others noticed it, I know Nancy noticed you were jealous at the lake party.”

“Fuck.”

“Hey, but loving someone is great, I-”

“It’s bullshit, Robin.” He snapped. “She has a boyfriend and she’s happy with him. I even encouraged her to go on a date with him! I’m an idiot!!” 

“Well, kind of. Why did you do that if you were already in love with her?”

“Because I didn’t realize how strong my feelings were for her until I saw them together. And she is so happy with him, I don’t want to ruin that for her. I prefer being like this to confess my feelings and lose her friendship.”

“That’s nice.”

“Thank you?” He frowned his eyebrows.

“And stupid.” Steve rolled his eyes and chuckled. “What if it is mutual?”

“I don’t know, Robin. But I’m late. I realized it too late and now I have to live with it.”

“You can always wait until she breaks up with him and you make a move,” Robin cheered him on. “Now, can we go back so I can finish watching Grease? I need to sing You're the one that I want.”

“Okay… But if they’re still fucking I’m gonna slash his tires,” Steve warned. 

“STEVE!”

……………………

You sat in the first place you saw available, a chair, trying to take in everything you were hearing. Drinking was helping.

“He didn’t tell me anything when I broke up with Eddie. In fact, he kept dating Brenda,” you said, trying to make it all sense. 

“I know, it surprised me too,” Robin said. “I asked him a couple of times pero he didn’t want to answer me and I didn’t insist. I thought…”

“That he wasn’t in love with me and it was just a crush,” she nodded. “Well, because that’s maybe what it was and you’re here driving me crazy.”

“I’ve had a lot of unattainable crushes and I’ve never got as bothered as he was tonight when an ex showed up.”

“I-I need to go out, I need fresh air,” you told your friends. You walked out through the big door in the living room that led to the backyard. You grabbed a can of beer from a bucket full of ice and drinks and sat on the edge of the pool. You thanked the universe it was an outdoor heated pool so you could put your feet in after removing your shoes.

Your heart was racing and you felt you couldn’t breathe. You needed something to calm down or you were going to have a heart attack. And as if the universe had heard you, the help arrived.

“Hi,” a hand was waving in front of your distant gaze. “Can I sit?” You looked up and Eddie was there, smiling at you without his serial killer mask. You let him. “Are you okay? I’ve called your name a couple of times but you didn’t listen.”

“Ah,” that was the only thing you said. You turned down your lips and shook your head. You moved closer to him when he sat down next to you, he opened his arm and you curled up against him.

“Tell me, I’m a good listener.”

“I don’t want to be a killjoy,” you took a big sip of your beer.

“Believe, I’ve been to worse parties. The people in the city are so boring.” You couldn’t imagine Eddie living in a big city like Fort Wayne. He took two joints out of his pocket and handed one to you. “I think you might need one.”

You didn’t smoke, you didn’t like it. You only smoked a couple of joints before, when you were with Eddie and both times were because you were having a panic attack because of your college exams. So you accepted the joint because you were at the verge of another panic attack. You put it between your lips and waited for Eddie to light it up for you.

“Today has been a day full of breaking news. It’s pretty big news and I don’t know how to process it. And if we connect that with some thoughts that had been on my mind for weeks… Thoughts that I can’t say out loud so they don’t ruin a friendship and make a special person in my life disappear. You know?” You blurted it out. 

Eddie took a drag on his joint. “Actually I don’t. It’s my second joint of the night and I’m starting to get high, so if you could explain to me again like I’m a kid, I’d appreciate it,” you laughed.

“I like Steve. And Nancy and Robin have told me they think he likes me too and that he was really jealous of you when we were together. Oh, and one time he confessed to Robin that he was in love with me.”

“Steve what?” You nodded, taking a drag on your joint and coughing when you inhaled the smoke. Then you saw the look of realization on Eddie’s face. “That’s why he changed his attitude towards me! It happened when we started dating!! I’ve always wondered if I did or said something that bothered him…”

“Well, you did,” he frowned, thinking about what you were talking about. “Last year, when we went to watch Grease, we were doing…things. He saw us. And he got really angry, Robin told me.”

“Oh, fuck. Poor Steve. It must’ve been really hard for him.”

“We had no idea. Who would’ve thought Steve Harrington would be jealous of you because he liked me?” Just saying that out loud felt unreal. 

“I mean, I get it. Look at you. I would also have been jealous of Steve if it had been him the one dating you,” you blushed and smiled at him as he scanned you, brushing his shoulder against yours. “And you’re so hot, and funny and one of the best people I know.”

“Thank you.”

“So you like Steve, huh?”

“Shut up.” You smacked his arm. 

“I’m not saying it hurts that you already like another guy, actually I’m glad it’s Steve. That hair… It’s mesmerizing,” you laughed, maybe the joint was starting to kick in. 

“Hey, I liked you a lot too. But yes, I think I like him. I think I’ve always did. How he treats me, helps me whenever I need him to, he’s really supporting… And not only to me, to everyone.”

“King Steve after all.”

There was a brief silence between you two where you were enjoying your joints and beer.

“Can I ask if you were thinking about him when we were together?”

“What? No!!”

“Are you sure? I’m not going to get mad if that was the case.”

“Well…” You wet your lips with your beer. “I did. On the first date. I saw him kissing Brenda in the arcade and I got jealous, and mad, and that-”

“That led you to have sex with me on the first date, right?” You nodded. “So it was revenge sex?”

“Yes. BUT I loved it, really. You were so good that you made me forget about Steve.”

“Thank you,” he said full of pride. “But… Did you love me?” You could see a mix of sadness and disappointment in his eyes.

“Of course I did!! What a silly question!! I loved you, a lot. I love you. I fell in love with you, Eddie, and I was really happy. I mean it. What we had was beautiful and-”

“Passionate.” You chuckled. 

“And passionate. That’s why I had a really hard time when you left, and I was so pissed at you because you couldn’t keep a job for more than a month, knowing that your uncle was going to send you away…”

“I’m so sorry, I know it wasn’t easy for you. Dustin scolded me a few times, not only for leaving him without the greatest big brother he’s ever had,” said, boasting. “But because you were having a rough time. But I was so happy we fixed it on my first visit.”

“You were happy because of the way we fixed it,” you answered, nudging him. 

“That was the best part of every visit actually.”  He smirked at you, giving a quick look to your neckline. “And what are you going to do, are you going to talk to him about your feelings?”

“I don’t know. I’m scared of ruining our friendship. What if he rejects me because he’s not into me anymore? Nancy and Robin stories were from last year…” 

You put out the joint by sticking it inside your can of beer, smoke coming out of the hole. Your legs moving inside the pool and Eddie seemed to be in another world, his gaze fixed on a couple making out in the pool. 

“I KNOW!!” He jumped to his feet, splashing a few drops of water on you. 

“You know what?” You asked a bit scared.

“We can put Steve on the test,” he sat down again, cross-legged.

“What are you talking about! What test?” You couldn’t imagine what was running on Eddie’s mind right now. 

“We’re going to try to make him jealous. If he does, it’s because he still has feelings for you and you can confess to him.”

You didn’t say a word. You didn’t like the idea but you had to admit it wasn’t that bad either. You took Eddie’s joint out of his fingers and took a drag.

“I d-don’t know. What if he thinks we’re back together and decides to move on and ends up the night fucking another girl, he likes it and starts dating her?”

“You overthink too much, you know, right?” You nodded, smiling with pursed lips.

“Well, that happened to me with you.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah. Fuck.”

“And…?” He asked, waiting impatiently.

You couldn’t take this feeling anymore. Right now you hated Nancy and Robin for telling you everything, it was easier when you didn’t have a clue about anything.

“Fuck, let’s do it!” You decided, although you weren't sure if it was the mix of alcohol and weed talking or you. “But if this doesn’t go well, I’m killing you. In a brutal way.” 

“Okay. I’ll take the risk.” He stood up and handed you his hand to help you get up. “Follow me, trust me and just go with the flow.”

“Don’t be too harsh.”

“I’ll try.”

You entered the house holding hands. Eddie looked around everywhere, trying to find Steve. He wasn’t there, but he wasn’t in the kitchen either or anywhere on that floor. So you went upstairs, Eddie walking in front of you and holding your hand tightly.

“Eddie, wait.” You stopped abruptly. 

“Hey, what’s wrong? Do you want us to stop? Just tell me.”

“What if he’s in his room w-with another g-girl?” You could feel your body shaking, feeling nervous. 

“If that happens, I’ll give you another joint, you’ll smoke it and I’ll take you home. And if you want, I’ll stay over. As friends.” He calmed you, caressing your arm. 

You took a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s go.”

And you saw Steve coming out of a room at the end of the hallway, with a beer in his hand. It wasn’t his room, or his parents. It was the bathroom and he was alone, because he turned off the light. 

He didn’t see you, so Eddie prepared himself for the plan. He put one of his hands on your waist and pulled you until your back hit the wall. You shivered because it was cold. The other hand rested on the wall, close to your head.

“Now we’re going to pretend I’m telling you some dirty words, okay?” He whispered and you laughed at his silly plan. “Try not to look at him too much, we don’t want it to be too obvious.” 

Eddie leaned close to your ear and started to tell you what you had to do while you peeked to Steve. He was standing still down the hallway, staring at you. Eddie told you to smile like when someone is flirting with you and wants to take you to bed. So you did.

He told you to bite your lower lip, slowly, and to nod as if you were accepting what Steve was thinking Eddie was demanding from you. So you did.

“Now I’m going to touch you. Can I run my fingers along the edge of your neckline? Or is it too much?” He whispered. You didn’t look at him but you nodded. You fixed your eyes in Steve’s, they were darker than ever. You saw his Adam’s apple bobbing as he drank furiously from his can.

“I think it’s working,” you let Eddie know. He then stood in front of you, his forehead resting against yours while his finger traced your neckline, going from side to side.

“Please, let this work quickly, I’m getting horny,” he broke the tense moment and you couldn’t hold your laugh. You were about to tell him to stop but before you could, Steve rushed past you, bumping into Eddie.

You both watched Steve rushing down the stairs, skipping the last steps. You looked at Eddie. “Did it work?”

“I think so. Oh, God. I feel terrible right now,” he ran his hand through his hair, moving back and forth. 

And you were feeling as awful as him. “We’ve screwed up.”

You felt like shit, because of a stupid plan you accepted you pissed Steve, he didn’t deserve any of this. You went downstairs as fast as he did, looking for him. You saw the front door was opened and walked out through it. Steve was already inside his burgundy BMW, started the car and sped up.

“STEEEEEEEEEEEVE!!!” You screamed as loud as you could but it was too late. “FUCK, FUUUUCK!!!”

You turned around fast and saw Eddie on the porch. You ran towards him asking for his car keys. You’ve had your driver license since you were sixteen but you haven't driven since a minor accident you had a few years ago. And now you were willing to do it again for Steve.

“Are you sure you can drive? You’ve been drinking and smoking…weed,” he worried. 

“Just give them to me, please!!” You begged, almost kneeling in front of him. He handed them to you. 

“Be careful!” He said as he watched you running to his car. 

You slammed the door shut and started the car. You rolled down the windows, you weren’t hot but Eddie’s car smelled awful, a mix of alcohol, cigarettes, food and sex. 

You were going faster than you’d like and yet you couldn’t see Steve’s car on the road. He was driving faster and that worried you. You couldn’t bear the thought of him having an accident because of you.

But you knew where he was going. After ten minutes you stopped the car outside the radio station, where his car was already parked. Steve liked to go there every time he wasn’t feeling okay and both Robin and you knew about it. He goes inside a room, turns the music up full blast and he starts screaming or crying.

When you opened the front door, you started listening to a metal song coming from the room down the hallway. You walked a few meters and saw the light blue and red lights through the door slot. You knocked on the door a couple times with your knuckles but it was useless. He wouldn’t even hear a bomb from inside. You opened the door and saw him lying on the couch, his forearm covering his eyes.

You stood there, the panic and nerves already taking hold of you because you didn’t know how to make him know you were there. 

The song ended.

“Steve?” You whispered. Steve jumped on the couch, scared. He sat, wondering what were you doing there.

He didn’t say a word, he was just staring at you. You saw he had a smudged line on his makeup, he cried. He didn’t look mad but disappointed, depressed. And that was worse than him being mad. You took a few short steps toward the sofa.

“May I?” You pointed to the empty seat beside him and he nodded. You sat, carefully, biting your inner lip. You didn’t know what to say to him or how to even start the conversation. Your hands were shaking, your breath troubled. 

“I’m sorr-”

“So you-”

You spoke at the same time and that made you smile, but not him. Not even a muscle of his face moved and your expression turned serious again. You wanted to tell him the truth but at the same time you didn’t. How would he react? What if he gets too mad and never speaks to you again? 

You would die without him in your life.

Literally.

He got up to stop the next song that was playing on the cassette player. But he didn’t return to the couch, he stood there, turning his back to you. He took out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket’s pocket. He didn't smoke, only at parties or when he’s nervous. He offered you a cigarette but you shook your head. 

“Steve, I…”

Silence.

“You? Go on," he demanded.

“I…” You felt a gag rising in your throat. “I-I need to go to t-the bathroom.”

You ran to the room a few meters away and locked the door. You lifted the toilet lid and threw up. Everything you drank and ate at the party left your body. You wet your face to clean some of the vomit that was on the sides of your mouth. 

