the-internets-girlfriend

she/her - requests are open :) mwah x

[the-internets-girlfriend]

welcome to my little side of tumblr!

georgia. she/her. twenty-two. australian. aries. enfj-a. multifandom. lover of reading. obsessed with all my fictional boyfriends.

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✦ currently writing: sunshine series

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mwah x

[the-internets-girlfriend]

a new trick - jack wilder

jack wilder x reader

summary: While hiding out from the authorities, you learn a new card trick from Jack Wilder, and the thrill of magic leads to a kiss that changes everything between you.

warnings: sexual content implied, suggestive language, kissing

word count: 1.2k+ words

masterlist

Jack Wilder had a way of making even the simplest moments feel like a performance. Sitting in the dimly lit safehouse, the air thick with the smell of old wood, dust, and faint traces of coffee, he looked impossibly effortless. A deck of cards lay spread across the counter in front of him, and his fingers flicked through them with such fluidity it was as if they were part of him.

You perched on the edge of the worn leather couch, legs crossed, eyes tracking every subtle movement. Even after all the chases and close calls, there was something hypnotic about watching Jack work. Tonight, you were meant to learn a new trick that might come in handy the next time the police or worse were closing in.

“All right,” he said, tossing a card lightly between his hands, “tonight you are going to learn a trick that does not just look impossible, it feels impossible. The kind of thing people remember long after they forget your face.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You make it sound almost heroic.”

Jack smirked, leaning casually against the counter. “Magic is heroic. Or it is a good distraction. And let us face it, we are both good at that.”

You laughed softly. “I will take the compliment and the lesson. In that order.”

He tossed another card into the air and caught it without looking. “First thing you need to understand,” he said, “it is not the cards that make the magic. It is the attention. The misdirection. Where the audience looks and where they do not look.”

He held out a card to you. Queen of Hearts. Her eyes stared at you, painted, perfect, as though she was waiting to tell a story. You took her in your hand and the thrill of handling the cards under his watchful eyes made your fingers tingle.

“Remember this queen,” he said, voice low and deliberate. “She is your secret. Your ace in the hole. If you can make her disappear or appear where she should not, people will think you have powers they do not understand.”

You nodded, trying to focus, but the proximity of Jack, his lean build, the warmth of his hand as he brushed yours while adjusting your grip on the card, made it almost impossible.

He noticed your hesitation and smiled, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Relax. You have got this. Trust your hands. Trust the trick.”

He circled around the couch, watching as you shuffled the deck, trying to mimic the fluidity of his movements. Your nerves were on edge, adrenaline from the day’s escape still pulsing through you. Being a Horseman was thrilling, but it demanded precision. One wrong move and everything fell apart.

Jack knelt slightly in front of you, tilting his head so that his eyes locked with yours. “Watch carefully,” he said. “Timing is everything.”

He slid a card into the middle of the deck with a flick so clean it almost seemed impossible.

“Okay,” you said, leaning in, “I think I got it. Now I try?”

“Not yet,” he said, shaking his head, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “You watch me once more, then you copy. Eyes on my hands, not on me. That is the secret.”

When you finally managed to slip a card into the deck without fumbling, he clapped lightly. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

“Hey, that was my first try!” you said, grinning.

“The first try of a natural,” he said, his voice low. “You see, it is not just the sleight. It is the moment. You make people believe not because they are stupid, but because they want to.”

You smiled, catching a glimmer of excitement in your chest. “I think I might be ready for the real part then.”

Jack’s smirk widened. “Oh, the real part? You are brave, I will give you that. Most people never get this far without freezing up.”

He handed you the deck. “Show me what you have got.”

Your hands shook slightly, but you followed his instructions. The Queen of Hearts vanished from the deck and reappeared exactly where it should not, and for a moment the world seemed to tilt in on itself.

Your own gasp of excitement escaped before you could stop it. “I did it,” you whispered.

Jack’s eyes widened slightly, then a slow grin spread across his face. “You did it. That was impressive. Not just the trick.”

Without thinking, carried by adrenaline, triumph, and the undeniable connection between the two of you, you leaned in and kissed him.

He froze for a heartbeat, then tilted his head to deepen it. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss was electric, a spark igniting everything between you, and when you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless.

“That was… unexpected,” he said, voice low and husky, “but I am not complaining.”

You laughed softly, fingers brushing over his chest. “Glad to know my skills extend beyond sleight of hand.”

Jack’s smirk returned, but softer now, more genuine. “You have got talent and nerve. Dangerous combination.”

He leaned back slightly, letting you catch your breath, but the air between you remained charged. You felt it, the unspoken understanding that this was more than just practice, more than just hiding from the authorities. This was a moment suspended in time, a pocket of safety in a world that demanded constant alertness.

Jack picked up another card, flicking it expertly. “Now,” he said, voice low and intimate, “let us try something harder.”

You shivered with anticipation, both from the trick and the closeness of him. “Bring it on,” you said, grinning.

He leaned in, eyes locked on yours. “You are going to need to concentrate. One slip and the whole illusion falls apart.”

“I can handle it,” you said confidently, though your pulse raced.

Jack guided your hands again, fingers brushing yours in the softest ways that made your heart jump. “Good. See? You are already better than most.”

Hours passed like minutes. You laughed and teased, Jack responding with the same sharp wit, the same mischievous energy that had always made him impossible to resist. Every time you executed a move correctly, he rewarded you with a lingering look. Every mistake was corrected with a soft touch to your hand.

“Careful there,” he whispered, as your fingers fumbled slightly. “Watch the deck, not me. Keep your eyes on the game.”

“I am trying,” you said, flustered and exhilarated at the same time.

“You are doing amazing,” he said, a quiet sincerity underneath the playful tone. “Better than I expected. That is why I like working with you.”

By the time the first rays of dawn crept through the dusty windows, the safehouse felt like your own private universe, a world where cards, magic, and each other were all that mattered.

“You know,” you said softly, leaning back against the couch, “I think I could do this all night.”

Jack smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I would not mind one bit.”

Everything had changed now. The night, the trick, the kiss, the closeness—all of it. You were no longer just practicing a card trick with Jack Wilder. You were discovering just how dangerous and intoxicating it could be when magic and attraction collided.

[the-internets-girlfriend]

robin's comment - steve harrington

Steve Harrington x Reader

summary: Despite the chaos of the upside down, you and Steve develop a romantic relationship although, you're struggling to find intimate time together.

warnings: smut MDNI (18+), fingering, male receiving oral, unprotective p in v, suggestive content, sexual content, female characteristics described, friends to lovers, misunderstanding comment, spoilers for season 5, mild language, BIG DICK STEVE MENTION

word count: 4.6k+ words

main masterlist

You were pulled into the world of the Upside Down over three years ago, all because Steve had bailed on a movie night and you went looking for answers. The answer? Steve protecting a group of kids at the junkyard, monsters swarming around them, and chaos unfolding.

Three years later, Hawkins still feels like a cage. You’re under constant surveillance, spending most of your days on patrols with the group and worrying about Dustin drifting away from everyone.

But even amidst the danger, your thoughts kept returning to Steve. Steve Harrington—your best friend since childhood, the boy who lived across the street and knew every part of you. You told him everything, and he told you everything in return.

Within the past year, one secret had surfaced that neither of you could ignore: your feelings had shifted. Friendship had slowly morphed into something deeper, something that couldn’t quite be named. Romantic feelings had emerged, delicate but undeniable.

Stolen kisses and lingering hugs became the rhythm of your secret connection. You both agreed to keep it hidden, to wait until the world was saved before putting a label on it, before telling anyone. Still, that didn’t stop the quiet joy of nights spent in Steve’s bed, your head resting against his chest, wearing an old yellow sweater of his that still smelled like him.

Now, you lay beneath him, his bare chest pressed to yours. His lips traced a trail down your neck, gentle but teasing enough to draw soft moans from your lips.

“Steve…” you whispered, breathless.

His descent continued, lips tracing the curve of your chest. Large hands cupped you, tugging at your bra, goosebumps erupting along your skin. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling gently at the roots as he swirled his tongue, exploring, teasing your nipple.

Just as his hand began to drift lower, a crackling sound erupted from the walkie-talkie.

A frustrated grunt escaped him as he lifted his mouth, hovering over you. “Every single time… how?” he muttered, pressing a quick, desperate kiss to your lips.

Interruptions like this had become routine. Every time you and Steve found a moment to explore the next step in your hidden relationship, fate... or the walkie-talkie intervened.

Steve and you had been struggling to find any spare time together in recent weeks, and it seemed impossible now. With the group closing in on Vecna and Max returning with fresh, unsettling knowledge about Henry’s past, moments alone were a luxury you couldn’t afford.

The group had gathered in the radio shack, a hive of activity and murmured arguments. Dustin was at the center of it all, explaining his latest wormhole theory, gesturing wildly as he outlined their possible plan to end the nightmare once and for all.

You sank into the couch beside Steve, the familiar warmth of his body a small comfort in the tension-heavy room. His arm stretched casually behind you, resting near the back of the couch, brushing against your shoulder occasionally. In your hands, a loose thread from the blanket in your lap became a focal point for your restless fingers as your mind wandered elsewhere.

Lost in thought, you wished you’d paid more attention in physics class back in high school; this wormhole talk was too technical to follow completely. And then, the conversation shifted, snagging your attention.

"These rotors are like 40 feet wide. It's too big. It's not gonna fit." Dustin declared, shaking his head in frustration, dismissing one of the group’s riskier ideas.

Robin’s voice cut in sharply, her tone teasing but pointed. “Steve hears that all the time and goes in anyway. Don’t you?”

Your eyes snapped toward Steve, your stomach twisting. Your mind raced, spinning out a thousand questions at once.

Why would Robin say that? Was she joking, or was there truth hidden beneath the teasing tone?

How could Robin possibly know that about Steve?

Are Steve and Robin… together? Behind your back?

Steve’s hand shifted slightly behind you, his fingers brushing against your shoulder, and you felt him stiffen under your gaze. His eyebrows furrowed, reading the confusion, and hurt, flashing across your face. He could tell you were thinking something you shouldn’t be, something far from reality.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” His voice cut through the room, loud enough for the group to hear, sharp with concern and irritation. Then, leaning closer, he lowered his lips to your ear. “Please tell me you know that’s a joke… like the comment about… well—”

His voice faltered as he trailed off, uncertainty creeping into the words. You could hear the edge of desperation in the way he spoke, the vulnerability in admitting he didn’t know how you’d interpret Robin’s remark.

Your chest tightened, and without a word, you rose from the couch, your legs moving before your mind could catch up. “I’m just going to head out for some air,” you murmured, your voice quiet but firm, a fragile shield against the storm of thoughts swirling in your head.

As you slipped past the group, the weight of unspoken words and unasked questions pressed heavily on your shoulders. Steve’s gaze followed you, a mixture of confusion, concern, and something unspoken that left a lump in your throat.

Outside was quiet. The world seemed to have paused, offering a rare moment of peace far from the chaos that had become your daily life. The cool air brushed against your skin, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to breathe.

Heavy footsteps approached from behind, deliberate and familiar. You didn’t need to turn to know it was Steve. A small tear slipped down your cheek just as his arms wrapped around you from behind, warm and grounding.

“Steve…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“What Robin said in there… it doesn’t mean what you think.” His voice was gentle, steady, and full of concern. He shifted his arms, turning you to face him, and carefully lifted a hand to brush the tears from your cheeks.

“Robin and I would never… she’s just joking,” he continued, his words hurried but sincere. “It’s not my place to speak for her, but you have to believe me…”

You pressed your face against his chest, letting his warmth and steady heartbeat reassure you. You knew your mind had raced ahead, twisting a casual joke into something it wasn’t.

“And… well—I… I love you.” Steve’s voice softened at the end, the rambling giving way to a confession that made your chest tighten and your heart ache with relief and longing.

You look up at him, your cheeks flushed and your lips curving into a soft, nervous smile. “You mean it?”

Steve nods, his eyes locked on yours with a certainty you’ve never seen in anything else he’s done. “Yes. I’m in love with you.”

A warmth spreads through your chest, and without thinking, you whisper, “I love you too.”

You rise onto your toes, closing the small distance between you, and press a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips. His hands cradle your face as he leans into you.

A thought comes across your mind, unbidden and bold, cutting through the haze of relief and love. It's a question you've never dared to ask, a curiosity that has lived in the back of your mind during stolen glances and quiet moments, but has never had the courage to surface. Now, with the words "I love you" still hanging in the air between you, the barrier of fear feels thinner than ever.

You pull back just enough to look at him, your heart hammering against your ribs. His eyes are soft, searching yours with a look of pure adoration that makes your cheeks burn. You take a shaky breath, the words catching in your throat.

"Steve?" you whisper, your voice barely audible.

"Yeah?" he murmurs, his thumb stroking your cheek gently.

You swallow hard, trying to find the courage. "Can I... can I ask you something?"

"Anything," he says without hesitation.

Your gaze drops to his chest, then back up to his eyes. You can feel the heat rising in your face. "It's... it's a little... personal."

A slow, knowing smile spreads across his lips, but his eyes remain gentle. "Okay," he says softly. "You can ask me anything."

You take another breath, this one shakier than the last. The words stumble out, a mess of stutters and whispered syllables. "I-I was just... wondering... I mean, back there... when Robin said... you know... about it not fitting..."

You trail off, mortified, but he just waits patiently, his expression one of amused curiosity. You force yourself to continue, your voice dropping to an even lower whisper.

"Is... is it... I mean, are you... b-big?"

The air between you crackles, charged with the raw electricity of your question. The moment the words leave your lips, you want to snatch them back, to hide from the sheer audacity of what you’ve just asked. Your face is on fire, and you’re sure he can feel the frantic thrum of your heart where his hand still rests on your waist.

