Hands frantically scrabbled at the other side of the bathroom door behind you. You had just seen your closest friend, the one guy who's been there for you your entire life in the back of an alleyway. His hands bloodied with your ex beaten half to death in his arms.
“C’mon sweetie please open the door. ___-ie sweetie hunny baby please please please. I promise you I’d never hurt you.” He desperately begged from the other side. His voice was shaky as was his entire body. “Please- Let me in ___! It was a mistake I swear! He- He deserved it!” He almost started clawing at the bathroom door.
You were still in shock though. Your body pressed against the locked door trying to further barricade it. How could he do what he did? To nearly take the life of another person.. It’s disgusting.
Suddenly the sound outside the door went deathly silent. His frantic pleas stopped along with his desperate hands scratching at the door like a cat.
“____.” His voice was low and dangerously soft. “Open the fucking door. We don’t need to fight anymore.” The sound ran a chill down your spine. You’d never heard him speak like that to anyone.
You however were frozen entirely from fear. Hot tears streamed down your face like a river and you were shivering like a wet dog. You wanted to scream at him, to convince him to leave you alone and not hurt you. But your voice caught in your throat.
The sound of a drill broke through your thoughts. The screws on the door started turning one by one. Soon after the door disappeared from the doorway. You had nothing to defend yourself. As you backed away from him you could still see blood on his hands and a crazed look in his eyes.
He stalked forward to the point where he had you backed up into a wall. His hands came up to cup your face to force you to maintain eye contact with him.
“Darling, it’s okay. It’s only me. I’m no threat.” He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. The same way he used to whenever he’d comfort you but now it’s not comforting. The blood staining his hands feels so unnerving and unbearable on your cheeks. The way he looks at you with his own twisted version of love visible in his eyes. It’s not comforting, it’s terrifying.
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔
Let me know how we feel about it!!
Next part!!
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 0 · Important announcement!! · ANOTHER INSTALLMENT IN THE YAN! CHILDHOOD FRIEND SERIES!!!!!
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔
It’s
need need need mack and crosby!reader’s first time together bc you mentioned it in the nsfw alphabet bc i can just imagine mack being the absolute sweetest and most patient man ever
the first time
macklin celebrini x crosby!reader
wc: 4.4k
warnings: virginity loss, p in v (protected) sex, mack the munch, i think that's it?
note: this is definitely a very incorrect depiction of what virginity loss is bc i'm a #virgin but we're just rolling with it 🫰
crosby!reader masterlist
18+ content below the cut!
The kiss started out sweet, innocent. You and Mack, laying on his bed, movie playing in the background. It’s the first time you’ve been together in person in months, and you haven’t let go of each other since your plane landed in San Jose earlier this evening.
Mack and Will picked you up from the airport, then took you to their favorite pho restaurant for dinner. Then you and Mack dropped Will off at his apartment, and came back here, to Mack’s. The rest of your trip to San Jose, a week long, is jam-packed full of fun activities, catching up with people, going to one of Mack’s games tomorrow. But tonight, you both agreed that it would be best to just have a quiet night in with just the two of you.
At first, the intention was just to put on a movie, cuddle, and then fall asleep.
That didn’t last long.
Pretty soon you were kissing his cheek. And then his lips. And then you were straddling his lap, making out with more desperation than you thought was possible.
Mack’s tongue is in your mouth, massaging yours. His hands are planted on your ass, holding you tight against him as his hips twitch up every few seconds. He’s hard. Really hard.
You can tell by the way Mack’s hands are gripping and kneading at the fat of your ass, how he’s shaking with the effort to hold himself back from dragging you across his boner, that he wants more. His entire body hums with barely restrained need, fingers gripping you just a bit too tight, his kisses a bit too eager. This is the farthest the two of you have ever gone, heated makeouts that stutter to an end once Mack realizes he’s not going to be able to hold himself back very much longer.
Every time you reach this point, this level of hunger and anticipation, and then Mack pulls away. Separates your bodies, puts as much space between you, and clenches his eyes shut while taking deep breaths.
And while it can definitely be a little frustrating that he has yet to allow the two of you to go farther than heavily making out, you do understand why.
You’re a virgin.
There were a few guys before Mack, but not very many. And of the few, you didn’t feel comfortable having sex with any of them. Definitely not losing your virginity to them. So you held off. When you started dating Mack, you were very transparent from the beginning about how you’ve yet to go all the way with someone, and that you want it to be with a person that you love and can trust.
Well, there’s no one you love or trust more than Mack.
You’ve decided that tonight is the night. You want him, so badly, and you know that he wants you, too. It’s definitely a little bit intimidating to think about, but you want this, want to do it with him.
And, quite frankly, your fingers just aren’t cutting it anymore.
You test the waters by grinding down, ever so slightly, on Mack’s thick bulge, which has been pressing into your core for the past ten minutes. He groans, low and hot, into your mouth, hips stuttering for a few seconds before he schools them back into complacency. You smirk, kissing the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then finding his pulse point and beginning to suck a mark into it.
Mack’s head tips back, little moans escaping his mouth as you swivel your hips. You kiss up and down his neck, one hand tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, the other sliding under his hoodie and t-shirt, scratching lightly at his ribcage. His entire body shudders, and you smirk.
For a few seconds, he loses himself in it. Mack plants his hands on your hips, grinds up into you, and holds you down against him so that you can both feel it. He’s moaning unashamedly now, eyes clenched shut, heat rising up his cheeks.
The air between the two of you is charged with so much electricity you both feel like live wires, moving frantically and desperately.
But then it hits him. What he’s doing, where this is headed.
“Wait,” Mack’s voice is breathless, chest still heaving up and down as he starts to push you off of him, face full of pain at just the thought of stopping.
“No, no,” you say, hands grabbing Mack’s and putting them back on your hips. He looks up at you, eyes wide, shocked and hopeful at the same time. “Don’t stop.”
Mack’s eyebrows are nearly in his hair now. “What?” he gasps, sitting up straighter. “W-What… what are you talking about?”