“You’re pathetic” you said to your reflection in the mirror. “Go back and tell him the truth. He deserves it. It’s your fault he’s mad.” You encouraged yourself, taking a deep breath.

You always thought that coming clean to a friend should be the easiest thing to do, but it isn't.

You walked to the room and sat again on the sofa. Steve was now sitting on the chair in front of you, his arms folded and his veins showing. You shook your head, you couldn’t believe that in a really tense moment you were just gazing at them.

“I didn’t know you and Eddie were back together,” he said, breaking the silence, looking at you with sadness and jealousy in his eyes.

“Steve, we’re not,” you answered with your head down, you couldn’t look at him. 

“No? You were really close and affectionate at my place. I’m not saying it’s my business but I thought friends were supposed to tell everything to each other.” You could tell by the way he was talking to you that he was being defiant. 

“I haven’t told you anything because we’re not back. What you saw there was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.” Steve frowned, confused and silent, letting you keep talking.

“I wanted to make you jealous,” you finally confessed, covering your face with your hands.

“What?” He asked, leaning forward slightly, his elbows now resting on his knees.

“I…I wanted to m-make you jea-”

“I’ve heard you. Why?” He was getting angry.

“Okay, fine. I’ll tell you everything but please, don’t interrupt me or I won’t be able to finish. Okay?” You warned him. Steve nodded while you sat on the edge of the sofa, also leaning your body a little.

“In the last few weeks I’ve realized that I have feelings for you. And not only as a friend,” Steve’s eyes and mouth were now wide open, surprised. You could tell he wanted to speak but promised you to not interrupt you.

“And maybe I’ve had these feelings for a while, maybe a couple of years? I don’t know. But I always thought I was just attracted to you because I was single or something, and you’re handsome and hot. And when I started dating Eddie those feelings disappeared, which made me believe in my theory. But I was completely wrong, of course I was, because a while after breaking up with him the feelings came back. And the fact that everybody thinks we like each other and that we’re flirting all the time, is not helping me at all. And that made me think of all the times my heart skipped a beat because of you.” 

You stopped to breathe and swallow hard. You could use a glass of water right now.

“Like every time you announced you were having a date with a new girl, or when I saw you kissing them… Or when on my first date with Eddie I saw you kissing Brenda at the arcade and that really pissed me off. Oh, and that’s why I fucked Eddie that night too, it was like a personal revenge. It was stupid, I know, or not because I liked it after all. But yes, very stupid,” you saw Steve’s face, he couldn’t believe anything he was listening to.

“And today I found out you were also jealous of my relationship with Eddie and I was skeptical because I’ve never noticed any sign from you, but then I saw your face when Eddie showed up to the party and we hugged. God, the girls were right.”

“The girl-”

“Sssht,” you shut him, closing your eyes. “Shit, sorry. Let me finish, I’m almost done.” You got up from the couch and paced back and forth across the room.

“I told Eddie all of this while smoking weed and he had this idea of testing if you were actually jealous or not. Then we did that stupid thing you saw in your hallway, all that flirting right in front- OH GOD!! I don’t even know why I accepted!! As soon as I saw how you reacted, I regretted it. I felt so bad that it was me who caused that reaction. I took Eddie’s car and I came here.”

You stopped walking in a corner, you didn’t have anything else to say and now you were waiting for him to say something.

“Steve? Say something, please…” You took short steps towards him.

He raised his gaze, his eyes, now darker than ever, fixed on yours. He was taking deep breathes, his nostrils flared as the air passed through them.

“So you’re telling me that instead of talking about this like two adults, you decided to make me jealous without caring how that would make me feel?” He said bluntly and with a serious tone. You felt a heavy and sudden weight on your shoulders, the anxiety was kicking out. You have ruined your friendship.

“I’m so, so sorry,” you begged. “I was scared of telling you the truth and that what the girls-”

“Told you wasn't real, I know. I’ve heard you.” He stood up and walked to the other corner of the room. “I prefer having a conversation than being used.”

“Steve, I-”

“STEVE!!” Robin screamed outside. You both freaked out, you didn’t expect anyone else to show up. “Steve, are you there?” She asked, opening the door, leaving you hidden behind it. “Dustin told me he saw you leaving in your car and I was worried.”

“Robin, we were just talking.” He answered, making a small gesture with his hand to let her know you were also there.

“Hi,” you waved at her.

“Oh, jeez! I didn’t know you were there. Oh, the other car outside, that makes sense. Shit! I’ve interrupted you, sorry. I’m leaving so you can finish.” She blurted out, smiling at you. She must have thought you were having THE conversation and that it was going well. You shook your head, telling her to stop.

“I think it’s time we leave too,” Steve told Robin, following her to the hallway.

“Steve, wait,” you grabbed his arm, trying to stop him, but he kept walking. “Steve!” You screamed softly, you didn’t want to draw Robin’s attention.

“I don’t wanna talk right now, y/n. I need to think about this. Can you at least respect that?” You nodded with teary eyes. You’ve never seen him like that and it was destroying you. 

You went inside Eddie’s car and drove back to the party. Robin and Steve’s cars were ahead of you. You wanted to go home but you needed to return the car to Eddie. 

When you arrived at the house, there were only a couple of cars parked outside. You look at the car's clock, it wasn’t late so you didn’t understand why it seemed everyone had left. You stayed inside the car until you saw Steve enter his house. Nancy waited for you, leaning against the porch column. 

“What happened?” She asked directly the moment you put a foot near her. 

“I’m an idiot. That’s what happened.”

She grabbed your hand and led you upstairs to Steve’s parents room. Downstairs, the kids, Eddie and Jonathan were helping clean everything after Mrs. Jenkins, the neighbour, threatened them to call the police if they didn’t stop the party. She wasn’t handling the divorce really well and she turned into the meanest woman on the street. 

You both sat on the bed and you explained everything to Nancy.

“I’m sorry, I know you didn’t do it with any intention of hurting Steve but I understand his reaction. I would’ve reacted the same way. And I also understand your fears…”

“What do I do now? He doesn’t want to talk and I’m sure he doesn’t want to see me either.”

“Give him space. Maybe in a couple of days he’ll be ready to talk.” Nancy was right, as always did. He needed time and you owed him that.

“Thank you, Nancy. You’re the best. Now I think it’s time for me to go home, I’m really tired.”

“You won’t stay over? The boys are preparing everything downstairs,” that was the plan. Stay over after the party, as you’ve always done in every party or after a movie or game night.

“Not tonight, it’s better this way. He won’t be comfortable with me staying. I’ll tell Eddie to take me home. See you,” you hugged her. You’re really stubborn so she didn’t try to change your mind.

You went downstairs looking for Eddie but he wasn’t in the living room or the backyard, so you went to see if his car was still outside. 

It wasn't, Eddie had left. 

“Fuck…” Did he leave because he felt uncomfortable too or Steve kicked him out? You decided to ask Jonathan to drive you home, so you went inside again and went to the kitchen, where you saw him cleaning the counters.

But he wasn’t alone now, Robin and Steve were there too. 

“Robin, I just don’t understand what all that nonsense was about, all that trick to make me jealous,” you heard him say while you were listening behind the half-open door.

“She was insecure and didn’t believe us.”

“I asked you not to tell anyone!” You heard a can of beer being opened, you were sure Steve needed another one.

“I know, and I’m sorry. But it wasn’t me who told her first, it was Nancy. She also noticed you being jealous but never talked to you about it. I just added another story…”

“Did she tell you why she did that?” Jonathan asked with curiosity.

“She just wanted to know if what your girlfriend and my ex best friend told her was true,” he answered, emphasizing the ex word, even though he didn’t mean that.

“She used me in a way I never thought she would. I thought we were close enough to talk like normal people.”

“Well, you’ve been pretending you don’t have feelings for her for over a year. And you’ve never been honest with her either.” Robin remembered him.

“Shut up,” he snapped at her. “It’s not the same. She was with Eddie when I realized, then I met Brenda. And when they broke up I didn’t think it was a good time to talk about feelings with her. Oh, and I don’t know if you know but she’s been fucking Eddie everytime he’s been here visiting. I overheard Dustin telling this to Lucas and Mike once. So no, it’s not the same thing.”

There was a silence, maybe they were all surprised about the news of you and Eddie.

“I think no one knew about that,” Jonathan said.

“That’s why it didn’t surprise me seeing them acting like a couple, but I didn’t like it either. I needed some space and went to the radio. What really bothered me was the fact that it was a show to see my reaction.”

“You need to talk to her, dude,” Jonathan advised him.

“I know. I want to, but not right now. I’m hurt and disappointed and I don’t wanna say anything I’ll regret later.” 

There was silence again, no one talked and just when you were going to leave, Jonathan left the kitchen.

“Oh, what are y-”

“Can you take me home? Please,” you begged your cousin,on the verge of tears. He nodded, assuming you overheard the conversation. You almost ran to his car and once you were sitting, you started crying.

“You heard him, right? Just give him some time, I’m sure once you two talk, you’ll fix this.” He started the car on his way to your house.

“I don’t know, I’ve never seen him like this. God, I knew I’d ruin our friendship, one way or another,” you covered your face with your hands to muffle the sound of your crying. 

“Look, I don’t know what will happen, honestly, but I know Steve loves you so much. And once you talk again, more calmly, he’ll try to understand why you did what you did.”

“I should have talked to him, Jonathan, but I was so scared and insecure. I’ve told you about Rick, right?”

Rick was your hometown best friend.. You fell in love with him and you confessed to him. And that was the worst thing you did. Not only he didn’t feel the same way about you, but he also made fun of you, he laughed in your face. The next day he didn’t speak to you and told everyone how obsessed you were with him. You felt betrayed, he broke your heart in the most brutal way and you thank your parents for divorcing three months later because it led you to Hawkins. 

“Steve would never do anything like that to you. Or anyone.”

“I know, but that piece of shit left me traumatized.”

“I’m going to give you the best advice someone, Bob, ever told me when I told him about my feelings for Nance,” you never got to meet Bob, he and Joyce had already broken up by the time you arrived at Hawkins. But you’ve always heard nice things about him. “I was scared too because she was dating Steve and they seemed happy, but the advice he gave me worked. Pretty well as you can see,” you smiled. You love how cute they are and you can wait for the moment when Jonathan proposes to her.

“Tell me.”

“If you love someone, you tell them. Even if you’re scared that it’s not the right thing. Even if you’re scared it will cause problems. Even if you’re scared it will burn your life to the ground. You say it. You say it out loud.”

“Do you want me to scream I love Steve in front of everyone?”

“What, no!” He laughed. “It’s a way of speaking. What it means is you tell him without fear, with all your heart. But if you want to announce it, I think Steve has a microphone.” You both laughed.

You thought about those words all the way home. When you arrived, Jonathan left the car and waited for you to do the same so he could walk you to the door.

“Let’s go,” you said, rolling the window down.

“What? Where?” He got back into the car.

“Steve’s. I’m going to listen to Bob.”

Jonathan smiled and started the car with enthusiasm. “I told you it was the best advice ever.”

“But tell Bob that if this doesn’t work out, I’ll go find him.”

Ten minutes later you were at your best friend’s house again, your nerves flooding your body but this time you didn’t care about them. You were ready to talk to Steve.

You saw the kids getting their sleeping bags ready in the living room, there were also a couple of mattresses from the rooms upstairs so everyone would have a place to sleep. Nancy picked the mattress from the suite for her and Jonathan. Robin was lying on the sofa and Eddie was gone. 

“Eddie left,” Robin told you after you asked. “Steve stabbed him with his eyes and Eddie freaked out.” You felt sorry for him but you also smiled as you imagined him being scared for his life.

“Steve’s outside.” You didn’t have to ask her where he was, she was your best friend so she knew why you turned back to Steve’s.

You opened the sliding door that separated the living room from the backyard. You saw him lying down in one of the plastic hammocks they had near the pool, his eyes were closed and his hands behind his head.

When you were closer to him you saw the cigarette behind his ear, and even though you were a bundle of nerves, you thought it was incredibly hot. You shook your head to clean your mind.

You sat in the hammock next to him, in silence, trying not to disturb him. 

“I know you’re there,” he said two seconds after. “I can recognize your perfume from miles away.” Of course he did, you could also recognize his even in the middle of a party with a hundred people.

“I’m sorry for acting like a complete idiot. But someone gave me the best advice I’ve heard in a while and I’m going to put it into practice.”

Steve opened his eyes while his eyes frowned, wondering what you were going to do. Or say. He was now sitting looking at you. 

“I really like you, Steve. Fuck, no. I’m in love with you. I’ve been for a while now. And yes, I know it’s weird that I’ve been sleeping with Eddie sometimes when he’s visited. Sorry, I overheard your conversation in the kitchen,” you explained when you saw in his face how would you know he knew about that.

“But trust me, it was just sex and I’ve never felt anything romantic for him again. And I’m so sorry for what I did with him earlier, I deeply regret it, you have every right to be angry at me.” You looked at Steve, he was nodding while looking disappointed. 

“I’ve had feelings for you before I even dated him. And as I told you earlier, I was afraid of telling you because why would you like me? I look nothing like the girls you’ve dated and maybe that’s a reason I didn’t tell you before.” You looked away from him, pinching one of your thumbs as a coping mechanism.

“But-”

“I love you,” you interrupted him, “and I’m scared this could ruin our friendship but I needed to tell you. I love you, Steve Harrington.”