Steve’s reaction isn’t what you expect. There’s no shock, no awkward stammering. Instead, a slow, confident smirk spreads across his lips, the kind that used to make all the girls at school swoon but now feels like it’s meant only for you. His eyes darken with a mix of amusement and something deeper, something predatory and intensely masculine.

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his voice a low, teasing rumble that vibrates straight through you. "Big?" he repeats, the word a warm puff of air against your skin. "Sweetheart, you have no idea."

He pulls back just enough to see your face, to watch the blush bloom across your cheeks. The smirk on his lips doesn't falter; if anything, it grows, fueled by your reaction. His eyes, dark and intense, hold a promise that makes your knees feel weak.

"I can't wait to show you," he murmurs, his voice a low, confident rasp that sends a shiver down your spine. The words are a direct, unashamed answer to the question you were too shy to ask properly. He’s not teasing you anymore; he’s telling you the truth.

But then, as if sensing the shift in the air from playful to dangerously serious, he lets out a soft, shaky breath and his expression softens. The predatory glint in his eyes is replaced by something warmer, more conflicted. He gently cups your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking your skin.

"But not yet," he says, his voice losing its teasing edge and becoming thick with a sincerity that grounds you. "Not here. Not like this."

Your heart, which had been racing with pure, unadulterated lust, gives a painful lurch. Disappointment, sharp and sudden, flashes through you, and he must see it in your eyes because he rushes to explain.

"Hey, look at me," he urges, his tone gentle but firm. "This... you... are the most important thing in the world to me. The first time I'm inside you, the first time I get to feel you, really feel you... I don't want it to be rushed and panicked in the middle of a damn monster hunt."

He glances back toward the radio shack, where muffled voices still drift out into the cool night air. "I don't want it to be interrupted by a walkie-talkie. I don't want to be worried about Vecna or demobats or any of that shit."

His gaze returns to yours, and it's so full of love and longing it takes your breath away. "When it happens, I want it to be just us. All night. In a real bed, with no clothes on, no secrets. I want to take my time with you. I want to learn every single inch of your body until I know it better than my own. I want it to be perfect. Because you deserve perfect."

The disappointment melts away, replaced by a wave of emotion so powerful it almost brings you to your knees. He’s not rejecting you; he’s cherishing you. He’s thinking about you, about what you deserve, in a way that’s so profoundly Steve it makes your chest ache.

"Soon," he whispers, his forehead resting against yours. "I promise. We'll end this. And then I'm all yours. No more hiding."

He leans in and captures your lips in a kiss that’s different from the teasing ones before. This one is slow, deep, and full of every unspoken promise hanging between you. It’s a seal on his vow, a taste of the future you’re both fighting for. And when he pulls away, you know, without a single doubt, that the wait will be more than worth it.

It had been a week since the group had finally ended the years-long battle with the Upside Down. The chaos, the fear, the constant edge of danger—it was all behind you now, though the physical reminders lingered. Fading bruises traced along your arms and shoulders, souvenirs of the fights, and the ache of long nights in the field still whispered under your skin.

Steve was at your house, sprawled lazily on your bed beside you. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the soft warmth of your blankets, creating a cocoon of calm and comfort. You traced idle fingers over the faint purples and blues left by the battle, and he caught your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it.

“Looks like they’re finally healing,” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly across the bruises.

You offered a small smile, resting your head against his chest. “Yeah… finally.”

The room was quiet except for the soft rise and fall of his breathing. After weeks of running, hiding, and fighting, this—this simple, peaceful moment—felt like a miracle. Steve’s arm wrapped around you tighter, drawing you closer, and you let yourself melt against him, the weight of everything finally lifting, if only for now.

For the first time in a long while, you felt safe. Safe with him. Safe here.

The quiet stretched on, a comfortable blanket woven from the relief of victory and the warmth of his body. You could have stayed like that forever, just listening to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath your ear. But the memory of his promise, spoken in the tense darkness a week ago, began to stir in your mind, a low hum of anticipation that grew louder with each passing second.

As if he could hear your thoughts, Steve shifted beside you. He tilted your chin up with a gentle finger, his eyes searching yours in the soft lamplight of your room. The playfulness from the junkyard was gone, replaced by a deep, tender seriousness. He leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, a question and an answer all at once.

He pulled back just enough to speak, his voice a low murmur. "The world's saved," he stated, a small, hopeful smile playing on his lips. "No more Vecna, no more interruptions." He brushed a stray piece of hair from your forehead, his touch impossibly gentle. "So... I was wondering if you were feeling up to it? To finally having that perfect night I promised you?"

The question, so romantic and considerate, sent a jolt straight through you. Every nerve ending came alive. This was it. The moment you had been waiting for, dreaming of, through years of fear and uncertainty. You didn't need to think. You didn't need to hesitate.

You answered him by surging forward, crashing your lips against his with a desperate, eager need that was a year in the making. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as you poured all your love, relief, and raw desire into that one kiss. He responded instantly, his arms wrapping around you, one hand pressing firmly into the small of your back while the other cradled the back of your head, holding you to him as he deepened the kiss.

The kiss quickly became a frantic, beautiful exploration. His lips left yours, trailing a path of fire down your jaw and to the sensitive skin of your neck. You arched against him, a soft gasp escaping your lips as he nipped and sucked at your pulse point. His hands were no longer idle; they roamed your body, relearning its curves with a new, possessive intent. He tugged at the hem of your shirt, and you broke the kiss just long enough to raise your arms, letting him pull it over your head.

His gaze darkened as he looked at you, his eyes tracing the lacy cups of your bra. He lowered his head, his lips finding the swell of your breast as his fingers deftly unhooked the clasp. The fabric fell away, and he took a moment to just look, his expression one of pure reverence. Then, his mouth was on you, his tongue swirling around one pebbled nipple while his hand came up to cup the other. The dual sensation was overwhelming, and you moaned, your hands fisting in the sheets as pleasure shot through you.

As he continued to lavish attention on your breasts, his free hand drifted lower, tracing the waistband of your sweatpants. He paused, looking up at you for permission. You nodded breathlessly, lifting your hips to help him as he slid both your pants and underwear down your legs, leaving you completely bare before him.

He settled between your thighs, his body a warm, heavy weight that felt more like home than anything ever had. His lips found yours again in a searing kiss as one of his hands began a slow, torturous journey down your stomach. You were already trembling with anticipation when his fingers finally slipped through your slick folds. A guttural moan tore from your throat at the contact.

"Steve," you gasped against his mouth.

He swallowed your sounds with another kiss, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of his fingers as he slowly circled your clit. He was patient, methodical, learning what made you gasp and what made you whimper. Then, he slowly slid one finger inside you, then another, his palm pressing perfectly against your clit. He curled his fingers just so, and a white-hot bolt of pleasure shot through you. He set a steady, intoxicating rhythm, his fingers pumping in and out of you while his thumb worked your clit, all while his kiss never faltered. It was too much and not enough all at once, and you could feel the coil of pleasure tightening deep in your belly.

But through the haze of bliss, that nagging, delicious curiosity from the junkyard returned with a vengeance. You needed to know. You needed to see.

Breaking the kiss with a pant, you pushed gently at his shoulders. "Steve, wait," you breathed. He stilled instantly, his fingers stilling inside you, his eyes full of concern. "Did I hurt you?"

"No, God, no," you rushed out, a breathless laugh escaping you. "I just... I want to see you. Please."

Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed by that same confident smirk from before. He slowly withdrew his fingers, making you whimper at the loss, and shifted off you. He stood by the bed and, with agonizing slowness, pulled his own shirt over his head, revealing the toned chest you knew so well. Then, his hands went to the button of his jeans.

Your heart hammered against your ribs as he pushed the denim down his hips, taking his boxers with them. And then he was free.

The air hitched in your throat. Your eyes widened, a genuine, unfiltered shock washing over you. It wasn't just that he was big; he was magnificent. Long and thick, with a slight curve that made your mouth water. He was already impossibly hard, the tip flushed and glistening with precum. It was a primal, intimidating sight, and all you could think was, he wasn't kidding.

A slow, hungry smile spread across your face. All shyness, all hesitation, was completely gone, replaced by a singular, burning desire. You wanted to make him feel as good as he made you feel. You wanted to taste him.

You slid off the bed and onto your knees in front of him before he could even process it. "Let me," you whispered, looking up at him through your lashes.

His eyes went wide, a strangled groan escaping his lips. "Fuck, you don't have to—"

"I want to," you insisted, your voice firm. You wrapped your hand around his thick base, your fingers barely meeting, and leaned in. You flattened your tongue and took a slow, experimental lick from base to tip. The salty, masculine taste of him exploded on your tongue, and you were instantly addicted.

You took him into your mouth, as much as you could, your hand working the length that wouldn't fit. You set a rhythm, bobbing your head, using your tongue to swirl around the sensitive head. Steve's hands flew to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he let out a string of curses and praises.

"Jesus Christ... that feels... so good," he panted, his hips starting to thrust shallowly. "Your mouth... fuck, just like that." His praise was the greatest aphrodisiac, spurring you on. You could feel him tensing, his thighs quivering under your hands, and you knew he was close. You wanted to feel him fall apart, but not like this. Not yet.

With a final, lingering suck, you pulled back, releasing him with a soft pop. He looked down at you, his chest heaving, his eyes dark with a mixture of awe and desperate need.

"Get on the bed," he commanded, his voice hoarse. "Now."

You scrambled back onto the mattress, lying back against the pillows as he followed, covering your body with his. He kissed you deeply, his tongue claiming your mouth, and you could taste yourself on him. He positioned himself at your entrance, the thick head of his cock nudging against your slick folds.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

"I've been ready for years, Steve," you breathed.

He began to push inside, and your eyes fluttered shut. It was a slow, intense burn as he stretched you open, inch by delicious inch. He was so much bigger than you'd prepared for, a full, deep pressure that bordered on overwhelming. He froze when he was halfway in, his body trembling with restraint.

"You okay?" he gritted out.

You nodded, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer. "Don't stop. Please, Steve, don't stop."

He let out a shaky breath and pushed forward, sinking into you completely until he was buried to the hilt. You cried out, a mix of pain and profound pleasure as he filled you completely. He stayed still, letting you adjust, pressing soft kisses to your face and neck.

"You're doing so good," he murmured against your skin. "Taking me so well. You feel incredible. Better than I ever imagined."

When you started to squirm beneath him, silently begging for more, he took the hint. He began to move, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in. Each stroke was deep and deliberate, hitting a place inside you that made you see stars. He found a rhythm, a steady, powerful rocking of his hips that built the pleasure higher and higher.

"That's it, baby," he praised, his voice a low, sexy rumble. "Look at you. So beautiful. All mine." He shifted his angle slightly, and the next thrust hit your clit perfectly. You cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Right there? Yeah? You like that?"

You could only moan in response, your body arching to meet his every thrust.

The pressure inside you built to an impossible peak, a tight, winding coil of pure ecstasy that was about to snap. Steve could feel it, too. He could feel the way your walls were fluttering around him, the way your breaths were coming in short, desperate gasps.

"Let go for me," he commanded, his voice a low, possessive growl against your ear. "I want to feel you. Come on, baby, cum for me."

His words, combined with a particularly deep, perfectly angled thrust, were your undoing. The coil inside you snapped, and your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. A cry tore from your lips as your entire body convulsed, waves of intense, blinding pleasure radiating out from your core. Your vision went white, and all you could do was hold on to him as your body trembled and pulsed around his thick length.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, his rhythm faltering as your release gripped him. "That's it. So beautiful. You're so fucking beautiful when you cum."

He rode you through your orgasm, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate as he chased his own release. You were still floating in the haze of your climax when he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his hips pistoning into you with a newfound urgency.

"Where do you want...?" he panted, his voice strained.

"Inside," you whispered without hesitation, pulling him impossibly closer. "Steve, inside me."

With a guttural, raw sound that was half your name and half a sob, he slammed into you one last time. You felt him pulse, a deep, powerful throb as he spilled himself inside you, his whole body shuddering with the force of his release. He collapsed against you, his weight a welcome, grounding pressure as you both lay there, panting and trembling in the aftermath.

For a long time, the only sound in the room was the ragged symphony of your breathing, slowly returning to normal. He was still inside you, a warm, heavy presence that you never wanted to end. He finally stirred, pressing a soft, lazy kiss to your shoulder before carefully pulling out and rolling onto his side beside you.

The sudden emptiness made you whimper, but he was instantly there, pulling you into his arms and tucking you against his chest. He grabbed the discarded blanket and pulled it over your tangled bodies, creating a warm, contented little world for just the two of you. You rested your head on his chest, right over his steadily beating heart, and draped a leg over his, feeling the comforting stickiness between your thighs.

You lay in comfortable silence for a while, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his sweat-slicked skin. The reality of it all settled over you—no more fear, no more hiding. Just this. Just him.

A sleepy, blissful giggle escaped your lips.

He shifted, looking down at you with a tired, happy smile. "What's so funny?"

You propped yourself up on an elbow to look at him, your hair a mess and your lips swollen. "Well," you said, a mischievous glint in your eye. "I'd say that was a much more successful interaction than our last few attempts."

Steve let out a deep, rumbling laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. He pulled you in for a quick, sweet kiss. "Yeah," he agreed, his voice thick with emotion and satisfaction. "No interruptions this time. I'd say we're finally getting the hang of this whole 'saving the world and then having amazing sex' thing."

You snuggled back into his embrace, a feeling of complete and utter peace washing over you. "I love you, Steve."

He tightened his arm around you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I love you too. More than anything." And as you drifted off to sleep in the safety of his arms, you knew he was right. This was perfect. And it was only the beginning.

[the-internets-girlfriend]

what is this feeling? - steve harrington

Steve Harrington x Reader

summary: you always hated steve harrington, although you don't actually know if hate is the actual feeling you're feeling.

warnings: kissing, tension

word count: 2.3k+ words

masterlist

You didn't know when the feeling started r when it stopped being something small enough to ignore.