You place your hands on Mack’s cheeks, then lean in to press a sweet kiss to his lips. When you pull back, you just look at him for a second, gather your courage, and then say it. “Mack… I’m ready.”
“Ready?” he echoes, a look of pure disbelief on his face, like he’s trying not to get his hopes up.
“Yeah,” you giggle. “I’m ready. To have sex. With you.”
You feel Mack’s cock twitch below you.
“A-Are you sure?” he stutters out. “Because, you said that you wanted to have your first time with someone who you love and trust, and I don’t want you to rush anything because you think I want it. I’m totally okay. Don’t do it because you think I wanna do it, I only wanna do it if you wanna do it. I don’t want you to feel pressured, or worried, or–”
“Mack,” you cut him off. “I love and trust you. So much. I want to do this with you.”
He just blinks at you for a few seconds, before his shocked expression slowly morphs to one of happiness, and excitement.
You let out a yelp of surprise as Mack flips the two of you so that you’re laying down, and Mack is holding himself above you.
He kisses you again, smushing your lips together, teeth clashing. You’re both smiling into the kiss, giggling a little bit. There’s a sense of disbelief in the fact that this is actually happening, that you’re about to have sex for the first time.
Mack isn’t a virgin. He’s only had one long-term girlfriend (who he lost it to), and another girl that he hooked up with right before he got drafted. So even though he’s got slightly more experience with you, he’s by no means experienced.
“We’re um, we’re gonna have to get you ready. Prep you,” he says, pulling away suddenly.
You smile at him, biting your bottom lip. “Okay,” you respond. Your hands slide down from where they’ve been holding onto his shoulders down to your shorts, and hook your fingers in the waistband. “So, should I take these off?”
Mack gulps, eyes glued to the little sliver of stomach exposed by your shirt having ridden up a bit. He just stares hungrily for a few seconds, before apparently remembering that you’d asked him a question. So he looks up again, pupils dilated, and nods.
He shifts to the side so you can shimmy your shorts down your legs. You kick them off, leaving you in just your cotton panties, and a tiny tank top. His eyes rove up and down your body, drinking in every curve, every bit of exposed skin, practically drooling at the sight of you.
Mack looks up again, your eyes locking with his. “You’re so beautiful,” he says.
You know he’s not just talking about your body. That he’s talking about every part of you, your mind, your personality, and also your body. The reverence in his voice makes your heart soar, makes you smile, because you never thought that you would ever feel this loved. It’s an amazing feeling, and you’re so incredibly grateful that you have such an amazing boyfriend.
Mack leans in and softly kisses your lips, then your cheek, then your neck, then your shoulder. He kisses down your body, finding his way to your hip. He’s laying on his stomach now, gazing up at you with such soft, lust-filled eyes. He holds your gaze as his thumbs slip under the thin fabric at your sides, caressing your hipbone.
You watch with bated breath as he lifts his head, anticipation and arousal curling low in your stomach. Eyes still locked on yours, Mack leans in and presses a kiss to your clothed cunt, soft as ever.
“Haah,” you breathe, fingers twitching at your side.
Mack’s eyes drift closed, pressing his face harder into you. His tongue peeks out, kitten licking at your core. You let out a gasp at the feeling, one of your hands clutching the sheets, and the other flying to the back of Mack’s head, finger tangling in his hair. He stays like that for a minute, tongue wetting your panties, eyes closed in bliss. When they flutter open, slow, they’re glazed over, hungry.
His hold on the sides of your panties tightens, and he inches it down ever so slightly. He pulls back just enough to ask in a hoarse voice, “Can I?”
“Yeah,” you nod frantically, excitedly. “Yes, please.”
Mack smirks, and doesn’t hesitate. The drag of the fabric sends shivers down your spine as he slowly exposes you, your knees coming together as he pulls your panties off your feet and tosses them somewhere over your shoulder. He tsks, placing his hands on your knees and slowly spreading them, coming face to face with your center.
“Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs softly. “Never, baby.”
He settles himself back on his belly, throwing your ankles over his shoulders while simultaneously hooking his arms under your thighs. You can feel his breath ghosting over your folds, your entire body shuddering with anticipation and arousal, eyes half-lidded as you watch Mack slowly lower his head, mouth opening.
You inhale at the feeling of his tongue flattening against you, licking from your hole up to your clit. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire, a shiver wracking through you as his lips find your clit and close around it, sucking harshly once and then pulling away.
“How’re you doing, baby?” he asks, already panting. You’re staring up at the ceiling, breathing heavy, mind racing and already empty with how amazing it feels. Mack taps your thigh lightly, bringing your attention back to him. “You gotta talk to me, babe. Gotta tell me what feels good, so I know you’re enjoying yourself.”
You playfully roll your eyes, but smile down at him. “Feels good, Mackie. Keep going,” you reassure as you play with Mack’s hair, massaging his scalp with your fingers in the way that you know he likes. He hums happily, accepting your response, and then he’s back to work.
Up until now, the only person pleasuring you has been yourself. With your fingers and toys, lots of times throughout your life. But it’s never felt like this. This electric, this all-consuming, this… amazing.
Mack’s lips are wrapped around your clit, sucking gently but steadily, causing your back to arch. His tongue keeps moving down to gather as much of your wetness into his mouth, greedily slurping it up. The combination of the sight of him, absolutely going to town on you, as well as the audible wet sounds is almost too much for you to handle, your entire body buzzing with the sensation of your boyfriend’s mouth on you, sucking and licking so perfectly.
And right when you start to think there’s no way that this could possibly get better, you feel Mack’s finger prodding at your entrance.
He lifts his eyes, searching yours for any sign of discomfort. You moan, nodding your head, and then he pushes in.
For some reason, you thought you had a good idea of what it would feel like to have something inside of you like this. You’ve been using tampons since you were sixteen, when Anna (Geno’s wife) finally explained how they work.
You were absolutely not prepared.
A gasp leaves your mouth as Mack pushes in to the first knuckle. He holds it there for a second, tongue laving on your clit to distract you from the feeling of the stretch. It’s a foreign feeling, but not an unpleasant one. Mack wraps his lips around your clit and starts sucking, the feeling punching another moan out of you.