He opened his doe eyes in shocking surprise but you saw him blushing.

“I’ll give you as much time as you need to talk to me. If you want to. It would be really difficult for me but I’ll respect you if you don’t want to talk to me ever again,” you sighed deeply.

Steve stared at the floor, thinking about everything he had heard that night. He ran his hand through his hair, the cigarette falling.

“Are you done?” He asked, staring at you again.

“No, wait. There’s one more thing I need to tell you. You look so sexy as a vampire. Oh, God! It felt really nice saying it out loud!” You laugh and he smiled, blushing under the thin layer of makeup.

“Thank you for telling me all of this, and for saying I’m sexy too. But you could’ve done it before all that performance with Eddie.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you said for the nth time.

“But what bothered me the most was the thought of you and Eddie getting back together,” you bit your lip, trying not to smile at his jealous words. “I never had the courage to tell you that I liked you either, not before or after your relationship with him. I guess we’ve both been pretty stupid.”

“Totally.”

There was silence but this time it wasn’t awkward. It was a “I don’t know what to do” silence. There were no secrets between you anymore, you now knew you liked each other but you were too shy.

But then Steve got up from the hammock and came over to you, kneeling between your legs, your faces now at the same height. He was also biting his lower lip, staring at you with those big, expressive, puppy eyes you loved to gaze into.

You hid a smile behind your lips, eagerly awaiting what was about to happen. Your heart was racing and you were sure he could even hear it beating. 

“I’m going to kiss you,” he announced. You nodded, nervous but excited, asking how his lips would feel in yours. If they’d be soft or how would they taste. Although tonight’s flavour would probably be beer.

His breath was now only a few millimeters away from you so you ran your tongue over your lips to moisten them. You wanted to give his lips a warm welcome to your mouth. Steve put his hands on your tights, squeezing them a little but enough to make you melt. His nose was brushing against yours really softly when you heard a scream coming from inside the house.

“Really!?” Steve said, closing his eyes and wishing it wasn’t real.

“STEEEEEEEEEVE!!” A second scream was heard. “WE NEED YOUR HEEEELP!!” It was Dustin’s voice.

“I swear I’ll kill that kiddo if it’s something stupid. Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be back.”

“Okay, Terminator.” You replied, laughing, as he got up and went inside, muttering words you couldn’t quite hear.

You started feeling a rush of tingly nerves overrun all your body again, unless this time they were kinda warm and hot because you were about to kiss fucking Steve. After all this time, your inner battles and the fight you had that night, you were going to feel his lips kissing yours.

And waiting for him to come back was taking forever. You started walking in circles around the pool, glancing at the door every three seconds wishing to see Steve walking through it.

You stopped walking where the hammocks were, facing the pool. Watching the water moving always calmed you down. 

You heard a sharp and strange noise, scared you turned around and saw Steve right behind you. You jumped a little and tripped over the beer can Steve accidentally kicked, which caused that noise you just heard. 

Two seconds later you were falling into the pool, screaming Steve’s name for help. When you surfaced and opened your eyes, you saw him laughing his head off with one of his hands on his stomach.

“DON’T LAUGH!!” You scolded him, trying not to laugh too.

“I’m… I’m not… L-Laughing,” he said, obviously laughing.

“Steve, shut- Oh shit!” You looked around and saw the water turning slightly red because it was melting the fake blood you put on your dress and yourself. “Oh shit, Steve! I’m sorry!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll clean it tomorrow. Well, are you getting out of the pool or what? You’re going to freeze,” he said, waiting with his arms crossed.

“Actually, it feels nice here. The heated pool is a dream, you should get in.” 

“That’s because you’re wearing your jacket. Come on, get out.”

You shook your head, teasing him. You leaned back, letting yourself float in the water, your eyes fixed in his, and you noticed him staring at how your wet dress was clinging to your body. To your tits. He took off his shoes and jumped into the water, splashing you.

“Steve!”

“Hey! You told me to get in. Did I get you wet?” He chuckled.

You were swimming to get closer to him. “Oh, you sure got me all wet.”

Steve smirked and laughed. “Wow, so blunt.” He was now swimming towards you and you were swimming to get away from him, playfully.

Suddenly you felt the wall of the pool hitting your back and you knew there was no escape. Steve was already cornering you between his arms, his hands resting on the edge of the pool. Your faces were just inches apart, water drops running down your cheeks. You watched a drop trickle down his neck until it disappeared into his collarbone.

“It’s a shame Eddie isn’t here,” Steve mumbled.

“Eddie? Why?” You asked, with a flicker of surprise.

“To get my revenge and get him jealous,” he responded with a mischievous smile as he was getting closer to you.

“Yeah? How would you do that?” You breathed, your hips moving seeking for his touch.

“First, I’d get really close to you, like I am now,” his body was completely pressed tightly against yours, the water no longer flowed between you two. 

“And then?” You were trying really hard not to wrap his body with your legs.

Steve tucked your hair behind your ear. “I’d whisper in your ear everything I’d do to you tonight,” he leaned closer, his nose brushing your ear. “And I’d whisper it right in your ear to send a shiver down there.”

You were quivering at his words, you didn’t know it’d be possible to feel any wetter, even though you were in a pool.

“What else?” You flushed as you felt one of his legs slide between yours. Your clit began to throb at the slightest touch with the fabric of his jeans.

“I’d take off that jacket because it must feel heavy in the water,” his hands slipped inside your jacket, pulling it down from your shoulders. His gaze was stuck in your chest, like he was being hypnotized, as it was moving up and down with excitement. He licked his lips, hungry. 

“More,” you begged and he looked at you. His cheeks were so red you felt the need to caress them.

“Then I’d begin to touch you,” his hands rested on your waist, squeezing it just enough to make you whine. “First, your waist. Then I’d slowly work my way up until I reach those pretty tits.”

You smiled, biting your lip and feeling very aroused. “So you like my… Tits.” You slide your hands in his jacket pockets, looking for something to hold onto. You wanted him to be so close to you that you could feel his bulge while grinding against him.

You pinched your brows when you noticed something strange inside a pocket and pulled it out. 

“Put them on,” you ordered, handing Steve the fake fangs he wore at the party.

“What?”

“Put. Them. On.” Steve obeyed with a little smirk on his face, knowing you were turned on because of the fangs.

“Now bite me,” you tilted your head, nipping your lower lip, leaving your neck totally exposed to him.

“Just like that, without a first kiss or-”

“Oh, Steve. Shut up and bite me,” you silenced him, your index finger on his mouth.

Steve leaned closer, bringing his mouth to your neck. You didn’t know but he was really surprised, he didn’t expect you to be so bossy. And he was loving it.

Steve gave you a few soft kisses at first and your pulse quickened, feeling it everywhere. A little moan escaped your lips, surprising Steve and feeling how he smiled against your skin. His kisses were getting warmer and wetter, his tongue wandering your neck.

“S-Steve, please.”

You felt the sharp plastic fang slowly digging into your skin, he was being careful but the subtle pain was enough for you to squeeze your legs from pleasure. It was Steve’s first time doing something like this but it was also your first time experiencing pleasure from pain.

“Harder.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, looking at you a bit worried.

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you know.” He nodded and returned to your neck.

Steve ran his tongue over your neck again, as if the trail of saliva would dull the sting of his fangs. This time he bit harder and smirked at the lovely sound you had made. He bit harder again but he quickly pulled away as when he noticed a metallic taste in his mouth.

“Shit! Sorry!!” He begged for your forgiveness as he took off the fake fangs while you were staring at the small drop of blood you had on your fingertip.

“Hey, don’t be, this is nothing. A mosquito takes more blood,” you reassured him. “Come here,” you grabbed him by the neck of his jacket both hands and pressed your lips against his in a hungry kiss. His lips were softer than you expected, and plumpier, and they tasted like beer. 

“Wait,” Steve stopped to remove the fake fangs, they were perfect for neck biting but uncomfortable for kissing.

You were devouring each other, the kisses getting sloppier and every time your mouths parted to catch some air, a thread of saliva held you together. Steve’s tongue was asking permission to make its way into your mouth. You opened it eagerly and let him in as deeply as he could. 

Steve groaned when you captured his bottom lip between your teeth and pulled. You smiled and did it again, you wanted to hear him doing that sound again. The water helped you hide how wet you were. One of his hands worked his way out to your chest, grabbing your left tit and squeezing it over your dress.

“You’re n-not wearing a bra?” He whimpered, smiling totally flushed as he was brushing his index to your nipple. You shook your head. “Good, that means fewer clothes to take off later.”

“Later?”

“I’m not going to fuck you in the pool, and definitely not with people in the living room who might walk out any moment.”

“Well, you have to mark a day in your calendar to fuck me in your pool so I can cross that from my hundred things to do before I die list.” 

“Oh, you’ll be crossing that out soon, now let’s go to my room.”

..................................................................................................................

[yenayaps]

Missing Pieces

Pairing: childhood bestfriend!sukuna x f!reader

Content: As a kid, all Sukuna ever really wanted was to be around you. He did just that for 10 years, only to spend the next 7 years wondering why you just stopped picking up the phone one day [tw: MDNI, angst/comfort/smuț, porņ with plot, friends to enemies(?) to lovers, uncle!sukuna, mentions of depression and low self esteem, sukuna's tongue is pierced, so is his 🍆, nıpple sucking, humpıng, óral (f receiving), fıngering, squırtıng, dacryphılia, matıng press] word count: 15k

Sukuna isn’t the type to hold on to promises, especially one made in elementary school. But, he never would’ve thought that you’d break it like that. 

The promise? That you’d be each other's best friends until the day you died. Looking back, it might be a little dramatic, but you were eight years old— all eight year olds are dramatic. 

Exactly how did you break said promise? 

You ghosted him. 

You fucking ghosted him. 

You were friends for over a decade and the moment you went off to college, poof— gone! You stopped calling, stopped texting, deleted all your socials. It was as if you had never even existed and that you were just a figment of the man’s imagination. 

Now that’s dramatic.

He’s texted and called you multiple times, no response. He’s asked mutual friends, they never got a response either. It got to a point where he had finally had it and texted your mother. You could only imagine how hurt he was when she told him you were doing just fine, and not that you were missing or in a coma.

He’d never admit it, though. 

The years came and went. The hurt he once felt inevitably dulled. Yet, you always managed to linger around in the back of his mind, like a little ghost haunting him. 

To this day, he still has no idea what he did wrong. You may have ghosted everybody, but he wasn’t just anybody. If anyone deserved an explanation, it was him. 

He still cares for you, sorta, but it’s been so long, he’s not sure if he’d even want to reconnect with you. Not with how you just dropped him like that.

. . . . . . 

“Are you excited?”

“No,” you respond a little too flatly for Ieiri, who shoots you the look right after. “Ugh, I’m sorry. It’s just been forever since I’ve seen everyone.”

She sighs, redirecting her attention back on the road— there’s not much to look at. Most people stay home on gloomy Sunday afternoons. 

The GPS says you’re nine minutes away from your destination, making you remind yourself once more to relax. Though, you really wish you could be one of those people staying in right now. Cuddled up on the couch, watching a movie. 

Ieiri taps her finger on the steering wheel. “It’s like what I said—”

What didn’t she say? 

She held you hostage on the phone for over an hour last weekend, threatening and bribing, and then threatening you again if you didn’t go with her to Kento’s surprise birthday party. 

You thought you had a good argument at the time.

“Do you realize how annoying that sounds? Kento doesn’t even like surprises, could you imagine how irritated he’d be if I just randomly popped up, too?”

“If you were Satoru? Yes. You? Doubt it. If anything, he’d probably like the distraction from it.” 

“Yeah– probably,” you murmured. 

“Can you please get out of your fucking head for once?” she scoffed. “Yeah, it’s been years since you’ve seen everyone, but it’s not like it’s because of a falling out. I don’t know where you got this weird idea that they hate you now because of it. It was them who told me to bring you!” 

“Who’s them?” you stubbornly responded. 

“Suguru, Satoru, Yuki, Choso— even Toji said something about bringing Megumi so you could see him.” 

As much as you’d love to meet his kid, it would also be another reminder of all the years that’ve passed— how everyone moved on with their lives. Getting married, buying homes, having children, starting families. 

The most you’ve done is get the job. You’d include the condo if you actually got to enjoy it, but it’s been a year since you bought it and you haven’t even bothered furnishing the place despite all the money you've saved up for it. The last thing you want to do after work is look at a screen and make more decisions. Deciding between color palettes and aesthetics, deciding on what decor and accents you want— it all sounded exhausting. Hiring an interior designer was an option. Except, you barely want to talk to a stranger, let alone work with one. 

It’s too many decisions to be made for someone that didn’t want to make them. You often wonder if you’ve simply just become someone that couldn’t make them. 

You’re well aware of the things that are wrong with you, but it didn’t make it any less surprising. You, paralyzed by choices and options? 

The people who knew you professionally would laugh. Hard. Any sense of certainty that could be felt in the air almost always emanated from you. You were decisive. Sharp as hell— honed to perfection. Someone that was more than capable of a task as menial as filling a space full of items they liked. 

You know what you like, don’t you? 

No, not really.

You are sharp, there’s no doubt about it. It’s what your boss favors you for, and sure, one could say you’re valuable to the company, too. It’s a nice feeling for a while. 

Then you realize there is quite literally nothing more subjective than the value of something.