All you knew was that you despised Steve Harrington.

You told yourself that every time his name came up in conversation, every time he walked into a room already smiling like he belonged there. You told yourself it was leftover resentment from high school, from the way he used to be. King Steve. Hair perfect, ego bigger. The kind of boy who never noticed people like you unless it was convenient.

You and Steve had grown up in the same town, shared the same classrooms, passed each other in crowded hallways and overheated gymnasiums. You’d crossed paths at parties too. Even then, there had been something about him that rubbed you the wrong way.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Robin insisted otherwise.

“He’s not like that anymore,” she’d said more times than you could count, usually with a pointed look that suggested she knew exactly what you were doing. “You’re holding a grudge against a ghost.”

Maybe you were. Or maybe it was easier to hate Steve Harrington than to admit that whatever this feeling was; sharp and hot and deeply inconvenient.

You hated the way Steve Harrington took up space. The way people gravitated toward him without thinking twice. The way he smiled like the world hadn’t given him reasons not to. You hated that he always seemed just a little too close, a little too warm, a little too familiar.

And if the feeling lingered longer than hatred usually did, if it hummed beneath your skin even when he wasn’t around.

That was none of your concern.

The Scoops Ahoy uniform was humiliating.

You decided that on your first day, tugging at the stiff sleeves while Robin adjusted her hat in the reflective glass of the freezer door. The colours were loud, the fabric unforgiving, and the hat ... the stupid, stupid hat; felt like a personal attack.

“This thing is evil,” you muttered.

Robin snorted. “At least we suffer together.”

Steve, already leaning against the counter like he belonged there, grinned. “You’ll survive.”

You shot him a glare. “Easy for you to say. You look like you were born to embarrass yourself.”

He laughed; full and unbothered. “Wow. Already mean.”

“I’m not mean,” you said. “I’m honest.”

Robin hummed. “Debatable.”

From the very beginning, Steve Harrington was a problem.

Not because he was bad at the job; annoyingly, he wasn’t. He showed up on time, worked without complaint, and somehow managed to charm even the most impatient customers. He handled kids with a patience you didn’t expect, defused tantrums with dumb jokes, and took criticism in stride.

You told yourself you disliked how easy he made everything seem.

Late shifts were the worst.

The mall quieted down after hours, the echoes of distant footsteps fading until it was just the three of you under buzzing lights. Cleaning became slower, more deliberate. Steve would hum off-key while wiping down counters. Robin would ramble about something she’d read. And you would pretend not to notice the way Steve’s arm brushed yours when he passed behind you.

“Sorry,” he’d say every time.

“You keep saying that,” you snapped once.

He blinked. “Because I keep bumping into you.”

“Maybe stop standing so close.”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “You’re the one who moved.”

Robin watched the exchange like she was observing a tennis match. “You two are exhausting.”

You pointed at Steve. “He started it.”

“I literally just existed,” he said, laughing.

That right there was what you hated.

Because he didn’t rise to your irritation. He didn’t push back the way you expected. He took it all with that stupid grin, like he knew something you didn’t.

Sometimes, when the store was empty and the air felt heavy with sugar and salt, you caught him watching you.

Not staring... Steve Harrington wasn’t subtle enough for that... but looking. Like he was trying to figure you out.

Once, during a particularly slow night, he leaned against the counter and said quietly, “You know, you don’t actually hate me.”

You froze. “Excuse me?”

He shrugged. “Just saying.”

“Well,” you replied coldly, “you’re wrong.”

He studied you for a long moment, then smiled softer this time. “Okay.”

The fact that he didn’t argue unsettled you more than if he had.

Two years later, Hawkins hadn't changed much; although you had.

Life moved on in uneven steps, dragging you forward whether you were ready or not. The group still found excuses to gather: movie nights, late dinners, aimless hangouts that stretched longer than planned.

Tonight was one of those.

You arrived early, slipping off your shoes at the door and greeting familiar faces with easy smiles. Dustin immediately launched into a story. Max handed you a bag of jerky. Nancy asked about work. You settled in, laughing, contributing, comfortable.

And then Steve arrived.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, breathless, hair damp like he’d run a hand through it one too many times. “Traffic was insane.”

Your eyes flicked to him before you could stop them.

He caught it.

Of course he did... and smiled.

“Oh my god,” Robin muttered beside you. “There it is.”

“There is nothing,” you said, digging you hand deeper into the bag.

Steve sat across from you, legs stretched out and postured relaxes. Every now and then, your gazes collided; quick and sharp, and you both looked away like you'd been caught doing something wrong.

The banter came easily.

“You’re hogging the couch,” you told him at one point.

He scoffed. “I’m sitting normally.”

“Your legs are everywhere.”

“They’re long.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

He grinned. “Missed you too.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest betrayed you.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest betrayed you.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you said, though it lacked any real bite.

Steve’s grin softened, like he knew that already.

Robin clapped her hands suddenly. “Okay, before you two start flirting in denial again, can we play something?”

“We are not flirting,” you said at the same time Steve replied, “We’re just talking.”

Dustin snorted. “Sure. Aggressively.”

The group shifted, bodies rearranging on the floor and couches as cards and board game boxes were dragged out from beneath the coffee table. Someone suggested charades. Someone else vetoed it immediately. Eventually, a half-forgotten party game was chosen although teams required, stupid prompts guaranteed.

“Partners,” Dustin announced, eyes gleaming. “Pick ‘em.”

You should have known.

Steve was standing across the room, laughing at something Max said, entirely unaware that fate; or Dustin Henderson... was about to intervene.

Dustin pointed. “You and Harrington.”

“What?” you said.

Steve blinked. “Me?”

“No,” you said firmly. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh come on,” Dustin whined. “It’s random.”

“It is not random,” Robin said sweetly. “You’re smiling.”

Dustin grinned wider. “I like chaos.”

Steve shrugged, already moving closer. “Guess we’re a team.”

You glared at him. “Don’t sound so pleased.”

“Too late.”

The game began, and to your immense frustration, Steve was good at it. Not obnoxiously so, just focused, encouraging, leaning in close to whisper suggestions under his breath.

“No, no,” he murmured at one point, voice low near your ear. “Think bigger.”

You shivered despite yourself.

“Stop doing that,” you hissed.

“Doing what?”

“Existing near me.”

He laughed softly. “You’re the one who won’t move away.”

Dustin watched the two of you with barely concealed delight.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, during a lull between rounds. “Why have you never brought a partner to any of these?”

You stiffened. “That’s none of your business.”

“I’m just curious,” he said innocently. “You’ve never dated anyone. Ever.”

Steve glanced at you then, something unreadable flickering across his face.

“I’ve dated,” you said defensively.

“Name one,” Dustin challenged.

You opened your mouth... then closed it.

Robin coughed into her hand, poorly disguising a laugh.

“Maybe,” Dustin continued, undeterred, “you’ve just been too busy hating Steve.”

“I do not hate Steve,” you snapped.

Steve tilted his head. “You don’t?”

You shot him a look. “Don’t get smug.”

“Little late for that,” Max muttered.

The game dissolved into laughter and teasing, the tension between you and Steve becoming something the room openly acknowledged now; a shared joke, a collective awareness no one bothered hiding.

And yet, beneath it all, the feeling only grew stronger.

Not hatred.

Something else.

By the time the night wound down, rain hammered against the windows hard enough to drown out conversation. People began gathering jackets and bags, yawning and stretching, reluctant to leave but exhausted all the same.

You stayed behind to help clean up, stacking cups and gathering scattered cards, moving on autopilot while the house emptied around you. Voices faded one by one, laughter drifting out the door until it was just the quiet hum of the lights and the steady drumming of rain against glass.

When you finally stepped outside, the rain hit you full force, cold and heavy, soaking through your clothes in seconds. You sucked in a breath, startled by the chill, shoulders hunching instinctively as water slid down your neck and into your sleeves.

“Hey.”

You turned, blinking rain from your lashes, and there he was.

Steve stood by his car at the curb, hair damp and curling slightly at the edges, jacket already darkened by the rain. He looked like he had been there for a while, hands shoved into his pockets, posture patient, eyes fixed on the front door like he had been waiting to see if you would come out.

“I can drive you home,” he said, voice raised just enough to be heard over the rain.

“I’m fine,” you replied automatically, even as water soaked through your sleeves. “I live close.”

His brows drew together, concern cutting through the easy expression he usually wore. “You’re already soaked.”

“I’ll dry,” you insisted, shifting your weight.

“And I have a car,” he countered, opening the passenger door anyway. “Just get in.”

You hesitated, rain sliding down your neck, hair clinging to your cheeks, the night suddenly feeling very quiet despite the storm around you.

Then you sighed, a quiet surrender, and climbed inside.

The door shut with a solid thunk, sealing you into a warm enclosed space that smelled faintly like Steve, clean laundry and rain and something familiar you could not quite place. He got in a second later, shaking water from his hair before starting the engine.

The drive was quiet. Not awkward, but heavy with things neither of you had said. Rain streaked down the windshield in uneven patterns, blurring the streetlights into soft glowing shapes. Steve’s hands stayed steady on the wheel, knuckles pale, jaw tight like he was holding something back.

You watched him from the corner of your eye.

He did not look at you.

When the car pulled up outside your house, neither of you moved right away. The engine idled, rain tapping insistently against the roof, the silence stretching between you.

“Thanks,” you said finally, breaking it. “You didn’t have to.”

Steve exhaled slowly, like he had been holding that breath for a while. “I wanted to.”

He walked you to the door despite your quiet protests, jacket offered and refused, rain soaking him through as if he did not care in the slightest. He stopped just short of the porch light, the glow catching on his damp hair and the earnestness in his eyes.

You turned to face him, keys cool and familiar in your palm. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he replied, softer now.

For a moment, that was it.

You turned toward the door.

Steve grabbed your wrist.

You gasped softly at the sudden contact, spinning back toward him just as he stepped closer, rain dripping from his lashes. His grip was not tight, just enough to stop you, just enough to ask without words.

Before you could speak, he kissed you.

It was quick at first, decisive and almost desperate, like he was afraid he would lose his nerve if he waited any longer. His hand slid from your wrist to your waist, pulling you closer, grounding you against him as the rain blurred everything else away.

The world narrowed until there was only him and the warmth of his hands and the steady certainty of his mouth against yours.

He pulled back almost immediately, breath uneven, his forehead resting briefly against yours.

“I’m sorry,” he said, words rushed and earnest. “I had to do that. I’ve been wanting to for so long.”

You stared at him for half a second, rain soaked, heart racing, everything you had been pretending not to want standing right in front of you.

Then you kissed him back.

Slower this time. Sure. No hesitation at all.

Your hands slid up into his jacket, fingers curling into the damp fabric as he responded instantly, arms wrapping around you and pulling you flush against his chest. The kiss deepened, unhurried and full, all the tension and denial and unsaid feelings finally given somewhere to go.

He kissed you like he had been waiting for this moment, like he had imagined it more than once and was still surprised it was real.

When you finally pulled apart, your foreheads rested together, breaths mingling, rain dripping down your noses and onto the porch between you. You were both smiling, soft and disbelieving, soaked through and breathless and unmistakably relieved.

“I’ve been waiting,” he admitted quietly. “Every time you looked at me like you were mad at me. Every time you pushed me away. I kept hoping one day you would stop running.”

Your chest tightened. “I didn’t know how to face it.”

He brushed his thumb gently over your knuckles, like he was afraid to let go too soon. “I didn’t mind waiting. Not for you.”

“So,” you whispered, voice barely louder than the rain. “That feeling.”

Steve laughed softly, the sound warm and close between you. “Yeah.”

“Turns out,” you said, “it wasn’t hatred after all.”

“Good,” he replied, smiling like he had known that all along. “Because I was really hoping it was this.”

You smiled, heart full and light in a way you had not felt in a long time.

And for the first time, the feeling finally made sense.

[the-internets-girlfriend]

hi everyone!!

apologies for the delay on the next part of sunshine!! after watching season 5 I’m reworking a few things to make the flow better so keep an eye this coming week!!

mwah x

[the-internets-girlfriend]

sunshine (1983) - steve harrington

Steve Harrington x Reader (Series / Part One)

summary: In Hawkins something shifts beneath the surface; strange lights in the woods. Whispers of monsters. A missing boy no one can find. When you're pulled into helping a group of determined kids, secrets unravel, danger creeps closer, and somewhere between fear and friendship… something shifts between you and Steve.

warnings: supernatural themes, mature themes, bullying, verbal harassment, violence, minor injuries, themes of grief, family trauma; including absent mother, mild language, emotional repression.

word count: 7.5k words

series masterlist | masterlist

Junior year of Hawkins High School was an odd one. You couldn't quite explain it; just that something in the air had shifted.

You had planned to meet your friends at the cafeteria however had to stopped by your locker. The locker next door to Steve Harrington; the rising 'it' boy of the school.

He'd always been kind to you growing up; you'd shared the occasional sentence about homework, or made polite small talk when you happened to cross paths in town. Although you wouldn't call each other friends; just faces who knew each other. But lately, something had changed. Every time you stopped at your locker, you were met with snide comments or laughter from Tommy H, and sometimes even Steve joined in - or worse stood there and said nothing at all.

That’s why you’d started timing your locker runs carefully, hoping to avoid them altogether. Today, you decided to go at the very start of lunch, when the hallway would be nearly empty.

The walk from biology to your locker was a blur of friendly faces. You smiled at classmates, stopped to help when someone asked a question about homework; of which each was returned with a 'thanks sunshine,' of which made you grin despite yourself. The nickname had started as one of Tommy’s insults; but over time, it had stuck for all the right reasons. Now it was a term of endearment, and maybe your favorite thing about school.

Turning the last corner, relief bloomed in your chest. The hall was quiet. Empty. Perfect.