He slips his finger in farther, farther. More and more as you loosen up, and then he’s shallowly pumping it in and out, eyes flicking up to your face every few seconds to gauge your reaction.
“M-Mack…” you whimper, throwing your head back against the pillows. “Oh f-fuck,”
You feel him smirk against you, finger plunging in and out of you. He’s going slow, but deep, curling his finger when it’s buried to the third knuckle, caressing a spot inside you that you didn’t even know existed, a coil of arousal tightening in your belly with every movement.
But then he does something else.
He pulls his finger out all the way. You start to whine at the loss of touch, but it’s quickly cut off by the feeling of two fingers pushing into you.
Mack’s eyes are glued to your face, noting every little change in your expression as he starts slowly fingering you with his middle and ring fingers, kitten licking your clit to keep you opening up for him. Your thighs are shaking, attempting to close with every push in, but his shoulders are blocking them.
You clench around his fingers, small uh uh uhs leaving your mouth at his actions, and Mack clenches his eyes shut. He drops his forehead to rest on your hipbone, fingers continuing to plunge in and out of you. The wet squelch of your cunt is music to his ears, and the sight of you like this is something that he’s been dreaming about for months. He never wanted to pressure you, and has gone to great lengths to make sure you never felt like you had to do anything with him just to make him happy.
Mack has spent the last six months imagining you every time he wanted to get off. Cock in hand, eyes shut, cheeks pink, he would imagine all the things he wanted to do with you, all the things he wanted to do to you.
Actually seeing you like this? It’s ten million times better than he ever thought it would be.
He doesn’t realize that he’s doing it, not right away at least. But you do.
You glance down at Mack, breathing heavily against your skin, fingers steadily pumping in and out. Through your haze of pleasure, you notice something. Mack’s hips are shifting, up and down. And then it dawns on you: he’s humping the mattress.
Another loud groan leaves your mouth at the realization, your stomach getting hot, and you feel your arousal begin to gush again, coating Mack’s fingers and hand. “Oh my god,” you sob, your own hips bucking up to meet his fingers with every thrust.
All of a sudden, it’s not enough. You need Mack to be getting off too, to have him closer to you than anyone else has been, to have him inside of you.
“Mack,” your voice is wrecked. “Mack please. Need you inside of me.”
His head snaps up, jaw dropped open. He starts nodding, frantically, easing his fingers out of you as gently as possible. He leaves one last loving lick to your clit before sitting up straighter, hands reaching to the back of his shirt to tug it off frantically and throw it over his shoulder.
You do the same with your tank, grunting slightly as it gets caught on your ear. When it clears your head, you open your eyes to see Mack staring directly at your tits, jaw dropped, drool beginning to pool in the corner of his mouth. In the same moment, your eyes dart down to Mack’s lap, which is now exposed. He’s still wearing his jeans, which sport a large, painful-looking bulge. You watch in amazement as Mack’s hand drifts down, and starts palming at the bulge, just at the sight of you.
Butterflies take flight in your stomach as you let out a hot breath.
He just looks at you for a second, eyes drinking in every inch of you. You shift a little bit, which seems to snap him from his stupor. He swallows, thickly, and then starts pulling his pants and boxers down, his blushing, hard cock popping out.
Your eyes widen. “Oh… my god,” you mutter, sitting up straighter to get a better look. Sure, you’ve watched porn before, seen a few dirty pictures in magazines and things like that, but you’ve never seen a penis in real life before.
One of your hands reaches out, curious. Without thinking, you wrap your fingers around his length, feeling the warm, smooth skin throb as soon as you touch it.
“Fuck…” Mack breathes, eyes glued to your hand on his cock. His chest goes bright red, stomach clenching and a helpless little noise leaving his mouth as you squeeze.
Your eyes snap up to the way he reacts, amazed at the sight and feeling of him. You pull your hand back, Mack watching, heart racing, as you reach down to your cunt, gather some of your slick, and then return your hand to his cock. Mack nearly doubles over as you start stroking him up and down, the glide easy now that you have the lubrication, smiling at his reaction.
“Y’gonna kill me,” he gasps out, eyes glued to your hand, at the innocent, curious way you’re touching him. He only lets you go on for about a minute, suddenly grabbing your hand and ripping it away from him. When you look up, curious and worried, he rushes to reassure you. “It feels so, so good baby. I just… I won’t be able to last.”
The admission brings another smile to your face, but worsens the ache in your pussy.
“Are you… are you ready?” Mack asks, bracing his forearms on either side of your head. His thick cock rests heavy on your stomach, precum drippling down from his tip and onto your navel.
You nod, heart thumping against your ribcage, anticipation building in your stomach. “Yeah,” your voice is shaky, but there’s a smile on your face.
Mack is smiling, too.
He pulls away, reaching for his jeans. You shiver, wrapping your arms around yourself, and watch as he pulls his wallet from his back pocket, reaching inside to reveal a condom. You give him a look at the fact that he had one in his wallet, had one ready, but he ignores you as he rips it open, and slides it on with pink cheeks.
When he returns, he holds himself above you again. One hand holding him up, the other wrapped around his cock. He gives it a few tugs, before lining himself up with your entrance.
The feeling of his head pressed to your hole has you reaching up to grasp his shoulders, eyes locking onto his. Mack gives you the softest, most reassuring smile, one hand moving to caress the soft skin of your thigh next to his hip, before pushing in.
“Oh!” you yelp. Just the head is inside you, and you already feel split in half. You glance down, gasping once again when you realize just how much more has yet to enter you.
“You okay?” Mack asks, nuzzling into your cheek, pressing loving kisses against your skin. “Talk to me baby, tell me how you feel.”
“G-Good,” you stutter out, taking deep breaths, willing yourself to relax. “Y-You’re big….”
Mack groans, hips stuttering, as he drops his head to your shoulder. He pushes in another inch, causing you to hiss, nails digging into his shoulder. “Can’t say things like that, baby,” he says into your shoulder. “Gonna make me cum too soon.”