Luckily, you are very useful. It was simply a fact, and every single one of your quarterly reviews solidified it. A coworker, or god forbid a client, could spend an entire hour talking shit about you, and they’d eventually reach the point where they’d have to backtrack with a little ‘well’ or ‘however’, before giving credit where it was due. 

The devil works hard and you stole his pitchfork. Ripped it right out of his hands, because apparently, you needed it more than him to become the youngest portfolio manager the company’s ever seen. 

Who cares about the value of something when you need it? Mr. Yaga claims to hate black tea, but leave him out in the desert long enough and he’d easily drink gallons of it. 

Having you at the company isn’t a matter of life or death, there’s thousands of others out there that are more than qualified for your role. More than half probably had resumes twice as long as yours, too. 

But for Yaga, there is no guarantee that day to day operations would run this smoothly, ever again. 

You may be a little blunt. At times, impatient. But in a world full of sexual harassment allegations and sleezy managers abusing their power, not once has there ever been a formal complaint made against you. You’re not always like that either, you’re great with the clients and stakeholders. 

It’s a talent, really— remembering all the personal details people tell you, like childhood stories, the places they’ve vacationed to, a spouse's birthday month that was briefly mentioned months ago. It makes people feel special. 

It was very handy, too. Especially in the case where the company might deal with someone that isn’t likely to give them their hard-earned money or signature. Your job was to either sweet talk or gaslight. No arguing needed.

Yaga may have not preferred you at first. You were essentially a kid compared to the people that applied for the position. 

The plan was to let you down easily, tell you to keep working hard and you’ll eventually get there. You were already lucky enough to have your foot in the door as an employee. 

Yaga had a list of goals he wanted to reach before his retirement, though. Any of the other candidates would’ve helped with that, but none would've given him the opportunity to make a second list and cross that off as well. 

The decision took months. 

In that time, he realized a few things. 

One, he spent his entire adult life playing it safe, which is an obvious sign of fearing growth. You’re not sure who taught him that, but at least he realized it was okay to start over and try something new. It was like a rebrand for him and he embraced that the “new” him craved more profit and welcomed different approaches. 

The different approaches being, finding more aggressive people because they bring in the money quicker. 

He never saw you as aggressive, though. He never saw you at all, actually. It wasn’t personal, those under 30 usually come and go, so he didn’t see much of a point in remembering names. What he did see, when he finally opened his eyes, was efficiency. 

You were straight forward in a way that saved time, had an air about you that screamed “don’t ask me how my day’s going or what I have planned for after work”, yet approachable enough for work related questions. Stellar reports, received every quarterly and year-end bonus. Sharp. 

Making you one of the managers meant he could wield you like a weapon, now you are the one he uses the most. You had the salary to prove it, yet no time or energy to enjoy it. 

You’re respected. The young interns, the girls in particular, look up to you more often than not. Eyes bright and filled with ambition. Romanticizing everything, from how much coffee you drink, all the way to your style that they labeled as “effortless”. They’re not wrong, it is effortless— always some variant of trousers, a t-shirt, heels, and a long coat. They’re never planned, yet they somehow always manage to work thanks to the lack of color in your wardrobe. 

You overheard your lack of jewelry and unpainted nails being appreciated once for how “clean” you look. All you could think of was the girl that used to do her hair and paint her own nails at one point. Except for the ones on her right hand. She saved that job for her best friend who surprisingly had a steady hand, despite complaints flying out of his mouth the entire time. Even on the days he gave in and painted his own nails black, he’d find something to be grumpy and complain about. 

It was always you choosing whose house to hang out at, which movies to watch, what places to grab food from. He was a big brat whose favorite answer to most questions was an inaudible ‘I dunno’ from the way he’d mumble it. So, you always led the way. 

Now it’s you mumbling that same exact ‘I dunno’ when you’re all alone. 

You’re tired. Worn out. If you were a blade, you end each day dull and chipped. Nobody sees it, not even those young girls with all the time they’ve spent studying you, blinded by their own dreams and aspirations to be just as important, not knowing the difference between being valuable and useful. 

Maybe it’s better off that way. 

Who were you to try to burst their bubbles when you never had dreams or aspirations to begin with? Your eyes were never as bright as theirs— not as a student, not as an intern, and definitely not as a new hire. 

You never had a spark to begin with, what makes you think they’d eventually lose theirs? 

Maybe you were the unlucky one here. 

You were the one whose head went under water after one bad semester, after all. Even now, years later, it still feels like you’re stuck in the deep end while everyone else has moved on. 

Toji chose to get married and have a kid. 

You can’t even choose yourself on most days. 

“You have arrived at your destination.” 

Fuck. You have a hard time believing the GPS was that loud when it was telling Ieiri which exit to take and where to turn. 

Her lips thin into a reassuring smile as she makes the final turn into the apartment building’s parking garage, and you fail to return it as you take a deep breath. Ieiri doesn’t say anything this time, figuring you’ll probably just have to see everyone's excitement for yourself to realize this wasn’t a pity invite. It’ll settle half of your nerves. 

The other half should settle itself with time and a drink. Several drinks, honestly. She did the best she could with telling everyone that what you pulled during your second year of college was 100% a you thing and to not talk about it unless you brought it up. Which you probably won’t— everyone will understand. No one wants to talk about being in a dark place when they haven’t fully left it. 

One moment, you’re sitting in the passenger seat with your seat belt still buckled. Next, your chest is tightening as you watch her open the door to Satoru’s apartment. There’s already chattering, which stops once she announces your guys’ arrival. 

You barely get the chance to look around before Suguru’s peaking his head out of the kitchen to see if you really did show up and lets out a laugh once he sees that you did. It was light and airy, the kind that’s accompanied by the warm feeling that you should get in your chest when seeing an old friend. 

He’s obviously changed, it’s been 7 years. Yet, he never lost that quality that managed to make people a little more comfortable.

“Hey stranger.”

Your lips thin into a shy smile, “Hey.” 

“Well?” Suguru asks, holding his arms out. “I know it’s been ages but there’s no need to be shy.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, stepping forward and accepting the hug. 

He lets out another laugh. “Don’t be— it’s nice to see you.”

“Where’s mine?!” 

You easily recognize the offended, slightly childish tone. You slowly turn your head around to see a slightly less lanky Satoru. Aside from getting some much needed meat on his bones, he doesn’t seem to have changed much. He’s still as unserious as ever, still wears sunglasses indoors like an asshole. 

Ieiri stood back the entire time, sipping on a drink she had already managed to make, patting herself on the back as she watched her little plan run smoothly: Show up early and let you build some confidence from awkwardly greeting the old friends you shared together one by one. 

It’s funny, you told her that they’d eventually move on to talking to the friends they made after you, but they all seemed more interested in circling back to you, whether it be handing you a shot or introducing you to a new face. 

If there was one burden she wishes she could take from you, it’d be the burden that has you walking through the world as if you were everyone’s last choice. 

Today should be enough to prove that.

“Yeah, no— at this point, fuck Nanami and his birthday. This is a better surprise.” Satoru throws an arm over you, slightly swaying from the shots he’s already taken. “Pfft– he doesn’t even like his birthday. I’m sure he’d be happier to see her, too—”

“He’s coming up the elevator,” Suguru cuts him off. 

“SHIT! EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP AND HIDE,” Satoru suddenly yells, as if he weren’t just talking shit just seconds ago. 

No one would be surprised if Kento heard him yelling at everyone like that, and given how hesitant of a knock there was at the door. The blonde probably already knows there’s something up. 

Suguru goes to open the door, and the moment he opens his mouth to greet him, there’s a loud wave of people yelling ‘SURPRISE’ behind him, with Satoru saying it a split second sooner than anyone else did. 

Kento’s eye slightly twitches. Half surprised, half irritated. He fucking hates surprises and knows that’s the only reason why Satoru decided to throw him one. Before a complaint can leave his mouth, Ieiri hands him an old fashion. He tries to speak again, but gets interrupted once more when she tells him who’s here. 

At first he scoffs, already having enough of people of fucking with him today. 

“No, I’m serious!” she swears, looking around trying to see where you were at, eventually catching a glimpse of your head in the kitchen. “There she is— come say hi.”

Ieiri grabs his wrist and pulls him through the living room and into the kitchen, where you, Yuki, and Choso were talking. She turns back to look at Kento, who’s already surprised by her rare display of excitement, as she gestures towards you. 

“See? Surprise!”

“Yeah, surprise!!” Yuki says right after. 

“Holy shit.” Kento rarely curses, but finds himself unable to come up with better words. “It’s been ages!” 

“I know!” You try to sound more apologetic, but ultimately fail from the nice buzz you had going on. “Happy birthday!” 

And for once, he’s a little less uptight about it when he gives you a hug and says his thanks. It was a nice surprise, he had to admit. If only Satoru didn’t have to ruin the moment with the way he barged into the kitchen with some stupid, frilly party hat in hand, begging Kento to put it on. 

“I said no!”

“C’mon, Nanamin!” Satoru whines, taking a step forward each time the blonde takes a step back. “You’re not getting any younger.”

“I don’t want to get any younger— I’m a grown man, and so are you. Maybe you should start acting like one.” 

“I do! I’m just fun,” he continues to pester him, ignoring everything Kento mumbles under his breath. 

You end up excusing yourself to use the restroom, somewhat bummed you couldn’t stick around longer to watch them bicker some more. You’re sure it went on for a while, though, unaware of how it was cut short when Shoko grabs Satoru by the arm. 

He hisses at how tight of a grip she has on him, fingers digging into his skin as she pulls him aside.

“What is your problem?!” he asks through a clenched jaw. 

“Sukuna’s here?!” 

“Yeah?” He tries and fails to free himself from her grip as he answers. “I thought it’d be a nice surprise!”

She looks at him like he’s stupid, nails continuing to dig into his flesh. “A nice surprise? He fucking hates her. I wouldn’t have brought her here if I knew he was coming!”

“Ow ow ow— No he doesn’t?! Do you actually believe that?!” he groans in between each sentence. 

“Yes! He says it every time someone brings her up!”

“Ow ffuck! You know how dramatic he can be sometimes— fuck, Shoko, please, you’re breaking skin.”

“You deserve it!” she responds in a clipped tone, despite finally letting go. 

“Jesus Christ— you can’t just assault people like that,” he pouts, rubbing his arm. “It’ll be fine! It’s been years, he can’t hold a grudge that long.”

. . . . . .

Sukuna can absolutely hold a grudge that long. 

Except, he was staring at said grudge like some fucking loser, and had to remind himself that it was still alive and well. 

At first he thought you were just one of Satoru’s new friends as you walked through the living room, shyly making your way around everyone, but then you just so conveniently looked up in his direction.

His eyes nearly widened. 

And yours actually did, looking as guilty as you should be.  

The longer you two stood there, looking at each other from across the room in shock, the guilt you had in your eyes started to fade. He was sure everyone else welcomed you back with open arms, and in turn got irritated because you probably thought he’d do the same. So before you could even think to take a step in his direction, he wiped the shock off his face and replaced it with a look that’s able to make even grown men turn around and walk the other way. 

Which is exactly what you did, stomach slowly twisting into a tight knot as you immediately began to replay the death glare he gave you over and over in your head. 

Sukuna didn’t stay long and left shortly after. Not without pretending like he didn’t know you when he said goodbye to everyone, including Kento, who he never even got the chance to say hi to in the first place. 

Shoko didn’t think that was enough to have a complete 180 in your mood. She then realized you were already quiet before that. You also decided to stay in the kitchen, where there was a wall in between you and him. 

So yeah, she blames Sukuna.

“Are you sure he didn’t say anything to you?” Ieiri asked one last time as she pulled up to your apartment building. 

“Nah— my stomach just started to hurt. I don’t drink alcohol that much.” 

She still didn’t believe you, not with how big of an asshole Sukuna can be, which is why a certain someone got an earful over the phone the moment you got out of the car. He barely got a word out while she threw nothing but insults and threats so specific his way, that he had begun to believe them.

Of course Satoru felt bad! He didn’t want you to disappear again for another seven years and have it be all of his fault. So, he gives Sukuna a call, continuing the cycle of abuse started by Shoko. 

The phone rings three times. Sukuna never finishes saying hello before Satoru tries to grill him. “Alright, what did you say to her?”

“Who the fuck are you even talking about right now?”

Sukuna knows exactly who he’s talking about, Satoru can just see his face crinkling in fake disgust over the accusation because he’s just a bullshiter at the end of the day. 

“Shoko thinks you said something to her— she said she was acting all weird and shit when she came back from the bathroom.” 

“She’s already fuckin’ weird,” Sukuna scoffs. 

“So you did see her before you walked into the kitchen to say bye?” 

“Yeah, I saw her. Doesn’t mean I said anything to her though, you fuckin’ moron.”

Satoru sighs and rubs his temple, knowing he probably looked at you like he wanted to skin you alive. 

“What? Is looking at her a crime now?” 

“With the way you look at people? It should be.” It’s clearly not the first time Sukuna’s managed to simply offend someone his face with the way it comes out as a complaint on Satoru’s end. 

“Why do you even care?” 

“Don’t turn this back around on me?!”

“Then quit trying to grill me over the way I look at people. Seriously— she comes back and you all are fuckin’ babying her like she’s some victim. It’s not that serious.”

“Well Shoko—”

“Shoko can fuck off.” Sukuna cuts him off. “Don’t bother me about something stupid like this again. If she can’t handle someone looking at her in a way that she doesn’t like, maybe she should stay home and lock herself in her fuckin’ room.” 