You skipped the last few steps, leaned against the cool metal of your locker, and began to spin the dial. 21–8–14. The familiar click of the final digit sounded...just as a breath brushed the side of your neck.

“Twenty-one, eight, fourteen,” a voice murmured, close enough to send a chill down your spine. “Perfect. Now I know your code for when I need to steal your homework.”

You jumped, spinning around. Tommy H. Of course. And stood behind him, Steve and Carol.

Rolling your eyes, you turned back to your locker, pretending not to hear him. But he never stopped when he got a reaction or when he didn’t.

“So, Sunshine,” he said, voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Heard anything from Mommy lately?”

The words hit like a slap. You froze, shoulders tightening.

He knew exactly where to aim.

Your mother had left when you were little; walked out one morning without a word. Said she couldn't stand being trapped in Hawkins, and by the next day she was gone. The memory still burned, though you'd learn to live with in, thanks to your brothers, dad and friends.

Still, hearing it from him always hurt.

A laugh caught in your throat before it could turn into something else. You busied yourself with the books in your locker, pretending not to notice the way your hands trembled slightly.

Tommy noticed, “aww, what’s this?” he drawled. “Sunshine gonna cry?”

You froze for half a second—just enough for him to see the flicker of hurt that crossed your face. Then, just as quickly, you pushed it down, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Not today, Tommy,” you said softly, shutting your locker with deliberate calm. The metal door clanged a little louder than you meant it to, but it made your point.

Snarky laughter echoed behind him, sharp and shrill. Carol was leaned against the opposite locker, chewing her bubble gum like it was part of her personality. She blew a large pink bubble that popped loud enough to make you flinch, then smirked, clearly pleased with herself.

Your gaze shifted past her—to Steve.

He wasn’t laughing. Not yet, anyway. He was watching Tommy, jaw tight, lips pressed together like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. For a second, you thought maybe he wouldn’t join in this time. Maybe there was still something decent behind that polished “King Steve” grin.

Then Carol nudged him hard in the ribs. He blinked, forced a chuckle, and joined the laughter.

That was worse than the insult.

You held your smile, even as your stomach twisted. “Real mature, guys,” you murmured, stepping past them toward the cafeteria.

None of them said anything as you left, though you could feel their eyes on your back the whole way down the hall.

Walking to the cafeteria, you instantly spot your group of friend. The same group you'd met in your early years of schooling and never really drifted from. You were all so different that no single label ever fit the group; each of you had your own interests, quirls, and stories. Still it worked. Despite coming from different backgrounds and families, you'd always stood by one another through everything - parents leaving, heartbreak, parents' divorces, failed driving tests, and all the moments in between.

You moved to sit at the table, choosing to not bring up what had just happened and instead join in as a audience member for the daily debate between Lilly and Spencer.

The following week, news had spread fast. A young boy, Will Byers, had vanished during the night, and the rumours that followed were ugly. Cruel. The kind of whispers that made the hallways feel colder.

You knew of his family, knowing you had one class every Monday with Johnathan; however Jonathan did not attend but you did not blame him, never being able to understand what he was going through.

By lunchtime, the cafeteria buzzed with hushed voices. You overheard a couple of students refer to them as “the freak family,” and your stomach twisted. You hated how quickly people turned tragedy into gossip.

Your friend Meg noticed the way you and the rest of your group had gone quiet, a rare silence at your usually lively table. She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “I think we should search the woods near my house tonight,” she said gently. “I can’t stop thinking about that poor kid. He must be terrified.”

Meg’s family lived on the edge of town, their property stretching right into the line of dark woods behind their fence. You’d spent countless summers running through those trees.

“That’s actually a good idea,” you said, nodding. “Maybe we’ll see something the cops missed. Should we meet after dinner?”

Everyone around the table murmured their agreement.

When the lunch bell finally rang, you headed back toward your locker to grab a workbook before your last class. As you rounded the corner, you froze.

Steve Harrington was pressed against you locker with his lips locked on Nancy Wheeler. At the sound of your steps, they broke apart quickly, both trying to look casual.

You give the two a tight-lipped smile. "Sorry, I just need to get to my locker."

"Of course." Nancy agrees, moving herself and Steve away from your locker; the two still standing in silence before Nancy voices, "I can't believe what happened to Will."

A beat passed before you realised she was talking to you, inviting you into the conversation.

“Yeah… it’s awful,” you said, pulling a book from your locker and turning slightly toward them. “My friends and I are going to search the woods tonight. Near the edge of town.” You hesitated, then added, “It’d be good to have more eyes out there, if you guys wanted to help.”

You offered them a small, genuine smile, leaving the invitation open. Nancy ponders the question understanding how important Will's friendship is to Mike, and Steve gives a slow nod, almost like the decision was made in his head.

"Yeah," he said quietly, "yeah we could help."

His eyes lingered on you longer than you expected, studying your expression as if your smile alone had convinced him. You offer a larger smile to the two alongside the address if they were able to end up coming. The warning bell for the last class rang which ended the conversation and resulted in Nancy rushing off to class; leaving you and Steve stood at your lockers.

"Well, we should head to history now." You said gently, giving Steve an encouraging smile. You knew Steve shared that class with you.

Apparently, he didn’t.

“Wait—” Steve blinked. “You have history now too?”

Heat flooded your cheeks before you could stop it. You suddenly became hyper-aware of how easily you’d noticed him in class, in the halls… and how little he’d noticed you in return.

“Yeah,” you admitted, rubbing your arm awkwardly. “I sit with a girl named Robin in the back row. It’s okay that you didn’t realise—you’re always busy.”

You meant it kindly, but Steve’s face fell a little, the embarrassment clear in the way he ducked his head.

He hadn’t even noticed the girl with the locker right next to his shared a class with him all year. And from the way his jaw tightened, it was obvious he felt worse about that than he wanted to show.

“Right,” Steve said, clearing his throat and shifting his bag on his shoulder. “We should get going.”

You nodded, and the two of you fell into step side by side, the hallway humming softly around you. Without Nancy or his friends nearby, Steve felt different—quieter, less guarded. He walked a little slower than usual, matching your steps without needing to think about it.

Neither of you spoke right away, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was… careful. Like both of you were suddenly aware of each other in a way you hadn’t been before.

As you approached the history classroom, he hesitated at the door, glancing toward you with a small, unsure smile.

“So… I’ll see you after?” he asked, voice soft.

“Yeah,” you said, returning the smile. “See you then.”

You slipped into the room and headed straight for the back row, dropping into your usual seat beside Robin Buckley. She looked up immediately, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“Okay,” she whispered, leaning closer. “Why do you look like you just walked here with Hawkins’ golden boy?”

You rolled your eyes, though a smile tugged at your lips. “It’s nothing. Really.”

“Mmhmm. Sure.” Robin tapped her pencil against her notebook. “I’m getting details later.”

The teacher began the lesson, and the next hour passed in quiet note-taking and Robin’s occasional whispered commentary that made it hard not to laugh. For a brief moment, everything felt normal—like the world wasn’t holding its breath after a boy went missing.

The walk to Meg's house was far from your own, one of which would take up to one hour if you didn't rush. The quiet gave you space to think, to breathe, to replay the day in your head. The worry in your chest about Will. The strange, lingering glance Steve had given you. The plan for tonight.

But your thoughts were cut short when the sound of bike tires humming over pavement drifted toward you.

Three boys rode ahead on the street, close enough that their hurried whispers carried back to you.

“Will could be out there.”

At the sound of the boy’s name, your steps faltered. The sudden stop must’ve caught their attention, because all three skidded a little on their bikes before turning to look at you.

They were so young. Barely middle school, if that. Faces pinched with worry, fear clinging to them in ways they were trying hard to hide. You felt something warm and protective tug at your chest.

So you gave them a smile—bright and steady—the kind people said reminded them of sunshine. And from the way their shoulders eased, you knew they needed it more than they’d ever admit.

“My friends and I are about to head into the woods to look for Will,” you said gently. “If you want to come with us, you can.”

For a moment, the boys glanced between one another, a whole conversation passing between them without a word. Then the dark-haired boy in the middle stepped forward slightly, gripping his handlebars.

“Thank you,” he said, polite but tense, “but I think we’re gonna head back to my house.”

You nodded, understanding blooming instantly. They wanted to search on their own—or keep something to themselves—and you didn’t want to push.

“Alright,” you said softly. “Just… be careful, okay?”

The boy swallowed, nodding back.

And then, without another word, they pedaled off down the street, leaving you standing in the quiet dusk with the faint ache of worry lingering in your chest.

By the time you reached Meg’s house, the sky had settled into the deep blue of early evening. The porch light flickered on automatically as you stepped up the front stairs, boots scuffing against wood worn from years of summer hangouts and late-night talks.

The door swung open before you could knock. “There you are!” Meg said, pulling you inside with a grin. “We were starting to think you fell into a ditch.”

Inside, your friends were scattered around the living room— Robin flipping through a flashlight battery pack, Rina stuffing granola bars into her jacket pockets, and Mark dramatically wielding a branch he’d found in the yard like it was a sword.

“You ready?” Meg asked, handing you a spare torch.

“Yeah,” you nodded, then hesitated. “Oh—Steve and Nancy might join us later. I talked to them after class.”

A few eyebrows lifted.

“Might?” Rina echoed, amused.

You shrugged, pretending you weren’t wondering whether Steve had meant it when he agreed. “Yeah. But don’t wait on them.”

Meg nodded. “Alright, troops. Let’s head out.”

The woods behind Meg’s house swallowed the last bits of light as your group walked in. Branches tangled overhead, and mist curled low across the forest floor. Flashlight beams cut through the darkness in shaky arcs.

“Will!” Rina called out. “Will, are you out here?!”

Only the echo answered.

You kept glancing back the way you came, half-expecting two more flashlights to appear in the distance. Half-expecting the crunch of leaves that would announce Steve’s late arrival, or Nancy’s determined stride.

But every time you paused to listen, you heard nothing.

No footsteps. No voices. No sign of anyone else joining.

After nearly thirty minutes, when your group spread out farther, the truth settled into your stomach with a dull ache.

They weren’t coming.

Whether they got busy, forgot, or never planned to show up, you didn’t know. But the realization stung more than you wished it did.

You turned your light away from the path, blinking the feeling down. This wasn’t about them. It was about Will.

“Hey,” Meg called softly from ahead. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, forcing a smile she couldn’t see. “Just… listening.”

She nodded and kept walking.

You pushed forward with the group, checking under branches and behind tree trunks, calling Will’s name into the thick, unmoving dark. But the deeper you went, the more obvious it became:

Will wasn’t here. Or if he was, he didn’t want to be found by a handful of teenagers with store-bought flashlights.

Eventually, Meg gathered everyone with a quiet, defeated sigh. “We should head back. We’re not finding anything tonight.”

Nobody argued.

Back at the edge of Meg’s yard, the porch light glowed like a lighthouse in the sea of shadowed trees. One by one, your friends hugged you goodbye.

“Call me when you get home,” Meg reminded you. “Seriously.”

“I will,” you promised.

And then you started the walk home alone, the road dim and empty under the thick night sky.

Your chest felt heavy—not just from the fear of what might have happened to Will, but from the quiet truth that settled beside it.

Steve and Nancy didn’t come.

You didn’t know why, but the disappointment lingered all the way home, whispering through the cold air like another echo in the dark.

The following day, Tuesday, you decided to wear makeup to school. The restless sleep after the search for Will had left you exhausted, your mind replaying every shadowed corner of the woods and every possibility of what might have happened to him. That morning, a teasing comment from one of your brothers nudged you upstairs, and before you knew it, you were in front of the mirror, carefully applying a little color to your eyes and lips.

That morning, a teasing comment from one of your brothers nudged you upstairs, and before you knew it, you were in front of the mirror, carefully applying a little color to your eyes and lips.

“Is Sunshine wearing makeup today?” Tommy interrupted, his voice sharp with mockery. He stepped closer, leaning in, as if inspecting your face like it was some sort of exhibit, his hand lifting toward your cheek.

You swatted it away without a second thought, brushing past his words. You didn’t have the patience to engage today—not after the restless night, not with the weight of worry still pressing in.

But Tommy wasn’t done. He stepped closer, smirking, his voice dripping with mockery. “What? Are you trying to impress someone?”

You froze for half a heartbeat, then exhaled slowly, forcing your shoulders to relax. Your lips curved into a tight, controlled smile, one that said not today without a single word.

“I’m not trying to impress anyone, Tommy,” you said evenly, voice calm but firm. “Now, step aside.”

He blinked, caught off guard by your defiance, and muttered something under his breath before leaning back.

Steve, standing to the side, glanced between the two of you, his jaw tight. For the first time in a long time, he seemed unsure, as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to step in without making it worse.

You ignored both of them, turning to your locker, determined not to let the morning—and Tommy—ruin the fragile sense of calm you were trying to hold onto. You slam the locker door shut; a statement fraying from your 'sunshine' persona and head to your first class.

As you walked toward class, something caught your eye—Jonathan Byers, moving slowly through the halls, taping up posters. Each one bore the same haunting image: Will, his face bright and innocent, framed by the words Missing.

Without thinking, you veered off your path, steps quickening until you reached him.

“Hi, Jonathan…” you began, your voice soft, unsure. The words felt clumsy, too small for the weight of the situation. After a pause, you added, “I… want to help. Do you… want help?”

Jonathan looked up, eyes tired but grateful. He hesitated for a beat before nodding and extended a stack of posters toward you.

You took them carefully, the image of Will staring back at you making your chest tighten. For a moment, neither of you spoke—just the quiet shuffle of feet and the faint echo of your breathing in the hallway.

Then, silently, you began helping him, pressing each poster carefully onto the walls, hoping somehow that each one brought Will a little closer to being found.