You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck and holding onto him as he eases the rest of the way inside. He goes slow, gentle, thumb finding your clit and pressing into it to make you feel good.
When he’s pushed all the way in to the hilt, he stays like that for a few moments, letting you adjust to the feeling. He holds you, pressing kisses to your face, whispering loving words into your ear. “Doing so good, baby, so pretty. Taking me so perfect. You feel so good.”
You can feel him practically vibrating with need, his stomach clenching, chest heaving against yours. His hips twitch every few seconds, desperate for stimulation, but he holds himself back. Forces himself to stay still for your benefit. It’s sweet, and you’re eternally grateful for him, and how thoughtful he is. That, and you’re also thankful for how pretty he looks like this. Pink cheeks, mouth dropped open in a constant low whine, cock twitching inside of you every time you clench. He grinds into your clit, moving as little as possible while also trying to pleasure you.
You have the most perfect boyfriend in the world.
“Mack,” you say, voice unsteady yet confident. “You can move now. P-Please, move.”
Mack does his best to not look too excited, but fails. He nods, and dutifully raises himself up a bit, leaning in to kiss you as he pulls his hips back, swallowing your moan at the feeling of him sliding out of you. His thumb finds your clit again, pressing on your button as he slides all the way back inside, the dull head of his cock thumping against that spot again. That spot that feels really good.
After that, it’s like Mack can’t hold himself back anymore. He pulls back again, thrusting inside with as much gentleness as he can muster while also trying to sate his need for you. Little noises leave your with every thrust, little moans and whines and whimpers that were music to Mack’s ears.
He moves to your neck, softly sucking marks into the soft skin there. You whine at the feeling, tilting your head to give him better access as he continues to pump himself in and out.
The steady thump of him inside of you, combined with the feeling of him kissing at your pulse point and pressing on your clit, has you teetering on the edge within minutes. You can tell Mack’s there too, based on the way his moans have gotten louder and closer together, directly in your ear, and the way his thrusts are getting sloppier.
Mack takes a deep breath, then starts doubling down. “Cum for me,” he says. “C’mon baby, let me feel it.”
You’re shaking like a leaf, eyes rolling to the back of your head with pleasure. Your nails are digging into Mack’s biceps, he hisses but doesn’t falter.
“S-So tight…” he grunts out as he continues fucking you like his life depends on it, the steady smack of his hips hitting yours sounding throughout he room, mixing with your moans and his. “Feels so good baby. So good….”
You hit your peak not long after that, the coil snapping in your stomach. You cry out, legs wrapping around his middle, holding him to you as you ride it out.
Mack finishes, buried inside you, nose pressed to your cheek while you come down from your orgasm. He lays against your for a few minutes, neither of you saying anything as you catch your breath. You stay pressed together like that, Mack softening inside of you, your fingers tangled in his hair. For everything that you and Mack have done together before this, you’ve never felt closer to him than right now, and you fucking love it.
After a few minutes, he lifts his head, looking at you with such raw concern it makes your heart ache. “Was that okay?” he asks. “Are… are you okay?”
You nod, feeling a blissed out smile come onto your face. “I’m great,” you say breathily, laughing a little bit. “That was… amazing.”
“Really?” Mack sits up straighter, disbelief written across his face.
You nod, pulling him down and into a kiss. “Yeah, Mackie. That was great. I’m so thankful that my first time was with you.” Your smile is wide, pressing your forehead to his.
Mack just kisses you again, smiling into it, holding you tight.
You know that it’s early, that you probably shouldn’t be thinking things like this, but Mack is it for you. You know it. The connection that the two of you have, the way he makes you feel. For most of your life, it’s been just you and your dad, and a part of you thought that it always would be. You really struggled meeting people your age growing up, especially guys. You never thought that you would experience love like this, and feeling like this with Mack? You’re so unbelievably grateful for him, and count your lucky stars for him every day.
The two of you lay together like that for a few minutes, basking in each other’s presence, holding each other. After such an intimate moment, combined with the fact that this is the first night you’re going to spend in each other’s arms after being apart for so long.
“I love you so much,” Mack whispers into your ear, pressing loving kisses to your cheek. “I can’t believe how lucky I am, that I get to be with you.”
You smile, feeling your entire being swell with love and happiness. You open your mouth, about to say something, when your phone buzzes on the other side of the bed.
Groaning, you reach over, pulling it closer to you before picking it up.
“Oh fuck,” you say, laughing. “It’s a text from my dad.”
“What?” Mack sits up, panicked.
You giggle at his reaction, as if your dad were to walk through the door at this very moment and catch the two of you… like this. “He’s just asking if I got here safe,” you smile, typing out a quick response. “You’re fine, babe.”
Mack lets out a sigh of relief. “Okay, good.”
He lays back down, nuzzling into your neck, letting out a sigh of relief. In a few minutes, you’re going to tell him to get up and clean you off. Maybe take a shower, but you’re concerned about how well you’ll be able to stand, considering your legs feel like jelly right now. Then you’re going to fall asleep in your boyfriend’s arms, and you’re going to sleep in tomorrow morning.
Nothing has ever felt more natural than this.
This feels like the start of forever, the beginning of the rest of your life with Mack, and you can’t wait to see how your life intertwines with his.
a/n: so i've probably spent the most time writing this out of like... anything i've posted on this blog ever! i kind of hate this but sonia said it's good so 😸 welcome back mack and crosby!reader! thank you all for all your love and support, you're my favorite people on the planet <3 i hope you enjoy this, and have a wonderful day/night!
Summary: that one time your family decides to babysit the neighbour kid "Dipshit" Derek, and your entire house gets broken into by otherworldly monsters. (ex-best friends to enemies to lovers (?))
"That's the last time I'm fighting with Sean, I'm telling you—" Mary was saying aloud. Both of you were laughing and walking through the hallway, gossiping and happy.
Though for one of you, it didn't last too long. Your smile dropped just as soon as you saw a dark-haired boy appear at the corner of the chemistry class.