“I– she already did!” he tries to come to your defense. “Shoko won’t tell me much, but she was going through it for years. She probably still is! She doesn’t go out at all. I tried telling you before and you wouldn’t listen.”

There’s a long pause before a disappointed sigh could be heard. Satoru could tell it was directed towards himself instead of you. “She was going through it, so she locked herself in a room for years?”

“Not literally,” he scoffs. “Look, all I know is she was dealing with depression and now she’s all anti-social because of it.”

“She should’ve fuckin’ said something then.” 

“Well, she fuckin’ didn’t.” 

“That’s–”

“If that’s an opinion, it doesn’t matter,” he cuts the man off, starting to grow impatient. Satoru has adhd— the severe, annoying kind. There’s only so much he could handle before getting the violent urge to scream out random noises. “I’m just gonna give you her number so you can talk to her if you want. Who knows, she might even open up to you more since you were the one closest to her.”

“I don’t want her n—”

“YES YOU DO.” Satoru yells, leaving Sukuna more appalled than annoyed. “I just sent it. BYE.”

click.

Sukuna glares at his phone for a moment as if it were an extension of Satoru, convinced he was dropped as a child or something and just doesn’t know it. He knows he definitely wouldn’t tell his kid if he dropped them as a baby. 

He relaxes his tensed brows and shakes his head as he pulls up the number Satoru sent. For some reason, he expected it to be your old number that he still somehow knew by heart. 

He hates that he remembers it. 

He also hates that the actual reason why you disappeared isn’t as dumb and selfish as he wanted it to be. 

. . . . . .

In the three weeks he’s had your number, he hasn’t tried reaching out. He also hasn’t accepted any invitations to hang out with anyone as a group, despite being told that you were okay with him showing up. Part of it was spite, the rest being him genuinely tired from work. 

His old man’s been taking more time off under the guise of letting him ‘take over for the day’. He acts so gracious with it, too, as if Sukuna should be thankful for the opportunity, when really, Wasuke should just fucking retire already so he can hire someone else to take his place as site manager. He’s essentially working two jobs now and when he asked for a raise, that old piece of shit laughed so hard that he damn near coughed up fifty years worth of cigarette tar.

You’d think watching his father nearly hack up an entire lung would be enough to make him quit smoking himself, but that shit pissed him off so bad that he smoked three cigarettes in a row just to calm down before going back to work. It still pisses him off. He doesn’t regret taking $50 out of that old man's wallet on his way out to cover his gas for the day. He honestly should’ve taken more. 

It’s been months since he’s gotten home at a decent time. Tonight was probably the worst thus far. 

He drags his feet into his apartment and kicks off his boots, heavy eyes landing on the clock that’s two minutes away from 10:00 pm. 

The next ten minutes are spent shoveling leftovers into his mouth, followed by a hot shower that was mainly spent just standing there, zoning out as the hot water hit his back. It’s been days since he’s jacked off, realizing it doesn’t even give him the urge, his sex drives plummeted all the way down to hell. He just wants to sleep at this point. 

Except when his head hits the pillow, he’s wide awake. It doesn’t help that he ends up scrolling through instagram— there was hardly a point for someone that barely followed anyone to begin with. 

There’s not much to scroll through. The most interesting thing being a recent post of Suguru’s night. He absentmindedly looks through them, then pauses at the 4th photo of you and Shoko with your little drinks in hand. 

You were barely smiling. 

Your lips curved just enough for the camera— nothing like the photos of you from before, grinning and laughing. That’s how he’s always remembered you.

Would it have even made a difference if he told you not to move so far away for school? It’s not like he could’ve known, you never said anything. He thought you were doing just fine and you deleted everything one day and changed your number. 

He taps the photo to see who’s tagged. Just Shoko. You still haven’t gotten back on social media, no profile to see what you’ve been up to. All he knows about you is that you moved back to the area after graduation and scored a cozy finance job without telling anyone. The only reason why you got in touch with Shoko again was because she ran into you at some bakery and made you give her your number. 

It didn’t even matter if you did have a new phone with no contacts by the time you moved back. You didn’t need to text him or call him, you could’ve just shown up. Sure, he might’ve been annoyed at first, but he wouldn’t have turned you away. 

You’ve known each other since 8 years old, you disappeared at 19. That’s his whole childhood right there. You played together, ate lunch together, walked to school together until he got a car, ditched school together. You had your own shampoo and toothbrush at his and would just use his clothes if you didn’t have a spare set with you.

It’s just dumb.

Still thinking about it, that is. It’s been years. It may have been fine to still be thinking about it at 21 or 22, but now it’s just ridiculous.

. . . . . .

You aren’t expecting Sukuna to warm up any time soon. At all, really. You couldn’t blame him for the reaction he had seeing you at Kento’s birthday. If there was one person that deserved an explanation, it was him, and you’re just about seven years too late for that. 

He wasn’t the same person you knew. You couldn’t just go up to him expecting that you’d get to have a conversation. A civil one, at least. 

It’s been years. 

And honesty, it might not even be about being several years too late. He’s a grown man, why would he care about a childhood friend that just up and left?

All there’s left to do now is to stay out of his way. You’re sure his temper’s the same and the last thing you want is to bug him. Hopefully being at a kids birthday party shields you from it in the case that you accidentally do. From what you heard, he seems close enough with Toji to know not to fuck with his sons special day. 

It’s not all bad. Toji couldn’t come to Kento’s birthday since his wife and son woke up sick that day, so you were more excited than nervous for today since you’d get to meet them. 

This time it was you that picked up Ieiri. You felt a little guilty for being the one that constantly got rides, despite having a running car of your own. Once you two got to the little park in their neighborhood, everyone was already there, including Sukuna, who was stuck having to watch his nephew that you’ve heard about through Choso. 

The biggest plot twist of all was probably learning that Jin is now technically Choso’s stepfather. You knew Choso had a teen mom, you didn’t know she was that young, though. You also had no idea how much of a milf hunter Jin was, either. 

Jin apparently didn’t know that was Choso’s mother. No one believes him, especially not Sukuna, who still looks at two like they’re a couple of fucking sickos for making him Choso’s step-uncle. 

The kid’s name is Yuji, and he looks just like Jin and Sukuna when they were kids. He’s the same age as Toji’s son, who’s turning 3 today. Yuji acts nothing like his father or his uncle. Jin was always quiet and sensitive. Sukuna was sensitive, too, but he was always very vocal about the things that annoyed him. The toddler was more like Gojo, hopped up on sugar and bouncing off the walls. 

Sukuna calls out to him like an angry mother at a grocery store, gritting his teeth as he tells the kid to, “get your ass over here, NOW,” all while Yuji pretends not to hear or see him…. up until Sukuna gets up from the bench, which is when the little boy decides to run back to him, whining about how he’s sorry and how he didn’t know. 

Megumi’s more quiet and follows Yuji around. He even ran back to Sukuna with the boy, worried that his friend's uncle was going to leave him at the park too, even though his father was at the grill just a few feet away. 

Watching the two boys play is adorable, but you try not to look too much in an attempt to avoid making eye contact with the grumpy uncle, which ends up becoming more difficult than you’d imagined. The kid eventually wore him out to the point where he managed to slip out his view. 

Yuji didn't go very far. 

“...es’cuse me?”

You feel a little tug at your shorts and look down to find an incredibly worried Yuji, who should’ve gone to an adult he knew, but here he was after quickly deciding you were the trusted adult for whatever problem he had. 

“What’s wrong?” You crouch down, getting at eye level. “Are you okay?” 

“No,” he shakes his head, pointing to his feet. “I donno how to tie my shoes.”

“You don’t?” you ask, sounding just as concerned. “Do you want me to tie them for you?” 

He pouts. “Yes, please.” 

Your heart melts at his little voice. “Aw, okay.”

Like any other kid, Yuji’s amazed at how fast adults can tie shoelaces, unable to keep up with the strings crossing and looping around each other to create the little bow at the end. 

“Yay!” He claps his hands, jumping in excitement. “We can play again, Gumi!”

Megumi thinks to celebrate with his friend, but closes his mouth right after opening it. 

Then you’re startled by a scoff made directly behind you. “You make a stranger tie your shoes and you can’t even say thank you?” 

The last to freeze is Yuji, who side-eyes him, rather than turning to face him. “Um.. ya I did..”

“No you didn’t?!” The toddler's ability to lie over something so simple amazes and offends the man at the same time. Does Yuji seriously think he’s that stupid? “I watched you lie about not knowing how to tie your shoes and then I watched you try to run off with even thanking her.” 

“I donno how to tie my shoe!” Yuji stomps a foot on the ground to prove whatever point he thought he was making. 

“Yes, you do— now thank her, before I take your shoes away.” 

“Oh no, not my shoes!”

“Yeah. Bye bye, shoes.” Sukuna snorts, clearly enjoying this. “You’re a big boy now, remember? You don’t need them.”

“Yes, I do!” Yuji whines.

“Then have some manners and say thank you.” Sukuna continues to glare at the kid while pointing at you.

“Thank you for tying my shoe,” Yuji tightly grabs the bottom of his t-shirt with both hands and bows at you, then turns to his uncle and starts whimpering. “Don’t eat my shoes, Unkakuna! I need them!” 

Sukuna’s even more annoyed now at how specific that was. “Who said I was gonna eat them?!” 

“I dunno! You eat everything!” Yuji claims, bottom lip quivering and all, making his uncle's eye twitch in disbelief. “It’s all stuck in your big belly.” 

Sukuna’s face drops, as if he didn’t see a 6-pack in the mirror this morning with his own eyes.

“I don't have a goddamn belly,” he scolds him through a clenched jaw, then lowers his tone as he begins to crouch down. “Do you want me to hit your Papa Jin?” 

“No!!!”

“Then quit acting like I eat everything in sight, you little shit.”

Yuji scratches the back of his head as he continues to whine, trying to force a couple tears out. Eventually he turns to you. “He’s gonna hit my papa with his big belly.” 

“Uh-oh. That's not nice,” you begin to laugh, all while Sukuna grumbles something about Jin being the one with love handles. 

“Papa gonna cry,” he claims, continuing to act distraught over the news, trying to get all the sympathy he can from you. “My poor papa.” 

You giggle. “I don’t think he’ll hit your papa, though.”

“He’s gonna EAT my papa!” Yuji stretches his arms out, emphasizing how big of a meal that would be for Sukuna. As if it couldn't get any worse, Yuji finds a random basketball and tries to stuff it under his shirt. “Then his belly will be big like THIS.”

“Stop it,” Sukuna snaps, pointing off into the distance behind the kid. “Get out of here before I barbecue you on that grill Mr. Toji’s using.” 

“Hey!” Yuji gasps. “You can’t do that!”

“You can barbecue anything when you have barbecue sauce, Yuji.” he informs the kid, then notices a mortified Megumi standing off to the side. “You’re next.”

“DAAAADDDDYYYYYYYY.” 

The boys run to Toji at full speed. Yuji thinks it’s a game, but Megumi’s genuinely scared, sobbing as his father picks him. His dad’s obviously confused as to why his son’s crying like someone threatened to kill him. Once Megumi’s able to actually get a full sentence out as he points right as Sukuna. 

If Megumi thought he was going to receive any sort of comfort from his father, he was dead wrong. Toji bursts out laughing and doesn’t stop, even when Megumi starts screaming and hitting him for not being more concerned over something so dire.

“Megumi says you’re not allowed to have any cake,” Toji yells out. 

“I’m taking Yuji home if I don’t get a slice.” 

Sukuna’s response has the two boys whining in the distance. 

“NO barbecue me.” Megumi glares as he tries to strike a deal with the most difficult person he’s encountered so far in his short, yet stressful life. 

“Give me three slices and I won’t barbecue you.”

“But Unkukuna, you’re belly!” Yuji rounds his arms out in front of him, emphasizing how detrimental those extra calories would be for his physique. 

Everyone grows quiet as Sukuna stares him down, wondering who the fuck even taught him that. Whoever it was better pray to god that he doesn’t find out. 

“I’m not gonna be your uncle anymore if you keep talking about my belly.”

Yuji reaches out in despair as he screams, “NOOO.”

“No? You don’t want that?” he asks, fighting back a smile. 

Yuji throws his back dramatically, shaking his head. “NO.”

“That’s what I thought,” he barks, not bothering to hide how proud breaking Yuji down with a singular sentence made him. “Now ZIP IT.”

“KAY’.” 

Yuji looks away for a moment to take a deep breath, trying to calm down, all while sneaking little peeks at Sukuna. 

He quickly looks away after seeing that his uncle’s staring at him, then peeks again. It happens several times, yet his uncle hasn’t moved a muscle once as he continues to just look at the boy like he’s better than him. 

What kind of a sick game is this? 

Naturally, he grows irritated knowing Sukuna is winning whatever game this is, which isn’t fair since he’s already going to have three slices of cake later. Even one slice was pushing it, to tell you the truth. He was too young to put into words why it pissed him off. All he knows is watching Sukuna enjoy good things, that are meant for good people, will never sit right with his spirit.

By the time Sukuna decided to stop staring at the kid as a form of psychological warfare, you had already been awkwardly standing there for quite some time, unsure if you should leave or not. It was either look rude or look too comfortable, neither of which you wanted to come off as.

Sukuna wasn’t mad at you anymore. At least not since Gojo called and told him you were and still are dealing with some mental health stuff. 