By the time the posters were up, the hallway was quieter, most students already in class. Jonathan gave you a small, tired smile, muttered a soft “thanks,” and disappeared down the corridor, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You were just about to head to your own classroom when a familiar voice called out from behind you.

“Hey… uh, can we talk for a second?”

You turned and found Steve standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes hesitant, like he’d spent the last few minutes rehearsing exactly what to say.

“Sure,” you said softly, tilting your head. There was something in the way he looked at you—different from the usual teasing grin he wore around the halls—a little vulnerable, a little unsure.

He shifted from foot to foot. “About last night… the search. I should’ve come. I—I don’t know why I didn’t. I’m really sorry.”

You blinked, and for a moment the words felt heavy. But then you forced a small smile, shaking your head. “Steve… you don’t need to apologize to me. Really. I’m not upset. I was still happy with the group, and… it’s okay.”

He looked at you, surprise flickering across his face. “Really? You’re not… mad?”

“No,” you said, your tone gentle, reassuring. “I get it. You had your own things to deal with."

Steve exhaled slowly, shoulders loosening as if a weight had lifted. He leaned casually against the wall beside you, though you could see the tension still lingering just under the surface. “I guess… I guess I just feel bad, you know? You were out there in the woods, doing all that, and I didn’t—” He stopped, shaking his head.

You shrugged lightly, looking down at your hands for a moment. “It’s okay. Really. I wasn’t alone. And even if I was, it wasn’t about me. It was about Will.”

Steve shifted slightly, leaning against the wall, eyes studying you like he was trying to read something he couldn’t quite reach. “Also I'm sorry about Tommy. I mean… I get it. Tommy’s my friend and all, but… the way he treats you—”

You held up a hand, cutting him off gently. “Steve… what he says doesn’t get to me.” Your voice was calm, steady, but inside you were still holding everything tightly, not letting it show. You didn’t want him to worry. Didn’t want to admit that sometimes it stung more than anyone knew.

He frowned, genuinely puzzled. “I don’t get it. How can you just… ignore him? Doesn’t it bother you?”

You shrugged again, giving him the smallest smile. “Maybe it does, sometimes. But that’s not what matters. I’ve… learned to focus on other things. People who matter. That’s all.”

He blinked, and then tilted his head, studying you with that mix of curiosity and admiration that made your chest tighten. “You… you always see the best in people, don’t you?”

You looked down for a moment, as if weighing your words, then met his gaze. “I try. I guess… I like to believe there’s more to someone than what’s on the surface. Everyone deserves that chance.”

Steve’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and a soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I don’t know how you do it,” he admitted quietly. “I mean… I’d probably be the first to give up on someone.”

You shook your head, almost gently. “Maybe. But you’re not me. And that’s okay.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Just the quiet hum of the hallway around you and the way your eyes met his, something unspoken passing between you. It wasn’t about words. It was about understanding. About knowing, without saying it aloud, that you trusted each other—enough to share a little glimpse of what you really thought and felt.

Steve let out a slow breath, leaning back against the wall fully now. “Yeah… I think I get it. I think I want to try seeing things like that too.”

You offered him a small, reassuring smile. “You can. Everyone can. You just… have to want to.”

On Wednesday the 9th, Will's body was found.

The news hit Hawkins like a shockwave, rippling fear through the town and prompting parents to keep a closer eye on their children.

By the following evening, the warning had reached your father, and a family meeting was called before dinner. Your two older brothers sprawled across the chairs at the table, eyes darting between plates and the food in front of them, clearly waiting for the first chance to shove half the dinner into their mouths. You hovered nearby, pretending to be engrossed in setting the table, but fully aware of their antics.

“Boys.” Your father’s voice cut through the room, calm but firm. He rarely played the strict parent, but when mischief arose, he could effortlessly slip into the ‘bad cop’ role.

“Before we eat tonight, I want to talk about the Will boy,” he began. His eyes swept over the table, landing on each of you. “His body was found yesterday. I know none of you knew him personally, but I expect you to support his family and the community however you can.”

You listened closely, feeling the weight of his words. Your father always believed in family and in helping others when it was needed—something he had shown time and again over the years.

He continued, shifting the tone slightly, though still serious. “I also think a new curfew will be beneficial. Weird things have been happening in town, and I want everyone home by midnight.”

Your brothers groaned in unison, exchanging dramatic looks.

“Dad, that is so unfair,” one of them protested.

“What about practice? Or if I’m at my girlfriend’s house?” the other added, exasperated.

“Boys, settle down,” your father said, raising a hand to calm them. “This curfew is temporary, only until things… settle down. And notice—your sister isn’t complaining.” He gestured toward you, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You shrugged innocently.

“Yeah, probably because she’d rather be upstairs reading one of her magazines or books anyway,” your eldest brother said with a chuckle, and you couldn’t help but smile at the teasing.

Although your brothers groaned again, louder this time, but your father’s stern gaze ensured the conversation moved on—at least for the moment.

The meal would go on, but the reality of the town’s fear—and the new rules at home—lingered over the table, a quiet reminder that Hawkins had changed, and nothing would feel quite normal for a long while.

Family dinner ended quietly, the weight of the conversation still hanging in the air. Later, you curled up on the lounge-room couch beside your middle brother, Joseph, while he watched an animated episode of Dungeons & Dragons. His laughter filled the room occasionally, but your mind wasn’t on the TV—not even a little.

Your thoughts drifted elsewhere. Backwards. Into places you rarely let yourself wander.

Your father always did everything he could to protect you and your brothers, always trying to be both parents at once. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shield you from the ache tied to your mother. Not truly. Not from the memory of waking up one morning to find her gone. Not from the sting of the note she never left. Not from the way she chose freedom over family, leaving you all to pick up pieces that didn’t quite fit anymore.

You swallowed hard, blinking quickly when your vision blurred. You tried to pretend it was just tiredness, but Joseph wasn’t stupid. He glanced sideways and caught the tremble in your breath.

“Hey,” he whispered, nudging your shoulder gently. “You okay?”

You nodded automatically, a weak, practiced lie. Joseph didn’t buy it for a second. He reached for the remote, paused the episode, and stood up.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s go to the backyard. Batting practice.”

You blinked up at him, confused. “Joe— it’s late.”

“So?” He offered his hand. “You look like you need to hit something before you explode.”

A shaky laugh escaped you despite the heaviness pressing into your ribs. You slid your hand into his, letting him pull you up. Outside, the cool night air wrapped around you. Joseph handed you the metal bat you’d used since middle school.

“Go on,” he encouraged, tossing a practice ball lightly in his palm. “Take a swing. Get it out.”

You inhaled sharply and swung—and kept swinging. Each crack of the bat echoed through the yard, shaking loose something raw inside you. Anger, fear, abandonment, hurt—you didn’t even know which was which anymore.

When the last ball rolled to a stop, your hands shook. Joseph stepped forward, catching your shoulders gently.

“Hey,” he murmured. “It’s alright.”

And that was all it took. The dam cracked. Your breath hitched and you crumpled into his shoulder, tears hot and fast as years of quiet hurt boiled over. Joseph held you tight, one hand rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades like he used to when you were little.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

And in the quiet dark of the backyard, with the scent of grass and metal and dusk around you, you let yourself finally feel everything you’d been holding in.

The weekend came quickly, your body still aching from batting practice. Muscles you’d forgotten existed were suddenly alive and complaining.

You rummaged through the kitchen cabinets in search of painkillers, but your brothers had apparently wiped out the medicine drawer the same way they wiped out leftovers. With a sigh, you decided to walk to the local supermarket—both for painkillers and for food, because you already knew nothing edible would be left by the time they returned home.

The walk wasn’t long, but long enough for you to slip on your Walkman, letting music drown out the lingering quiet of the house. Your bag hung loosely from your shoulder as you passed the local theatre, turned the familiar corner, and reached the supermarket.

Inside, you browsed casually. You grabbed the cereals you knew your brothers inhaled, painkillers, and even an instant ice pack for the ache in your arms.

But as you headed toward the front of the store, you stopped short.

A girl—no older than thirteen—stood dead still in the frozen aisle. She wasn’t browsing. She wasn’t choosing. She looked… terrified. Alone, barefoot in fear, her wide eyes staring at nothing and everything at once.

You hesitated only a second before walking slowly toward her.

“Hi,” you called gently, careful not to startle her. “Are you okay?”

Her head snapped toward you. Fear flashed across her face so sharp it made you freeze in place. You took a step back, hands up slightly, showing you meant no harm.

The girl quickly yanked open the freezer door and grabbed three boxes of Eggo waffles with frantic urgency. Then she turned back to you, her eyes locking onto yours—dark, intense, almost pleading.

You swallowed, assessing her again. She looked dirty. Exhausted. Like she hadn’t slept in days. Like she needed help.

“Hi,” you repeated softly, trying again, keeping your voice gentle. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just… want to help.”

Your words hung in the cold air between you, the hum of freezers the only sound as the girl stared at you like she was trying to decide whether you were danger—or safety.

“Friend?” The girl’s voice was barely more than a whisper, trembling and small.

You nodded slowly, keeping your voice soft. “Yes… friend.”

Stepping closer, you offered your hand. The girl hugged one arm to her chest, balancing the boxes of Eggo’s, but after a moment, she cautiously reached her free hand toward yours. You took it carefully, letting her guide you toward the registers.

“Taking up babysitting?” the familiar employee joked, a teasing lilt in his voice.

You gave an awkward chuckle, shifting your focus to the groceries and the girl beside you. Your mind was elsewhere—thinking ahead, planning. You’d pay for the food, then call the police. That way, you could make sure she got help safely.

Before handing over the money, you added the latest issue of Seventeen magazine to your pile and paid. Bagging the groceries and supplies, you handed the boxes of Eggo’s to the girl.

Together, you made your way to the front doors. The girl moved ahead of you, guiding the way silently, but as you reached the threshold, the employee’s voice stopped you.

“Miss! You forgot your change.”

You bent down quickly to collect the coins, and when you straightened and looked back… she was gone.

No sign of her in the doorway, no sound of footsteps, just the empty street beyond the glass. Your stomach twisted. She had been right there a second ago.

You rushed out of the grocery store, glancing desperately across the car park for any sign of the girl in the pink dress, but she was nowhere to be seen. Heart racing, you continued on, crossing the street and heading back toward your house, the coins in your pocket jangling with every step.

But the sight at the local theatre froze you in your tracks.

The marquee had been vandalized, and the words spelled out in crude spray paint made your stomach turn:

All the Right Moves starring Nancy the SLUT Wheeler.

A low chuckle came from the shadows. You looked toward the alleyway and saw Tommy, spray can in hand, smirking as if this were the funniest thing in the world. Steve, Carol, and another friend leaned against the brick wall, watching him with amused expressions.

Your hands clenched into fists before your brain caught up with your voice. The words left your mouth before you could stop them.

“What the fuck, Tommy?”

Your spiteful words cause the group to turn, and you watch over their faces, and stop at Steve as he showcases a sadden feature upon your arrival.

Although Tommy, he barely flinched. “What? Just having a little fun,” he said, voice dripping with mockery.

You felt your chest tighten with a mix of anger and disbelief. You knew Tommy was a bully, but this… this was different. Doing it outside of school, in public, for anyone to see—this was cruel, calculated, and utterly disrespectful.

“This isn’t funny,” you said, voice firm, unwavering. “You don’t get to humiliate people like this.”

Tommy laughed, the sound sharp and unpleasant, but something in the way Steve’s jaw tightened told you that maybe—not everyone agreed with him this time.

As he laughs, you walk closer to the group, your bag still hanging from your shoulder. “Tommy, I will tell the police.” You threaten, hoping—praying—it’ll put even a flicker of fear into them.

But Tommy only laughs harder, wiping at his eyes.

“Oh, Sunshine, I don’t think that’s a good idea…” he drawls, stepping forward. “Otherwise your name will be making a feature too.”

Your stomach twists. Tommy drops the paint can with a clatter and starts toward you, shoulders squared, expression darkening in a way that makes your pulse spike—

But he doesn’t get far. Steve steps in quickly, arm coming out across Tommy’s chest, blocking him.

“That’s enough,” Steve mutters.

Tommy scoffs. “What, you care now?”

Steve doesn’t look at him; his eyes are on the vandalized marquee. “Look—Nancy deserves this. She… she did something wrong.” His voice is stiff, defensive, like he’s repeating something he told himself a hundred times already.

You stare at him, shocked. “Steve, this isn’t a mistake. This is humiliation.”

For the first time, Steve’s face falters—just barely. His jaw ticks before he looks away, guilt flickering beneath the surface. Tommy smirks, satisfied that Steve is still on his side, but you’re not so sure. Something about Steve’s posture is off. He looks uncomfortable, conflicted… like he doesn’t entirely believe the words coming out of his own mouth.

The tense conversation was suddenly interrupted by Carol’s cheerful voice. “Aw, hey there, princess.”

Everyone turned to see Nancy striding toward the group, her ponytail swinging with each step.

“Uh-oh, she looks upset,” Tommy muttered, though you noticed Nancy wasn’t slowing down. You instinctively stepped to the side, giving Steve a clear path. His eyes flicked to yours, silently hoping you’d say something—but you stayed quiet, letting him decide his next move.

Without warning, Nancy raised her hand and delivered a sharp slap across Steve’s face. You couldn’t help but let out a small giggle at the stunned reactions of his friends.

“What is wrong with you?” Nancy demanded.

“What's wrong with you? I was worried about you… I can’t believe I was actually worried about you,” Steve snapped back, his voice tight with frustration.

The two of them argued fiercely, voices cutting through the quiet of the street, while Steve’s friends hovered uncertainly, unsure whether to intervene. From the main street, Jonathan approached the scene, and Tommy, never missing a chance to taunt, piped up. “Speak of the devil.”

You stood frozen for a moment, trying to piece together what had sparked the chaos. Slowly, the puzzle began to form in your mind when Nancy hissed, “You came by last night.”