There was a sudden lump in your throat, but luckily, Mary didn't seem to notice. It was one of the things you liked about her. She was a merry-go-round kind of person, and oblivious to things unless you told her. And even if she asks, what could you possibly tell her about Mike Wheeler?
What does she or any of your friends know other than him being a nerd, hanging out with the Hellfire Club, and occasionally having terrible taste in haircuts?
You kept your eyes away from Mike when you were walking past, but you could feel his gaze on you.
"Hey!" He called out, while you were a good ten feet ahead of him. That was a first. You turned around, raising an eyebrow.
"Can we talk?"
"We're busy, Wheeler." Mary said before you could. "And no, we don't want to join your Snakes and Ladders club."
Mike's mouth fell open. That satisfied you, so you shrugged and let Mary pull you away.
Truth was, it felt right to be on the other end for once. It had been you in Mike's shoes countless times, asking him to make time for you, only for him to take a hundred rain checks.
Mike had been your best friend since you were five. You never had any childhood memories without him, but right before starting high school, everything changed. He suddenly had a whole new group of friends, an assortment of which made no sense together. If he was with Dustin one second, he was with Steve Harrington the next. Everyone except you.
You tried to reach out, but he always gave some vague excuse, or used Hellfire Club as his cover. Soon enough, you were standing alone in the science fair you both had been excited about, and that's when you knew childhood friends often left more marks than memories.
You had your share of hurt, so whatever favor he needed could wait. But he didn't seem to take that hint.
When the final bell rang and everyone started packing up to go home, Mike came by your table again.
"I really really need to talk, it's practically life or death." He said, his eyes doing that puppy dog thing he used to do whenever he wanted you to sneak out with him to get ice cream years ago.
You sighed and told Mary you'd catch up. She scoffed, gave a smile to Mike that said anything but friendly, and left with your friends.
"What do you want?" you asked, hands tied.
"There's a project in our History class, no? Ancient civilisations or something?" He asked eagerly.
"Uh huh." You rolled your eyes, going back to packing your stuff. Your cold demeanor did nothing to him. If he even noticed. "I suppose you want notes or—"
"I told Mr. Junes I'm partnering with you."
That made you stop. You looked at him like he went nuts.
"Excuse me?"
"I was absent most of last week so I couldn't partner up with anyone. Not that you're my last resort—!"
"Right."
"I knew you'd do the project on your own. So I told him to pair me up with you!" He finished, smiling widely.
"And he was okay with that?"
"Well, I told him you were."
You blinked, not knowing what to say.
This was probably the only long conversation you had with him for the last two years. So there was a lot about it which made you confused, but you were also coming to terms with how different he looked. He got taller, his cheekbones sharper if that was even possible, and his hair was chopped short. It suited his face. All he needed to look like a happy puppy was a tail.
"Look, are you free today?" He asked, slightly nervous. "I thought I'd come over for dinner, and we could go over the project?"
"No."
He was taken aback. "What?"
"No." You said again, slinging your bag across your shoulder. "I never said yes to this. I don't want to do this — or any — project with you."
His mouth fell open. "Why?!"
"Why?" You repeated in disbelief. "Do you think we're friends?"
"Okay, I know we haven't hung out in a while—"
"A while? Try years. Why do you think for a second that I'll get all buddy-buddy with you on a project like you haven't been ignoring me for the past year?"
"I wasn't ignoring you, Y/N. I just had a lot going on!"
"Right, Wheeler. Fooling around with your friends, role-playing knights and sorcerers — which you are starting to get a little old for — that's what you were busy with?"
He took only one offense from that. "Wheeler? When did I go back to last-name basis?"
"Aren't you listening?" You snapped, taking a step forward. "We are not friends anymore. That was your decision, so no. I'm not inviting you over for a project which is probably some prank— "
"What?"
"—or quest in your stupid board game,"
"What do you think Dungeons and Dragons is?!"
"So if you don't want to tell me what's actually going on, fine." You said, shaking your head. Your voice became unsteady for the next part. "You're hiding stuff from me, and you haven't even apologized to me yet."
He took a step forward too, undoubtedly searching your eyes for tears.
You were angry, but your heart was beating for more than one reason. It was like you suddenly remembered the silly childhood crush you had on him. You tried telling yourself that you only liked him because he was your best mate, that you were supposed to love your best friend, that it'd go away on its own. But it never did. Even after he left, it didn't. Which made everything ten times worse.
"I'm sorry," he said, his eyes softening. "You have to understand. This stupid town. I just— This is important. I'll tell you everything tonight, I swear. I never wanted to hurt you."
The classroom was empty. You could feel his breath on you now. Friends, or ex-friends, don't stand this close. Your eyes slid down to his slightly open lips, then cursed yourself for doing it. You wondered if you were seeing things when you saw his gaze being full of awe too, like he was feeling the same butterflies.
"Y/N—" He started, his forehead almost touching yours. It was a question, a plea, and a confession.
But you were not the kind to forget everything he did just because he was making you flustered. If anything, you got angrier. You remembered just how much he hurt you, and you pushed him aside. He came out of his trance, realizing he might have made things worse.
You slammed the classroom door before he could start talking.
-
After dinner, you were still thinking about him.
You could remember the way he looked at you. You were going to remember it for the rest of your life. You groaned and tried to suffocate yourself with your pillow.
There was a sudden loud thud.
You jumped upright from bed, looking towards the door. Before you could even register what was happening, someone covered your mouth from behind. The scream in your throat couldn't come out.
"Y/N." Mike. "I'm gonna let you go, but hear me out. I tried to do this the easy way, but you didn't let me, so you're gonna have to trust me."
You stepped on his toes hard enough that he momentarily loosened his grip. You used all your adrenaline and pulled away. Without losing a second, you turned around and punched him square in the face.
He let out a cry of pain and held his nose up with his hand. You hadn't hit him hard enough to bleed, but it was still bound to hurt.
"Don't ever sneak up on me again," you snapped, standing a good six feet away. You took the nearest candle stand and pointed it at him. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
"Put that thing down, you already assaulted me!" He said, practically yelling. "Look, Y/N, you're in danger. It's a lot to explain but you have to trust me. We need you to be cooperative."