He wasn’t planning on talking to you today, either, purely because he didn’t believe he should have to apologize for giving someone a harmless look. But then he caught Yuji trying to get your attention and figured it would’ve been fine since 2 minutes with him would make anyone want to choose peace for the next hour.

You couldn’t tell what he was thinking when your eyes finally met his, but at least he wasn’t giving you that same disgusted look you got at Nanami’s birthday. 

You weren’t the best at starting conversations outside of work, though, and quickly embarrassed yourself with how bad you stuttered while trying to find something to say, which ended up being an apology for tying the kids' shoe. 

In turn, Sukuna looked at you like you were a fucking weirdo. 

“What? No, it’s— that’s fine,” he waves a hand, still thrown off by the apology. “He just goes around annoying anybody he can.”

“Oh– don’t worry, he didn’t annoy me. He's adorable.” 

You suppress a laugh as he shoots you a look saying he’s anything but that. 

“He’s a pain in the ass,” he grumbles, already rubbing his eyes from how tired he is. “We passed around a baseball for an hour before coming here and he’s still running around trying to convince people that I’m a fatass.”

He has to be at least 200 pounds of pure muscle and has the ass of a baseball player, so you neither confirm nor deny the words out of fear that you’d make yourself look stupid again. “He probably just likes your attention.”

“That’s the problem— he’s probably taken 10 years off my life already because of it,” he smiles a little, obviously more fond of the kid that he lets on. 

You avert your gaze as you find yourself smiling as well. “His poor parents.”

“They have good life insurance, he’ll be set.”

“Oh, I'm sure,” you laugh with him until it dies down into another awkward silence. You’ve barely looked at him and try not to think too much about it after the realization. Having a conversation with him was surprising enough. Difficult on your end, too, but you pushed yourself. “How’ve your dad and Jin been?”

“Jin’s been good, he’s—” he huffs out a laugh, “you know he went and made Choso his fuckin’ stepson right?” He openly points at Choso, not very worried about getting caught. 

“Yeah,” you nod, just as surprised by it, more so by the fact that Choso and Yuji and brothers. 

“Well. He’s still going strong with Kaori. Just bought a house,” he struggles to list things worth sharing— aside from the mommy kink, his brother’s pretty boring. Sukuna quickly moves on to Wasuke, who he has no issue talking about. “Old man’s driving me nuts. Says he wants to retire, instead he just takes a bunch of days off and pretends he’s doing me a favor by letting me play boss while he’s gone, so now I’m doing my job and his.” 

“You’re working for the company?”

He sighs deeply. “Yeah.” 

It pains him to say, remembering all that talk about him wanting ‘something of his own’ when he was younger. Now here he is, set to take over daddy’s company. 

“I mean… it’s already there,” you try to offer some words of reassurance, being the one that heard most of the said talk. “All you have to do is maintain it once it’s yours.”  

“Exactly,” his tone changes, less ashamed of pulling the nepo baby card. “I’m not tryna work any harder than I should at this point.”

“Does he pay you extra on the days he’s off, at least?” 

“Fuck no.” He laughs, even though there is nothing funny about being exploited at his grown age. “Yeah— nope— he works me like a fuckin’ dog.” 

Hence why he’s been helping himself to whatever cash is in the old man’s wallet and whatever food he has in his pantry when he visits. He makes good money to begin with, so it’s not like he can’t afford any of it, it’s just the principal. 

He’ll take Wasuke’s toilet paper, too. 

That old man has one year to either give him a raise or retire completely before couches and T.V.s start to go missing. 

“Old man’s been good, though… still kickin’,” he mutters, then stops himself before saying something really fucked up, “What’ve you been up to?”

You shrug as you let out an indecisive hum, knowing you didn’t have much to share. “Nothing really— work usually has me pretty busy.”

He’s well aware of how boring of a life you have, but still tries to push for more details. “Yeah? Suguru says you’re in finance now.”

“Mhm,” you nod, growing shy, “portfolio manager.”

“You spend the day telling people what to do now?” he asks as if he were almost impressed. 

“Not really,” you laugh. “A lot of it’s research, reporting, meeting with clients, I— yeah, I mainly just take care of more of the sensitive stuff. If my manager hat’s on, it’s usually just collecting reports from the other managers or figuring out what’s going on with their teams if they’re not performing the way they need to.” 

He nearly barks out a laugh. 

You look at him with confusion. “What?” 

“So instead of managing a bunch of people, you just terrorize their managers?”

“I don’t terrorize them,” you murmur, shifting in place. “It’s their job to make sure that their teams are performing well and if they aren’t—”

“You ask them why they aren’t doing their jobs,” he finishes your sentence with an amused grin. “Then they sit there for the next hour, trying to come up with an answer for that.”

You pause for a moment, wondering if he has to do the same. “Well— kind of.”

You don’t have time to sit there and listen for an hour, nor do you want to. The longest one went just over twenty minutes before you had to stop her. 

“Listen, Linda— I,” you stopped to think twice about what you were going to say, “I’m just asking why there’s been a dip in the performance, I really don’t need an entire life story for that. Why don’t we take a few steps back— how has your team been?”

“Well… uhm… well… they…” You nodded, thinking it’d encourage her, and it did, but 5 minutes later she went off course to talk about her failing marriage, again. “And then Dave, he—”

“Is Dave a new hire?” 

Her eyes dried right up. “No… Dave is my husband.” 

You knew damn well who Dave was, but she was starting to get on your nerves.

“Okay, let’s talk about your team right now… this is about work— Dave doesn’t work here.” You tried your best to be patient with her, but it was like teaching a kindergartener how to self regulate. “I wanna know things like how everyone’s been mentally— are they eating, are they getting enough sleep, are they taking their breaks? Are they having to work through them?”

She didn’t know. She just wanted to give you a sob story so you’d let her off the hook. So, when she mentioned Dave a third time:

“This isn’t working,” you murmur to yourself as you turn to your computer and start typing. “I’m going to make a little worksheet for everyone, including you. Think of it as a peer review. You’ll have one for each team member and each team member will have one for you. I think that’ll be an easier way to get to the bottom of things.” 

Instead of excusing herself, she stares at you like a deer in headlights.

“There’s no need to wait on me by the way, I’ll have them emailed out to everyone within the next hour.”

On the rare occasion that you do have to ask performance related questions, you send them the same exact worksheet so they have an idea of what you wanted to talk about— which is the only part you mention to Sukuna. He’d probably accuse you of terrorizing Linda when you know you could’ve been ten times worse.

You’re just glad he didn’t ask about any of the other stuff you had to do.

Sometimes you wished you spent your days in Linda’s professional shoes— god forbid you ever had to deal with a man like Dave. Her job was less demanding than yours. More human. Working with others and collaborating with them must be great in terms of keeping you grounded— normal people, that is. 

You wouldn’t consider any of the people you answer to now as normal. The stakeholders, clients, the higher ups, Yaga— they’re all fucking crazy. You couldn’t just pretend like they were normal, you had to match their energy and in some cases, you had to be worse to finish whatever job you were tasked to do, which drove you closer to their territory with each day that passed.

“Do you like it there?” Sukuna looks at you and asks, tone fond and filled with warmth, as if he were proud of you. 

In the same moment you realize that you were only fooling yourself earlier when you tried to believe that he hated you. 

You wish you could turn back time by just a few seconds to change the subject. You didn’t want to answer a question that he clearly wanted a yes to— you’re sure it’d make him feel better about knowing you chose to spend all those years alone, when you had someone would’ve easily stayed by your side. 

You grew stiff, eyes glossing at the question because you hated the real answer to it. 

“Not really,” you murmur, almost ashamed to admit it. “That’s kinda how I feel about most things, though.” 

It was true. You don’t even know why you’re wishing for a job like Linda’s, you always came off as cold and hardly spoke to others before the big promotion. 

He didn’t know what to say to that, he wasn’t even sure if there were any words you could give to someone as apathetic as you sounded when answering. It’s not like he was the type to offer anything encouraging to begin with. Instead, he stayed quiet, comfortable in the silence as he let his own mind run free for a bit. 

Just as you were starting to think you made him uncomfortable—

“Did anyone have to drag you here today?” he asks. 

“No.”

“So you chose to come to soot sprites' birthday?” he asks, as judgmental as ever.

You smile. “I did.” 

He gently rests his hand on top of your head, leaving you with a familiar sense of comfort as he leaned in. “You’re not doing too bad then.” 

“Uncle-Kunaaaaaaa!” The man looks up to see his nephew sprinting towards him. “My tummy growling!!”

“This kid’s always coming up with the most extra ways to say things,” he mutters under his breath as he pulls away. “So you’re hungry?”

Yuji slows down the closer he gets, until he’s skipping towards the man. “Yeah. Mr. Toji says he make chicken sticks.” 

Sukuna looks at Yuji the way he always does whenever the kid decides to rename something. “You mean skewers?”

“Yeah, chicken sticks,” Yuji nods, confidently repeating himself, because Sukuna was obviously wrong, even though Toji said skewers, too. Both men obviously don’t know what they’re talking about. 

The man actually looked to you for help, and given how it’s an issue between a 3 year old rage baiter and a grown man that will make time to argue with a child, you decide to stay out of it. 

“That sounds yummy,” you say to Yuji, and you could feel Sukuna glaring at you for not even bothering to call them skewers, too. “You guys should probably grab some before Suguru arrives, he loves chicken and leftovers.” 

Sukuna lets out a mixture of a scoff and a laugh since it’s true, but if anyone’s taking those skewers home, it’s him. 

Which is why he lets Yuji start to pull him away to get some. 

. . . 

Getting to talk to you more, after being pulled away from Yuji, hardly counted since it was with groups of other people. 

Luckily for Sukuna, your car’s parked right next to his and you’re leaving at the same time he’s trying to get the little brat in his car seat. He’s half asleep and won’t let go— each time he physically tries to pry Yuji off of him, he does this weird muted scream. 

He’s about 2.5 seconds away from wrestling this kid when he hears someone. 

“Bye.” 

It comes off as a little unnatural, but it’s in more of an awkward ‘I don’t know if I should say goodbye to you right now’ way. 

Sukuna turns around. “Oh, wait—” 

His hand slides into his pocket, only to find it empty, then realizes it’s in the pocket of his jacket. The side where Yuji’s on and won’t leave. You stay in the place the whole time, wondering if he’s aware of how funny he looks grumbling to himself as he checks all his other pockets. 

He eventually finds his business card, then rolls his eyes after realizing he’s about to give you a business card, because he’d rather not tell you he already has your number. To add salt to injury, he didn’t even need to pull his phone out, because the goal was to give you his number. 

“Here.” He hands the semi-decent card over for you to take, surprised it’s not more broken down since he’s always leaving them in his pockets, even when he’s throwing his clothes in the washer. “You don’t have to of course, but feel free to reach out if you’re interested in catching up sometime over lunch or something.” 

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You look at the card, flipping it over a couple times. “Um… I don’t actually… need this, though.”

He stares at you for a moment, wondering if it was just some pathetic, last minute excuse to turn him down. 

“I already have it,” you shyly admit, handing the card back to him as if it were better off going to someone else. “Satoru gave it to me a couple weeks ago. I just wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear from me.” 

“Fair enough.” He shrugs, reluctant to say more— he might be down to catch up, but he’s still not apologizing for his face. “Shoot me a text sometime, then. I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Yeah, I will.” You smile a little, trying to hide a bit of the excitement that was starting to bubble up. “Alright, well— it was nice seeing you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

. . . . . . 

‘You’re not doing too bad.’

It took around 3 months after the words left Sukuna’s mouth to actually start believing them. 

It’s not like your life was crazy interesting now. It just slowly started to fill up with things you looked forward to over time. Whether it be hanging out with others or simply sitting in your living room with a latte you took your time making. Your apartment started to feel more like a home with each new addition you added to it. You were nowhere near done, but you found yourself enjoying the process of casually looking through items and randomly falling in love with different ones. 

The newest addition was a painting you saw a year ago and decided not to buy, despite how much you loved it. You stood in that gallery for over an hour, convincing yourself that it would never get that much attention from you again once you took it home. You were convinced that it’d find a way to collect dust in a space that felt as sterile as yours, and left it for someone that had a home where it wouldn’t. 

You found it again in a consignment store with a big coffee stain on the side of the canvas. The person who ended up buying it probably got rid of the moment it spilled. They didn’t even bother hanging it up, and most likely had it on some counter before the accident happened. By the time you got to it, it was collecting dust with dozens of other paintings leaned against the wall since they weren’t good enough to be hung up.

You paid less than a quarter of it was originally worth, but a part of you thinks you would’ve purchased it for its original price if it meant you got to take it home. You’ve thought about it nearly everyday since you stepped out of that pristine gallery, after all.  

Sukuna stared at it for a while before hanging it up. You can’t remember how the conversation started, but he came over and put it up for you after finding out you were going to do it yourself, claiming you didn’t have the right tools. You probably don’t. 

It wasn’t until the canvas was up on the wall when he finally asked the question you had been expecting to get after you caught him looking at it funny. 

“That brown stuff on the bottom corner is a part of the whole thing, right?”

“Nope.” 

He just stood there and continued staring at the damn thing with you, waiting silently for an explanation that he soon realized he’d never get on his own.  

“Are coffee stains some new trend I don’t know about?” 

He was dead serious. It was almost funny how he couldn’t believe that you’d just buy something that was stained like that. 