You turned to Steve and saw the flash of hurt crossing his face as the argument escalated. You felt the urge to leave; this wasn’t your fight. But when Steve’s words turned venomous, targeting Jonathan personally—“…a little screw-up like your father. Oh yeah, that house is full of screw-ups. I’m not even surprised what happened to your brother”—you could no longer stay silent.

“Steve, stop!” you yelled, your voice sharp and unwavering.

Steve turned toward you, shock evident in his eyes, but when he tried to face Jonathan and Nancy again, Jonathan’s fist connected with his temple, sending him crashing to the ground.

The fight escalated immediately. Both boys grappled violently, dodging and throwing punches, while Steve’s friends cheered him on and Nancy begged for it to stop. You watched in stunned silence as Jonathan pinned Steve to the ground, the situation spinning further out of control.

Sirens wailed in the distance, cutting through the chaos. The arrival of the police forced Steve’s friends to scatter, while Jonathan was pulled to his feet and led away. Nancy shouted after him, trying to explain, but Steve remained on the ground, dazed and bloodied.

Your instinct to protect kicked in. You knelt beside him, taking his trembling, bloodied hand in yours. “Come on,” you said softly, not letting him argue. With effort, you helped him to his feet.

He leaned slightly on you, and together you bolted from the street, away from the sirens, away from the chaos, running until the sounds of the fight and flashing lights were far behind you.

After running a block, you finally reached the small corner behind the old warehouse where you often went when you needed to be alone. The night air was cool, crisp against your flushed skin, and your chest was still pounding from the fight and the adrenaline. Steve leaned against the brick wall, swaying slightly, his face bruised and bloodied.

You crouched down slowly, retrieving the instant ice pack from your bag. Without a word, you pressed it gently against the side of his temple, wincing at the warmth of blood seeping through. He flinched slightly but didn’t complain.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You were angry—burning, frustrated, and hurt by what he had said to Jonathan—but the words wouldn’t come. You focused on the ice pack, twisting it slightly in your hands, pretending to be absorbed in the cold.

Steve broke the silence first, his voice tentative. “Uh… sorry about, you know… everything.”

You didn’t look at him. Didn’t respond. Your jaw tightened as you kept your gaze on the ice pack.

He shifted slightly, awkward, unsure what to say next. “I mean… I didn’t think— I didn’t mean… I just… Ugh."

You could feel him trying to fill the silence, fumbling, but you said nothing. Not a word.

Finally, he sighed and looked up at you, his bruised eyes searching yours. “Hey… what happened to the Sunshine I usually see?”

The nickname hit you, and you exhaled sharply, letting the tension inside you start to spill. “She’s… tired,” you began, voice low, hesitant. “She’s frustrated. She’s angry… and sometimes, she just… bottles it up until she can’t anymore.” You paused, your hands tightening around the ice pack. “The things you said tonight… they hurt. They hurt Jonathan. And they hurt me. Because I’ve… been through something similar.”

Steve frowned, confusion and guilt flickering across his face. “You… wait, what do you mean?”

Your heart tightened at the memory, but you forced yourself to speak. “My mom left me. My dad. My brothers. One day she was just… gone. Said she couldn’t stand being stuck here. And it… it broke something in me. I learned to hide it, push it down. But hearing you tonight—hearing those words—it reminded me of that feeling.”

Steve’s hand twitched toward you but stopped. “I… I didn’t know. I—I never thought…” His voice faltered. “I… I shouldn’t have said those things. And… I shouldn’t have just… gone along with Tommy. I didn’t realize it hurt you. Or anyone.”

You looked up at him finally, your eyes meeting his. He looked small in the dim light, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t expected. “You have to clean this up when you get home,” you said softly, inspecting the blood on his face. “It’s going to get worse if you don’t. And don’t… don’t make a habit of being like this.”

You held the ice pack against his temple a little longer, your hand brushing against his hair. He flinched slightly, but didn’t move away. The proximity was awkward—you were classmates, not friends, not anything more—but there was an intensity in the shared silence that neither of you could ignore.

Steve cleared his throat, a nervous edge to his voice. “I… I don’t want you to be mad at me... You're just always so nice to me - even if we are just practically strangers.”

You shook your head, the anger still simmering inside but softened by his quiet remorse. “I’m not mad at you,” you whispered. “I’m frustrated… and scared for Jonathan. But not at you.”

For a moment, all that existed was the two of you, the night air around you, and the quiet thrum of adrenaline and unsaid words. Steve’s hand lingered near yours, and your gaze didn’t leave his bruised eyes. Both of you knew this was awkward, that you were classmates first—but for once, the silence felt less like distance and more like understanding.

Then reality gently pushed its way back in.

You blinked, remembering the groceries in your bag, the cereal your brothers would tear into, the painkillers you’d meant to take hours ago. “I… I should go,” you murmured, pulling the ice pack away. “My brothers are probably tearing the house apart looking for food.”

Steve straightened slightly, wincing but trying to hide it. “Let me walk you home,” he offered quickly, the words tumbling out before he seemed to think about them. “Just to make sure you get there okay.”

You shook your head almost immediately. “Steve… you should really go clean up. Your face is going to bruise worse if you don’t.”

He gave a soft, crooked smile—tired but warm. “Still offering.”

“I’ll be fine,” you insisted, gentle but firm. “Please. Go home. Clean yourself up.”

For a second, he looked like he wanted to argue. Then something in your expression made him stop. He hesitated… then stepped forward.

Before you could ask what he was doing, Steve wrapped his arms around you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t awkward. It was careful—almost unsure—like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to but needed to anyway.

And you froze at first, surprised at how naturally you fit against him. He was warm from the run, his chest pressing lightly against your cheek. You realised suddenly, embarrassingly, that you were the perfect height for him—your forehead rested just against his collarbone, and his chin brushed the top of your head when he exhaled.

He smelled like a mix of things—fresh sweat, the faint sharpness of blood, and underneath it all something clean and familiar. Laundry powder. Cedar from his jacket. And that hint of cologne he always wore, warm and almost sweet.

It was… too much. Too close. Too soft.

You felt your heart stutter.

When he finally let you go, you stepped back quickly, your face warming as a blush spread across your cheeks. Steve’s eyes flicked to your flushed expression, softening in a way that made it worse.

“Goodbye,” you rushed out, voice small, barely steady.

He gave a tiny nod, hands slipping into his pockets. “Yeah… goodbye, Sunshine.”

You turned before he could see how flustered you really were, the echo of his arms still wrapped around you long after you started walking.

Despite the moment you and Steve shared on Saturday night—the warmth of his hug, the softness in his voice, the way he’d said Sunshine like it meant something—you quickly learned that whatever existed between you did not cross the threshold of Hawkins High.

On Monday morning, he showed up with a bruised lip and a darkened eye, looking almost unfamiliar beneath the swelling. Still, when he stopped at the locker beside yours, you offered him a small, genuine smile. A silent hi. A quiet are you okay?

You closed your locker and turned toward him, ready to ask if he was feeling better, if he’d gotten home alright, if he remembered the way he held you like he needed you.

But before the words reached your mouth, he looked straight past you—expression unreadable—and walked off.

Early. For once.

And it didn’t stop there.

The rest of the week followed the same pattern. A glance and then a retreat. A near-conversation smothered before it began. He didn’t mock you, didn’t tease you, didn’t speak to you at all. He simply… disappeared into the crowds of school the moment you were near.

By Friday, you told yourself it didn’t matter. That you understood. That what happened outside the grocery store belonged to a night charged by adrenaline and fear, not something real. You told yourself that maybe ignoring you was his way of keeping the peace with his friends. Or maybe it was guilt. Or embarrassment. Or nothing at all.

But by the end of the school year, after weeks of being quietly avoided, you settled on an explanation that hurt more than you wanted to admit:

This was Steve’s way of saying he didn’t want to be your friend.

And the worst part?

You almost believed it.

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[the-internets-girlfriend]

sunshine - steve harrington (series)

Steve Harrington x Reader

summary: In Hawkins something shifts beneath the surface; strange lights in the woods. Whispers of monsters. A missing boy no one can find. When you're pulled into helping a group of determined kids, secrets unravel, danger creeps closer, and somewhere between fear and friendship… something shifts between you and Steve.

warnings: supernatural themes, mature themes, bullying, verbal harassment, violence, minor injuries, themes of grief, family trauma; including absent mother, mild language, emotional repression.

Series Chapters

1983 1984 (09/12/2025) 1985 (12/12/2025) 1986 (15/12/2025) 1987 (TBD - 2026)

(All dates are in Australian time and format)

Series Playlist

take on me - a-ha from now on - hugh jackman i'm still standing - elton john time after time - cyndi lauper your love - the outfield ribs - lorde ain’t no mountain high enough- diana ross everybody wants to rule the world - tears for fears

tag list - please interact with this post to be added

[the-internets-girlfriend]

dusty's plan - steve harrington

steve harrington x henderson/reader

summary: Dustin plans a movie night with you and Steve, although he bails which leaves you and Steve in close proximity.

warnings: kissing, idiots in love

word count: 1.3k+ words

main masterlist

Your younger brother Dustin, had planned for a movie night with himself, you, and Steve; the boy who you caught feelings for long ago although never admitted to this feelings to anyone.

However, Dustin was smart and he recognised how smitten his sister was Steve Harrington; and of which how the feelings were reciprocated by Steve.

The movie night was the perfect plan to have them both in the same room, and within close proximity of each other in hopes the admittance of feelings would happen.

Dustin had a habit of being dramatic, but tonight he had outdone himself.

You were standing in the Harrington living room holding a bag of popcorn when Steve hung up the phone, annoyance and fondness mixing on his face the way they always did when Henderson was involved.

“Well?” you asked.

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. “He’s not coming.”

You blinked. “What do you mean he’s not coming? This was his idea.”

“Apparently he ‘accidentally’ promised to help Suzie with a project.” Steve air-quoted it with full irritation. “But he said—and I quote—‘You and my sister will be fine without me.’”

You groaned. “He bailed on our movie night? He made this whole plan!”

Steve shrugged, but there was a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth, something you couldn’t name yet. “It’s just us now.”

Just you and Steve. And suddenly the room felt smaller.

He nodded toward the couch. “We can still watch something. Unless you wanna go instead?”

“No,” you said quickly—too quickly. “I’m already here.”

He flashed a smile, warm and easy. “Good.”

The lights were dimmed, the snacks laid out, the movie chosen after entirely too much back-and-forth. You sat at one end of the couch, legs tucked under you. Steve took the opposite end.

For ten whole minutes, neither of you acknowledged the fact that Dustin’s absence had thrown the usual balance off. You were used to being together—but always with someone else there. Dustin. Robin. The kids. Noise. Chaos.

But now it was just you and Steve.

And the silence between you buzzed.

You shifted again, pulling the blanket higher. Then your foot tapped the coffee table. Then you moved the pillow behind you. Then you untucked your legs, retucked them, crossed them—

Steve paused the movie.

Your mouth dropped open. “Why did you—?”

“You’re fidgeting like you’re trying to escape your own body,” he said, amused. “Are you uncomfortable? Or is my couch just not up to your high standards?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “It’s not my fault your couch is lumpy.”

“It’s not lumpy!”

“Steve. It has a crater.”

He scoffed. “It’s ‘well-loved.’ There’s a difference.”

You shifted again, trying to find a spot that didn’t make your hip dig into something. “Whatever you call it, it’s terrible.”

Steve huffed a dramatic breath, then patted the empty space beside him.

“Come here.”

Your brain short-circuited. “Huh?”

“You clearly can’t get comfortable over there,” he said casually. “So sit over here. You can lean on me.”

You should’ve said no. You should’ve laughed it off. You should’ve done anything except what you did—which was freeze, swallow, and slowly scoot toward him.

He lifted his arm so you could settle against him, your shoulder brushing his chest, your head right where he’d wanted it.

The second you leaned back, heat shot through your body.

“Better?” he asked softly.

You nodded because your voice didn’t work.

His arm rested behind you, not quite touching, but close enough that you felt it like a spark. The movie flickered on the screen, but you didn’t see any of it. Not when all you could feel was Steve’s breath near your hair. His thigh warm next to yours. His fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder when he shifted.

You were absolutely not thinking about turning your head slightly so your cheek would rest against him properly.

Absolutely not imagining what his hand would feel like on your waist.

Absolutely not thinking about kissing him.

(You were very much thinking about kissing him.)

Half an hour passed, the tension growing thicker with each stolen glance. You’d look at him when he laughed at something on screen. He’d look at you when he thought you weren’t watching. Neither of you said anything, both of you pretending nothing was different even though everything was.

Then, during a quiet moment in the movie, he spoke.

“You know…” His voice was low, almost hesitant. “I think Dustin ditched on purpose.”

Your heart jumped. “Why would he do that?”

He gave a tiny laugh. One of those nervous, breathy ones he only did when he was unsure of himself. “Because he’s… Dustin. And because he thinks he’s subtle.”

You turned your head up at him, eyebrows raised. “About what?”

Steve’s eyes flicked from yours to your mouth then quickly away. “Nothing. Never mind.”

You swallowed hard. “Steve.”

He kept watching the screen, like it suddenly held the answers he needed, but his jaw tightened—the way it did when he was trying to gather nerve.

“I don’t want to ruin this,” he said finally, voice barely above a whisper.

“Ruin what?”

“This,” he repeated, glancing down at you again. “Us. You and me.”

Your chest tightened. “Steve… you’re not going to ruin anything.”

He exhaled shakily. “You say that now, but—”

“Steve.”

He froze at the sound of his name on your lips.

“You’re not ruining anything,” you said softly. “You’re just… avoiding saying whatever you actually want to say.”

He huffed a dry laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“Painfully.”

Another beat passed. His fingers twitched behind you, like he was debating touching you. He didn’t. But he also didn’t pull away.