"What?" you said, moving further back. "What the fuck are you— who's we?"
"Not important. You're in danger. So are your parents, but they're already knocked out so it's all good."
"WHAT?"
"I'm taking a risk on you, but if this plan fails, it's quite literally my fault. PLEASE put down the candle stand."
You did, but not because of anything he said — not like they made sense anyway, but the lights started shimmering. Every lamp and source of light started blinking in rapid succession.
You could hear your own heartbeats.
"It's early," Mike said quietly, seeming nervous, but not surprised. He stepped forward and pulled you back to the window side. "Y/N, you're babysitting that rude neighbour kid, no? Derek?"
"Derek? What's he got to—"
There was a sound of glass cracking.
A fleshy tear started appearing in your closet door. Mike pushed you behind him, but you could see it clearly. Red, gross, life-like flesh wound opening up on its own, and two hands started climbing out of it.
"Run!" He said, taking the old baseball bat from the corner.
You couldn't move. Frozen to the spot, you were looking face to face (did that even qualify as a face?) with an actual monster. It had a creepy plant face and a humanoid naked body, and it was well over eight feet tall. You were rooted to the spot, watching Mike try to do whatever stupid thing he was about to.
The monster seemed to stare right at you. It screeched, which made its face appear ten times bigger with a hundred minuscule teeth all over its fleshy flaps. You were sure you were dead.
"Mike, let's go," you nudged his sleeve.
"We need to give others time!" Mike swung the bat right on its face. It only seemed to anger it more. It slashed its claws across the air, missing Mike by inches.
You pulled him with all your strength, and this time, he didn't argue. Both of you were running down the house, all the while the monster's sound kept echoing behind. It was gaining on you fast.
"I'M SORRY, Y/N!" Mike yelled by your side. "I was a dick for trying to ignore you the past year, but I just wanted you to be safe."
"IS THIS REALLY THE RIGHT TIME TO TALK ABOUT THIS?" You yelled back, almost slipping as you ran.
"LOOK, I just thought you liked your new friends better. They were popular and—"
A shot rang through the kitchen. Nancy Wheeler stood in the doorway with a gun ablaze. Her eyes were wild and her hair was messy.
Did his entire family break into my fucking house?
The monster screeched her way, but she didn't seem to mind.
"Derek's tranquilized, along with the rest of her family— shit," she just seemed to notice you. "Goddamn it Mike, did you chicken out?"
"I'm already fighting with her, I didn't want to drug her too!"
"Should've sent in Erica instead!" More shots at the monster, and it followed Nancy as she led it out.
"Come on!" He closed the kitchen door behind him. "We have a good ten minutes before the monster comes back. If we're lucky, it'll go back to Upside Down."
"Aren't we going to help Nancy?" you asked in bewilderment. You realized you were probably shouting from all the shock. You had so many questions that you didn't know where to begin.
"Trust me, she can hold her own."
"Better than you anyway. Baseball? Seriously?" You asked angrily. "Were you buying them time or trying to kill yourself? Also, what the fuck is going on?"
"I'll tell you all that, I promise. But I need to explain."
You threw your hands up in frustration. "What?"
"I'm sorry," Mike said, sounding genuinely sincere. "I ignored you, I threw our friendship to the trash and I tried to trick you into inviting me home tonight so I could drug your entire family."
"Great apology so far." You rolled your eyes.
"I did things I thought were right to help people. But that doesn't excuse me throwing our friendship away. But in my defense, I thought that's what you wanted." Mike said, still panting from the fight. "I thought you were embarrassed by me. You had new friends, and all of them were glaring at me every hour of the day. I couldn't approach you if I wanted to."
Your voice turned softer. "You know I'm not like that."
"I did, but I wasn't sure. You had your new circle, and you started to ignore me too. Maybe not in the same way I did, but you went passive. I lost my confidence."
"Please, like I'm some tiger in a petting zoo." You scoffed. The lights started glimmering again, and you gripped onto the nearest table for support.
Mike seemed unfazed. It seemed like this conversation was the only thing that mattered to him in that moment. He stepped forward.
"You still don't understand." He said, keeping your gaze in his. "I knew you for my entire childhood. I miss you for two weeks, and you turn out to be completely intimidating."
"You never even tried talking to me to say that— also the lights—"
"I did try! Remember Junior prom? I wanted to talk to you. But I saw you and my heart stopped. It's like suddenly you turned into the prettiest girl in Hawkins High and every guy wanted to dance with you." Mike was angry enough to be oblivious to the butterflies you suddenly felt. As if his proximity to you wasn't enough, he had to say stuff like that too.
"I was so mad because you were always pretty," Mike continued, hardly registering his own words. "They see one pretty dress and their heads turn. It's like I couldn't even be friends with you anymore."
"Even friends?" you asked quietly.
He heard it, but he looked away. A screech made him turn around to see how Nancy and others were doing. A few seconds passed before he came back again.
"Demogorgon's gone. We still need to help out Derek and your family. We should get going."
"Mike."
"They're safe with Lucas for now."
"Mike!"
You walked to him and gave him a big, stupid hug. It stopped his yapping, and he leaned into your neck and hugged you right back. You had held him for a good five seconds when you reluctantly let him go.
He still had his arms around your waist, but you were apart enough to see his face. It gave you the sudden impulse to stand on your toes and give him a peck on his cheek. His face turned bright tomato red.
"Don't ever have adventures without me again." You said firmly, though a smile was tugging at your face.
"Never," he replied, and it felt like you were suddenly back in the classroom again.
Except this time, he clearly couldn't keep his eyes off your lips. It seemed like the world around you was ending, but Mike Wheeler just wanted to know what kissing you would feel like. He cupped your face in his hands — nervous like you'd push him away again, and once he realized this time he was so much closer to doing it — to pressing his lips against yours, he was interrupted once again.