“Nope, not a trend.” 

He continued to stare at you, so utterly confused as to why you want that thing hung up on your wall when you could just walk into one of those art shops and buy a new one. It’s not like you couldn’t afford it, he’s seen some of the shit you own and you’re clearly not bothered by commas on a price tag. 

You eventually told him the story. He probably still didn’t get it, but that didn’t really matter. 

“How cute,” he says rather boredly, wondering why you couldn’t just tell him that in the first place. “You didn’t buy it for more than 50% of its price, right?” 

You shoot him an annoyed look. “I spent almost an entire year sulking over it, do you seriously think the price of it matters at this point? I wanted it.” 

“You probably ended up cursing the damn thing so no one else could have it. People don’t usually spill coffee on paintings.” he says, starting to laugh the longer he thought about it. 

You don’t laugh with him, but he does catch the proud look on your face as you walk away, just happy to have it. He walks after you with another question in mind, hoping now was an okay time since he always forgets. 

“Mind me asking why you’re just now starting to furnish the place?” 

You shrug. “I was just always too tired to get out of bed. If it wasn’t for work, I wasn’t getting up,” you remind him. “Too many choices to make, too. I’d get overwhelmed and stop looking for stuff.” 

“Yeah, there’s a lotta shit out there,” he murmurs, helping himself to one of the white claws in your fridge. 

The can cracks open and he takes a sip, looking over your living room that’s become a bit more filled in since the first time he came over to help you put your couch together. The place was so empty that he automatically assumed you had recently moved in. 

He’s been helpful since Megumi’s birthday— at least he tries to be. 

It never feels forced, most of the time it’s just him asking if you wanna come along to a place he was already going to, just to get you out of the house. 

He also asks how you’re actually doing, a lot— figuring you were just someone that needed some extra support, given how one lonely, difficult semester made you isolate yourself to the point where you started to believe you weren’t worth missing.

Once, he almost asked how you could’ve ever put him into that category. He loved you, both platonically and not platonically. But he never asked, the past is the past and that’s probably just how it is when someone’s spirit’s in the dumps.

He’s far from a therapist and never has any advice to give, but he was surprisingly good at getting you out of your head— pull you back to reality, without the reality check. You’ve obviously had more than enough of them. It’s why he doesn’t bother being harsh with you, at all. Even during the times he’s come off as more straightforward, you don’t feel any judgement or malice behind his words. The last thing he wanted was to say or do something that made you think you couldn’t give him a call. 

It’s probably why you’re so comfortable with having him come over and why you don’t mind telling him certain things, like the fact that you spent most of your free time sleeping at one point. He never bats an eye. He just wants to be around you, like he’s always had.

“Summers’ coming up. Getting anything for the balcony?” he asks, nodding in the direction of its doors. 

You turn your head, looking over at the empty space. “What would I even get?” 

He’s mid-sip when you ask, but hums in acknowledgment. “Some seating, a little table, maybe a fire pit if you’re feeling extra crazy.” 

You fight back a smile, “Oh? Thanks, asshole.”

“You might be a grandma, but I never said there’s nothing wrong with it.” 

“I’m trying not to be, okay.” You give him the finger as you walk to the fridge, hoping he didn’t take the last seltzer. Seconds later you’re cracking one open yourself.

He chuckles at the little pout you get on your face when you’re offended. “I’m just fuckin’ with you— you’re fine.”

“I guess,” you murmur, leaving him in the kitchen to go take a seat on the couch. 

He trails behind you, leaving enough space between the two of you as he takes a seat on the couch he nearly lost his mind trying to put together. The instructions were in a language so uncommon that most people go about their lives without knowing about it.

“What do you mean you guess?” 

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “Kinda feel guilty for all the years I lost, I wish I could get them back.”

“I bet,” he leans back in his seat. “You ever considered making more time for yourself, now?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Taking some time off. Could be a week, could be a couple months. You could even try working part time for a little. You have a savings, I’m sure you could get away with taking a break.” 

“Oh— yeah, I have actually. The company has really good benefits, though. It’s kinda why I haven’t even tried to leave,” you turn towards him, leaning against the arm rest as you hug your knees. “I’ve been considering asking for a demotion, though.” 

You’re not quite sure how Yaga would handle that. You’ve been coming up with different ideas all month— a hybrid schedule, switching to a 4 day work week, maybe leaving early some days, a demotion. You’re sure taking on another role would have its own difficulties, but it’d be easy to handle compared to all you do now. The workload you have really should  be split between two people, maybe even three. 

“That’d definitely be a lot less work,” he remarks, still shocked at all the shit he has you do. 

“A lot less— I’m hoping Yaga agrees to one of them. If not, I might just find some place else. I could probably take a few months off then. Free time does sound nice.” 

“Yeah you could sleep in, hang out with anyone who’s free, find a hobby, go on a date—“

His last suggestion gets shut down with a laugh. “Yeah, right.” 

“What?” he smirks.

“I suck at dating,” you inform him. “I don’t even know how to anymore.” 

He snorts. “That’s a little dramatic, no?”

“It’s true— last time I went on one was three years ago.”

He raises his brows, then flatly asks, “Three?”

“Don’t judge me,” you grumble. 

“M’not. It’s just— 3 years of completely nothing?”

“God— obviously.” You hide your face in embarrassment. “You are judging me right now.”

“I’m not,” he laughs, taking another sip. “Just a long time to go without having someone take care of you.” 

"Well I slept through most of it anyway so I'm fine,” you roll your eyes, annoyed at how he’d even make a joke like that when he knows you can support yourself just fine without anyone’s help.

“You’re awake right now, though.” 

“So?” you scoff.

“I can take care of you, if you want,” he offers.

“Not funny,” you murmur, just about ready to kick his ass out. 

At first, he’s confused as to why his little offer had you that offended. Then after a minute, it clicks. Since you refuse to look at him, you miss the amused grin on his face after realizing you two are thinking about two entirely separate things in terms of ‘being taken care of’.

You only finally look at him when he gets up from where he’s sitting and there’s a shit eating smirk on his face, making you think he’s just being a dick and leaving.

Then he takes a seat right next to you, leg just barely brushing against yours.

“What are you d—”

“I think you’re a little confused here,” he says a little too calmly, throwing his arm over the backrest and leaning in way too close.

“Listen, I looked forward to hanging up that painting of yours all day, same goes for all the other stuff I’ve helped you out with.” You feel your cheeks start to warm as a result of the low, honeyed tone he’s using on you. “I really like helping you. It makes you a little happier, and with all the assholes I have to deal with everyday, it makes my day a lot better. So, why not just let me do a little more?”

“I don’t— what are you even talking about right now?” Your words come out all nervous and jumbled, failing to stay calm from how close this guy is. 

“I’m talking about all the times I’ve caught you looking at my dick print.”

Your eyes widen in horror and he laughs. 

“Yeah, you’re not slick,” he tucks some hair behind your ear and leans in closer. “C’mon— you’re not even at work right now and your mind’s still all over the place trying to find stuff to be stressed about. Aren’t you tired?”

Your heart pounds against your chest as you hesitate to answer. “I mean— yeah.” 

“Let me fuck you then,” he murmurs, tracing the backs of his fingers down your arm. “You won’t have to think about anything, won’t have to do anything— just gotta take it. Super easy. Sounds fun, huh?” 

“I… I don’t know,” you just barely whisper, shifting in your seat from all the nerves, looking like a deer in headlights.

“I think you do know.” He continues to toy with you as he waits for you to say anything else. Surprise: you never do. 

“I’ll stop if you tell me to.”

You look like you’re about to have a panic attack and it’s adorable. “Stop what?”

“This.” He smiles, pressing a soft kiss right under your ear, humming against your skin, not missing the way it makes your breath hitch. Then he presses another one on your jaw, then another, getting closer to your lips and pulling back right before he does, meeting your glazed over, half lidded eyes. 

He snakes a hand around the back of your neck and pulls you in, making your lips meet his. The first kiss is slow and gentle, letting you warm up to it. You put your legs down trying to get closer, not expecting for it to grow more heated, too. 

An arm wraps around your waist and you're being pulled in to straddle his lap. His big hands roam around your hips and ass as you start to full on make out, grinding you down against something long and hard until you’re desperately panting against each other. 

He gives your ass one last squeeze before finding the bottom of your shirt and pulling it up over your head, rushing to unclip your bra and tossing it in whichever direction the shirt went. A soft gasp slips through your lips once you feel the wet heat of his pierced tongue drag a slow stripe over your nipple, not thinking much about the way Sukuna smiled at you afterwards. 

You should’ve braced yourself for the level of greed you were about to experience. 

Many minutes later, your tits are covered in spit and you’re failing to bite back moans out of self preservation. 

And it’s fucking hard. 

Sukuna’s groaning and dragging a heavy tongue over each nipple 1, 2, 3, 4 times before wrapping his lips around them and starts sucking. He goes back and forth between each, pulling away with a wet, lewd pop before moving on to the next. At first, he’d replace his mouth with his fingers— rubbing, rolling, and pinching on the sensitive bud so it’s not completely neglected while he works on the other one. 

They’re now firmly planted on your hips, because apparently he needs the extra friction. So now your shorts are soaked through and you’re trying not to cum as he continues to push you down back and forth against his cock.

Your fingers are digging into his shoulders, the moans you’re struggling to bite back come out as whines and the one thing that actually pulls one out of you is when Sukuna’s palm cracks down on your ass. 

“Come here.”

He pulls you in by the back of your neck and swallows all the little sounds you try not to make with a kiss messier than the last. 

The air's hot and heavy once he breaks it. A small string of saliva hangs on and then breaks as you pull away, already looking like a mess while trying to catch your breath.  

“Bed?”

“Yeah,” you nod, sounding more desperate. 

“Thought so,” he stifles out a laugh as he suddenly gets up, easily taking you with him as he makes the short walk to your bedroom. 

He sets you down on the mattress before pulling his shirt over his head. The buckle of his belt lightly clinks as he undoes it to take his pants off, leaving just his boxers on that leave little room for imagination. He leans forward, hooking his fingers over the waistband of your soaked fucking shorts, taking them off along with your panties in one go. 

You don’t even get the opportunity to be shy around Sukuna because he's immediately grabbing the backs of your thighs and letting out a low whistle while pulling them apart to get a good look at how wet you already are. 

“Shit— look at you,” he groans. 

Without warning, he dips his head down in between your thighs, and he licks a long, fat stripe up your slit, not missing the extra friction from the metal ball on his tongue. There’s a shit eating smirk on his face when his head comes up, teasing you as he pushes you back further up the bed to make more room for himself. 

“Told you this was fun.”

“Shut up.” You giggle as you watch him get settled back in between your thighs, only for it to die out once he dips his head back down. 

He draws a long sigh out of you once he starts to slowly lap at your sensitive clit. He goes at an unhurried pace, just barely using any pressure and you’re sure he’s just doing it to fuck with you. With the way you are right now, the lazily licks are fucking torture, making you squirm around while you clench around nothing.

The more you move, the tighter his grip around the back of your thighs gets, until you find yourself pinned in place as he finally starts to pick up the pace, adding more pressure until that metal ball starts swiping across your clit like you need it to. You focus on it, until it gets ripped away once you finally feel his tongue press flat against your hole and begins dragging heavy stripes up to your clit. 

Your breathing grows sharp and uneven, hand moving down to his head, locking strands of hair in between your fingers as drawn out moans start spilling past your lips. He goes from pressing his tongue against your entrance to pushing past it, dipping further and further until deciding to just stay there and fuck you with it.

The shallow thrusts have you squeezing and clenching, back arching off the bed, desperate for more. You nearly let out a pathetic cry when he pulls away, but then he fills the empty space right back up with not one, but two of his fingers. They’re long and thick, and he’s curling them in. The pads of his fingers rub right up against that spot inside that has you seeing stars. 

Through half-lidded eyes, you watch as he starts to pump them in and out faster, until a light squelch can be heard. “Oh fuuuck.” 

“You like my fingers?” he asks with a low, amused hum. 

You nod. “Feels so good— oh my god.”

“I bet— look at how fuckin’ soaked they are from you.” He pulls them all the way out for you to see, then stuffs them back in. He starts curling faster, thumb pressing your clit and rubbing little circles until you’re clenching and whining. “Yeahh— that’s it, show me how good that feels.”

He keeps hitting your sweet spot until something in you shifts, making you close your legs out of instinct, only for him to keep them open so he can keep going. 

“Oh my god— fuck— wait!” you cry out. 

“What’s wrong, baby? Gonna cum?” Instead of letting up, he goes faster, letting the room continue to fill up with the filthy sounds of his fingers scissoring into your cunt, pushing you over the edge until you give him what he wants. 

And he gets it quick. You let out a sharp cry as you gush around him, finally cumming after holding it in from earlier.

“Fuuck yeah, there you go,” he rasps, fingers slowing down as he works you through it. 

He waits for you to catch your breath before leaning forward and kissing you a couple times, humming with each one. 

“Tired or you wanna keep goin’?” he asks. 

You’re still trying to catch your breath as you answer. “Yeah, keep going.”

“Atta girl.” 

He pushes himself off the bed to take the boxers off and your eyes widen at his cock that’s bigger than you originally thought it’d be. It springs out of his boxers with multiple piercings and precum smeared all over his darkened red tip. 

And of course, you stare for longer than you should.