“Okay,” he murmured. “Then I’ll just… say it.”

Your heartbeat hammered in your ears.

“I like you,” he said. “Like… really like you. More than I should. More than makes sense. And Dustin knows it. That’s probably why he bailed. He’s been trying to push us together for months.”

Your breath caught.

Relief washed through you first. Then warmth. Then something giddy.

You reached for his hand—finally bridging the last inch he’d been too scared to cross—and laced your fingers with his.

“Steve,” you whispered. “I like you too.”

He blinked. “You do?”

You laughed, a little breathless. “Yeah. I’ve liked you for a long time.”

And that’s when something in him shifted. Untensed. Unlocked.

His eyes flicked to your mouth again, slower this time, deliberate. You felt his hand tighten around yours.

“Can I…” He swallowed. “Can I kiss you?”

You nodded. “Please.”

He lifted his free hand to your cheek, thumb brushing your skin like he was memorizing the moment. You leaned into his touch instinctively, giving him the last permission he needed.

Steve leaned in slowly—agonizingly slowly—giving you every chance to pull away. You didn’t.

His lips met yours in a soft, careful kiss. A testing one. Gentle enough to ask. Warm enough to mean it.

You kissed him back, fingers curling into the front of his shirt. That small motion made him deepen the kiss, still tender but fuller, like he’d been holding this in for months.

He pulled you closer, letting the forgotten movie flicker in the background while your world shrank to the feeling of his lips, his hand cupping your face, his breath mixing with yours like you’d been waiting for this exact moment without even knowing it.

When you finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, both of you smiling like idiots.

“Well,” you whispered, “Dustin definitely ditched on purpose.”

Steve groaned, dropping his head to your shoulder. “I’m never gonna hear the end of this.”

You laughed, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Probably not.”

“Still worth it,” he murmured against your neck.

“Yeah?”

He tilted his head up, giving you that lopsided, soft smile he only ever showed a few people. “Yeah. Definitely.”

You kissed him again—short, sweet, familiar now—and he let out a small satisfied noise that made your stomach flutter.

Then you settled against him, your head on his chest this time, his arm wrapped around you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The movie kept playing, but neither of you paid much attention.

After all, you were both too busy wondering how long Dustin had been planning this.

And how soon he’d brag about being right.

[the-internets-girlfriend]

the magic of love - jack wilder

jack wilder x reader

summary: A decade after the Horsemen fell apart, the world of magic drags you back in. This time, though, you and Jack are hiding a secret.

warnings: female characteristics, small spoilers for nysm3, physical fights, mild injury, mentions of crime.

main masterlist

It has been ten years since the Horseman last performed a show together. Ten years since the disaster in Russia that fractured the group beyond repair.. all except for the two of you.

Your relationship with Jack had been a slow, steady burn from the moment you met. He’d always had a talent for picking locks, slipping past barriers no one else could manage—and somehow, he’d managed to pick the lock around your heart too. The two of you had been secretly dating, waiting to share your relationship with the others after the big mission to take down an arms dealer. But when a close friend was captured, the plan collapsed—along with the Horsemen themselves.

Afterwards, you and Jack built a quiet life far from the chaos of illusions and secrets. You returned to school to chase the degree you’d always dreamed of, and Jack settled into work at a small local office. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was safe. Predictable. Yours.

Until the night a sudden knock echoed through your home—shattering the calm you’d fought so hard to build, and letting magic slip back into your life like it had never left at all.

The private event was as glamorous as the special guest; the heart diamond. You stood off to the side of the grand room, dressed in a backless black gown. One shoulder was draped in soft fabric, and the hem hovered just above the marble floor as you mingled with guests. You wore your best practiced smile, though your eyes kept drifting across the room.

And there he was.

Jack—sharp in a black-and-white suit reminiscent of the one he wore on your wedding day. He caught your gaze and gave you a subtle wink before seamlessly melting back into the shadows.

A wave of gasps rippled through the crowd. Your head lifted just in time to see an old friend standing atop a pedestal, commanding the room. Danny’s voice carried over the gathering as he teased the diamond’s owner, the so-called royalty of the event, Veronika. With a few taunting words, he coaxed her into lifting the Heart Diamond from its locked case and tilting it beneath the lights.

The gem was breathtaking—though too large for your taste—and you couldn’t ignore the dark history you and Jack had uncovered during research before arriving in Antwerp.

Danny’s eyes swept dramatically across the room… until they landed on you. His expression faltered in a flash of recognition. Caught, you turned your back and pretended to strike up a conversation with the nearest person.

“Hi—have you tried the arancini balls?” you asked brightly, already forming a plan.

The man stared at you, stunned into silence as his gaze traced your dress. He nodded slowly.

You inhaled, locking eyes with him as your hand curled around his forearm. “I think it’d be great if you grabbed me a plate,” you said sweetly. “Though…I suggest you trip and fall onto the table.”

His eyes glazed with compliance. He shuffled toward the serving table. You counted down from five under your breath—

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

A spectacular crash. The man sprawled dramatically across the table, food scattering in every direction. The crowd’s attention whipped toward the chaos—just in time for Danny to reclaim the spotlight with a burst of light as the diamond exploded into dust, then reappeared in his hand.

You rolled your eyes. Of course. Now you understood his angle. And now you needed to figure out yours. Observation—the magician’s greatest weapon.

Scanning the room, you spotted a girl who couldn’t have been more than twenty, moving strangely—eyes darting toward two guards as the mess unfolded. When she stepped toward them with a wine bottle in hand, instinct—or maybe something maternal—propelled you forward.

On the way, you snatched a long silk tablecloth. The first guard was already distracted by the girl, so you focused on the second. In one swift motion, you whipped the cloth around his torso and yanked him toward you.

He stumbled, confused. You winked.

Then drove the heel of your shoe down onto his foot.

He folded in pain, giving you the perfect opening to cinch the silk tightly around him. One hard shove sent him crashing backward into a table piled high with food.

The girl stared at you, dark eyeliner making her eyes appear even wider as recognition hit her. “You… it’s you.”

You gave her a small nod, understanding now—she wasn’t a bystander. She was part of this. Part of someone’s plan.

You jerked your head toward the exit, spotting Danny weaving through the crowd with Jack close behind him.

Without another word, the two of you sprinted toward the grand staircase leading out of the hall. You glanced back to check that she was still with you—

—and collided head-first into something solid.

Fortunately, that “something solid” was the chest of your husband.

Jack’s arm immediately wrapped around you, steady and protective, his other hand instinctively checking you over. “You okay?” he murmured, worry etched across his face.

You nodded quickly and looked past his shoulder—only for your breath to catch.

“Henley!”

She stood a few steps away, looking almost exactly the same but somehow sharper, stronger. You hadn’t seen her in years—not since everything fell apart—and yet instinctively, you pushed past Jack and threw your arms around her.

She hugged you back just as tightly.

The moment barely lasted a heartbeat before a familiar voice boomed across the space.

“Alright, emotional reunion later—we gotta move!”

Merritt. Loud as ever. Unchanged, for better or worse.

Jack’s hand pressed gently but firmly against your back, guiding you forward. “Come on,” he urged.

You followed the group toward the exit, the world suddenly spinning back into motion—the old team, the old danger, the old magic pulling you in whether you were ready or not.

The exit plan was reckless at best, but typical of the Horsemen. You landed hard on the boat waiting below, Jack’s arms catching you before you could stumble. The moment your feet were steady, you moved toward the railing, bracing your palms against the cool metal as you tried to gather your thoughts. The night had been chaos layered on chaos, and your mind was still struggling to keep pace.

Behind you, the others were talking—old rhythms slipping back into place as if no time had passed at all. You leaned back against the built-in bar, only half-listening, until Henley’s voice rose above the rest.

“Wait—hold on. Is that a ring?”

Your breath caught. You looked down at your left hand as if you’d forgotten the band was there, glinting faintly in the boat’s lights. Henley’s gaze was locked on it, her brows high in genuine shock.

The whole deck went quiet.

You swallowed, glancing toward Jack. He was leaning casually against the railing, arms crossed, wearing a smirk that told you he was thoroughly enjoying the show.

“Yeah,” you said finally, your voice steadier than you felt. “I’m married.”

The reaction was immediate.

Merritt let out a whoop. “Little you? Married? No way—absolutely not. Last time I saw you, you were practically a kid!” He pointed accusingly at you before breaking into a proud grin. “Look at you all grown up!”

Henley clapped her hands over her mouth, delighted. Danny gasped. The three newcomers—Atlas’s new recruits—looked on awkwardly, unsure if they were allowed to join in.

Questions exploded at you from all directions.

“When did this happen?”

“Who’s the unlucky—uh—lucky guy?”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Do we know him?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but Danny cut through the noise, eyes narrowing playfully.

“Hold on… Jack, you haven’t said anything.” He pointed between you and your husband. “What’s wrong? Upset your little crush on her from all those years ago didn’t work out?”

Merritt let out a loud laugh.

Jack didn’t.

He pushed off the railing and walked toward you, his stride slow and deliberate. The others watched, confusion spreading across their faces as Jack stopped at your side, his hand brushing your lower back before he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

The deck fell silent again.

Jack looked up, meeting every stunned stare with a raised brow. “Why would I be upset,” he asked smoothly, “when I’m the one she married?”

Henley’s jaw dropped. Merritt made a strangled noise. Danny blinked like his brain had short-circuited.

“You—wait—WHAT?”

“We were going to tell you years ago,” you added, sliding your fingers into Jack’s. “But the timing was… complicated. And then everything fell apart. So… yeah. Surprise.”

There was a beat of silence before the entire group erupted again, this time louder—laughing, shouting, cheering, asking ten more questions at once. Even Atlas cracked a rare smile from the back.

And through the noise, Jack leaned toward you, whispering just for you:

“Guess the cat’s out of the hat now, sweetheart.”

mini georgia note x

the fact i was in love with jack wilder ten years ago and the new movie made it all come back!!!

[the-internets-girlfriend]

gal pals!!!

I am done with university for the year! I suddenly have a lot of spare time and will be using it to write a whole lot of things I have been planning for a while on my morning walks!

And Steve Harrington has made a return to my fyp and I am super inspired so stay tuned!

Mwah x

[the-internets-girlfriend]

short skirt/long jacket - clarke kent x reader

Clarke Kent x Reader

summary: based on this request

warnings: fluff, soft banter

word count: 800+ words

main masterlist

He’s late. Again.

Not because he overslept or missed the train. No, Clark Kent is late because he stopped to help a stranger fix a flat tire, holding the car up with one hand while pretending it took effort. By the time he makes it through the revolving doors, his tie is crooked and his hair’s got that wind-whipped look that makes him seem more human than usual.

You’re already at your desk, typing fast enough to make your keyboard smoke. The new headline is due in twenty minutes, and Perry’s pacing the bullpen like a restless bull.

Clark sets down his coffee with a soft thunk. “Morning,” he murmurs, trying to sound casual.

You don’t even glance up. “You’re late.”

“I was—uh—helping someone.”

“Of course you were.” You finally look up, one brow raised. “What was it this time? Lost kitten? Collapsing building? Runaway hotdog cart?”

He laughs quietly. “Something like that.”

You roll your eyes but can’t stop the small smile. That’s the thing about Clark Kent: he’s too good. Too polite, too earnest, too everything. He’s the kind of guy your friends warn you about because you’ll fall for him without even realising it.

That night, you find yourself in the newsroom long after everyone’s gone. Rain streaks the windows, and the neon hum from across the street flickers through the glass. You’re still editing when you hear the elevator ding.

Clark steps out, sleeves rolled, tie loosened, hair damp from the storm. He’s holding two takeout boxes.

“I figured you hadn’t eaten.”

You blink, caught off-guard. “Do you just… sense when someone forgets to have dinner?”

“Let’s call it good reporting instincts.”

You share noodles in silence for a while, shoulder to shoulder beneath the glow of the desk lamp. Then he glances at you—really looks. The kind of look that sees through the armor of sarcasm and caffeine.

“I like working with you,” he says simply.

And suddenly you can hear the rhythm of that old Cake song in your head.

I want a girl with a mind like a diamond…

You look back at him, smile teasing your lips. “That so?”

He nods, bashful but honest. “You’re brilliant. Brave. You keep me on my toes.”

You laugh softly, leaning closer. “And what does that make you, Kent?”

He shrugs. “Just a guy trying to keep up.”

Outside, thunder rumbles—low and close. The kind that vibrates through the building.

Your fingers brush as you both reach for the same pen. He freezes, glancing down at the touch, then back up to your eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you,” he whispers.

“Good,” you murmur. “I’d hate to be predictable.”

The next morning, the newsroom hums with gossip. Someone swears they saw Superman streak across the skyline just before dawn, cape blazing red against the thunderclouds.

Clark strolls in late again, tie neat this time, glasses fogged from the rain. You’re at your desk, pretending to read the morning brief but mostly watching him from the corner of your eye.

“Rough night?” you ask.

He gives that crooked half-smile. “You could say that.”

You sip your coffee, hiding your grin. “Maybe you need someone who can keep up with you.”

His eyes meet yours—warm, steady, a little too knowing.

“Maybe I already found her.”

And in that moment, with the city waking outside and the hum of the newsroom around you, it’s easy to believe that the man with the short sleeves and quiet smile could hold up the whole world—and still have a hand free for you.

She’s fast, thorough, and sharp as a tack…

She’s touring the facility, and picking up slack.

[the-internets-girlfriend]

Hi!! I love your fics so much.

If you’re open to it, I would love to read something with Clark Kent inspired by/having to do with Short Skirt/Long Jacket by Cake!

Tysm!!