"JESUS CHRIST!" Steve Harrington came inside the kitchen and instantly covered his eyes, but his voice made you both jump apart anyway. "Come on Wheeler, there's a demogorgon, and you're here making out. I don't know if I should be proud or angry."
"We weren't—" He started.
"Yeah, yeah. If we wanted to know the details, we'd read your diary." Robin appeared behind him. "But right now, we've bigger problems. The demogorgon's back."
Mike looked over to you, eyes bright. "Ready for round two?"
You smiled and turned to your left. You picked the biggest kitchen knife you saw, then nodded.
Robin blinked. "Our group gets crazy additions every day, but uhm, let's go!"
"Just so you know, we're trying to escape, not fight with the demogorgon—" Steve began.
"Ignore him. The old age's getting to him," Mike said as both of you started following them outside.
"Hey!" Steve started his excuses, but you were too busy with adrenaline to notice.
If that monster came again, you were determined to make it out alive, if only to kiss the hell out of Mike Wheeler without interruptions.
-----
THE END
------
if you'd like to make a small donation, here's my kofi!
imagine you and your f/o(s) in the comfort of your shared bed, lying down at the end of the day. hands reach for one another as you try to get closer—a way to unwind and relax before you need to get up the following morning.
you move to cup their cheeks and press slow, gentle kisses all over their face, and they reciprocate your tenderness by letting their fingers rest just below your back, thumbs massaging the skin there. you gaze into each other's eyes, your breaths mingle and synchronize. as you share your goodnight kiss and cuddle together, the warmth of your pressed bodies seeping in, you think there's no other place you'd rather be.
— Some of my headcanons Pendleton aka Sir Pentious (x Fem reader who is noble bonus?)୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ
⭒ Notes: keep in mind, this is the first time i watch the show just for this man only (actually I've watched the pilot but not show) 💔💔💔 but i did watch and try to research at least, maybe my headcanon will be wrong btw! This is lowkey why I make a side blog for him lol, also I only make content about him if I write another x reader thing.
⋮ ⌗ ┆He really feels like that type of man: moral, polite, book-smart, and painfully inexperienced when it comes to intimacy or romance. Pendleton isn’t “chivalrous” in a performative way, it’s something deeply ingrained. Growing up in Victorian London, social propriety and restraint were taught as virtue. He is very believes love should be earned through respect, trust, and genuine affection not lust or convenience.
⋮ ⌗ ┆So basically he would absolutely be the kind of man who believes in marriage before anything intimate anyway. But not out of puritanical pride, more out of this quiet belief that such closeness is sacred.
⋮ ⌗ ┆He’d probably say things like: “I… I simply think such matters are far too personal to be taken lightly.”
⋮ ⌗ ┆Pendleton strikes as the type who’s read about romance far more than he’s experienced it. He’d blush easily, stutter when complimented, and overthink every small gesture.
⋮ ⌗ ┆Despite his intellect, he’s terrible at understanding hints like someone could flirt with him blatantly and he’d nervously laugh it off, assuming they’re just being polite.
⋮ ⌗ ┆He’d be awkwardly formal in his affections, maybe write love letters in perfect cursive but forget to sign them, or gift a machine he made himself (which may or may not explode).
⋮ ⌗ ┆Gentleman but a very clumsy one. He will bow a little too low, spills his tea, forgets what he was saying halfway through a sentence.
⋮ ⌗ ┆If someone touched his hand unexpectedly, he’d freeze up and mutter something incoherent like, “O–Oh—! Pardon— I didn’t— quite— oh dear…”
⋮ ⌗ ┆He probably practiced romantic lines in his head once or twice, only to panic when the opportunity came.
⋮ ⌗ ┆Between his strict morals, shyness, and isolation, he’d never have crossed that line. It’s not that he’s against intimacy, he’s just... never been in the position where it felt right. In his heart, he likely imagined love as something pure, soft, and shared between equals, not something rushed or casual.
___
⋮ ⌗ ┆You’re a patron’s daughter or a young noblewoman known for your curiosity about science and art. Your father invests in new technologies, and Pendleton’s work catches his attention.
⋮ ⌗ ┆Despite his nerves, you notice he’s well-mannered and kind, if a little shy, his hands fidget when he talks, and he glances down when complimented. Pendleton ends up helping you with a problem perhaps something involving logistics, security, or a small crisis and that becomes your first bond.
⋮ ⌗ ┆He’s invited to your estate to demonstrate a small invention of something elegant but impractical, like an “automatic tea pourer” or a clock that plays music. You find him fascinating; he’s clearly brilliant but fumbles through introductions, forgetting his hat on the table and apologizing twice for shaking your hand too long.
⋮ ⌗ ┆You’re amused rather than offended—this awkward man with soot on his sleeve feels refreshingly honest compared to the polished gentlemen at court.
⋮ ⌗ ┆He visits you under “formal pretenses” at first, delivering reports, ensuring everything’s well, etc. But it quickly becomes clear he just wants an excuse to see you.
⋮ ⌗ ┆He visits again, this time determined to be professional. Instead, he ends up spilling ink on your tablecloth and blurting out an overexcited explanation about steam compression.
⋮ ⌗ ┆You notice he always looks half-asleep from working late; sometimes you send tea or pastries with the servant, “for his focus”. He nearly has a heart attack when he realizes they’re from you.
⋮ ⌗ ┆You begin writing letters, polite at first, then increasingly personal. Pendleton rereads them nightly, terrified he might misinterpret your tone.
⋮ ⌗ ┆When you call him Pendleton instead of Mr. Pendleton, he goes scarlet and drops whatever’s in his hands.
⋮ ⌗ ┆Pendleton listens to you intently, never interrupting though his face flushes when you lean close or speak softly.
⋮ ⌗ ┆It takes him forever to realize he’s in love. When he does, he panics quietly, avoids eye contact for days, and then awkwardly blurts it out in a moment of tension.
⋮ ⌗ ┆You invite him to observe a meteor shower from your family’s garden. Under the cold night sky, he speaks about his inventions with awe, and you realize how gentle his voice can be when he isn’t nervous.