“You alright?” he asks, sounding cocky as hell, and actually having the right to be. 

Taking your eyes off feels impossible— 3 rows of barbells on the underside of his shaft right below his tip, and another one on the underside of his tip. It almost feels wrong, he’s already long and thick. 

“Yeah— I just— holy shit.” 

“I know.” He says with full confidence as he gets back on the bed and situating himself in between your legs. “Gonna be fun watching you take it.”

He grabs the backs of your knees and spreads your legs further apart, getting a better look at how wet you still are, fighting back a smile knowing it’s from him.

He gives his cock a couple pumps, then looks at you, not sure whether you’re excited or nervous. “You ready?”

You look at him, then back down to the absolute monster he has in his hand, then back up at him. 

“Mhm.”

He stares at you for a few seconds, then casually shrugs. “Alright.”

You’ll get used to it.

He runs the head of his cock through your slick folds, tapping it over your clit a couple times, making you a bit more nervous after feeling the cold metal ball from his piercing nudging at your entrance. 

He pushes in, and you both have the same reaction to how easy it slides in despite how tight of a fit it was. You take in a sharp breath as he starts to sink in, inch by inch, with no resistance, all while feeling an immediate stretch and the added friction from each piercing. 

Once he’s halfway through, he slowly starts to rock his hips back and forth and you find yourself having to bite back on a moan, realizing those piercings were also rubbing back and forth against your walls. 

“You doin’ okay?” he raises a brow, clearly enjoying the sight. 

“You’re so fucking big,” it almost sounds like a complaint.

“I am,” he hums, leaning down and caging you in with his arms. “I’m gonna push the rest in.” 

“How much is there left?”

“You’ll be fine.” 

He thrusts right in and you're letting out a shattered gasp. At the same time, he’s humming in satisfaction since he got to watch the whole thing.

“Fuckin’ tight,” he murmurs, giving you a moment to get used to how stuffed you are, stealing a few kisses while he’s at it since he’s not entirely an asshole. “Remember what I said, all you gotta do is take it.” 

You don’t get a chance to respond before he’s pulling out all the way and sliding back in, working up a pace as he stuffs you over and over again, dragging those small metal balls right over the spot that made your toes curl. 

It still took you a little bit of time getting used to him though, all words dying at your throat once he started to actually fuck you like it was nothing. Feeling betrayed by your body for letting him stretch you so easily like this. 

Each drive of his cock has you moaning and gasping, making you cover your mouth trying to hold them in— something he did not like since he pushed your hand away. 

Then without warning, he shoves two fingers in your mouth. 

“Mmmh— you look good with my fingers shoved in your mouth like this. Now suck.” 

You do as he says, swirling your tongue around his digit a few times before he presses them down it, making you softly moan as you sucked on them. He pulls them out with a wet pop and starts muttering in your ear. 

“Don’t cover that pretty little mouth again, alright?”

Thrust. 

“Fuck— okay,” you whine back. 

“Good girl.” He gives you another rough thrust, pulling another choked noise out of you. “Don’t try to hold out on me thinkin’ snot and tears are gonna turn me off, cry on it if you have to. I like it ugly.” 

At first you wanted to cry from how fucking mean that was, only to realize that urge to cry may have just been from that one spot he wouldn’t stop hitting, which eventually stopped being overwhelming once you finally get used to him.

“See? That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” he asks, though it was more of a condescending remark rather than a question. “Bet this feels good now, huh?”

“It’s been a while,” you say in an attempt to defend yourself. 

“Yeah, no kidding— pussy’s fuckin’ tight,” he says all smug, getting harder at just the thought. “Feels good like this.”

He brings your legs together and throws them over his broad shoulders. Moans start to spill out of your mouth the moment he starts hitting at an angle that manages to hit your clit too. His hips crack against your ass as he picks up the pace, slick spreading past your thighs as he pounds down deeper, bed steadily rocking from all the force behind each thrust.

“Shit— look at how much of a mess you made,” he groans once the wet squelch between you becomes unavoidably louder. “Did you squirt or somethin’? You’re fuckin’ soaked.” 

“No. I don’t— nghh— who cares, just keep going.”

He looks at you in amusement, keeping the same pace as he pushes further back against your legs to go deeper, making you nearly squeal. “Is this what’s got you lying about squirting?”

“I didn’t squirt,” you say with an airy laugh. “Fuuck— just feels good.”

“Right,” he mutters slowly as he pushes back against you even more, slowing down until he’s just grinding against you. “What about this?” 

It’s a full blown mating press at this point.

“Mhm— yeahh.” Your lips curl into a small smile. “Better, actually.”

“Good,” he hums. 

He leans down to press his lips against yours while slowly picking up the pace again, soaking up all the sighs and soft moans he pulls out of you from the deep strokes of his cock, letting the base of it rub against your clit while his tip mushes against that special little spot inside.

The slow, lazy kisses go on for as long as they can, and for you, it’s when your teeth threaten to clash against each other each time his hips snap against you. By then, Sukuna’s going harder. He pulls all the way back, then drives back in— the force behind each thrust growing greater than the last.

“F-fuck— Kuna, that’s—” 

“What? Too much?”

“No, no— keep going,” you damn near start pleading with him, feeling a little bit of pressure start build. “Don’t stop— please, I think I’m gonna—“

Your cunt stretches helplessly around him, feeling every inch and vein he stuffs into you over and over again as he fucks you with reckless abandon. The sight’s nothing but obscene as he fills the room with the sounds of him pounding you senseless. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asks, honeyed and condescending. “Can’t take it?”

“I don’t– fuck– I don’t know.” Your words are cut off by sharp sudden gasps, feeling something unfamiliar build up. It’s not until he gives you one particularly rough thrust when tears start streaming down your cheeks. 

“You poor thing.” If you hadn’t known any better, he sounded quite pleased with himself. He leans down to lick a fresh tear streaming down your cheek before going back to business. “Look at you, getting fucked so good that it’s making you cry. You’re probably close, aren’t ya?” 

You take in a sharp breath, wondering how bad it would be if you did. You already thought you came. Instead, Sukuna’s right and he’s letting one of your legs back down, leaning in close and cradling your head while he continues to absolutely ruin you. 

“Cum for me,” he murmurs. His fingers trail down to your clit and starts rubbing over it with just the perfect amount of pressure, making clenching like fucking crazy. “Thaaat’s it— c’mon. Give it to me.”

He drags his heavy cock all the way out with a wet schlick, then slams back in— again and again and again— pushing you over the edge until your nails are digging into his back and you’re breaking out into a cry. 

You’re gushing around his cock and he keeps drilling into you like he’s trying to work as much as he can out of you— just powering through it. This is the hardest you’ve ever cum in your life, you’re fucking sobbing and he’s just encouraging it with the way he licks a stripe up your cheek, groaning about how fucking hot you look crying on his cock. 

“Oh my g-god— I-I can’t— ffuck it’s too much—” your nails start to claw down his back as he drives you into overstimulation. 

“I know— I’m so fuckin’ close,” he husks out, and you can tell he’s not entirely all here anymore. “Shhiittt almost there— keep squeezing me like that, baby— yeahh just like that,” his hips desperately slam into you, deep groans start to rumble out of his chest as he chases his own relief. “Fuck— ffuuck.”

He lets out the most drawn out guttural groan once it hits him. He slams in, burying his cock deep inside of you and flooding your walls with so much cum that it starts to spill out while he grinds every last drop of it out. 

He pulls out but keeps you caged in underneath you, pressing lazy kisses against your lips with short uneven breaths in between, skin damp and glistening from sweat. It takes a moment to come back to reality, and for someone that doesn’t even know where to start, you’re surprisingly comfortable with the silence between you. 

It eventually ends, though. You’re the first to break it. 

“Did you still want me to go out on those dates you were talking about?” 

Immediately he lets out a breathy laugh. “If you don’t mind me trying to fight them, then sure.”

. . . . . . 

Six Months Later 

You walk step inside Sukuna’s office, giddier than usual with the small pink cake you bought after handing in your resignation letter to Yaga. His feet are kicked up on the cherry oak wood desk and you doubt he’s doing anything work related. But he’s the boss, who’s going to yell at him? He does sit up straight once he sees you, though, ready to hear the news. 

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to hear it right away since you just had to look at the wall shelves and catch sight of something that wiped the smile off your face. 

“Why is Yuji’s face crossed off in that photo?”

He rolls his eyes, “don’t worry, it’s whiteboard marker.” 

“But why would you do that?” you continue to interrogate Sukuna, because unlucky for him, you two are the best of friends now. 

Jin visited him earlier today and brought Yuji along. He started off the visit strong by pointing to Sukuna and asking his father ‘Does Uncle have a reezding hairline, too?’ and eventually took a look at the protein snacks he had in the corner, which made him look Sukuna up and down, and go “you eat too much.”

Sukuna rubs his temple as he grows annoyed again. “He called me fat and bald, so I told him we weren’t family anymore and crossed his face out to prove it.”

Despite the words that come out of Yuji’s mouth, the kid loves him in all of his grumpiness. 

“So you made him cry?” 

Yuji cried so hard that started dry heaving and nearly threw up. “No,” he grimaces. “He just pouted and said sorry.” 

The apology being, ‘No, PLEASE! I’m sorry, I'm SORRY,’ and, ‘I LIED— huhuhuhu my tummy hurts, yuji gonna frow up— I’m sorry’.

You look at him rather suspiciously as you grab a couple forks from his little snack station in the corner, but let it go this time. 

He takes your silence as an opportunity to change the subject completely. “How’d your boss take the news?” 

“Oh my god, he was distraught,” you reveal, still surprised over how panicked he looked when you turned in your resignation letter. 

He waves a dismissive hand, believing it’s the least he deserved for not trying to meet you halfway when trying to cut some of your hours down and refusing to demote you. 

“You’ll forget all about it after sleeping in tomorrow,” he reassures you before taking his first bite of cake. 

“Yeah— I,” you give a nervous laugh, “okay, so about that.” 

He stops chewing and just stares at you. 

“I’m gonna stay with them.” 

“What?” he almost snaps. “We’re going on vacation in a few weeks. I— what the fuck? What did you get a fuckin’ cake for then?!”

“We’re still going! He’s giving me that time off.”

“How charitable of him.” He snorts out a bitter laugh, then goes back to be mad. “I thought you hated that fuckin’ place?!”

“I did! But he offered to shorten my hours and said I could work from home.” 

That piece of information does nothing for Sukuna, who is grumbling profanities under his breath, acting like he’s the one being forced to stay there. His words start going in one ear and out the other after telling yourself he’ll get it eventually, and take a bite out of the victory cake since you also got a small raise, despite the decrease in hours. 

“Are you listening?”

“What?” you look up and ask, still chewing on the food. 

“Tch– nothing.” Sukuna takes his aggression out on the cake by stabbing the damn thing when getting more. “He shoulda’ given you all that before you tried to quit if you were that important. Hell— he shouldn’t have dumped all that work on you in the first place.”

“He’s a greedy old man that’s hungry for money,” you remind him. “What else would you expect from him?” 

Sukuna’s delusional and does this thing where he just assumes the world sees you the same way he does, and then when it doesn’t, he gets offended. Last week at the grocery store, someone reached for the produce in front of you and he snapped at them for not saying excuse me. Then he snapped at them again for not having any patience, given how you would’ve eventually moved.

“Whatever,” he gets up from his seat to grab a water from the mini-fridge and takes a sip, but before sitting back down, he stops next to you and gets at eye level. “If Mr. Crabs calls you while we’re gone, I’m ripping that phone out of your hand and cussing him the fuck out, you hear me?”

You suppress a laugh. “Loud and clear.” 

“Good,” he says, stealing a quick kiss from you. “Proud of you.”

The sincerity in his tone pulls a smile out of you. “Thanks.”

He glances at the door, notices it’s locked, then places a hand on your thigh when the sudden realization that there was no one that could fire him hits him. 

He gives it a squeeze. You already know what he’s thinking.

“Seriously? You can’t wait until we're at home?”

“I’ll make it quick.”

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[mysticfluffyness]

This was sooo good

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[xechowritesx]

C E N T E R F O L D.

Hawkins was never supposed to survive what came after Vecna.

Neither were the people in it.

You're Dustin Henderson's older sister, the quiet genius who helped save the world more times than anyone cares to count. But after the chaos of March 1986, you did the unthinkable - you left Hawkins behind on a full-ride scholarship to Stanford, determined on building something that didn't revolve around monsters and loss.

Steve Harrington stayed.

Now, eighteen months later, Hawkins is sealed behind military barricades, the Upside Down starts bleeding through reality, and Steve is holding what's left of the town together with a radio station, a beat up minivan, and sheer stubborn will power. You're two thousand miles away, listening through static and late-night phone calls, pretending distance makes things safe.

It doesn't.

When you finally come back, Steve realizes two things at once: You are not the girl he remembers. And he is absolutely, catastrophically screwed.

You're sharper. More confident. Unapologetically beautiful. And hiding a side of yourself that doesn't fit the image Hawkins has of you. A side that Steve can't stop thinking about, no matter how hard he tries.

As monsters close in and walls finally come down, desire collides with fear, guilt, and everything left unsaid.

Some things are impossible to unsee.

Some fantasies refuse to stay in the margins.

And once you become someone's centerfold, there's no folding you back up again.

A Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader fic, set parallel to Season 5! New chapters every Friday!

prologue. one. two. three. four. five. six.