Hi!!! Amazing request!! I hope the fic is what you had imagined xx

[the-internets-girlfriend]

i don't like coffee - will lenney

Will Lenney x Reader

summary: on your lunch break in a Sainsbury's, you meet a charming boy who loves coffee.

warnings: flirty banter.

word count: 700+ words

masterlist

You stood in your local Sainsbury's during your lunch break, browsing the lunch meal deals. You could go your classic meal deal; chicken sandwich, crisps and a diet coke, but something about the sunshine spilling through the front windows made you want to change it up.

You paced the small aisle, half-decided, half-daydreaming. Condensation clung to the glass doors as you scanned the rows of salads and wraps, trying to look decisive while doing another slow lap. The hum of the fridge filled the quiet moments between people grabbing what they wanted and heading to the self-checkout.

Walking back and fourth the small fridge, you eye off the juices, reading the labels as you grab one and place it back down.

You reached for a juice bottle, reading the label like it might reveal some hidden wisdom about your day. Pressed apple. Tempting—but too sweet, maybe. You set it back down, fingers leaving a faint print in the cold condensation.

Briefly, your eyes looking at the iced coffees you shake your head, and reach for your phone from your tote bag; checking the time... only twenty minutes left of your lunch break.

"Need any recommendations?"

The voice made you turn.

A man stood beside you; tall, dark hair, casually dressed in jeans and a grey hoodie. Handsome in that I didn't try way.

"Ummm... yeah... that would be great." You say, shooting the guy a grin.

He smiled, eyes flicking to the fridge. “Depends what you’re after. If you want something that actually tastes like coffee and not a milkshake, that one’s the best.”

He pointed to a sleek black bottle.

Rodd's Iced Coffee.

You picked it up, inspecting the label. “You sound pretty sure of yourself.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of my go-to,” he said with a small shrug. “Never disappoints.”

You arched a brow. “You talk like you own the place.”

A hint of mischief glimmered in his eyes. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

You smirked, amused. “Alright, Mr. Confident, I’ll trust you.”

“Good choice,” he said, tone casual but eyes sparkling. “That one’s smooth, proper coffee flavour. No weird aftertaste, no over-sweet rubbish.”

“You sound like their PR guy.”

He chuckled. “Maybe I just like good coffee.”

“Or maybe you are the PR guy.”

He grinned. “Guess you’ll never know.”

You carry the black bottle, as you wander towards the self-checkout together, conversation flowing easily - and you wishing your lunch break wouldn't end. You teased him about how seriously he took caffeine; and he teases you on being indecisive.

“You always this persuasive?” you asked as you scanned the bottle.

“Only when it’s important,” he said. “Coffee’s sacred business.”

You shot him a look. “So’s my lunch break.”

He leaned casually against the checkout, watching as you scanned your items, as he ignored the queue building behind him. "Well tell you what. If you don't like it, I'll refund you myself." He adds, with a smirk.

"Oh yeah? And how would you do that?"

"Guess you'll have to find me again."

You laughed, shaking your head as you paid. “You’ve got an answer for everything.”

"One of my friends James' says the exact same thing to me all the time." He said with a grin, and then adding as an afterthought, "oh I'm Will by the way."

“Nice to meet you, Will.”

“Pleasure’s mine.” He flashed one last grin before heading toward the exit, leaving you holding the drink.

You stepped outside, and began walking back to your office. You twisted the lid of the drink as the sun warmed your shoulders; the first sip hit you, smooth, strong, and undeniably good; definitely coffee.

Passing a bus stop, you slowed down. A huge poster covered the glass shelter with the three flavours of Rodd's in bold lettering across the top. And right there, front and centre was the man from Sainsbury's...

Will.

Grinning alongside another guy, both holding bottles of the same coffee you were currently regretting drinking.

Your jaw dropped. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered, half laughing, half mortified. You looked down at the drink in your hand, then back up at his smirking face on the poster.

“Of course,” you said under your breath. “Of course he owns it.”

You took one last sip just to be sure; bitter, rich, and entirely not your thing. You grimaced. “Yeah… still hate coffee.”

As you walked off, the sun caught the glass of the bus stop just right — marking his charming grin. The same grin of which made the girl who does not like coffee... buy coffee.

[the-internets-girlfriend]

omg that willne fic was soooo cute i need more!!!

Heheheh thank you!!! And I may have a surprise for you tonight then……

[the-internets-girlfriend]

the slip-up - will lenney

Will Lenney x Reader

summary: an accidentally slip-up during a video with hot chocolates.

warnings: just a cute couple announcement

word count: 700+ words

main masterlist

"This is for lazy people..." You mutter, holding up the self-stirring mug and squinting your eyes to inspect how it works. Then, glancing toward the camera with a grin, you add, "perfect for Will."

"What's perfect for me?" Will's voice comes from behind the camera as he strolls back into frame, arms full of Cadbury hot chocolate powder.

"Oh nothing...just me." You tease, lips curving into a smirk.

Will rolls his eyes, setting everything down with a dramatic sigh. "Come on, you know they're gonna make edits about that now."

You can't help but laugh, mostly because you know it's true. The fans have been shipping you and Will for years even since you joined his group of friends. Every shared glance, every off camera cameo, every time your laugh is in the back of his videos... they notice. There are dramatic TikToks with screenshots of your Instagram stories and YouTube compilations titled "them being in love for 10 minutes straight !!!" and endless comments claiming for us 'to just admit it already".

If only they knew how close to the truth they really were.

He huffs a laugh, leaning over the table as he unboxes the mug. “Right, science time. It’s meant to stir itself, yeah? You just press this button—”

The mug starts whirring violently, splattering chocolate up the sides. You jump back with a yelp. “Oh my god, Will! Turn it off!”

“I am turning it off!” He insists, jabbing the button as liquid chaos swirls. “Why is it spinning like it’s possessed?”

You can’t stop laughing, doubling over as he finally manages to stop it. The hot chocolate looks tragic; foamy and uneven, but Will takes a sip anyway.

“Well?” You ask, still giggling.

He shrugs. “Tastes like regret and batteries.”

You snort. “Perfect. I’ll have two.”

He shoots you a look, but his mouth twitches into a smile before he can hide it.

The video rolls on with you try a neck-massage pillow that nearly strangles Will, a mini popcorn maker that explodes kernels across the room, and a gadget that claims to fold laundry automatically (spoiler: it doesn’t). Every failure makes you laugh harder, every sideways glance between you two more obvious.

By the time you reach the last box, you’re both crying with laughter and surrounded by cardboard carnage.

Will rips it open dramatically. “Okay, final one! A miracle cleaning gel. Says it ‘picks up dust and crumbs from hard-to-reach surfaces.’”

You lean toward the camera, whispering, “Finally, something for his room.”

He throws the packaging at you. “I’ll have you know I clean... sometimes.”

“Sure, sure...”

Ignoring you, he presses the goo into a keyboard, watching it stretch and pick up crumbs. His eyebrows lift, impressed. “Oh, hang on. This is actually kinda satisfying.”

You reach for it too, both of you poking at the sticky blob. It squelches. “This is gross,” you mutter. “Feels like alien jelly.”

“Yeah, but look!” He holds it up to the light. “It’s actually cleaning the cracks and everything. This’d be perfect for our cleaning Sundays in the apartment.”

Silence.

The sentence hangs there, soft and heavy, suspended in the quiet buzz of the camera.

Your eyes flick up. His are already wide.

“Our what?” you say, fighting back a grin.

Will freezes, still holding the slime mid-air. “No, wait, I didn’t— that’s not— I meant your apartment. Or, like, an apartment. A generic apartment. Could be anyone’s.”

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh. “Uh-huh. The apartment we don’t share at all.”

He drags a hand down his face. “Oh, I’m so finished. They’re gonna... they’re absolutely gonna clip that.”

“Oh, definitely. Title: Will Lenney Accidentally Reveals His Secret Girlfriend.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

He glances at you, cheeks pink, mouth twitching. “Shut up.”

You grin at the camera, holding up the cleaning gel like a trophy. “Ten out of ten. Perfect for your… shared household needs.”

Will groans, burying his face in his hands. “We’re never hearing the end of this.”

In the coming weeks, Will releases the video, and he calls you to the couch to come check out the comments, "hey love, come here."

i'm sorry 'our cleaning sundays'????? excuse me! GUYS GUYS GUYS!!11!!! WE KNEW IT!!! they're literally an old married couple!

Will pretends to sulk for an hour before grinning at you from across the couch. “You know, could’ve been worse. At least I didn’t say our bed.”

You smirk. “Give it time, Lenney. Give it time.”

[the-internets-girlfriend]

can you control it? - johnny storm

Johnny Storm x Reader

summary: you wonder if Johnny is able to control the heat of one part of his body... and he shows you he can.

warnings: smut, no plot just smut, pinv, fingering, begging

minors do not interact - 18+ (mdni)

word count: 1k words

main masterlist

The room is quiet, the only sounds the soft hum of the city outside and the gentle rustle of the sheets as you shift in bed. Johnny Storm lies beside you, his body warm and solid, his arm draped casually over your waist. The air is thick with the lingering scent of his cologne, a heady mix of spice and something uniquely him.

You're on the verge of sleep, your eyes heavy and your mind drifting, when a sudden thought crosses your mind. You turn to look at Johnny, his face relaxed in the soft glow of the nightlight. His hair is tousled, falling in messy strands across his forehead, and his lips are slightly parted, inviting. You wonder if he can control the heat of his body, specifically...

"Johnny," you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He stirs, his eyes fluttering open. "Hmm?" he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.

You hesitate for a moment, a blush creeping up your cheeks. "Can you... can you control the heat of your... you know?" You gesture vaguely towards his crotch, your fingers tracing patterns on the sheet.

Johnny's eyes widen, a slow smile spreading across his face. "My what?" he teases, his voice low and husky. "You mean this?" He shifts, his hand moving to rest on his groin, a playful glint in his eye.

You nod, your blush deepening. "Yeah, that. Can you control it without setting anything on fire?"

Johnny chuckles, a deep, throaty sound that sends shivers down your spine. "Oh, I can control it just fine," he says, his voice laced with promise. "And I can make it nice and warm for you too."

Your breath catches, anticipation building in your chest. "Show me," you whisper, your voice barely a breath.

Johnny grins, his eyes darkening with desire. He sits up, his muscles rippling beneath his skin as he moves. His hand slides under the sheet, and you watch as he slowly undresses, his movements deliberate and teasing. When he pulls off his boxers, his cock springs free, already hard and throbbing. The sight of it makes your mouth water, and you reach out, your fingers wrapping around his shaft.

He groans, his hips jerking at your touch. "Fuck, you feel good," he murmurs, his voice strained. "But I think it's my turn to show you something."

He leans down, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. His tongue explores your mouth, tasting, teasing, while his hands roam over your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You arch into his touch, your nipples hardening against his chest, your body aching for more.

Johnny breaks the kiss, his breath ragged. He trails his lips down your throat, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. You gasp, your head falling back as he continues his exploration, his hands cupping your breasts, his thumbs circling your nipples.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against your skin, his voice thick with desire. "So responsive. I love how your body reacts to me."

You moan, your hips lifting as he slides a hand between your thighs, his fingers brushing against your clit. The sensation is electric, and you cry out, your body clenching around nothing, desperate for him to fill you.

Johnny chuckles, a low, knowing sound. "Patience, gorgeous," he says, his fingers sliding lower, teasing your entrance. "I'm going to make you feel so good."

He pushes a finger inside you, his thumb continuing to circle your clit. You moan, your hips bucking as he adds another finger, stretching you, preparing you for what's to come. The heat of his body is intoxicating, his skin glowing with a soft, warm light that seems to pulse in time with your heart.

"You're so tight," he groans, his voice strained. "So wet. I can't wait to feel you around me."

You reach for him, your hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him closer. "Please, Johnny," you beg, your voice desperate. "I need you. Now."

Johnny grins, a wicked, promising smile. He positions himself at your entrance, his cock hot and hard against your thigh. He leans down, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss as he slowly pushes inside you.

You gasp, your body stretching to accommodate him, the sensation of fullness overwhelming. He fills you completely, his cock pulsing with heat, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him deeper, faster.

Johnny groans, his hips beginning to move, his cock sliding in and out of you with a delicious friction. The heat of his body is intense, his skin glowing brighter with each thrust, the light casting a warm, golden hue over your skin.

"God, you feel amazing," he murmurs, his voice strained. "So tight, so wet. I'm not going to last long."

You moan, your nails digging into his back as you meet his thrusts, your body clenching around him. The sensation is overwhelming, the heat of his cock, the intensity of his gaze, the way his body moves against yours. You can feel your orgasm building, your body coiling tighter and tighter.

Johnny leans down, his lips capturing yours, his tongue mimicking the movements of his hips. The dual sensation is too much, and you cry out, your body shattering around him, waves of pleasure crashing over you.

Johnny groans, his body tensing as he finds his own release, his cock pulsing inside you, filling you with his heat. He collapses on top of you, his body slick with sweat, his breath ragged against your neck.

You hold him close, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back, both of you sated and content. The room is quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the city outside your window and the steady beat of your hearts.

"You okay?" Johnny asks, his voice soft, his fingers gently stroking your hair.

You nod, a contented sigh escaping your lips. "More than okay," you murmur, pressing a soft kiss to his chest. "I'm perfect."

Johnny tightens his arms around you, holding you close. "Me too," he whispers, his voice filled with a warmth that makes your heart swell. "Me too."

taglist x

@theroticallythe @kqliie @paintballkid711

[the-internets-girlfriend]

hiii! i love your writing! could you write something for george clarke where he is out for a shoot until like 1 in the morning, and reader tries to stay up for him but she falls asleep. when he comes home, he comes to where she is on the couch and wakes her up gently with a “hi beautiful” and it’s cute and domestic. they go to bed and she embraces him and tells him she missed him, and then they end up lazily making out on the bed, with her on top of him. long story short they have some lazy sex where she rides him tiredly lol

hi!! the oneshot based on your request can be found here x