⋮ ⌗ ┆Once you’re together, he’s devoted — he treats you with respect and tenderness, holding your hand only when you initiate, but melting each time.
⋮ ⌗ ┆He is old-fashioned believes in courting properly. He’d rather wait until marriage before anything intimate, both out of personal principle and a quiet fear of disappointing you.
⋮ ⌗ ┆He’s hyper-aware of etiquette: he won’t touch your hand unless you offer it first. The first time you do, his gloves are off, his palms are warm, and he forgets how to breathe.
⋮ ⌗ ┆He’s terribly clumsy with affection: once tried to kiss your hand but misjudged the angle and bumped your fingers instead. You giggled; he turned red and apologized fifteen times.
⋮ ⌗ ┆Despite your higher social rank, he treats you as an equal, sometimes even hesitating to look directly at you—“It feels improper, my lady; you shine too bright for my eyes...”
⋮ ⌗ ┆You find it endearing that his stammer worsens when he tries to compliment you, so you tease him gently until he learns to finish a sentence.
⋮ ⌗ ┆Court gossip whispers about the “noble and her eccentric inventor” but you both ignore it. He insists on walking beside you rather than behind, “Titles aside, you deserve a companion, not a servant."
⋮ ⌗ ┆Pendleton reads books on etiquette and romance secretly at night, trying to “do it right".
⋮ ⌗ ┆He worries he’s not good enough for you but your reassurance means the world to him.
⋮ ⌗ ┆Dates are modest!! : picnics near the river, wandering through bookstores, late-night talks about philosophy and invention...
⋮ ⌗ ┆When you compliment his machines, he mutters that you are his greatest invention, a phrase so awkwardly romantic you laugh and he hides behind his notebook.
⋮ ⌗ ┆He always asks permission before any affection; even a kiss on the cheek requires a nervous, “M-may I?”
⋮ ⌗ ┆Over time, his confidence grows. Around you, he laughs more, jokes shyly, and even flirts without realizing it.
⋮ ⌗ ┆If it becomes serious, he would court you properly—letters to your father, gifts that are handmade and slightly off-kilter but filled with care.
⋮ ⌗ ┆His proposal would be sweetly clumsy: he planned an entire speech, forgot every word, and ended up blurting, “I cannot promise riches or reputation, my lady… but I can promise devotion, and tea that will never spill—well, hardly ever.”
When you accept, he’s stunned silent before breaking into the most radiant, boyish grin imaginable.
⋮ ⌗ ┆You bring warmth and steadiness into his life, he’s used to solitude, but you teach him comfort doesn’t mean weakness. He opens up about his insecurities only when you’re alone, trusting you completely. In return, he becomes your steadfast protector, loyal, patient, and always watching over you with that quiet, boyish adoration.
So.... PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE can I request coat guy x homeowner!reader who's a foreigner, struggles with russian but can speak it a little although her accent is obvious that she isn't from there. Can she also be Japanese like me? (Love from Tokyo 🩷)
Oh hello and ofc here the headcanon I have in mind! (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)
When you first found him, bundled in that thick brown coat even indoors, your first thought was ' is he freezing or just eccentric?' He doesn’t answer immediately and only stares with those unnerving black-iris eyes before muttering something too quick in Russian.
You catch only a few words — “нет... человек” (not... human) — which confuses you. Your Russian is basic, learned from apps and your neighbor, so you think he just doesn’t like people. Turns out he literally means he’s not human (:
Your accent stands out when you try to communicate, but he never mocks you. In fact, you notice he listens more carefully than anyone else ever has, like he’s deciphering your effort, not your grammar.
Mikhail tends to speak in short, fragmented Russian sentences, and you in hesitant, accented ones. Sometimes you both resort to pointing, drawing, or using your phone’s translation app. It leads to quiet laughter & giggle when the translation completely butchers his phrases.
He’s unexpectedly patient, not warm exactly, but he waits. If you pause mid-sentence searching for a word, he’ll silently nod for you to continue. That calmness helps you relax and speak more freely. You sometimes slip into Japanese out of habit. He doesn’t understand a word, but he gets the emotion in your tone and gestures. Eventually he starts recognizing simple words like “daijoubu” (it’s okay) or “arigatou,” even replying with a low, hesitant “...aa... da.”
Once, he tries to pronounce “ocha” (tea) after hearing you say it, and it comes out “ocha... da?” You laugh softly, and he looks almost embarrassed.
Whenever you’re frustrated with your Russian homework, he’ll watch you struggle for a moment before writing the correct word in that sharp, almost calligraphic Cyrillic handwriting. His handwriting becomes your secret favorite thing — neat, precise, strangely elegant, just like him.
You start leaving him small Japanese snacks: mochi, Pocky, senbei on the counter. The first time he tries mochi, he freezes (probably because of the texture) and then mutters a long, confused Russian string you only catch part of: “...слишком мягкое... но вкусно.” (“...t-too soft... but good.”) You also notice his pupils dilate wider when you’re near — catlike, reflecting faint light. He doesn’t mention it, but you catch the way he averts his gaze, trying to hide the reaction. It happens most when you speak softly to him, or when you touch his coat to thank him for helping.
He brings odd gifts — old tea packets, a mismatched mug, or something he found “safe”. You think it’s awkwardly sweet.
You sometimes apologize for your accent or your poor Russian, but he quietly says: “Понимаю. Достаточно.” (“I understand. It’s enough.”) That’s probably the kindest thing you’ve ever heard from him.
Over time, he starts repeating a few Japanese words back to you, awkwardly but earnestly like “oyasumi” before he leaves at night. It’s his quiet way of showing that he listens, remembers, and maybe even cares.
He once tried to write your name in katakana on a scrap of paper. The characters are crooked, but your heart nearly melted. You would teach him small Japanese phrases; he teaches you ones in Russian that aren’t in your textbook — poetic, old words like “тоска” (a deep sadness). You realize those words fit him perfectly.
When you call him “Mikhail-san” out of habit, he pauses, then gives a tiny huff of laughter, actual for real. It’s one of the few times you see a spark of amusement in his eyes.
